Midnight Terrors - Eastern Pack

Name: Sherlock [Shur-lawk]

Gender: Male

Age: 3 Years

Desired Rank: Champion; if not Hunter will suffice.

Desired Pack: Eastern

Bio: The great brute is toned severely with broadened shoulders and muscles to a dearest prime. He is charmed yet grotesque with the things that ride away the shadows to what follow him. His past constantly reigns over his shoulders, watching him and towering their great demons upon him everywhere he goes. Whispers and chants of the one's he killed still call to him, screaming in the highest of pitches like banshees that have escaped Hell, yelling for freedom and reason of why he submitted to the rogue's evil doings. He is blessed with ashen dark tones around the base of his body and paws, lining the sides of his scarred muzzle and underbelly and the ends of his tail. As for the rest, it appears as if the autumn's foliage had painted him with crimson browns, clashing with the blacks and dark grays to an unnatural, yet proven color to what is rarely seen. His heart is no more, and to what he lacks is compassion. He cares for little unless forced, and proves best of his abilities when done alone.

Secret Phrases: Psst.. it's Apocalypse.

Wolf:

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Summary: The dark brute circled the female before him, standing at her straightest, perfection at its finest, blue eyes of great beauty gazing wondrously into his own cold ones. From the tip of her tail to the end of her nose, she was the definition of beautiful, coated in a pelt of crimson browns and ashen whites, whereas he was as black as his soul. The black brute’s snake-like tongue slid from his maw to lick over his long-stained canines, curling his lip in a menacing smile as he praised her every being. Her hips practically begged his attention, radiated by her heat that season, desperately fuming into his nose and telling him to come closer. She was beautiful, but a fool as well, for she cared for him, however, she was a tool, an easy win to his side as it was only a way for him to pass on his seed and move along. Tracing his eyes over her lean angelic frame and legs naturally carved in lean muscles due to the strength and agility she possessed. Under the moonlight’s glow, he neared her and pinned her down beneath her will, hearing her weeps as he forced himself upon her that forsaken night. When he was finished, he shoved her into towards the rest, where she was soon taken into the force of birthing young. As her first litter was presented as only three, they grew strong and healthy, one over-taking the rest as the largest of the group. They had no names, for the mother never had the chance since she was pushed back into hiding soon after her pups left the den. It was the last time they ever saw her. Soon after they were big enough to carry on in the works of an apprentice, the pack threatened all of the litters produced that season into a group and barked at them to fight, testing them for survival in what they had learned naturally by instinct so far. As the tore at each other’s necks and limbs, the larger pup of the one litter tackled another, exiling themselves on their owns by fighting off at each other’s throats. Being led to a cliff, their footing became harder to find, and it turned a bit slippery for them to stand. Finding no advantage for the larger one, he slid backwards, pushed off the side by the pup’s strength and skidded down the steep slope to fall onto a ledge. Thinking that the pup was victorious, it did not last long, only to be found by the brute and taken into his grasp to kill him instantly. The crimson ash pup lay unconscious for a while later, it came late afternoon when he finally rose to his small legs and eventually found the effort to climb down for the hope of finding shelter for the night.

That night, he slept peacefully for a few hours, only to be awaken to howls and menacing growls from every which way direction surrounding him nearby. Fortunately for him, he found an abandoned badger set to rest within, though it was not a lot of protection to hide himself. He heard the leaders voice call over the rest, “There’s a pup somewhere. Find him, that’s an order!.” the rush of thunder pounding large paws filled the air, sniffing the ground and growling in laughter till the leader herself came upon the set. She was young, older than him though, and thin from what he could see. Her ribs could be easily seen through her ivory pelt, scarred by who knows what across her small frame. A cackle from her maw caused the others to raise their heads and near her side, smirking down into the set at the mere pup before them. He eyed them with silence, not afraid of them at all as he sat there and bled from the bite wound to his shoulder. When he walked out, the leader stopped him and pinned him down with one paw, leaning over to glare into his soul. He gasped and whined to be freed, though it was no use. Growling, he bit into her ankle, barely enough, but making her back off somewhat. The goons at her sides snarled threateningly and he stopped in his tracks. The leader watched him for a tad moment and then looked to the others with a fascinated expression, leaning back down at a safe distance from the male pup’s face, “Ya got guts, kid. Next time I wouldn’t be too heroic of ya’ though, could get ya’ into lots of trouble.” She laughed bitterly, chorused by the rest next to her. When they were finished, she nodded her head in approval, a curious brow taking on her small features as he gazed upon the pup, “What’s your name, kid? I'm Sutton” Thinking on the question, he stayed silent, finally raising his head back up to meet her cold silver stare, “Sherlock.”

For years, Sherlock lived the life of a crook, a rogue and thief, the brute was taught how to steal and perform what all was needed to survive by the likes of the three loners, working up to become a devilishly handsome large male. His uses were taken advantage of with his size, put into the position of providing food during the harsh weathers while the band of rogues together terrorized every passing pack they could find. Sherlock had watched them for years do cruel things to the innocent like his mother, for he never forgave them for what they did, and as he grew to his strongest, his revenge on them would be bloody. Sutton, his leader, favored the male from the start, taking credit of the brute's abilities as she truly did nothing besides take him under her wing instead of killing him at his most vulnerable state. They manipulated his mind to believe that killing wolves was natural, that the things they did were necessary to see who deserved to die and live. Those who proved themselves worthy, lived, but it was a rare case when Sutton would let them free. Most were killed,a majority by him himself. He took no sympathy over them, hidden by a mask of nothingness. His leader praised his strengths and made snide remarks to the brutes who envied the younger male.

During the winter, a virus had spread into one of the rogue males when he had been bitten by a wolf they tried to isolate from the pack, spreading it amongst the others of the small band of rogues. Sherlock and Sutton were left to live and ran as fast as they could from the others, letting them slowly die a painful death on their own. They soon sheltered in an abandoned cave, keeping himself at a distance as he still eyed her like the evil fae she was, resting until morn where they would move onto their next victims wherever it may be. As a year passed on, they bickered repetitively and fought to the point of exhaustion until the ivory fae had had enough one day. When she tried to attack him in the mists of night, he woke up in a startled snarl and barked at her threateningly. Finding it was funny, it reminded him of the time she laughed at his small growl from when he was a pup, the night he was found. His blood boiled beneath his glossy honeydew tanned coat, bunching his broad shoulders in a dominant stance as he bared his teeth, slithering a tongue to lick the front of his teeth. As Sutton readied herself the same to charge, he moved faster and pinned her down, tearing at her flesh the best he could until she got him off after so long. Circling her body, Sherlock heard voices in his head that told him to kill her, the senses of a killer taking over as the bloodlust feeling bit into his sides. Attacking, he took his jaws around her neck, hearing her cries for help and the snap her neck to fill the air around them, life escaping her altogether. When everything went silent, his large paws stepped over the body, keeping it under him as he lifted his light brown and white muzzle to the sky, singing out a long howl throughout the land and the heavens for all to hear.

Example Post: Pfft, you know how I write.

Approved!