MAVORIK

The crisp morning air entered and left his lungs, his breath becoming visible before his nose as he sat just on the outside of the territory he had originally sought after. But as fate would have it, it would seem someone had beaten him to it… Just his luck. He felt the fur along his spine beginning to stand on end as his frustration slowly began to surface. Ears were pinned against his skull as he sat there, glaring into the land riddled with ponds and lakes… The marshlands have always been the ones that suited him best. Sure, he enjoyed the forest areas where there was much to hunt and plenty of decent stalking positions. The brush was always providing shadows, as little light managed to break through the tops of the trees, playing trick on the untrained eye. He blended in marvelously with the shadows that the forest provided, his raven black fur mirroring that of a shadow itself. A clever beast, Mavorik was. But just like each and every other individual, he had a history for certain things. Whereas some where known for kindness and warmth, these were not things that Mavorik was known for having. His qualities were far less welcomed and approved. Scars riddled his massive bodice beneath his fur, though there was one scar, three inches across, dubbed upon his right shoulder. A scar that reminded him each and every day of a certain point in his life where things had changed, where he nearly lost his life and honor. But ah, Mavorik was not the sort to go down that easily, and so it was not to much surprise of his own that he managed to pull out a nearly lost victory.

About his form was a air that spoke of forewarning to those who were the sort for simply trotting up and trying to befriend a stranger. The scars were only even more of a hint that he was not the soft and gentle type. He was a beast. A cruel, cold creature that was not deserving of each breath he continued to draw into his lungs. So many were so quick to condemn him. Some were too wary to approach, and took whatever route around him that they could discover. The snarl that always seemed to quake his windpipes was an ever looming sign that he was a nasty thing. A dangerous creature that needed a wide berth. A dominant brute by nature, he tolerated next to nothing of others, and could care less of those poor unfortunate souls that were cut down in his path.

But behind those pearly weapons, and cold, muddy brown eyes, was a creature that would never admit to his own suffering. He took on every single creature that dared to stand in his way with ferocious, tenacious ambition. He was a conqueror. Such was in his blood, hardwired into his mind, the one thing that seemed to drive him forward as strong and unstoppable as a freak train. But with each fight, he hoped for a challenge. He hoped that the fool who stood up to him would be worthy of the skills to strip him of his dying breath. Some thought him insane, how he pleasured the feeling of his own blood trickling freely from beneath his flesh, staining his sable fur. Life was an objective. One that he believed he had lived to its fullest. And he now held yet another objective. To take whatever he had to, to draw attention to himself, to draw forth someone with enough balls to challenge him in a fight to the death. But as any would imagine, not too many were quick to lung at the beast. He was a massive creature, muscle hard worked and strong as steel, fat in places were it needed to be, in the amount that was needed for survival. But no more, and no less. He was not just muscular, but he was big. Weighing in at one-hundred and fifty pounds, he was nothing to laugh at. With his dark, menacing nature, his muscular build, and sheer size, not many were willing to gamble their lives to satisfy his sick wants and desires. But he would find a way, in the end, to bring out the rage in another and get ever closer to that which he so desired to befall him. His bittersweet surrender to this wretched game known as life.

Fed up with sitting, he got to his paws and strode into the territory, his mind made up. If tearing apart the one who claimed this place as theirs was what would lead him to his next fight, then he would do so. He was a beast, an evil creature with sinful intentions. He would rape, he would murder to get whatever he decided he wanted at the time being. Head low, tail high, strides powerful as his paws beat against the soil beneath him, he moved over the land, ears forward, just the tips of his pearly weapons glinting against the autumn sun as he moved deeper into the territory, seeking out the female who dared to think she could rule over that which was wired into his mind as his. Come out, darling, and face the beast of the shadows.

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M A V O R I K
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Male
4 years
Gray Wolf
Sable Fur/Muddy Brown Eyes/3 in. Scar on his right shoulder/150 lbs
Loner
No mate
No Pups