Post by Deleted on Jul 4, 2013 23:02:55 GMT -5
NIBELHEIM VON SPITZ
“When you know what a man wants you know who he is, and how to move him.”
| My Own Art |
Full Name: Nibeheim von Spitz
Nicknames: Nibel
Age: Sixteen
Gender: Male
Orientation: Asexual
Associated With: Nightfall
Human: Queen Xyla played by Anaiu
Magic Ability:
Telepathy – do not mistake it for simple mind reading, it is a much more delicate art that he’s not yet grasped. No, Nibelheim can converse mentally with his mistress, Queen Xyla. Their minds have a constant link to one another that allows them to sense one another’s thoughts, forefront emotions and occasionally dreams if they are strong enough. His link to her is private and others cannot intrude. However, he can create the same link between himself and another via a blood exchange and that link too will be a private one. He does have the capacity to project his thoughts, making it a general touch of other’s minds to articulate himself rather than actual speech but they cannot talk to him in kind unless their response is said aloud.
Shadow Manipulation – a rather expensive skill but one that is infinitely useful, Nibelheim can control the shadows that roll across floors, walls, and uneven surfaces provided they are large enough and thick enough that his incorporeal form can manifest from. He cannot conjure himself through blades of grass or leaves or stones, the shadows he needs must be a respectable size for him to make use of. He can protrude parts of his body – like his head – through smaller shadows however. This obscure ability allows him to travel with little means to detect him by but unfortunately this skill is costly during the day time when the abundance of light softens the shadows. During nightfall there show more leniencies and the use of this power is less exhausting. He can travel with no more than two additional people to other locations and they must maintain physical contact with him to do so. Anymore than that exhausts him and he risks either losing one of his passengers (or pieces of them) or falling unconscious. His shadows can also act as ropes, using tendrils to wrap around the limbs of an opponents shadow to hold them in place. This, like everything else, weakens during the day and is nonexistent when the sun is at it’s peak.
Fur Color: russet/brown
Eye Color: ginger/gold
Height: Six feet
Weight: Four hundred and seventy-eight pounds
Basic Build: Nibelheim’s build is what you would expect of an animal whose sole prerogative is to prevail in combat. Like many of his kin he is of massive stature, bred to carry his weight in addition to a passenger if not two. The length of his body is no less baffling than his overall size, from nose to tail he borders on almost ten feet. Speaking of his tail, it’s total length is nearly three feet long, thickly furred and bearing a crimson mark of its own. His shoulders are broad and his chest is a swelled cavity of thick muscle. Nibelheim is, above all else, a fighter and his physique – while it cannot be described as athletic – is one befitting a warrior.
Permanent Markings: He sports a few choice markings that distinguish him. The most noticeable would be the twin slashes that curve beneath the corner of each eye, seemingly more vibrant than his other identifying marks by the accentuated glow of his eyes. Another stroke of crimson cuts around the broad expanse of his shoulders and it curves toward his neck. The last sets of marks are found on the lengthy train that is his tail. The first is a complete ring of red, beneath it a waxing moon crescent and a final dot sitting in it’s navel.
Other:
Personality: This is one individual who holds a great investment in knowledge. Anyone can be a soldier but how many of them have the mental capacity to be more than fodder for the canon? As they say, the pen is mightier than the sword. While his ultimate lack of thumbs hinder his pursuits on both counts the adage itself holds. Nibelheim’s understanding, societal, cultural and political, are things from observation and study. He is the studious sort and doesn’t like to leave too much to fate or chance – anomalies only serve to exacerbate a situation and not always favorably. Besides, why let percentages rule when one can influence their environment to suit their needs?
Some (see All) would confirm that the dark creature is a swindler, a cad and a trickster who feels no use in holding large, cumbersome virtues or dispensing morality like a priest his sermons. It is his opinion that the agenda he carries – or the one of his Master – are equivalent to a divine mandate. He is an ambitious schemer and seeing plans come to fruition takes precedence to most everything else but better than anything is making sure that the players involved do not stray from their roles.
In his mind’s eye, Nibelheim has determined that every individual has a set function they need to properly convey. Be it the bumbling soldier to the disdainful noblewoman, they mustn’t deviate from their roles and he takes great satisfaction in seeing that they act appropriately. Better when he does not have to directly interfere of course but on the occasion where they might derail from their mold he is all too happy to nudge them into place with false of authentic evidences. Stirring dissent or disillusionment are two things he is notably good at and his subtly in achieving both is admirable if it weren’t for the fact he is likely to exploit both friend and foe.
And that too brings to light something less complimentary to his position at the Queen’s side. Nibelheim does not view those in his company as peers, partners or colleagues, none have the right to be considered his equal be they man or beast. His respect while he addresses them may be courteous and he may be charismatic, the point stands – none shall ever reach his level. He holds himself far above them to ever consider them on equal standing regardless of the rank they hold nor does he perceive them friend or ally. The soul being such a fickle thing, today’s supporter could be tomorrow’s antagonist so why invest more than absolutely necessary?
His tactical mindset is not offset by his brutality or prowess in combat; it is a supplementary gain if nothing else. What better is a soldier who can think freely without direction to one who constantly needs an order before initiative is taken? Age and experience has bled out rashness and impertinence leaving him collected and relatively composed, rarely angered but easily offended. He retaliates with barbed words, clever manipulations and cunning to see that those who rise out of their station are keenly aware that though Xyla Rivenwood rules them, so too does he.
His likes and dislikes are to be expected. Nibelheim enjoys the misery of his enemies (or the occasional ally as it may be) and is greatly offended by strong connections between his Queen and other males. He is particularly possessive of any who have a link to him and is guard and protector to them. He idolizes his Mistress, she can do little wrong in his eyes but he doesn't let her glory blind him completely to her faults. He wants whatever her heart desires and feeling pride in knowing she will consult him when her worries take hold. He enjoys the responsibilities that weigh his shoulders and is impossibly loyal to the crown and all it encompasses.
Mother: N/A
Father: N/A
Siblings: N/A
Other Significant Others: N/A
History: That which occurred yesterday is as much history as the events that have come and gone many moons past, no less significant or any less vital as the happenings responsible for his shaping. Perhaps by that definition the word ‘history’ has taken an entirely different lilt where Nibelheim is concerned. Now the vowels hiss with a woman’s romanticism and croon with a man’s easy negligence. However between the peaks of two different – albeit obtuse – depictions, that which has been christened ‘his history’ are instances that he acknowledges as deciding factors in how the ‘he’ of yesterday became different from the ‘he’ of tomorrow.
The trim thread that he has conditioned his dividing line naturally begins within the hallow walls of his birth. Under normal circumstances, he must now confess, that his cognizance was better grasped by him than his would-be siblings. The similarities between himself and his blood-brothers and sisters are not so few but there were just as many differences. His physical development did not deviate from nature’s predetermined schedule, he crawled when they crawled, suckled fiercely as they did, his deafness and blindness cured in the following weeks of having entered the world. And what a world!
It was that initial glimpse of the space, its stone walls not quite comforting and grayed atmosphere marginally inhospitable, that he cannot shake from memory. And that therein lays a clue to the strangeness of his being. Barely three suns after his eyes had begun to peer at everything did he begin to think with true clarity, his self-awareness finely tuned and containing a frame of cognizance that his siblings did not share. It was possibly the most frustrating peculiarity at the time.
Nibelheim, for all his budding intelligence, couldn’t articulate many of his desires or observations. Things he would have liked to question he couldn’t convey adequately. His only method for garnering the attention he wanted was little more than whimpering and keening louder than his siblings until an adult humored his squalling. Unfortunately anything more complex than “I’m hungry” “I’m wet” or “I’m being squished” were reliant on frustratingly mundane gestures. What he couldn’t pantomime or grumble out was just as easily dismissed as fussiness. It was an aggravating time to house a mind too developed for the vessel which it occupied.
The concept of time didn’t hold much foundation in him. He kept his own hours typically (that or was forced into wakefulness from rowdy siblings) so the phases between the sun and moon weren’t significant to him. What he was certain of though was that he felt…empowered, when the sun went down. Only in later years and further exploration of himself did he come up with the answer but it was a perplexing situation that he was often wide awake and bursting with energy while his littermates snored around him. It was a night very much like all others when the kidnapping…cubnapping(?) occurred.
He had been half awake, listening to the tune of crickets in the grass or the soft hoot of some bird he couldn’t name, when dark shapes, human shapes, formed in the corridors. At first he thought nothing of it. Aurora was teeming with the same hairless bipeds of different shapes and equally varying sizes, all of whom had a duty and many he’d surmised were guarding their ‘den’. However, never before had their appointed guardians entered the chamber before nor had they made contact without consent of their mother or one of their human Alphas. So imagine Nibelheim’s surprise when hands gripped his scruff and tossed him into a rucksack that smelled like a horse stable. What made matters worse was that he was the first to be snatched and thus the two additional pups gathered by their anonymous assailants all but crushed him under their pudgy puppy fat.
The incident was far from silent; he certainly wasn’t going to quietly endure such rough treatment! Who did these humans think they were to toss him about like a parcel?! Indignant, Nibelheim had erupted in a cacophony of counterpoint wails that were soon chorused by the two other captives, for all the good it did them. No matter how he screeched it was as though the world had shrunken to nothing but the sack they were being jostled in, their cries seemingly falling on deaf ears. How could this be? Why were these things happening?
Surmise to say that the bandits who had ripped them away from the familiar touch of family and kin were able to escape into the night with their bounty. The journey was disorienting and confusion and terror mingled like serpents in his belly as he swung uncomfortably at the bottom of his itchy satchel.
Relief, misinterpreted as it was, came when the bag was overturned and he and the other two pups tumbled free of the rucksack. The nerve of these humans! Didn’t they realize they were to be handled gently? His mother, uncles and aunties had all sang praises of the gift that was a wolf, that the humans looked at them with reverence. So why then were they being treated so unkindly? If he’d had the reach he’d have bitten the swine who tried to pick him up but luckily (for both of them) he was gripped by someone else, a fourth and similarly unfamiliar individual.
Even to this day he could remember the scent of her skin, the way she exuded power, the sinuous lilt of her voice. It had left him frightened, breathless and intrigued. Nobody had affected him this way and he was curious of the sensation coiling in him. Instinct growled at him to seek retribution but also to seek the connection; logic demanded he inspect the woman-child further. Primitive impulses prevailed as they so often do and he bit the wrists of the woman he would soon come to call Her Majesty.
The sharpness of his teeth broke the skin and he tasted blood for the first time, sweet and heady. It had been just as startling as everything else the night had to offer but more so than that was the near immediate shift he felt occur. His mind now felt heavy with a foreign presence and instinctually he tried to reject the alien fixture that had lodged itself in his personal antechamber. Why were they doing this? What did they want? Who were they? Where had they taken them? Where was mother? Inquiries tumbled over the newly established link – not necessarily so eloquent or concise but his psyche held the air of question and answers, while not quickly received, were given over time. One thing that he did not mind, even with the breath of fear ghosting over his neck, was that his thoughts were not longer purely his.
He had been so lonely. If he were to say that he wasn’t it would have been a lie so blatant even the devil couldn’t be convinced to tell it. His lonesomeness borne from his accelerated development was as much blessing as it was curse for knowledge is nothing with no one to relate it to. Now he suddenly had a single life form to converse with, a lone entity who would understand him, who would listen and speak with him as he wanted, even with the link shaky and new. He could not have been convinced to give it up and shamelessly he’d clung to it, seeking refuge and harbor in the strange but not unwelcome contact.
Xyla, the lovely lady with curls like the sunset horizon, whose intensity and passion moved the men around her, was his confidant and he was hers. In the years spent together between learning of each other and of the realm that trapped their fates, Nibelheim watched with no shortage of awe in how she conducted herself. She was not heavy-handed with her subjects but her firmness left no room for argument, her beauty enthralled all to her side and the seductress that she was coaxed many men to do her bidding with a promise of better things. But beneath the fieriness of her day to day life was a bitterness that ran cold and loneliness similar but vastly different from his.
Dreams and thoughts exchanged and he was given the knowledge of how she’d come to be an urchin in the streets with not a gold piece to her name. Her story of tragedy, bereavement and strength were inspirational – even if he never alluded to as much – and it became something of a fixation for him.
Nibelheim had a love for how the mind operated, how the soul of man could be born a mouse and evolve to become a lion. What circumstances encouraged these drastic shifts, he’d wondered. Curious of these things the youthful canine had seen fit to test those around him. One of his favorite pastimes was silent observation of his ‘peers’ – a term he used liberally at best. He found puzzles in seeing what triggered responses, what urged man or beast to react to their environment and those in it. It became something of a game if he were to be wholly honest. He would do things. Little nonsensical things like hiding a scabbard or a shoe, maybe a document if he could be bothered to be careful not to drool on it. And he would watch how they would fumble at the loss, rant and grow frustrated and argue amongst themselves. It was such fun!
Naturally his innocuous pranks grew more elaborate with age, became crueler with knowledge of how to manipulate. Soon he was tactfully directing his subjects – none could hope to be as grand of perspective as he after all – and basked in the glow of his achievements. Sure there were instances where his deeds failed and his actions brought to light, punishments and scolding received as harshly as they dared but they were no deterrents. If anything it compelled him to try harder, to learn to be smoother in his temperament and to act less in the foreground and linger behind the scenes.
It was in this that he came into his powers. While true his ability to communicate telepathically with Queen Xyla had since strengthened and progressed into general thought projection, it was not the pinnacle of what he could do. It was a slow discovery and purely accidental but Nibelheim found that he was the embodiment of Nightfell for his powers revolved around the manipulation of shadows themselves. He could melt into any surface provided the shadow was large and thick enough to house him. He could travel through them twice as quickly as he could on foot and reemerge in his location with little to no detection. The execution of these skills naturally were costly, sapping him of energy and strength in his early years but he soon achieved a median where he could operate without overwhelming fatigue, the process made infinitely easier if it was night.
Just as he was getting the hang of his newfound abilities Xyla, the woman who bedded many of her male subordinates, became pregnant. Nibelheim, for all his love for the woman-child turned Queen, had never particularly like that particular facet of her. It was one thing to flirt with her cohorts but another to let those of lower standing find their pleasures in her body. He found it gross and demeaning but stayed his tongue, in a ways grateful to the little King Alistair for pigeonholing her behavior by putting a child in her. At the same time he was very displeased with it.
Finicky as he was with everything else Nibelheim was also very possessive. Xyla had been HIS first, not in the romantic sense or even in the way an owner sees his property, but they had been bonded first. Her marriage to Alistair made his hackles rise, feeling threatened by the more widely accepted union than the one he shared with her. He went out of his way to undermine the kindly King, sneered at him whenever he was able, mocked or questioned his thinking when among his peers. Reprimands fell on his shoulders for causing dissent and he resentfully backed off, distancing himself from the humans and seeking impermanent comforts in the wolves around them.
He used their bodies to ease his roiling mind, sired a litter or two of his own but played no great role in their upbringing. It was not his interest and babes were received with mild disdain or outright indifference. Why would he want such burdens? Instead when he found canine companionship to be just as unsatisfying as the one he had with humans, he prowled their meager lands purposelessly. He would patrol, ponder idly or watch little lady Keira as she babbled and cooed in her crib. Strangely, the latter option became rather invested in the infant, so much so that every so often when he disappeared he would be found lurking under her crib. Something about the baby was just soothing and he reveled in it without question.
The years passed before and their lives changed. Xyla and Alistair’s reign, while imperfect, was nothing to underestimate. They had made subsequent advances on Aurora and after three years of testing the strength of their adversaries made a full out assault on their castle. He’d warned of overconfidence, his warnings went unheeded much to his chagrin. But he was rewarded. Victory was snatched from them as Aurora’s forces overpowered their battalion and though their Queen was dead so too had many of their warriors. Their King having met his fate on the battlefield – something that pleased Nibelheim unendingly.
He refused to rejoice while in the presence of his Queen both out of respect for whatever capacity of love she’d felt toward the gullible sovereign and because he feared she would think he’d conspired his death out of jealousy. He comforted her as best he could, guarded her fitful sleep and watched as her youthful fire burned colder by the day. He liked how her cruelty had ignited but he feared the consequences of her brashness. With this observation he petitioned to not simply be her Wolf and protector but also her council in matters of state. His world would not supersede her own but he hoped to direct her thirst for vengeance so that it did not lead them all to ruin.
OOC Name: synchronicity
Other Characters: n/a
How You Found Us: ad posting on another site
Otgher: Shadow and Tall Trees - Theme song
Nicknames: Nibel
Age: Sixteen
Gender: Male
Orientation: Asexual
Associated With: Nightfall
Human: Queen Xyla played by Anaiu
Magic Ability:
Telepathy – do not mistake it for simple mind reading, it is a much more delicate art that he’s not yet grasped. No, Nibelheim can converse mentally with his mistress, Queen Xyla. Their minds have a constant link to one another that allows them to sense one another’s thoughts, forefront emotions and occasionally dreams if they are strong enough. His link to her is private and others cannot intrude. However, he can create the same link between himself and another via a blood exchange and that link too will be a private one. He does have the capacity to project his thoughts, making it a general touch of other’s minds to articulate himself rather than actual speech but they cannot talk to him in kind unless their response is said aloud.
Shadow Manipulation – a rather expensive skill but one that is infinitely useful, Nibelheim can control the shadows that roll across floors, walls, and uneven surfaces provided they are large enough and thick enough that his incorporeal form can manifest from. He cannot conjure himself through blades of grass or leaves or stones, the shadows he needs must be a respectable size for him to make use of. He can protrude parts of his body – like his head – through smaller shadows however. This obscure ability allows him to travel with little means to detect him by but unfortunately this skill is costly during the day time when the abundance of light softens the shadows. During nightfall there show more leniencies and the use of this power is less exhausting. He can travel with no more than two additional people to other locations and they must maintain physical contact with him to do so. Anymore than that exhausts him and he risks either losing one of his passengers (or pieces of them) or falling unconscious. His shadows can also act as ropes, using tendrils to wrap around the limbs of an opponents shadow to hold them in place. This, like everything else, weakens during the day and is nonexistent when the sun is at it’s peak.
Fur Color: russet/brown
Eye Color: ginger/gold
Height: Six feet
Weight: Four hundred and seventy-eight pounds
Basic Build: Nibelheim’s build is what you would expect of an animal whose sole prerogative is to prevail in combat. Like many of his kin he is of massive stature, bred to carry his weight in addition to a passenger if not two. The length of his body is no less baffling than his overall size, from nose to tail he borders on almost ten feet. Speaking of his tail, it’s total length is nearly three feet long, thickly furred and bearing a crimson mark of its own. His shoulders are broad and his chest is a swelled cavity of thick muscle. Nibelheim is, above all else, a fighter and his physique – while it cannot be described as athletic – is one befitting a warrior.
Permanent Markings: He sports a few choice markings that distinguish him. The most noticeable would be the twin slashes that curve beneath the corner of each eye, seemingly more vibrant than his other identifying marks by the accentuated glow of his eyes. Another stroke of crimson cuts around the broad expanse of his shoulders and it curves toward his neck. The last sets of marks are found on the lengthy train that is his tail. The first is a complete ring of red, beneath it a waxing moon crescent and a final dot sitting in it’s navel.
Other:
Personality: This is one individual who holds a great investment in knowledge. Anyone can be a soldier but how many of them have the mental capacity to be more than fodder for the canon? As they say, the pen is mightier than the sword. While his ultimate lack of thumbs hinder his pursuits on both counts the adage itself holds. Nibelheim’s understanding, societal, cultural and political, are things from observation and study. He is the studious sort and doesn’t like to leave too much to fate or chance – anomalies only serve to exacerbate a situation and not always favorably. Besides, why let percentages rule when one can influence their environment to suit their needs?
Some (see All) would confirm that the dark creature is a swindler, a cad and a trickster who feels no use in holding large, cumbersome virtues or dispensing morality like a priest his sermons. It is his opinion that the agenda he carries – or the one of his Master – are equivalent to a divine mandate. He is an ambitious schemer and seeing plans come to fruition takes precedence to most everything else but better than anything is making sure that the players involved do not stray from their roles.
In his mind’s eye, Nibelheim has determined that every individual has a set function they need to properly convey. Be it the bumbling soldier to the disdainful noblewoman, they mustn’t deviate from their roles and he takes great satisfaction in seeing that they act appropriately. Better when he does not have to directly interfere of course but on the occasion where they might derail from their mold he is all too happy to nudge them into place with false of authentic evidences. Stirring dissent or disillusionment are two things he is notably good at and his subtly in achieving both is admirable if it weren’t for the fact he is likely to exploit both friend and foe.
And that too brings to light something less complimentary to his position at the Queen’s side. Nibelheim does not view those in his company as peers, partners or colleagues, none have the right to be considered his equal be they man or beast. His respect while he addresses them may be courteous and he may be charismatic, the point stands – none shall ever reach his level. He holds himself far above them to ever consider them on equal standing regardless of the rank they hold nor does he perceive them friend or ally. The soul being such a fickle thing, today’s supporter could be tomorrow’s antagonist so why invest more than absolutely necessary?
His tactical mindset is not offset by his brutality or prowess in combat; it is a supplementary gain if nothing else. What better is a soldier who can think freely without direction to one who constantly needs an order before initiative is taken? Age and experience has bled out rashness and impertinence leaving him collected and relatively composed, rarely angered but easily offended. He retaliates with barbed words, clever manipulations and cunning to see that those who rise out of their station are keenly aware that though Xyla Rivenwood rules them, so too does he.
His likes and dislikes are to be expected. Nibelheim enjoys the misery of his enemies (or the occasional ally as it may be) and is greatly offended by strong connections between his Queen and other males. He is particularly possessive of any who have a link to him and is guard and protector to them. He idolizes his Mistress, she can do little wrong in his eyes but he doesn't let her glory blind him completely to her faults. He wants whatever her heart desires and feeling pride in knowing she will consult him when her worries take hold. He enjoys the responsibilities that weigh his shoulders and is impossibly loyal to the crown and all it encompasses.
Mother: N/A
Father: N/A
Siblings: N/A
Other Significant Others: N/A
History: That which occurred yesterday is as much history as the events that have come and gone many moons past, no less significant or any less vital as the happenings responsible for his shaping. Perhaps by that definition the word ‘history’ has taken an entirely different lilt where Nibelheim is concerned. Now the vowels hiss with a woman’s romanticism and croon with a man’s easy negligence. However between the peaks of two different – albeit obtuse – depictions, that which has been christened ‘his history’ are instances that he acknowledges as deciding factors in how the ‘he’ of yesterday became different from the ‘he’ of tomorrow.
The trim thread that he has conditioned his dividing line naturally begins within the hallow walls of his birth. Under normal circumstances, he must now confess, that his cognizance was better grasped by him than his would-be siblings. The similarities between himself and his blood-brothers and sisters are not so few but there were just as many differences. His physical development did not deviate from nature’s predetermined schedule, he crawled when they crawled, suckled fiercely as they did, his deafness and blindness cured in the following weeks of having entered the world. And what a world!
It was that initial glimpse of the space, its stone walls not quite comforting and grayed atmosphere marginally inhospitable, that he cannot shake from memory. And that therein lays a clue to the strangeness of his being. Barely three suns after his eyes had begun to peer at everything did he begin to think with true clarity, his self-awareness finely tuned and containing a frame of cognizance that his siblings did not share. It was possibly the most frustrating peculiarity at the time.
Nibelheim, for all his budding intelligence, couldn’t articulate many of his desires or observations. Things he would have liked to question he couldn’t convey adequately. His only method for garnering the attention he wanted was little more than whimpering and keening louder than his siblings until an adult humored his squalling. Unfortunately anything more complex than “I’m hungry” “I’m wet” or “I’m being squished” were reliant on frustratingly mundane gestures. What he couldn’t pantomime or grumble out was just as easily dismissed as fussiness. It was an aggravating time to house a mind too developed for the vessel which it occupied.
The concept of time didn’t hold much foundation in him. He kept his own hours typically (that or was forced into wakefulness from rowdy siblings) so the phases between the sun and moon weren’t significant to him. What he was certain of though was that he felt…empowered, when the sun went down. Only in later years and further exploration of himself did he come up with the answer but it was a perplexing situation that he was often wide awake and bursting with energy while his littermates snored around him. It was a night very much like all others when the kidnapping…cubnapping(?) occurred.
He had been half awake, listening to the tune of crickets in the grass or the soft hoot of some bird he couldn’t name, when dark shapes, human shapes, formed in the corridors. At first he thought nothing of it. Aurora was teeming with the same hairless bipeds of different shapes and equally varying sizes, all of whom had a duty and many he’d surmised were guarding their ‘den’. However, never before had their appointed guardians entered the chamber before nor had they made contact without consent of their mother or one of their human Alphas. So imagine Nibelheim’s surprise when hands gripped his scruff and tossed him into a rucksack that smelled like a horse stable. What made matters worse was that he was the first to be snatched and thus the two additional pups gathered by their anonymous assailants all but crushed him under their pudgy puppy fat.
The incident was far from silent; he certainly wasn’t going to quietly endure such rough treatment! Who did these humans think they were to toss him about like a parcel?! Indignant, Nibelheim had erupted in a cacophony of counterpoint wails that were soon chorused by the two other captives, for all the good it did them. No matter how he screeched it was as though the world had shrunken to nothing but the sack they were being jostled in, their cries seemingly falling on deaf ears. How could this be? Why were these things happening?
Surmise to say that the bandits who had ripped them away from the familiar touch of family and kin were able to escape into the night with their bounty. The journey was disorienting and confusion and terror mingled like serpents in his belly as he swung uncomfortably at the bottom of his itchy satchel.
Relief, misinterpreted as it was, came when the bag was overturned and he and the other two pups tumbled free of the rucksack. The nerve of these humans! Didn’t they realize they were to be handled gently? His mother, uncles and aunties had all sang praises of the gift that was a wolf, that the humans looked at them with reverence. So why then were they being treated so unkindly? If he’d had the reach he’d have bitten the swine who tried to pick him up but luckily (for both of them) he was gripped by someone else, a fourth and similarly unfamiliar individual.
Even to this day he could remember the scent of her skin, the way she exuded power, the sinuous lilt of her voice. It had left him frightened, breathless and intrigued. Nobody had affected him this way and he was curious of the sensation coiling in him. Instinct growled at him to seek retribution but also to seek the connection; logic demanded he inspect the woman-child further. Primitive impulses prevailed as they so often do and he bit the wrists of the woman he would soon come to call Her Majesty.
The sharpness of his teeth broke the skin and he tasted blood for the first time, sweet and heady. It had been just as startling as everything else the night had to offer but more so than that was the near immediate shift he felt occur. His mind now felt heavy with a foreign presence and instinctually he tried to reject the alien fixture that had lodged itself in his personal antechamber. Why were they doing this? What did they want? Who were they? Where had they taken them? Where was mother? Inquiries tumbled over the newly established link – not necessarily so eloquent or concise but his psyche held the air of question and answers, while not quickly received, were given over time. One thing that he did not mind, even with the breath of fear ghosting over his neck, was that his thoughts were not longer purely his.
He had been so lonely. If he were to say that he wasn’t it would have been a lie so blatant even the devil couldn’t be convinced to tell it. His lonesomeness borne from his accelerated development was as much blessing as it was curse for knowledge is nothing with no one to relate it to. Now he suddenly had a single life form to converse with, a lone entity who would understand him, who would listen and speak with him as he wanted, even with the link shaky and new. He could not have been convinced to give it up and shamelessly he’d clung to it, seeking refuge and harbor in the strange but not unwelcome contact.
Xyla, the lovely lady with curls like the sunset horizon, whose intensity and passion moved the men around her, was his confidant and he was hers. In the years spent together between learning of each other and of the realm that trapped their fates, Nibelheim watched with no shortage of awe in how she conducted herself. She was not heavy-handed with her subjects but her firmness left no room for argument, her beauty enthralled all to her side and the seductress that she was coaxed many men to do her bidding with a promise of better things. But beneath the fieriness of her day to day life was a bitterness that ran cold and loneliness similar but vastly different from his.
Dreams and thoughts exchanged and he was given the knowledge of how she’d come to be an urchin in the streets with not a gold piece to her name. Her story of tragedy, bereavement and strength were inspirational – even if he never alluded to as much – and it became something of a fixation for him.
Nibelheim had a love for how the mind operated, how the soul of man could be born a mouse and evolve to become a lion. What circumstances encouraged these drastic shifts, he’d wondered. Curious of these things the youthful canine had seen fit to test those around him. One of his favorite pastimes was silent observation of his ‘peers’ – a term he used liberally at best. He found puzzles in seeing what triggered responses, what urged man or beast to react to their environment and those in it. It became something of a game if he were to be wholly honest. He would do things. Little nonsensical things like hiding a scabbard or a shoe, maybe a document if he could be bothered to be careful not to drool on it. And he would watch how they would fumble at the loss, rant and grow frustrated and argue amongst themselves. It was such fun!
Naturally his innocuous pranks grew more elaborate with age, became crueler with knowledge of how to manipulate. Soon he was tactfully directing his subjects – none could hope to be as grand of perspective as he after all – and basked in the glow of his achievements. Sure there were instances where his deeds failed and his actions brought to light, punishments and scolding received as harshly as they dared but they were no deterrents. If anything it compelled him to try harder, to learn to be smoother in his temperament and to act less in the foreground and linger behind the scenes.
It was in this that he came into his powers. While true his ability to communicate telepathically with Queen Xyla had since strengthened and progressed into general thought projection, it was not the pinnacle of what he could do. It was a slow discovery and purely accidental but Nibelheim found that he was the embodiment of Nightfell for his powers revolved around the manipulation of shadows themselves. He could melt into any surface provided the shadow was large and thick enough to house him. He could travel through them twice as quickly as he could on foot and reemerge in his location with little to no detection. The execution of these skills naturally were costly, sapping him of energy and strength in his early years but he soon achieved a median where he could operate without overwhelming fatigue, the process made infinitely easier if it was night.
Just as he was getting the hang of his newfound abilities Xyla, the woman who bedded many of her male subordinates, became pregnant. Nibelheim, for all his love for the woman-child turned Queen, had never particularly like that particular facet of her. It was one thing to flirt with her cohorts but another to let those of lower standing find their pleasures in her body. He found it gross and demeaning but stayed his tongue, in a ways grateful to the little King Alistair for pigeonholing her behavior by putting a child in her. At the same time he was very displeased with it.
Finicky as he was with everything else Nibelheim was also very possessive. Xyla had been HIS first, not in the romantic sense or even in the way an owner sees his property, but they had been bonded first. Her marriage to Alistair made his hackles rise, feeling threatened by the more widely accepted union than the one he shared with her. He went out of his way to undermine the kindly King, sneered at him whenever he was able, mocked or questioned his thinking when among his peers. Reprimands fell on his shoulders for causing dissent and he resentfully backed off, distancing himself from the humans and seeking impermanent comforts in the wolves around them.
He used their bodies to ease his roiling mind, sired a litter or two of his own but played no great role in their upbringing. It was not his interest and babes were received with mild disdain or outright indifference. Why would he want such burdens? Instead when he found canine companionship to be just as unsatisfying as the one he had with humans, he prowled their meager lands purposelessly. He would patrol, ponder idly or watch little lady Keira as she babbled and cooed in her crib. Strangely, the latter option became rather invested in the infant, so much so that every so often when he disappeared he would be found lurking under her crib. Something about the baby was just soothing and he reveled in it without question.
The years passed before and their lives changed. Xyla and Alistair’s reign, while imperfect, was nothing to underestimate. They had made subsequent advances on Aurora and after three years of testing the strength of their adversaries made a full out assault on their castle. He’d warned of overconfidence, his warnings went unheeded much to his chagrin. But he was rewarded. Victory was snatched from them as Aurora’s forces overpowered their battalion and though their Queen was dead so too had many of their warriors. Their King having met his fate on the battlefield – something that pleased Nibelheim unendingly.
He refused to rejoice while in the presence of his Queen both out of respect for whatever capacity of love she’d felt toward the gullible sovereign and because he feared she would think he’d conspired his death out of jealousy. He comforted her as best he could, guarded her fitful sleep and watched as her youthful fire burned colder by the day. He liked how her cruelty had ignited but he feared the consequences of her brashness. With this observation he petitioned to not simply be her Wolf and protector but also her council in matters of state. His world would not supersede her own but he hoped to direct her thirst for vengeance so that it did not lead them all to ruin.
OOC Name: synchronicity
Other Characters: n/a
How You Found Us: ad posting on another site
Otgher: Shadow and Tall Trees - Theme song
