Carger

[Lanie]

Carger
Pronounced ‘Khar-jer’

Gender: Male
Species: Mackenzie Valley Timber Wolf
Age: Four years, two seasons
Pack: Ileai
Rank: Alpha

Power:
Carger can control a sort of spiritual fire. Whenever he uses it, it also enflames his front paws. It can be a variety of colors, and perform a variety of tasks. Mainly, it’s a light purplish color that helps to clear his mind, and doesn’t burn. When he focuses he can change its color and use, but it takes him the most energy to create standard red fire. Because it surrounds his paws, it also hurts him as well.

Light thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong. No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it.
~Terry Pratchett

Appearance:
His appearance is something Carger takes notice – not pride – of, although some in his place might be proud of it. He’s usually too preoccupied with his duties to stress over appearances too much, although, naturally, he does groom accordingly.
His eyes are dark yellow, a tone of the deepest golden that strikes fear in many. Some say that the eyes are the window to the soul; if that’s true, I suppose his soul is…lacking.
His fur is a luxurious gray, with different tones and such, scattered over his back and sides and upper face. His cheeks are dappled white, the tip of his muzzle is black, and his belly and inner legs are light reddish-brown. A stripe of the same reddish-brown trails down the front of his snout, and a more reddish color coats his throat.
He does have wings, the same mixture of gray and red and brown as the majority of his coat is. His wings are large, but they never really get in his way.
He proudly bears the title of a beast, obvious from his size and identifiable from his personality. It may seem harsh, but even knows that it fits. He’s a monster of a wolf, a full one hundred and ninety pounds, maybe more. Seventy five inches long, from nose to tail, although only around thirty inches tall.
His battle history is…numerous. The scars under his fur are meaningless now; it’s the things that you can’t see that scars him the most.
He’s got a notch in his left ear from blackflies. When he was young he was severely burned on the upper chest and front legs, so he feels very little there anymore. He can feel impacts, he just don’t seem to feel heat or cold or any real sensations. The fur has grown back normally, though, and few even know of that little bit of his past. In general, his grace has spared me more scars then he has given.

Personality:
Call him a lord, call him a tyrant. He is himself. He will not say that he will die to protect his title and pack, for he has doubts that any rogue will come and take his place. In a point in time, he would’ve said that his life was more important then his pack.
Those times are far behind him.
Life ends for all; will yours end with your belly up and your legs flailing, or proudly defying those who choose to defy you? He believes that he has the strength to hold his own, but not even his strength will lead him to believe that he knows his own death.
He stresses the importance of knowing oneself. You must know what you can do and what you believe in to know your capabilities. Sometimes you need to attack, sometimes you need to run away, sometimes you need to wait. How are you supposed to know what you need to do when you don’t know what you can do?
Naturally, running a pack, Carger has patience for a lot of things. Incompetence is not one of them. He tolerates pups and respects elders, but for the average members in his pack he reserves a different respect. His pack is based on stealth, and he takes every precaution to avoid more detection then was necessary. His members are free to roam his lands, but the dens are dug in the complex system of tree roots and most meetings are done in the cover of the darkness under the trees. Carger is, in all respects, preparing for a war that may not come in his lifetime. But, no fool, he suspects it will come back at some point.
Pups are a particular interest of his. The younger generations who were born in the packs usually turn out accenting how he thinks. He tries to influence them into being the true future of the pack, and he feels responsible for partially raising them. How could he not, after laying down the rules that they would follow for the beginning of their lives?
When alone, he would usually prowl. Patrolling the borders, scouting the abandoned lands, and such. He’s a fan of sliding along the ground, forever invisible until he reveals himself. Many a times his pack members will be shocked by his sudden appearances, often in the dead of night, but always will he have a reason for being there.

History:
A pup born in times of peace, he was unsatisfied with what his like represented. It was not the utopian peace that many wolves dreamt of, but the peace that comes with loneliness. The only reason there was peace in his pack was because there was nothing to fight over. There was enough food and land for all who knew how to catch it. When a daring male or an unsatisfied young couple wanted to start a pack, they would simply go into one of the unclaimed regions beyond the mountain.
The wolves grew up naturally tough. Most of them knew how to climb up and down the mountain before they were a month. It was a harsh treatment, and Carger thrived in it. His parents died shortly after he turned a month old, and the rest of his nursing period was fulfilled by other nursing females in the pack. After that, he generally spent time on his own. Playing the great hunter, jumping on the small, careless animals he could find, preferring the company of himself over his pack. He hardly noticed when he was – as if by magic – transformed into the strong hunter he had always play-acted as.
When he left home, he knew it was for the best. He’d gone far away from home, never joining a pack, never staying in one place. He’d come across many unclaimed lands, but they all smelled of sweat and blood and war. He wanted a land that wasn’t open just because its previous inhabitants had killed each other. Something led him to Kouhai, and onwards he went to create his own pack amidst the bountiful lands.

Sample:
The following is an excerpt of a different character from another site I’ve been on.

A lone wolf stood on the very edge of the fields, eyes closed. Sight was not enough to describe the sheer beauty of the scene.
If her eyes had been open, Zephyr would've seen the flat fields that, on a clear day, would normally be filled with unpredictable dips and hills in the grasslands. The snow filled in all the impurities, no place higher then the rest.
It was a clear night, starlit and silent. It had just stopped snowing, bringing a chill to the air and a blanket of calm over the grasses. Zephyr felt like she was the only wolf that could possibly be in the territory, and she might've possibly been right.
She shook her fur - newly transformed to the charcoal-black of her winter coat - and slipped quickly through the snow. She made no attempt to hide her tracks, nor to blend in. She held her head and tail high, letting her scent drift slowly along the peaceful territory. She assisted it, with the occasional and intentional marking. Let her presence be known; let her scent waft through any daring wolf. Let her ever-darkening fur be spied against the background of whiteness.
Zephyr stopped, reaching the fence that would mark the border of these lands. There it was; her land.
For now.
The unspoken law of wolf, by nature and instinct, told her that the land was hers. Her knowledge and experience told her likewise.
For now.
Let the strange, lone wolf be spied or forgotten.

For now.

accepted by Talen