Post by striker on Aug 13, 2014 19:59:49 GMT -6
Age:too old to be RPing?
Age: 3 Years
Breed: ½ Belgian Malinois, ½ Saluki
Appearance: He inherited his stature from his Malinios father, though his Saluki mother made him a bit taller and lankier that a purebred Malinios. Despite this fact, he still has a good amount of weight behind him when he needs to throw it around. His ears stand erect, but his coat is longer and feathered around the ears, legs, and tail. His coloring takes after his father and Striker’s coat is fawn with a black mask. His eyes are keen like the sighthound and he got a good dash of prey drive, making him an excellent hunter.
Limited Traits: N/A
History: Striker’s father had been a police dog in training and his mother a traveling showdog/lure coursing competitor. When the masters left, they were both lucky to escape into the wilds. His mother was quite aged when she met his father, a stray wandering the streets just like herself. He didn’t stick around long enough to even see the puppies he sired.
Striker was one of five puppies born, and miraculously all lived to adulthood. Though aged, their mother was wise and in good health. Shortly after the pups reached adulthood their dam finally passed on and together the siblings became their own pack. It was difficult living
at first, but they each found their roles. Striker claimed the alpha spot for himself in the new pack, being the most quick and cunning of the siblings.
Then one by one the pack dwindled. His brother Sota was attacked and killed by a predator while wandering in the woods. His sister Silver was killed in a territory battle with another pack, with his brother Swift dying a few weeks later due to an infected wound he had incurred during the skirmish. He fled with his remaining sister to less populated lands, closer to the source of the rotting, poisonous smell. Though they encountered less packs, there was still predators to watch for, as well as an increasing amount of mutated
prey. During this time, his sister Sienna had bred to another dog wandering in the same area and when her belly was full and round the two finally found a place to make a den.
The pups were born a few days later, and Striker had to look twice to believe his own
eyes. Several of them had mutant features – a third eye, small horns, or glowing marks. Snorting with derision at the abominations, he left Suki and the pups to fend for themselves. Without his sister watching his back, life has been undoubtedly tougher, but Striker still manages to keep himself well fed and out of trouble.
Visual Reference: N/A
(Shamelessly reused from another RP site):
A bead of sweat trickled down Garrick’s back despite the dark and cool fall night as he crouched in the underbrush of the tree line surrounding the keep. They had been lying in wait there for hours, waiting for the signal from Narath to start the real assault. He shifted his weight as quietly as he could, his well oiled black leather armor making no sound at all,
but he rustled some of the foliage in which he was concealed. His companions turned to glare at him. As an average human, he wasn’t quite as stealthy as some of the other races that assembled this team. To calm himself, he checked and rechecked his gear to make sure everything was secured in its proper place.
Garrick was lucky to even be on this mission. He practically had to beg Albronel to be allowed to participate as one of the elite few on the rescue team. He wasn’t the best fighter in the army, but he was smart, scrappy, and most of all, he was expendable. They all knew that some of them wouldn’t be returning alive. They had some idea of the keep’s defenses, but what lay in the dungeons below would be a surprise.
Garrick’s gray eyes scanned the growing clouds, drifting across the moon’s pale face, for any signs of the dragons that would provide the distraction for their entrance. As he once again checked his weapons a flash of lighting arcing through the clouds and lighting up the sky and throwing shadows of wings against the canvas of clouds. The signal! Now would be the time to prove himself, or die trying.
“It’s show time,” the half elf whispered next to him, grinning cheekily before slinging his bow over his shoulder. Garrick nodded, his mouth a hard line, and tipped the boiled leather helmet over his wavy brown hair, pressing it down to help it stay in place. They waited a moment longer, the crack of thunder and the war cry of dragons filling the air. Finally the squad’s leader signaled for them to move out.
Quickly they exited the trees and made their way across the open ground, the ensuing battle covering the noise of their approach. Each man, woman, and elf was outfitted head to toe in black, blending in with the night as they flowed in a wave towards the fortress’s outer wall.
Upon reaching the destination, Garrick stepped forward, loosening a grappling hook from his belt easily swinging it up and over the wall, the knotted black silk rope trailing behind. The soft clink of the hook grabbing the cold stone barely reached his ears over the ensuing cacophony. A tug confirmed it was set and he stepped back, allowing his half-elf partner to shimmy up the rope first and quickly following behind. Beside him other pairs
were doing the same.
The archers gained he wall first, putting black shafted arrows through the throats of the guards at the side entrance. Garrick quickly turned the grappling hook over and rappelled down into the courtyard while the archers covered the entrance. They crossed the courtyard quickly, congregating at the servant’s entrance to the kitchen. A quick check of the door showed that it had been locked and a human woman stepped to the door. She was clearly not the warrior type, slight and lean and wearing only a padded vest in the way of armor. The former thief the produced a set of tools and made short work of the lock, popping the door open.
Several warriors slipped by to take point on the passage through the keep and into the dungeons below it. Garrick drew his mace from his belt, the heavy weapon familiar in his hand. Most of those around him carried swords but he favored the mace for close quarters. Not much room to swing a blade in crowded rooms and hallways. Soon it was his turn to enter the building and Garrick stepped up to the shadowy portal. No time for doubt or hesitation, the prisoners needed to be rescued tonight. He moved across the threshold and into the darkness beyond…