Name you'll give it: Mousebird.
Gender: Female.
Reason you want it:
Like all of the designs I have seen on these dogs, it is simply stunning.
In
truth, Mousebird attracted me because of her gently glowing markings
and the look of tranquility surrounding her. When I read the small blurb
you had under her picture, everything just clicked into place. She is
perfect for the role I envision for her.
In my mind, her markings
mean that she is a center of warmth. One of my favorite ideas is that a
rose takes the longest of the flowers to bloom, yet once one does it is a
stunning display of creativity and brilliance. Mousebird is just like
that.
Named after something irrelevant and utterly uninteresting, at
first career she was withdrawn and distant from her work. Her design
reflects this. I can see writing a thousand different stories with her,
all involving her saying the weak and the damsels that need her.
I really hope I win her because I know I can make her into a beautiful character.
Biography:
In the beginning, she was nothing new.
She
was raised like all the others with no exceptions from those that cared
for them. Eventually, as the months slipped past, she was assigned to
work within a small town’s boundaries and provide light and security for
those that she uncovered.
The first few months were slow and
uncomfortable. She was consistently awkward around those she escorted,
although none could argue that she didn’t do the job well. Quiet as the
simplistic bird she had gotten the name of, Mousebird mainly kept to
herself. She was not violent in the slightest, and it was merely luck
that had prevented her from being forced to act from a crime.
On
December 3rd, while she was walking home a small, babbling school girl,
she glanced over into an alleyway they passed and heard the constant
sounds of beating. One ear flickered, hesitated, and she carefully
buried her snout into the child’s blouse and pulled her out of the mouth
of the darkness. Once she was certain that the child had understood the
message of staying out of the way, Mousebird slipped into the shadows
within.
Her paws made short work of the distance and she flicked her
tongue out, tasting the bitter air of sweat and blood. A small growl
worked its way through her smooth throat; she could feel the criminal
pause and blink, loosening his grip just barely on the young boy he was
beating. The victim lay obviously unconscious in his tormenter’s hands,
his head lolling forward in the specific way that all do.
For once,
she did not mind that she had an audience. She didn’t bring herself away
from the fight. Mousebird lowered her slender shoulders and growled
again, and this time her markings pulsed to light, throwing light all
over the dingy place in which all three stood. The man swallowed,
dropping the kid, and turned to flee, but she threw herself away him,
raising the alarm as she chased him through the town.
It was only
when the man was successfully apprehended that Mousebird’s adrenaline
faded. She slowly worked her way back over the child she had originally
been bringing home, and as she trotted up, her gait was jovial and her
expression winded but cheery. She had protected someone. She had finally
found what she was born to do.
Number: #24.
Original Name: Puppy.
Known As: The Dartmoor Hellhound.
Species: Canine.
Personality: ...
Likes:
Farmer
- A far-off memory that Puppy still clings to. This was his old owner
when he was merely a dog; or at least, what he knew him as. Farmer took
care of him through thick and thin and helped heal him when Puppy once
got rather sick. This is what he associates with safety, compassion, and
gentleness; since in his current life, he very rarely comes across
those things.
Bloodlust -
The demon half of Puppy adores the feeling of bloodlust, which is a
hungry appetite mindset that he slides into every time he begins to
hunt. Due to this, whenever he has the time and control, he focuses on
trying to hunt more and find more of this passionate feeling. In truth,
this feeling operates in the Hellhound almost like a high.
The Hunt
- As much as Puppy tries not to give into this feeling, both sides love
the hunt. Whatever they are hunting [local citizens, animals, prey,
livestock, etc] doesn't matter; and although Puppy tries to avoid ever
harming any human, occasionally the Hellhound gets control and will
force him to. He has some sort of sheepdog in his heritage and this has
won him the affection he has for hunting.
Guardianship
- His bloodline has effected his love of guardianship, but most often
he had can be found protecting the unlucky few who wander through the
forest on the nights the Hellhound prowls. Even though it is near
impossible to protect anyone from the hungry trailing of the beast, he
tries his best, and about half the time he succeeds in saving them.
Dislikes:
Moonlight
- This is one of the most unlikely things that the Hellhound is truly
afraid of. For some reason, the stroking touch of wandering moonlight,
especially when the moon is full or practically pregnant with light,
drives back his control and reduces him to submissive behavior. It is
only on these nights that Puppy feels like he has total light, and this
is usually when he tries to find his old owner.
Witches
- The Hellhound believes in the presence of witches on the Dartmoor
shoreside. Whether or not they actually do exist, Puppy almost always
uses this to his advantage; when he threatens his other half with them,
he usually slips up and allows the main side to do what he wants.
Occassionally Puppy too fears these women; but he is unwilling to admit
it to the crueler demon.
Liars
- Not surprisingly, this is both sides. Neither the Hellhound nor Puppy
himself like liars; in fact, both will outright attack them on sight if
heard to be telling a lie. This has earned the rather ragged reputation
they have; they are known as the Truth Detector because of their
never-failing brutality on those who would bare pass a lie from their
lips.
Other Side - The
Hellhounds hates Puppy, and Puppy hates the Hellhound. This is the
simplest part of their relationship; neither of them respect one
another, nor like the other in the slightest. They call the other the
Other Side most of the time, although sometimes they will stoop to the
level of addressing them with actual names.
Background:
Leaning
forward in his creaky chair, the old man patted the quilt down that
swamped his fragile legs. His wrinkled skin betrayed his age of what it
truly was, but not even natural decay could put out the passion that
burned in his eyes.
“What story should I tell tonight, children?”
Pressed
all around his feet were the audience he always invited, a handful of
young children from local families. The tavern they shared tonight was
warmed by a roaring fire in one corner, but even the heat could not stop
the children’s excited dread. This man was the best storyteller in all
of Dartmoor.
One little girl in particular raised a gloved hand and
blushed faintly when he turned one milky blind eye on her. She ducked
her chin. “Can you… can you tell us the story of the Hellhound?”
The old man, for one split second, looked perturbed. “Child, who told you of this creature?”
She
chewed her lip and the blush darkened across her alabaster cheeks.
“Well… I thought I saw this big black dog in the forests, and when I
asked my Mom she said that you would probably know the story. Do you?”
Hopefully, she glanced up at him but it was obvious that his mind was
very, very far away. A quiet smile creased his thin lips.
“Yes, I can
tell that story. Settle down, children, for here I will spin you the
story of the Dartmoor Hellhound like you’ve never heard it before.
“It is said that on the shores of our beautiful land, a terrible beast haunts and kills.
The
legends most of us know tell us a story of a woeful monster that
crawled out a hole that twines down to the deepest part of the
underworld. It says that this is an animal who was thrown out of Hell
itself to do its master’s bidding, and it is something to be fearful of
and wary about.”
He looked up at the ceiling and for a brief moment,
it seemed he was trying to blink back the tears that crowded his gaze.
“But I will tell you that those accounts are wrong. I will promise you
that, in the beginning, this Hellhound wasn’t a demon at all; in fact,
he began as any sort of dog does around here.” He smiled as though an
old memory brushed the corners of his mind, and he looked down at them
all. “And his name was Puppy.”
original name: Drake.
known as: Cabell's Final Beast.
gender: Male.
species: Canine/beast/Shuck.
location: Dartmoor.
the legend:
Squire
Cabell had an evil reputation and legend says that when he died in the
late seventeenth century, a pack of black hounds ran howling across
Dartmoor. Cabell is buried in Buckfastleigh and his coffin was entombed
in a small building to stop him from riding out with his hounds.
But
what the legend doesn't explain is the presence of his final hound, his
favored pet. It was this hound, the one he called Drake, that he blessed
with the power of immortality; and the heavy burden to continue the
hunt nightly. So when the moon rises over the Dartmoor knolls a single
beast slides out of the shadows from his nocturnal ritual to answer the
call of his deceased master and begins the hunt once more.
personality:
Gentle and calm, Drake doesn't fit the reputation he is saddled with.
His
laid-back attitude makes it nearly impossible to rouse some sort of
anger at him, and even when he is angry, he relaxes very quickly. He has
an immediate respect for all humans from the genes that were bred into
him to prevent him from ever hurting those he isn't hunting; and the
only ones marked for the hunt are children under ten.
He hates
himself for murdering all of the innocent victims but there is no
stopping him once his master has whispered into his ear what his duty
for the night is. It is only then that Drake looses the careful control
he has over himself; and he becomes a drooling, monsterous beast, who
takes thrill in the hunt and finds joy in the scream of a dying child.
When
he comes back to himself in the morning, stained with vibrant scarlet
blood, he'll curl into the corner and remain silent for hours. His
thoughts wander though his evening activities, and sometimes he'll
remember; most of the times he wishes he doesn't.
Highly loyal and
diligent, when Drake makes friends he keeps them. He cannot say no to a
favor from a friend, although if a stranger approaches him and asks for
something he near instantly dislikes him. He is learned never to trust,
respect, or show favor to somebody without them beginning the
relationship; in the end, he is more then likely used and twisted to
their advantage.
He is only active during the night and when the sun
rises, he will slink through the shadows and sleep. He is very lax over
the daytime and practically has no energy, so he just lays there and
watches. He has nothing to fear though; Drake is wholly and completely
immortal, and nothing bothers him. His pain tolerance is so high that
even close what would kill something normal, he barely feels it. Because
he is technically an existing spirit, his flesh mends together, and he
does not bleed himself.
backstory:
[wip]
----------
Everyone
imagined that one day, the Hellhound would find a fellow monster.
Another evil spirit to plunder and murder with. They patiently settled
back to await the day that the beast was distracted by another.
But
nobody imagined that it would ever be Drake. The nocturnal monster,
slaved into murdering children, considered piteous by almost all,
slowly began courting the Hellhound. In the beginning, the relationship
was unusual and violent, sparked by volatile arguments and the
Hellhound's ferocious anger. Drake remained constant though, and night
after night, they would steal away into the shadows together.
It took
longer for the Dartmoor population to recognize it themselves. It was
only when the rumors began to saturate through the town that another
hound joined Cabell's Final Beast, and this one was pockmarked with the
most brilliant green markings of all that they realized what miracle had
happened.
