Rumulus | warrior |

Name: Rumulus
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Name Pronunciation: Ru-m-ul-es-
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Alias: Rum
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Gender: Male
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Sexual Orientation: pansexual
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Age: 3 years and 4 months  
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Status: Alive
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Health: Healthy

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rank wanted: warrior

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Feminine


Grandmothers: Unknown
Mother: quartz (deceased)
Sisters: Unnamed



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Masculine


Grandfathers: Unknown
Father: Shadow (deceased)
Brothers:  Denali (deceased)

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Appearance

Height: 35'
Weight: 170 Lb
Fur Texture: Smooth
Fur color: Mixed shades of browns, black, and whites
Eye color: Citrine (left eye), Aquaman ( right eye)



Overall- At first glance, one would take note of the various scars scattered along the brute's form above anything else. Running down the right side of his neck roughly halfway is a jagged scar less than a quarter inch wide from his near death experience. Unfortunately, due to improper healing, the flesh surrounding it became numb and he lost all feeling in the area making it difficult to detect injury to that side of his neck. It is one of the more prominent disfigurements of flesh that his body is laced with, most of which can be seen easier on his face and snout area with the rest covered by his fur. Rum's black pelt melts into a mix of dark browns that appear much richer in direct sunlight as opposed to his home in the shadows. Once one looks past the ruggedness of the male the next, and perhaps more pleasant feature, they can rest their eyes on would be a pair of warm honey gold hues staring back. Aside from looking a little gnarly and having an intriguing gaze Rum is on the average side as far as height is concerned standing roughly seventy-seven centimeters at the shoulder. His build is mostly toned, borderline lean even, making him certainly not one of the strongest wolves but still very capable.


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Personality
Rum was once a gentle soul that became polluted when havoc rained down upon him and everything he ever cared for. The pain and suffering he endured caused a dark and twisted version of himself to surface and take root. Now he has no remorse, no sympathy for the weak and he sure as hell has no problem following orders that result in bloodshed. If he has something to say he will say it with little to no hesitation barely having a filter between his thoughts and his mouth which often leads him into trouble. This also is more than likely why he cannot seem to keep friends either as scarce as they are.

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history
Rum was born into a simple, traditional pack to a pair of warriors alongside a brother, Denali, and an unnamed sister who died shortly after birth due to unknown complications. Growing up he and his brother were always in competition with one another whether it be a show of strength or a battle of wits and each tried their hardest to prove they were better than the other. Denali excelled in fighting whereas Rum tended to show him up when it came to hunting and the tactics that it required. Despite how much his father wished that Rum would follow his brother and pursue warrior status, he was accepting when it came time for the boys to start their training. Still yet, the two always were up for showing off new skills at the end of days worth of training. Their apprenticeships had well prepared them for the day that they were finally able to take up their own ranks within the pack and make their parents exceptionally proud of the wolves that they had raised. The brothers remained close into their adulthood and even ended up settling down with a pair of sisters at the age of three.


Cannibals.


That was what the lot of them had become. The amount of prey within their valley had dwindled down to nearly nothing at various neighboring packs had either consumed most of or chased their food source to other lands. A wolf was lucky to get scraps and bones and that was on a good day. Each morning he along with a few other males would push beyond the territory borders in hopes of finding even a few measly rabbits and run the chance of ambush from the rivaling packs all of which were no better off than them. All was worth it to feed the weak and young of the pack, risks that they were willing to take in order to survive that harsh and unforgiving winter. Never had such a cruel season rest upon their land in well over a decade, and it couldn't have struck at a worse time. The first patrol had returned a few hours before Rum's unit, within those precious few hours all hell broke loose within the superiors who shared different opinions on what the pack should do. Most suggested moving to a new territory in hopes of more bountiful prey. Others argued to stay as the territory had been home to the pack for dozens of generations and they were not about to abandon it and when they could not find common ground fangs were unsheathed.


Brother turned on brother.


When he and his splinter group returned there was only havoc, blood was painted on the camp, bodies, and limbs are strewn about. Everyone had just.... Snapped. He watched as his comrades, his friends, his loved ones, were ripped apart and devoured while they were still alive. All it took was the taste of blood on their tongue and some sick, cannibalistic monster came out in the wolves that had once been his packmates. It was a sight that dwelled only in nightmares, that plagued the darkness of one's thoughts, and all he could do was stand there in the blistering cold and watch paralyzed with shock and confusion. Those savages dragged his mate out of their den and pinned her down while one tore her right open to rip out their unborn young while she screamed out for them to stop or for someone to help. It was all gurgled towards the end. The wolf holding her by the throat promptly ended her life as the others continued to feast upon her corpse.


A large brute had taken him by surprise and tackled him down into the snow snarling and snapping his jaws as Rum struggled underneath him. Blood dripped down on the black-furred male's face from his attacker; his own brother, whom no longer was the same wolf that he once knew. This male had a crazed and rabid look in his pale yellow eyes that wanted to see nothing more than death and blood, he too had turned into a cannibal like the rest of them had. The two struggled in the snow exchanging fangs into flesh and spilling each other's blood upon the white blanket that coated the ground around them. Rum knew that there was no way he was going to bring back the male that he had grown up with, his brother had become lost inside the savage that was now pinned beneath him."I'm sorry, Denali..." His fangs buried deep into the other's neck, he tightened his jaws and held on as the wolf beneath him still fought for those last few precious moments before his body went limp and finally no movements came. Everything and everyone that he had ever cared about was gone or dying somewhere across the blood-soaked forest that had been his home since birth. His parents were off somewhere being ripped apart, his mate now being consumed by a pair of warriors and his brother's body laid beneath him in a bloody heap.


At least a choice was made even if it was more forcible and less desirable than anyone would ever want. He had no other option but to leave his home in all its blood-soaked glory. There had been no time to bury bodies nor did he even hesitate to look back as he turned tail and ran from the chaos. It was several weeks later when he found himself crossing into an unfamiliar land that would soon become his home though not after a swift beating for his trespassing. The wolves that he had found were the exact opposite of the ones he had grown up with and lived with, these canines were ruthless and cruel. He spent much time proving himself to them before they would allow him entrance and even then they forced him to do unspeakable things. Malakai had been assimilated after many moons and during that time he slowly lost who he had once been. They made him fight till either he collapsed or they were satisfied that his training was done for the time being. Day in and day out they pushed him to limits he didn't know existed in order to turn him into a suitable fighter. By long, he was participating in forest raids taking from weaker packs often killing the majority of the ones that attempted to defend them against the invaders. This was what his life had become well into his fourth year of life and remorse had fled his vocabulary. Only the strong were to survive and the weak were to perish, they were there to ensure it and take resources in the process.


It was during what would be a final invasion that once again disaster struck. Rum found himself surrounded and with the nearest platoon already retreating without him he was prepared to give it his all and put up one last good fight. He had managed to defend himself against two of the three before he fell to the ground and felt a sharp pain at the side of his neck. Everything had gone black and he had one fleeting thought thinking that this was the end of his terror and what his brother must have felt while he was dying. In a sick way, it was comforting to him. When he awoke some time that next morning he was certainly confused and very much in pain from his near death experience. Rum didn't understand why he wasn't dead. He laid there and listened pondering whether or not they were just off watching him somewhere to finish the deed when he tried to get up. The forest seemed as dead as he thought he had been, nothing moved not even the wind. Silence fell upon the land as if it giving the dead a final respectful moment. Hauling his own mangled self out of the territory was a challenge that took what little remaining strength he had left. Rum forced himself to make the final push home where either he'd be put down for being critically injured or they'd see past it and try to save such a valuable asset to their pack. He was almost there when the scent of smoke began to infiltrate his nostrils.


Losing a home once is hard enough, losing it twice though... Rum was devastated. He put his heart and soul into making a life for himself in that forest that was slowly becoming just a place for the ash collect. If he had something that was too good to be true, it more than likely was going to crumble under his paws. Rum wasn't ready to move on but he had to. He had to keep going as salvation was not as close as he had once thought. His will to survive kept him going and somewhere deep inside he had a flicker of hope that he'd run into a familiar face. Using what little knowledge of healing he had to clean his wounds and patch himself up, Rum stuck to himself for a while after resorting to scavenging or stealing prey while his strength came back to him. He hated having to use weak tactics but once he was back to his full potential he chose to once more seek out a suitable place to live after spending several moons on his own.


In conclusion, Rum was once a gentle soul that became polluted when havoc rained down upon him and everything he ever cared for. The pain and suffering he endured caused a dark and twisted version of himself to surface and take root. Now he has no remorse, no sympathy for the weak and he sure as hell has no problem following orders that result in bloodshed. If he has something to say he will say it with little to no hesitation barely having a filter between his thoughts and his mouth which often leads him into trouble.

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Limitations


Physical
Height: 91%
Weight: 86%
Muscular: 83%
Fatness: 27%
Strength: 97%
Speed: 35%
Flexibility: 46%
Self-Healing: 64%


Mental:
Maturity: 96%
Knowledge: 78%
Stability: 81%
Intimidating: 94%
Intelligence: 65%
Pride: 80%
Headstrong: 98%
Stubborn: 92%
Aggressiveness: 89%
Sensitivity: 11%


Skills:
Fighting: 98%
Running: 44%
Swimming: 46%
Agility: 76%
Reflexes: 87%
Stamina: 93%
Balance: 88%


Senses:
Scent: 71%
Sight: 87%
Hearing: 77%