Post by moxi on Dec 6, 2011 0:05:47 GMT -8
Maeve - Five Years - Female - Maned Wolf
Phantom[/center]They say there lurks a ghost on these lands, a lady of the mists, if you would, a forest spirit others say. Whatever you care to call her, if it settles your nerves or eases your fear, she is most certainly real.[/size]
Long of limb and muzzle and short of word, the ghost is no more dead than you or I. Rather, they say she's an unfortunate one with brilliant white fur that shines like glass, like those mirrors that the humans used to hang on their walls. She is delicate with long, nimble legs and narrow, velveteen ears, her paws fleet, though some say she has cloven hooves instead, not unlike a deer.
Her tail is short, hardly a fourth of its natural length and her nose is pale, blending easily into her coat, making her almost invisible in the snow and blinding in bold day-light (with an appropriate cast of rainbows, given the fog that chases her and the light that reflects off of her), that is, if you catch her. Typically nocturnal, she avoids day-time interactions.
Shy, she will not meet another's eyes with her own. Rather, she tends to keep her gaze focused in the distance, as if searching for an escape from every an any situation. Like her coat, her eyes are white, only adding to how incredibly unnatural this deer-like creature can be.
Maeve is typically very awkward in social interactions, avoiding contact with others like the plague. She'd prefer to spend her time collecting trinkets that she stores in small warrens and abandoned dens, or even in hollows of trees. She has very little to say and will rarely raise her voice, preferring to run in the event of aggression. She appears conflicted, and will often initiate conversations only to break it off suddenly or run away.
Due to her flightiness, it's uncertain how clear her memory is. She will offhandedly mention her former life, hinting to a dashed relationship of some kind, and even at the possibility that she was a mother, although these kinds of things are often cryptic or jumbled, as is most of what she says. There is hope for a lucid response, but these take a concerted effort and leaves her visibly shaken. She prefers to mimic naama behavior, often playing mute unless thoroughly baited. This is trumped by her highly maternal nature and she will engage pups without complaint.
History
Drunk on blood.
Drunk on blood.
There is little to say for her history, only that she has never quite been the same since. Her youth was spent raised among a pack of Naama, the pale pup a very unusual example of the "lesser" race's grace. While not necessarily high on the totem, she was fairly well liked and obeyed unquestioningly, most of the separation between herself and her kinswolves being only in coloration, hooves and kind - there was no mist and she was mute and confused when she met her first Uuma. How the clan came to be as her guardians is unknown, however how she left was in a blood-bath, taken as a slave by a curious Uuma clan meaning to rear the then year and a half old female into an acceptable addition to their family. Reasonably, she resented the effort and made numerous efforts to run home, not quite understanding the concept or certainty of death, or that she was entirely alone, entirely like her captors.
By her second year she could communicate very roughly, voice small and weak, but far from harmless. She was charismatic and friendly, gathering friends in the pack quickly and easily. Her ideas and comments spread like wild-fire, however she still avoided meetings and would make conversation as short as possible. In spite of this, her observations and stories of living among the naama intrigued her new family - rebellion began to mount without the she-wolf ever calling a word for it, and she was again rejected, run out by the leader of the clan. Bewildered and frightened by his attack she bowed, vanishing into the woodwork, so to speak.
For a time she spent her days in solitude and in that solitude she made brilliant friends with a naama male, explaining to him (though he understood so little) the concept of slavery and her experiences. He learned slowly but was attentive and amicable, lending her his ability in hunts. Slowly her voice vanished and she became mute, once more indistinguishable from the other wolf save by coat, hooves and eyes, however all things must end.
Perhaps taken with a vengeance, she was pursued by a former pack member. She'd hardly grasped the concept of an assassination, nor how important the act of slavery was to the dominant race in some areas, how important it was to spread the fear of one's superiors. She and her companion were set upon by this brute of a wolf, though her friend did not falter, nor did he back away. Rather he rushed the attacking female, seizing her and locking in a titanic battle, one he was sure to lose. Maeve, frightened, she reacted in turn when he was thrown aside, snarling and backing away, attempting to appear as menacing as possible - she was tall and slender, with little of the war-like blood in her. Using her best defense, she turned to flee, only to feel a set of jaws close on her tail and long, cat-like claws set into her haunches. Furious and terrified, she turned on her attacker, biting and kicking fiercely, managing to do a fair number on the female, but was ultimately over-powered.
From there it's a blur, there's very little she recalls. There are holes here and there and there's concrete claims of a child's involvement, however there's little story to back it up. She again became a loner after the attack, escaping with her life. The mist began some time shortly there-after. Whether the pup was her own, adopted or otherwise is uncertain, though she is strongly maternal towards those that seem without.
