Play It }.again && }.again

[misty]

First, a tale:
A small free-roaming pack, struggling to survive a terrible famine. A pregnant she-wolf, preparing to give birth to her first litter. Lack of food had made her thin and even her bulging stomach did nothing to hide the bones that showed plainly through her ragged pelt. Her howls of agony could be heard all over the camp; everyone waited anxiously to hear the soft whimpers of pups. The flicker of hope in their hearts ebbed every time a pup, stillborn and lifeless, was carried out into the woods to be buried. It had been al but extinguished when the weak cry of a hungry pup came form the birthing den. One pup of out the seven that had grown in their mother’s stomach lived. His name was Rorka.

Because of the famine, Rorka had not one playmate to spend his puppyhood with. He never learned how to play, but quickly jumped the gap from infant to adult. Instead of play-wars, he had battle training. Instead of chasing leaves, he stalked prey under the watchful eye of his father. As he grew older and stronger, Rorka spent almost every moment of his life training or working for the pack.

While hunting alone at the edge of the pack’s territory, he chased a rabbit off the edge of a ravine. Rorka, intent on his prey, didn’t see the steep drop until it was too late. Plummeting over the side, his head landed on a rock, knocking him unconscious. A wolf from his pack found him hours later, blood pooling around his head, but alive. It would make sense to say that the wolf took Rorka back to the camp and his parents, but sense has no place in this world.

This particular wolf, a female a bit more than a year older than Rorka, had lusting after him ever since his puppy form had given way to the body of an adult. She knew that they would never be together as long as they were living in the pack, as her current mate would be less than pleased with that arrangement, to say the least. Sensing that it would be now or never, she dragged his limp body over the far side of the ravine, out of the pack’s territory. The she-wolf hoped that he would agree to be her secret lover out of gratitude, but fate dealt her one better than that. When Rorka finally came to, he remembered nothing from his past. At first the fae had no idea what to do, but inspiration struck when the male asked who she was. ” I’m your mate,” she answered, ”Don’t you remember me?” So Rorka became the vixen’s secret mate, living in the cave, completely clueless to why she disappeared for days at a time. He was used to give her the pleasure that her real mate would not, and would still be used so today if life had not again thrown him a curveball.

A rouge wolf wandered onto Rorka’s small territory one evening, thinking that the place was unoccupied. Rorka’s “mate” was also paying him a visit that evening, and when the rouge bumped into her out in woods, he decided that she should become his. Rorka, enraged at the rouge’s behavior and wanting to protect what he thought was his, was not content to merely run the intruder off. He wanted to rip the other male to shreds first. While the two were fighting, the fae made a quick exit, but the male were already too deep in to notice. The rouge, flailing desperately under Rorka’s strong hold, got a lucky kick at Rorka’s old scar. Rorka released him, howling in pain and already beginning to black out. The rouge, stumbling to his feet, bowled him over and slammed him to the ground. The impact was hard enough to knock Rorka unconscious again, but this time he seemed to be dead. The victor dragged what he thought was his dead opponent to the edge of his newly-won territory and dumped him in the river that ran there. The shock of cold water revived Rorka, but his body was still paralyzed. He was washed downriver in the raging current, where he regained use of his body. But again, his memory had been wiped out.

This time he found himself surrounded by a pack of bloodthirsty, warlike wolves. Rorka was allowed into their pack when they found him nonthreatening, but as an inferior omega. As the omega, he was automatically assigned the job of punching bag, used for practice fights and battle training. Luckily, he fought only young wolves preparing for their first battles and was spared severe harm. When the Alpha noticed how well he fought, always figuring out new ways to knock his opponent off his feet, he promoted Rorka to a full member. At this time he was bestowed with a new name, Kichrynan. With that name he was officially welcomed to the pack, for he was called merely “Wolf” before, having forgotten his real name. With every battle he fought, Kichrynan was exalted by his pack-mates for his brilliant tactics. At this time, another strong warrior was also making a name for himself in another pack, and it was only a matter of time before the two would meet.

The other wolf had a dark, scheming nature, however, and chose a midnight raid over meeting on the battlefield. Kich, unprepared, was captured along with most of his pack. Many were made into slaves and some were executed, but Kichrynan was sold to the slave traders of Sobibor. There he was taken to the slave trials, where he was again sold to become a competitor in the games. The master in charge of the trials knew he was capable of better things, though, and made him his right-hand wolf. With his serious attitude and strong muscles, he quickly gained the respect of everyone at the trials. When the old master died, Kichrynan took his place as master of the slave trials.

---

Title:
Kichrynan
If Pressed for Time:
Kich, but only few call him that.
The Blood in My Veins:
Great Plains Wolf
A Towering Figure:
42 inches
You Must Know By Now:
Brute
See and Remember:
Dark brown fur covers his buff body, becoming thicker on his chest and neck. Black highlights streak across his fur like claw marks, tapering to a point as they end. His white chin fur trickles down to cover his chest and belly, also decorating the insides of his legs. Haunting yellow eyes, almost reminiscent of those of snake, stare down everyone around him. His large muzzle is pointed in more ways than one as the tips of sharp teeth slip out of the lips. His ears sit small on his large head, cupped to catch each and every sound around him. Short claws add extra power to his giant paws. His head carries a long scar, running from the base of his left ear down to his cheek; the mark of the incident that changed his life. His fur almost hides it, but it becomes apparent when he turns his head to the right.
I Have Walked the Earth:
6 years
The Man Behind the Mask:
Kichrynan has power and he is well aware of it. All but masters are under him, and even they are considered as his equals. Kich’s serious attitude and haunting looks leave a dark aura around him, making most wolves think twice about crossing him. Though aggressive and often the one to make the first move in a fight, he does not look for trouble and tries to control himself. Unfortunately, he cannot always tolerate blatant disrespect. He is not opposed to friendships with the masters who bring their slaves to his arena, though his appearance might suggest an anti-social wolf. Those few who have become his friends, or at least have been frequent visitors, know that he is not above taking bribes. He drives a hard bargain, but if you can please him, you can be certain that your slave’s opponents will not perform at their best in the next competition.
Kichrynan prefers not to mistreat his slaves or the competitors that masters entrust to him, but he does not tolerate attitude or rebellion. Usually a few clouts to the head will set them straight, but Kich will not hesitate to take the punishment father if needed. Female or male, he treats each slave the same and will deal out the same repute. However, it is not unheard of for beautiful new vixens to visit his den before being sent to the slave pens. Equines do not faze him in the least, as he has had plenty of experience with them and knows their weak points just as well as a wolf’s. He can be a deadly opponent during battle, striking quickly and without warning.
See for Yourself:
Click
My Rank:
Free-Roaming/Master (Head of Slave Trials)

[Lugubrious]

I love taylor swift. Great job as always misty!