Post by Crowley on Nov 24, 2008 20:59:10 GMT -5
Full Name: Crowley
Classification: Man in the form of an animal (wolf)
Gender: Male
Age: 35
Appearance: Crowley was once a man. He had been tall and strong, with prematurely graying hair (messily kept), glinting blue eyes, and a somewhat amused smile. As a wolf, some of these qualities are reflected. He is enormous for his kind, his shoulder four feet and five inches tall. With a deep barrel chest, he is comparable in size to a small pony. Despite that, his manner of bearing and the way his mouth seemed to curve into that same amiable smile make him look far less fearsome that he seems at first.
His fur is coarse, double coated against water and cold. He’s grey as his hair once was, with black tips. It doesn’t shine or ruffle beautifully with the wind, it simply seems to hang on him. The black concentrates on his chest and legs. A ruff of fur sits around his neck and chest, for a duel purpose. He looks bigger than he actually is, and in a very functional way, the thick layer of extra fur provides ample protection against the claws and teeth of anything that would challenge him. His eyes, still blue, are a point of curiosity for anyone who doesn’t know his true condition. Several scars dot his body, places were his fur grew back raggedly or not at all, attesting to some intense fights in his past.
Overall, Crowley is not a pretty sight, or a sleek and beautiful one. He’s a bundle of muscle and fur, ragged enough to look like a lost loner, rather than an alpha of a pack.
Power List: Heightened Senses, Ability to Speak
Detailed Power: Heightened Senses- Crowley, being in the body of a wolf, has gained the advantage of his hearing, sense of smell, and reflexes being sharpened. However, there is a tradeoff is that his actual sight is only average, if he were still a man he would probably need glasses.
Ability to Speak- He is able to speak the human language. It sounds kind of off, seeing as his lips and vocal chords were never made to form that kind of speech. He only knows his home language and a few dialects of the surrounding kingdoms. He also has the nasty habit of using body language that makes perfect sense among canines, forgetting that some things needed to be said, rather than shown.
Alignment: Unaligned. As a former member of the Elite, he feels sympathy and understands why they do what they do. However, while wandering among the people, he can see their happiness with the new rulers, and that the new rulers are doing well. However, his inherent loyalty and memories of his past life push him towards the Elite.
Weapons: Lacking opposable thumbs, Crowley possesses no real weapons. However, his razor sharp teeth are set in powerful jaws. His claws are rather dull, but when put up against delicate human skin, he can scratch and draw blood.
Personality: At first contact, Crowley is a sarcastic, somewhat grating individual. His “jokes” are often off color and biting, his manner only as friendly as he thought absolutely necessary. It seems like everyone is a possible threat, and until he can fully determine how much of a threat you are (and whether he can take you or not), he remains gruff and detached. He tends to lapse into long periods of silence. It’s not that he’s being rude, it’s just that Crowley is a man (or wolf) of few words when he feels like it, and he chooses those words carefully. He could never been described as “warm” or “fuzzy,” even if that’s ironically was he now is, being a wolf and all.
However, when he gets to know you a bit better, he seems to let up on the constant guard. You start to see some more redeeming qualities leak through. His sense of humor can make the worst of times seem a bit brighter, and he tries to find that bright spot to show it to other people. His ex military past allows him to handle things quickly and efficiently, and with a certain gritty, real sense of how things work. He’s an excellent guard, and Crowley prides himself of that. His sense of loyalty is intense, he’ll die rather than let a charge stay in danger. And because of this, his recent failing at keeping his charge safe has left him somewhat bitter and shameful. He is purely devoted to finding her again, and so sometimes a friend will find themselves left to fend for themselves, if he thinks he’s close to finding his lost friend.
Skills: From his background in the army, Crowley is skilled in the use of the sword, spear, and shield. He can ride and he can do forced marches. Not that any of this matters anymore, seeing as he can’t even hold a dagger. Still, he can recognize skill, and some confused young men have found themselves students to his snapped orders. His knowledge of army tactics remains intact and useful, though not many generals would listen to a mangy looking, talking wolf.
He’s strangely good at cooking, mending clothes, and housekeeping. Living along and without a wife, marching on the fly, Crowley had long ago learned to take care of himself. Though ironically, he again cannot use any of these skills while in his current form.
A skill he’s been perfecting is the ability to track and stalk a person. In the middle of the forest it’s easy enough, with only one scent and minor distractions, plus usually clear tracks. However, in a city he finds himself useless.
Strengths and Weaknesses: Endurance- As a wolf, Crowley naturally excels in traveling long distances over a short length of time (compared to humans). He’s tough, able to take quite a beating before being down for the count. However, he is a horrid sprinter, and while he is agile, he isn’t particularly fast.
Loyalty- Perhaps his current existence as a wolf as strengthened this, but he remains devoted to the smallest details, to the people whom he thinks deserve it. There are, however, obvious flaws to this. His own sense of loyalty blinds him, and he seems all too eager to put himself in harms way to protect those friends.
Optimism- Something that has always stood out about Crowley is his ability to see the good in things. Yes, he will assess everyone for threats, but the man would joke about his own death if he thought someone was feeling down. It seems that no matter how hard a situation you find yourself in, he can think of something worse, and joke about it to boost spirits.
As a general weakness, Crowley has never been referred to as particularly clever. Even now he is unable to read or write, and while he certainly has his share of street smarts and realism, he has no patience or tolerance for head games. The reason being that he can never figure them out. If he seems exceptionally strong in the brawns department, then the balance is most definitely reached in the fact that he’s at hart a simplistic individual.
History: Crowley was born to a small village in a corner of Cadrial-Tiein, and even at his young age has witnessed much. As a boy he could remember Locust’s rule, at age eight the rule had been violently upturned. As a child with little hope for more than a life of hard toil in farming ahead of him, the change was merely a fact that had drifted into his part of the world months later. The name had changed, new promises were made, but to him, his future was unchanged. As a peasant he would always be a slave to his work, and whether the ruler was a tyrant or a person who preached of equality, he would never become more.
And so it remained, and so his first eighteen years of life were rather unremarkable. It was then that the second shift of power happened, and the Elite were installed with the new government. At the first hint of recruitment, Crowley jumped at the chance to become more than a farmer. He was an ideal recruit, being as big as he was, and unlike a well-bred young man, his arms and torso were strengthened by years of hard work. He followed orders, and put himself into his training. He learned to soldier with pride, and found himself making something of himself, rather than staying on a dingy farm.
Ten years later, the fighting broke out. His king defeated, the world he had worked so hard to build for himself shattered, Crowley found himself fighting for his life. He managed to escape outside the castle. During the heated battle, Crowley took an sword cut to the stomach, and an arrow to the chest. It was surmised that he was trying to protect a comrade, but whatever his reason, he was beyond saving. Within a few hours his life bled out, and he died on the battlefield.
Crowley wasn’t sure how long he remained dead, at least, he had no concrete memories to tell the passage of time with. That time is a shadowy, black hole in his memory. He was, however, able to calculate that he was only dead a few days. All he could tell you about that time was that eventually he heard a voice, asking him if he would come back. If he would put his life down to protect a young woman, in whatever form the voice decided was best. The choice was laid before him: come back to life, or rest. Crowley chose life.
He was brought back by what he later learned was a sorcerer, an arcane man who put him into the body of a wolf, simply because it was the most complex and useful form he could pull off. He did promise, however, that if Crowley proved to be a good boy, he would be restored to his original body. He was then introduced to his new charge. A young woman, a child. Her story had struck a chord in him, it seemed that his new companion, Eryn, had lost her family in a fire, robbed of her former life and her sight by the flames.
And so he stayed with her, being her sight. Five years later, she was 19, and a woman. He had guided her and guarded her with perfect devotion. She became his best friend, a sister, a daughter. Crowley gave her his all, and only felt pride as he watched her grow, and helped her become almost self-sufficient without her sight. Money was no object, what they needed he caught for her and guided her in gardening, and if that was not enough, a giant wolf demanding objects in the human tongue was often enough.
But six months ago, at a town they had together journeyed to, a tavern brawl broke out, and the woman was separated from her “pet“. He was knocked over the head, and was unable to do much more than lie there. Once the fighting died down, the big wolf couldn’t find anything more than shreds of scents left behind. His friend, his daughter, was gone. He’s been looking to this day, and while he thought a blind woman couldn’t get far, perhaps he taught her too much. She was vanished, and until he again finds her, he will not rest.
