the familliar stranger;-crow.

[cait]

remember who you are

Name: Connor
Nickname(s)/Title(s): Crow (or The Storyteller, Winged Shadow, e.t.c to younger, more impressionable Alliance members)
Age: Nobody knows...
Gender: Male
Species/Breed: Labrador fox (Vulpes v. bangsi)

Personality: Crow is a bit of a dark horse. Not many people know much about him, and he prefers to keep it that way. Despite being a part of the Alliance, he rarely actually talks to anyone around him, and has never told anyone anything about him. Ever. His real name, his age, where he has come from. In doing this, he believes that this makes him safe, as no-one will ever be able to recognise the Connor he left behind, the one with a shadowy past and a terrible future. He will be merely Crow, the eerie controller of the shadows, the storyteller that you can never quite believe.

The Labrador Fox also has an odd sense of humour, finding laughter in carefully thought out stories to plant fear within the listener's brain. He is a master of words, a weaver of complex patterns that astound the mind and confuse the brain. This has left queens and mothers no option but to forbid their childeren to stay away from The Winged Shadow, leading to tales of darkness and murder, mystery and above all shadow that surround him. His very existence is a story in itself, becoming one with his and everybody else's thoughts.

But, despite all the darkness and death, Connor is not all that he seems. He is very lonely, and only stops himself from mingling with others by thoughts of his past. What happened last time he grew close to someone. He longs to be part of the crowd, to be Connor, the slightly odd yet loved member of the circle of friends. But he knows that will never happen. Instead, he continues on his path of lights, longing for the light at the end of the tunnel.

Description: Let's start off with Crow's general build. He is very skinny, and on a bad day of hunting you can see the rib bones showing through his skin. This kind of skeletal appearance fits in with his reputation, and makes it easier to fly. He has long, thin limbs, and a long tail, the only part of him that dosen't seem fragile being his powerfully muscled shoulders, on which are positioned his wings. But more about that later.

His colouring also seems to fit in with the Winged Shadow, his pelt being a darker colour than a normal fox, a darker orange interchanging into nut-brown at the top of his legs, which swiftly changes into deep, irreversible black. He also occasionally has a streak of dark brown or black in his pelt, mainly around his face or in his tail. Hsi claws are also black, and are short and blunt.

His eyes are sunken, and thus are hidden from view in darkness. But when he faces the light, a rare occurence, you make Connor's glossy brown eyes, the colour of tree bark, one of which has a fleck of dark grey close to the pupil. His nose is black, with a spray of black whiskers, and a mouth hiding incredibly sharp teeth.

But the most distinguishing feature of his are his glossy black Crow's wings. Except they are far bigger than those of a normal crow. No-one has measured the true length of these, but they must be big enough to span at least 2 metres, maybe more, and are big enough to propell him into the air for a relatively long period of time, except he almost never uses them. They are lined with glossy black feathers.

where you come from

Group: The Alliance (most of the time)

History: So, the history of Crow. Crow? I cannot tell you the story of the fox you know as Crow. Instead, I can tell you the story of a lost soul. The recently deceased known as Connor.

Connor was born along two sisters and a brother, deep in a forest far, far from here. A young dog fox, he was raised as according to the laws of his kind, by his mother, who taught him the art of the hunt, how to fight, how to win in the great game known as life. He lived an ordinary kithood, scuffling with his kin, getting ready to set his paws out into the great wide world.

It was when he was a youngling, on the brink of adulthood, that his life begun to spin relentlessley out of control.

It was when his brother started it all. It was a summers evening, and the four siblings had gone out for a spot of late-morning wrestling. As Connor's face was pressed into the dust for the fourth time (he was never good at fighting) his brother shouted,

'Connor, you're such a loser!' he moscked. The sisters tittered. And just like that, Connor was on the outside.

Sensing something, the brother continued. 'Bet you're never going to be as good as me!' he crowed. 'You're worthless!' He stalked up to Connor, and thrust his muzzle into his brother's face. 'Can't even fight.' he muttered, and spat in Connor's face.

Now this wasn't the first time. From the very beggining, Connor was always the runt. The reject. His brother was always teasing him, his sisters laughing, his mother shaking her head and sighing.

Oh Connor, will you ever learn?

'Don't worry. I'll learn.' Connor said, and slashed at his brother's face.

Except this time, it was different. Because his claws were out. Blood spurted, and soon, the brother lay dead upon the floor. His siters staring blankly in shock, his mother's voice rising in panic as she raced over the the scene, Connor knew there was only one option.

He turned tail, and ran.

Over hills, over mountains. With each swell of the land, his bitterness and anger, resentment, and bloodthirst, turned into fear and regret, and finally, into cold hard...nothingness. He didn't regret. He didn't resent. He just...stopped feeling.

It was a while before he came to. He was lying on a bed of snow, miles away from where he once lived, starving and cold. He stood up.

And something black and cold stood up with him. He turned, shreiking anger and defiance, until he realised it was...a pair of wings. Big ones, sleek and black and glossy. They were a part of him. And he revelled in it. Trying to fly, it took many attempts, many weeks of carrying the great black appendages upon his fragile shoulders, before he could take to the skies. And he flew, and flew and flew...

He landed. He didn't know where he was. He couldn't remember for a second. Then the murder, the wings...everything came crashing down on him, in a great black wave. He fought it. And it throbbed and grew, and morphed into something...something that he could use. Then a voice behind him threw him into a panic, and he turned and...threw the dark at the dog standing behind him.

After the dog was proclaimed still alive, 'Crow', as they called the disorientated being standing before them, was accepted into the Alliance, it being claimed that, if they left him out, there was no telling what something with that amount of dark power could, or would do, unless instructed. So they brought him in, and questioned him. And he lied, suprised at how the words flew out of his mouth. He remembered. And he tried to forget.

Now, he has regained his composure, but still lives in darkness. In the heart of the factory.

discover your powers

Power: Crow has the power to manipulate and use darkness to his will. The true extent of his powers are currently unknown.
Power Level: 2
Mutations: Wings. (see Appearance and History)

and live your life

Roleplay Sample: do I have to?

before we take it away

Password: fishforreal

[Ginger >>]

Accepted! Amazing character!