Freyja

[Freyja]

[bg=d3d6e3][atrb=width,500,true][atrb=border,0,true] Freyja How can I stand my ground when I fall for you? Name: Though her name is now Freyja, a tribute to her brother Frey, she was, once upon a time, known as Eva. This is a history she doesn't share with anyone. Nickname(s): Eva Gender: Female Age: Around four years Species: Arctic/gray wolf mix Eye Color: Aquamarine Pelt Color: Silver when she cares for it, dirty gray otherwise Physical Description: It's scary to think that she was once considered to be beautiful. Did her pelt really used to be radiant, long and silky silver, an argent beacon that gleamed in both the sun and moon akin? Now look at it; encrusted with muck and dirt and grime, unkempt, unwashed, wild and mangy and left to turn an ugly, sepulchral gray, dismal as a funeral, a blister on her once-lovely image. Her eyes, which once used to be tranquil teal seas with calm, lapping waves, now rage with a fierce blue intensity that seemed to send tidal waves crashing against the lenses. Freyja is small, not short but petite, as if her growth had been stunted at a younger age, yet clearly she’s an adult, fully developed down to the last detail. Personality: So malleable, so unstable; she changes like the seasons, endless cycles that rotate like the rising sun and moon. One minute Freyja may be honey, too sweet and desirable for her own good, and the next she bares her teeth in a threatening, violent snarl, fur bristled out so that she appears larger than she is. And, just like a delicate flower, she should be handled with care, or she will crumble to the ground into nothing. History: Mother: Angela (deceased) Father: Atlas (deceased) Brother(s): Frey, Sulfurle (deceased) Sister(s): Brandy (deceased) Past/Current Mate(s): (both past) Kiba, Rykale (deceased) Offspring: Frey [m] (deceased,) Angela [f] (deceased,) Alice [f] (deceased,) Lyric [m] (deceased,) King [m] (deceased,) Aiden [m] [adopted] (unknown) ((I'm summarizing this 'cause it's so long xD)) In the beginning, she was divine. Back then, she was Evita, a silver star against a night sky. And Evita was beautiful. Pleasing to the eyes, a voice of the angels, an aroma like flowers, and desired by every wolf in the Amana pack. Even desired by the Alpha's own son, Kiba. She caught his attention one day on a search for her younger brother, Frey, and he joined her in her hunt. This was when she was five months old. They began spending more and more time together, and slowly she developed feelings for him, though she was too young to realize or recognize the burning inside her heart. In a horrible twist of fate, when she was six months old, the metaphorical kindling within became real, and she woke to find the pack lands ablaze, the sky hidden by a thick layer of smoke. As Kiba attempted to steer her from the crackling, popping fire, she fought against his dictations, scrambling to search out her mother, her brothers, her sister, her family would die alone. The two stole away into the night, away from the harsh, amber glow of the fire, away from the falling embers and smoldering grass, fleeing the heat that charred their pelts. She abandoned Kiba, as much as she cared for him, because he was a sore reminder of what once was, and what was now gone. She even changed her name to Freyja in honor of her littlest brother, whom she thought to be dead. She kept on the move, barely able to hunt for herself, and forced herself to develop a taste for berries and leaves. All the while, Freyja kept her sterling silver pelt polished and clean, her prized possession and all she had left of her former life as Evita. When she was one year old, she stumbled upon the Moonfang pack. The Moonfang pack was a group of wolves with strange accents, kind-hearted creatures who welcomed her with arms wide open into their family. Though it was no Amana pack, the Moonfang spelled home, and that was what Freyja wanted most of all. Her first night there she curled up in the den in the only spot available, next to a handsome male wolf. In the morning, he woke her up with a "Who the hell are you and why the hell do you look so beautiful?" and she was surprised to find that he had no accent, unlike the other wolves here. Startled, she started to give him her old name, but quickly rectified the mistake and told him her new epithet. But the wolf had caught her slip up and revealed who he was - Kiba. Again the two became great friends together, both finally mature enough to realize their feelings for one another. He told her he loved her, and she echoed the words in return. And with that, he asked her to bear his kin - to become his mate. Elated, she accepted, and that night they bonded, joining together in an act more ancient than the trees around them. Spring rolled around and she gave birth to two puppies, one male, one female. She named them after her mother and brother, Angela and Frey. One night, Freyja awoke to no Kiba, and she couldn't hear her pups' hungry barks. The stench of death, blood and decay crashed into her tender scent glands, clawing at the membranes in her nose, and with a building sense of dread the mother left the den. At first she didn't see it, but when her eyes adjusted to the dim nighttime light, she spotted it. Strewn across the earth were body parts, the ground speckled by crimson pools of oxidizing blood. The odor hit her like a rock, smashing into her. Heart racing, fear building, she realized with horror that this was her pack, her new family! And then she saw them, just their heads . . . little Frey and Angela. Dead. Dead. She ran, she cried, she screamed her throat hoarse and sore. She cried for her mother, she cried for her siblings, she cried for Kiba - where was her precious mate now? - and hell, she even cried for her father. When her wits returned to her, and she could think coherently, and when her tears could no longer fall, Freyja began traveling again. She barely ate, her darkening, dirtying pelt clinging to her sides, ribs protruding her filthy skin. Around the age of two years old, Kiba found her again, and she was bereft of hope and dignity, a pitiful sight to behold. He told her how much he missed her, and how he came back to a massacre, but she just looked away, shell shocked. When he got no rise from her, Kiba became forceful, trying to get her to react to him. As time dragged on, he became more and more violent, finally succumbing to his libido and raping her. Violated, hurt, and abandoned to cry herself to sleep. By the next morning, when she woke, reality had crashed down on Freyja. Kiba had been the one to kill the Moonfang pack, to slaughter her precious puppies, and they were his own flesh and blood! The tears amassed, pouring to the ground, as she began to move, trying to go as far away as possible from where he had exacted his will upon her. Leaving her former home forever, she headed into the sun. At the age of two, she came upon new lands that boasted four packs: Amonke, Hisao, Hache Hi, and Chineseo. The knowledge that there were other wolves so near chilled her to the bone. But hungry, weary, exhausted, she crawled into a stray snow bank, curled up, and slept. And that's how Rykale found her - alone, shivering, and starving. Despite her weaknesses, however, she stood her ground, bracing herself for a fight with the loner. As was her wont, she showed him constant lapses in moods, swinging from acceptance to hatred. She could tell he read the scars that formed her insanity, and she could also tell that he was determined to save her. But what if she didn't want to be saved? He sought her out day after day, acting the best friend, and eventually Freyja came to accept it. She never told him of her history until one day the two came upon Kiba. Fear stabbed at her - he had followed her here? - but in the blink of an eye, Rykale had jumped to her defense, grappling with Kiba. Eventually he fended the bastard off, and the two, battle-weakened, sat down with one another and talked. Freyja explained her past, who she really was, who she had been, and explained what Kiba had done. It took almost seven months, but eventually Rykale captured Freyja's heart. She not only fell for him, she crashed head-first into the ground. He imposed a sense of safety upon her, and once more her pelt gleamed a beautiful silver, her eyes bright and sparkling, and the she-wolf was full of life. Rykale took over the Hache Hi pack, becoming the Alpha, and at last courting Freyja to be his mate. He made a show of it, erecting a mound of flowers, fruits, and foliage in her honor, hoping it would win her over - and it worked. Though the Hache Hi pack had no alpha female, the two ruled side by side, even conceiving heirs to the throne. It was the happiest time of her life. And then it all happened again; Freyja came back from hunting to find Rykale and her pups dead. It was the Moonfang pack all over again; thanking her lucky stars that it seemed that no other pack members had died, Freyja once more was devastated, still bereaved of tears, unable to cry anymore, unable to scream, devoid of all emotion, numbed by the years. Without looking over her shoulder, she left, alone again. Entropy had struck again, once more too close for comfort. And now, almost a year later, Freyja still travels, more weary than ever, almost even paranoid... ((wait, that's a summary? )) RP Example: The clamor the rogue made as Duskclaw hurled toward it was almost as harsh as the foul odor exuded, a revolting reek that clogged Bittercold's scent glands. Sneezing helped only slightly to clear the stench from her nose. She squinted, aquamarine eyes locking on the vagabond, her muscles quivering with impatient anticipation. It only took a few heartbeats to wait for the perfect opening. Finally, the moment came. She kicked off the ground, her pads leaving deep imprints in the earth, nebulae of dirt and dust particles veiling her wake as she became airborne. The renegade cat backed away from its current opponent, unaware of the tabby she-cat as it sized up Duskclaw. Already it was panting, shaking with weariness as it threw feeble blow after blow at the gray warrior. Trying to convince herself that she didn't feel the briefest of pangs of sympathy for the rogue, she bowled into it, knocking it away from Duskclaw and flat on its flank. Pinning dark ears back to her skull, the she-cat hissed, saliva spraying her enemy's ragged face. "Get out of our territory, you lowlife scum!" she spat, venom dripping from each word. As she sliced her claws along its filthy skin, she felt blood well into the spaces between her toes, soaking into her paws and fur. Wounds, no doubt from her Clanmate, blemished its torn pelt, and the damage she dealt only added insult to injury. With one last frenzied screech, she drove thorn-sharp nails into its cheek, leaving four thin trails of crimson gore, a finishing move that struck fear in the ruffian's otherwise dull eyes. Using what had to be its last mite of strength, the feral cat slammed its hind legs with rather surprising into her shoulder. Bittercold flew through the air, leaving in her path a silent scream. With carried momentum, the tabby crashed into a large oak tree. Leaves of golden, brown, and dying green colors danced to the ground, showering her in a blanket of leaf-fall foliage. Without allowing Duskclaw to catch up, the rogue ran. Gasping for the breath that had been knocked from her lungs, she laid there, allowing her umber eyelids to fall shut. Her flanks heaved with effort while the rest of her remained stationary. Luckily, she had had Duskclaw with her; he had dealt the brunt of the damage against that rogue, no doubt. Nope, he'd never let her live this down . . . Where Did You Find Us? Wolfwarriorash - Ashers Bio Sheet Created by Rachy

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