Now Playing: He's A Pirate--Pirates of the Carribean
Introduction
The sun is high in the sky, slightly obscured by clouds, as you trek over the pockmarked terrain. You carefully avoid the holes as best as possible, your feet crunching the dead grass that spreads in patches around the area. A chilling breeze suddenly sweeps by, stinging your face, and you intake air quickly.
There are a few mountains that make up the horizon, and you affix your eyes upon it. A bird--maybe a hawk--screeches loudly and dives forward, its talons outstretched to catch a tasty meal. You turn away, and your eyes become trained on a new path that seems to stretch out in front of you. You glance at your watch--the time reads twelve o'clock.
You think to yourself,
I have time to spare. I might as well see where this path goes. And so you start down it, the grass around you becoming less and less dead, more and more green.
Panting reaches your ears, and you jog over a slight rise. Below you is a large grassy field. Your gaze sweeps the region, coming to rest on what looks like a game--played by a diversity of wolves. You creep closer, shivering slightly with anticipation and excitement.
Finally, you are a few yards away from the game. Wolves are racing about, one of them carrying what looks like a leather ball. You watch, amazed, as the wolf leaps over another wolf, only to come up short and be thrown to the ground as the other wolf catches its leg with its teeth. A little blood seeps onto the ground from the small wound, and another wolf lopes to the wolf, yanks the ball out of its mouth, and starts towards the end of the field.
The wolves that seem to be on the same team as the wolf with the ball set up in a formation, trying their best to avoid the opposing team. A wolf howls loudly, and the wolf with the ball tosses its head, letting the ball fly through the air to the other wolf. It catches it with ease and puts on a burst of speed, glancing over its shoulder to see if any wolf were following. You yearn to cry out to the wolf, but you restrain yourself, thinking that they would not understand; the wolf crashes into a larger wolf and has the ball taken from him.
The variety of colored wolves run back and forth, depending on who has the ball, tackling this wolf and blocking another. You raise an eyebrow, realizing that this game is some form of rugby. A few wolves on the sidelines look at you, an angry -disallowed_word-They had me when they were older.) They were one of the reasons I joined the Army in the first place, but let us not go into that until I start explaining about my past.
I do not have a true love, a "crush", or anything along the lines of that. I do not expect to find them here--I have never loved anyone in my life other than my parents. Do not expect me to fall in love easily here, if I fall in love at all...
My Past
My parents wanted me to join the Army, to serve our country and pack. Not only did I join it for them but also because my friends were there, and it seemed fun to try.
In the Army, we were trained long and hard, day and night. Those long, dragging hours seemed to be draped upon our backs like a cape, slowing us down. Rest did not come easy, if we were allowed any at all.
We had one day off, whereupon we would all gather 'round and start a game of rugby. It is a very grueling game--many did get hurt, including me--but it was still fun; it helped keep us in shape, improved our endurance, and let the competitive streak within us burst through.
A year ago, we were sent on our first assignment...in a scorching hot desert. We planted a garrison there, and though I was not the Colonel, I had a small group of soldiers--mainly my friends--that I had authority over, as I was one of the few wolves that could draw up a plan within minutes and apply the necessary tactics. We assumed it was just for practice, and that we wouldn't be sent into war like we had been informed. (The Sergeants tricked us to many times with that idea.)
It turns out we were wrong--deathly wrong.
Two weeks at the post, and we were set up for war, a small battle you could say. I flipped through so many profiles of the wolves we were up against and had spent numerous hours coming up with tactics and plans. We were trained harder than before, near the point of exhaustion. So many of us were frightened, and my best friend, Harry, was labeled a coward when he stepped down from his rank, as he was afraid to go off into war--afraid to die, like the rest of us. Yet, we didn't want to step down at the risk of being labeled a coward as well.
And then, one day--in the midst of dawn--it all began. They came at us with powerful force and pressed on all sides. We all nearly went delirious with fear as we loaded our pistols and readied the swords, shouting out orders that were to be carried through so swiftly and cleanly as we had practiced.
My group and I fought toward the east, cutting down opponent after opponent. Sand entered our eyes, dusted our uniforms, and clouded our nostrils and throat, causing us to choke. We could barely see in the cloud of sand that was kicked up by the oncoming wolves. We fought blindly, narrowly missing each other as we tried to kill another opponent.
One of my friends was killed before my eyes, shot down by another wolf. He had a smile upon his face as he prayed, still standing, and I screamed out, "Jerry!", as I watched him fall.
I can still remember the holes that gaped upon his flank, glistening with his crimson blood as it poured down onto the sand, blackening it. Another friend was wounded badly and was nearly decapitated if it weren't for my accurate aim.
I shot more of the wolves, noticing how small their numbers had become on our side. And for the first time, I had hope, despite the deaths that had occurred before me.
I heard a few more gunshots--loud, repetitive ones--and the noise from the few remaining opposing wolves died with them. I heard them collapse to the ground; the cloud of sand slowly settled, and I could see clearly--though I wished I had not.
The bloody battlefield stretched out before me, the sand darkened with all the blood that had been spilt. Many of my comrades lay on the ground, groaning with agony. Wolves were scattered about, the majority of them dead, their innards spilling over, their eyes still holding that anxious, blood-lust look. My Colonel was on his stomach, horrified. I glanced around once more, the sickening smell of fresh blood and sweat wafting under my nose, and retched on the spot.
Once I had finished retching, I hobbled over to my Colonel, legs swaying beneath me. "Are you alright?" I asked huskily.
The Colonel did not reply immediately; his eyes still gazed at the horrible scene before us. "I--I do believe I am...not fine." He whispered shakily and retched as well, setting off a few other wolves. Not only was the ground black with blood, but stained with our skimpy meals.
I helped gather the standing warriors. We had not lost many--only twenty were killed, twenty-five wounded out of the three hundred and fifty that had been posted here. We gathered our wounded, buried our dead with grief and blurred eyes, and reported back to our General a hundred miles from our garrison.
Our General must have noticed the horrors in our eyes, because he immediately filed reports on our victory. Through that act, we were allowed to go. Relieved, we all were sent home, our shoulders somewhat heavy laden with the deaths of our friends and foes.
For a few months, I stayed home with my parents, caring for them as I recuperated myself. I heard often from my friends, and we conversed for hours--nearly days--about what had happened.
When my parents died, I went back to the Army, the only family I had left, considering that my uncle had been shot in a battle not long after the battle I had gone through.
I asked to be sent on a long-term assignment and was granted permission with the least bit of resistance. Before I left, though, I was raised to Lieutenant Colonel--a large hop from my rank before, much to my great surprise--and had to present a speech. It went along the lines of this:
You may be lost, but you are not forgotten. For those who have travelled far, to fight in foreign lands, know that the soldier's greatest comfort is to have his friends close at hand. In the heat of battle it ceases to be an idea for which we fight. Or a flag. Rather we fight for the wolf on our left, and we fight for the wolf on our right. And when armies are scattered and the empires fall away, all that remains is the memory of those precious moments that we spent side by side.
It touched the hearts of many. I could see tears threatening to spill over many eyelids at the ceremony that was dedicated to those who were lost. I nearly cried in front of the crowd as well, as I remembered the horrible event. My friends were the only ones that pulled me through and helped me prepare for my journey to a distant land.
With that, I was sent here to scout out the country--to serve my country...
About Me
My home is currenly far from here, though I have settled here for a while, as I am on a mission. I do not exactly plan to stay here.
My personality is composed of a few things. I am solemn, due to my training, and am alert every minute, every hour, every day. I am secluded a bit, but I do have moments where I am happy and wish nothing to do but play a game of rugby...
Wolf name: Jack
Eye color: Rich blue
Pelt color: Maroon-type red
Gender: Male
Significant Markings: His whole body is basically red, but he has a brown stripe on each leg, a black stripe below that one, and then the rest of the legs are white, kind of like a 'sock'. The tip of his tail is black, too.
Crystal/Ability: Ruby
Family: His mum and dad died of old age. He has no siblings.
Significant others: None
Background: Jack came from another place far from TSCWP.
Other notes: He has a British accent.
Likes: The Army, sweet-soft music, my Country, silence...
Dislikes: Death, loud music, enemies, disturbance...
Jack Pictures
This is where sketches, drawings, adoptables, and any other kind of pictures of Jack are placed for public view. Enjoy.
NO STICKY PAWS!!!
Coloring by Gold_dragon_101213, Original Template from Neopound
