ARGO [ROTSTALKER] Jun 9, 2014 9:48:07 GMT -6
Post by A R G O on Jun 9, 2014 9:48:07 GMT -6
Player: Argo // Dark // DarkIceWolf // DIW.. Whatever of those you'd like to call me.
Contact: Batty knows.
Age: 6 years
Breed: Tibetan mastiff, Caucasian Ovcharka mix.
Personality: Outwardly, Argo appears to be some sort of vicious monster that others must fear, his normal stony, fierce expression and size make him daunting and fearsome. Inwardly though, it's an entirely different story. Although used to others treating him like a monster, to those he knows and has come to trust, he is kind and caring, a gentil giant who would much rather curl up and take a nap on a warm sunny day than to even raise his voice. Not to say that he will not, when the time is right.. He is a fierce gardian to those that he cares for, and will do anything to keep them safe, even if that means putting his own life on the line to do so.
Unlike the perceptions of others, he is very intelegent. A diplomat, and a noble dog at heart. Fear for his own wellbeing is not something that happens, but the fear for others will drive him to fight, if the situation calls for it. Masters help anyone who angers him to this degree.
Some of his closest friends have questioned why he didn't become leader. He has the strength and smarts, and protective instinct to properly lead a pack, and the will to make that pack strong.. But his answer is always the same. "I do not wish for that responsibility. I cannot make the choices that a leader must make. I cannot put my friends in harms way, even if it is to keep our home. I would die before I saw them hurt, or worse, killed in a battle that was the result of my order."
Appearance: Weighing in at a whopping three hundred pounds, and standing at four and a half feet at the shoulder, this guy is absolutely massive. Everything about him is massive, including his long, black coat, which makes him look even larger than he actually is. A thick, long haired ruff rests around his neck in unruly locks, making him appear to others like a giant lion-like beast. A fearful sight for any creature to behold. Deep amber-red eyes do not help to lighten his appearance.
Scars riddle his body, but are hidden beneith layers of fur, proof of the battles that he has survived, and some; constant reminders of his past, still aching even after all this time.
Beyond his size, there are no other mutations.
Limited Traits: Large size.
History: It was a warm summer night, the air thick with humidity, and the moon bright overhead. Sheltered in the ruins of what once was a large city, a newly birthed litter lay curled at their mother's stomach. Three scrawny pups, barely a decent scrap of fur combined. All of them appeared to be weak, their tiny bodies quivering with chill even in the heat. These pups were Flora's first litter. A littler born as the result of a chance meeting with an outsider. Something that was punishable by death within Flora's group of rogues. They were not a pack, they could not be considered a pack. Packs care for the wellbeing of it's members.. These rogues did not. If you were not strong enough to survive, then you were as good as dead to them. That is why Flora had chosen to distance herself from them when her time had drawn near. She knew that with the lack of food, her skinny, underfed frame could not bear healthy pups. She had been correct.
One of her litter perished only hours after it's birth, a tiny white female. The others, two males lay fighting to survive, their tiny sides heaving with the struggle to breathe.
Against all odds, the two male pups did pull through their first week of life, growing stronger on their mother's dwendling supply of milk. Flora had not been able to catch more than a few rats in this time, unable to hunt larger prey in fear of straying far from her pups.
Two months passed, and Flora's body slowly weakened while the two pups grew. Stessed, overworked, and underfed, she grew tired. The rogues were moving in, their scent constantly drifting in on the breeze. Flora knew it would not be long before they discovered her, and her small litter. Worry grew as they drew closer, day by day edging nearer to her den. Her mind was a mess, battling with itself over the decision to move and face new dangers, or stay and face conflict with the rogues and possible starvation. Ultimately the decision to move won out.. Unfortunately by the time she had decided, it was already too late.
The rogues had found her. They tore her from her den, dragging the pups out with her, dropping them at the feet of their boss. Not a true pack leader, but a tyrant bent on controlling a dangerous group of murderers. Without hesitation, he bent down and picked up the weaker of the two pups, shaking it violently. It cried out, shrieking in pain and fear.. A sickening thud brought the sound of tiny bones being crushed as the pup was slammed into the rubble.
Flora leapt at the rogue boss, grappling with him. Even in her weakened state she'd managed to push him down, pinning him to the ground. Her fury lending strength to an otherwise tired body. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her pale amber eyes staring wildly, locked on the scrap of motionless, bood stained fur of her pup. The other coward, whimpering uncontrollably a few feet away, frozen in terror.
A sharp growl and harsh, gagging gurgle signaled the end of the rogue boss dog's final breath as Flora's teeth sank deep into his throat. Blood soaked her muzzle and neck fur. The rogues looked on, stricken by the way this weak female had so quickly defeated the dog that had lead them so ruthlessly. She was not challenged as she dipped her head, picked up her remaining pup, and slowly walked away.
Argo, Flora's remaining pup grew into a strong young dog, big and powerful even at a year of age.. but Flora's own condition did not improve. Her body was thin and fragile. Every one of her ribs were visable by this time. Her spine and hips protruded awkwardly from her ragged, dull pelt. She could not eat properly, and her stomach often refused to hold food, even if she did manage to get it down.
Argo did everything within his power to care for his mother, hunting for her, bringing her any prey he could manage to catch. Even though if she could not manage it, he encouraged her to try. Each night he spent curled around her frail body, sheltering her from the constant cold that she felt, even on the hottest of summer nights.
It was one of those hot summer nights that Argo awoke to find his mother still curled in the crook of his body, her nearly skeletal frame seeming for all the world to be frozen... Unmoving... Unbreathing... Cold.
He continue to lay there with her until dawn, his heart aching and stomach twisted with grief. She had raised him well, and taught him the things that he needed to survive. She had been with him every step of the way, saved his life, and given him all of her life, her love, and her heart. Slowly Argo raised his head, pressing his muzzle into his mother's fur. "Mother... Thank you. " He whispered quietly. "You gave me life... You gave me the world... And you suffered for it. " The words caught in his throat as grief threatened to overwhelm him. "I will live for you. I will love for you. I will protect others as I did for you... I will always.. Always remember you."
Argo kept his promise, standing strong against many dangers, fighting those who treated others unfairly. Battling for what he believed to be right. He traveled far from the place that he was born, wandering through forests, through ruins of masters once so grand, now reclaimed by nature. Through hoards of mindless rotties that wandered aimlessly. Through dangerous and toxic terrain. From time to time he would become ill after passing areas of large ruins, but kept going... and growing.
The radiation was making him grow larger and larger. So large that he towered over other dogs, and his paws thundered on the ground when he ran. Now though, he noticed, that others were becoming wary of his presence. They wore the look of fear in their eyes when they saw him. Even those that he faught for.
Two years had passed since his mother's death, and Argo had been living as a loner, a wanderer. That was, until a dog came to him with a proposition to join a pack. He had been told that his size and strength would be useful, and that he would be treated fairly within the pack. He would have territory to hunt, and a place to rest his paws each night. It sounded pretty good. He was tired of constantly moving. Maybe this would be better, so he agreed.
Five years ago, Argo was nothing but a tiny, weak scrap of fur. Today he is strong, today he is a valued member of a pack.. But he still remembers the promise he had made to his mother. To live, and to love for her. To protect others as he once had done for her. He has never forgotten her.
Visual Reference: My table.
RP Example: (From a warriors RPG. "Dogear is an NPC in this post")
Tigerpaw's mind felt divided as he padded back through the ancient oak forest on the way back to camp, One side was happy that he and his sister had been mentioned at the gathering, but the other still wandered the stone hollow, flowing memory like a stream rushing through his mind. The things that the leaders had said, the skinny ThunderClan apprentice, and the way that Foxstar herself had looked. The uneasy look the other cats had given them as the gathering had ended. He felt sorry for them, but at the same time he knew that it would bring more trouble. They may not have had proof that ThunderClan was stealing prey, but he was sure of it now. With the things that had been found already, the scent and the prey bones left at the border. How could anyone think otherwise? At some point they'd be caught, and at that time ShadowClan would be prepared to chase them off, no matter how bad their situation.
He felt a surprising pang of pity for them, and wondered for a moment why they couldn't help them by offering prey? Not to let them hunt in ShadowClan territory, but maybe send some cat over the border with freshkill every day.. At least for the kits and elders? ...
~No, that's a bad idea.~ Tigerpaw thought silently, leaping lightly up and over a root. ~That would only make us look as if we're allied to ThunderClan. The other clans won't like that.~
His ears twitched as he heard his name from behind, and he turned slightly, glancing back at Bluepaw. "It's getting late though, and we have an early training session tomorrow. Have you forgotten? Dogear and Graylion said they'd be taking us to the marsh to learn how to hunt bats."
"That's right." Dogear nodded in agreement, slowing down to let Tigerpaw catch up. "We will be leaving at sunhigh, so you two need to be ready to leave camp before then."
Tigerpaw nodded in agreement, flicking his tail at Bluepaw. "They did look pretty bad, and I feel sorry for them, but they know the warrior code as well as the rest of us. Besides, RiverClan's offered them herbs.... And it isn't like we can do much about twolegs in their territory."
He sighed heavily, shaking himself to get rid of a creeping feeling of remorse. There really was nothing they could do to help. They'd have enough trouble with their own prey if the sickness spread.- - -ooc; ~