Half-Moon

[SilverHart]

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[atrb=width,500,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][bg=050b20] Half-Moon OF THE GREAT LUNIR PACK ••lifes like rowing in a glass boat youre a devil in a fur coat•• Age Three winters Gender Male Purity Pure Rank None Power Spotty premonitions GOT A PIEBALD PELT AND SOME BLUE EYES ••like you think i dont know what youre trying not to show•• Scars None Disabilities/Deformities No physical disabilities Appearance Half-Moon is a black wolf, but around the early age of two, he began to grey. Now the whole right side of his face is white like the moon, as well as along his neck. He has a few other white hairs scattered here and there. It gives him a distinctive look, and for it he was named Half-Moon. His natural markings include a white tail tip, and a small spot of white on his chest. Half-Moon is long and lean, he is often very thin because he is a poor hunter. His coat is coarse and short. His eyes are large and round, and very expressive, which makes him look very young, despite his grey. His voice is of a medium/high pitch, and sometimes annoying, but when he sings or tells stories, his voice becomes rich and beautiful. CAUSE IM DAY DREAMER AND PROUD OF IT ••beauty aint just skin deep horrors lie dont cry dont weep•• Personality Half-Moon operates on a whole other level. The speculation on his bizarre coloring actually being a sign of the supernatural has led him to truly believe it all. His stories tend to jump around and change, "Oh I flew up to the moon, and came down with all these strange abilities" or "I drank from a sacred pool in the moonlight and gained wisdom." He honestly believes what he's saying when he says it, on some level or another, but later on if it's brought up, he just acts blank.  He is easily distracted, and makes a terrible hunter, always bursting into song, or wandering off, in the middle of it. However when he's hungry enough he'll be all concentration. But he mostly just tries to cajole others into feeding him. He usually offers to sing songs, or tell stories, or do 'magic' for them in return. Half-Moon, normally ditzy, gains sudden eloquence when laced in a story or song.  He tries to be very superstitious, but he tends to make idioms up as he needs them. He also tends to hold conversations with various objects, trees, rocks, flowers, streams, as well as other animals who of course can't understand him, though he claims they almost always talk back. Some wolves mistake him as being silly, or childish, but he's really just intensely spiritual and eccentric. When it comes to fighting he's a pacifist, and a coward. He has hardly any honor. If faced with a potential scuffle he tries to talk his way out of it. He refuses to fight because in his view, fighting is for wolves of little brains. Half-Moon is actually very clever, and very wise. Just because he acts like a dim-wit in the views of most, doesn't mean he's not fully aware of everything going on around him. He's very observant, and patient. He sees things differently, and has very strong opinions. He's a day-dreamer, a philosopher, and at heart, a true romantic.  Preferences Stories, Singing, Trees, Butterflies, Flowers Strengths/Weaknesses He's a very bad hunter, and has poor social skills (Most don't find talking to butterflies appealing), he's easily side-tracked, and extremely forgetful, however he's incredibly bright and creative, he likes and excels at solving problems, he can sing and tell stories. And he always has a different outlook to offer. Secret Ambitions He wishes he could fly. Short of that, he'd like to have the flowers bloom all year long. AND MY PARENTS ARE BELTAINE AND FIONN ••theres a time where its all right build a club and dance all night•• Family Mother, Beltaine, (Ir. unknown meaning; Celtic feast day) an eccentric pretty black wolf; Father, Fionn, (OIr. fair, white) a hardened warrior, steadfast and loving, and two older brothers whom he was never really close to Regrets None, the past is over and done. History  Originally born as Hafgan, (W. summer white) Half-Moon had a fairly normal infancy and childhood; parents who loved him most of the time; annoying older brothers; disapproving elders. His mother left the pack soon before he turned one year old for no apparent reason, and never came back. Which was a shame because his mother was very much like him. When his face turned white, (and because he couldn't really do anything else) the pack decided he was much too 'special' to waste on hunting or fighting, so he was to be trained with the kindly elders of the pack, two in particular, an old mated pair. He learned from him the art of storytelling, and from her how to sing. It was clear, early on that he was much too scatter-brained to be trusted with any sort of power. He often acted as pupsitter for the pack, as he's like a big pup himself. His training and pupsitting went on until a new leader took over the pack, and Half-Moon was ostracized. He dropped lower and lower down the ladder. When his mentor finally passed on, Half-Moon got it in his head that the old wolf was trapped inside of a tree and needed rescuing. So Half-Moon set out. He asked every tree in the territory, and then he moved out, further and further away from his pack, until he was lost. He kept searching, and searching; it was the longest time he'd spent on any endeavor. But one day he woke up and completely forgot what he was doing out there. He's been a rover ever since, learning and teaching, and singing for his supper. Sample RP   "Heavy boughs, all soggy with dew; Droplets glisten, all clear and new. Tremulous, clinging to their nettled prong, Like pups that hang on to their mother too long. A wind of change will shake them away, and some will drop and die this day."   Half-Moon cleared his throat, and waited for the praise that would surely come for his excellent poem. None came. He sat alone in a thicket, rain patting gently on the upturned leaves.   Half-Moon cocked his ears. "Oh, what do you know about poetry? You're a mushroom." It wasn't an insult; it had actually been directed to the yellowish-white mushroom cluster under a fallen branch. Half-Moon leaned in closer to the fungus. "I'll have you know, I made that poem up on the spot. I'd like to see you do better." The mushroom kept quiet, and Half-Moon soon lost interest.  He stuck his head out the thicket, looking around at the soggy earth, the misty rain. It was quiet beautiful and peaceful, if a little damp.   "Oh rain, from whence you came; What do the worms do, when you flood their holes? What do the birds do when their feathers are heavy with you? Oh rain, so - " Half-Moon was just hitting his stride, when he heard a sound behind him. He glanced over his shoulder. Had some poor rabbit been enthralled by his voice, and trancelike, wandered into his midst? Ah, yes, Half-Moon recalled how he had somehow acquired this power long ago. He dropped into a crouch, burying his nose in the mud.  He slid toward the rustling thicket on his belly. His nose pressed down into the mud. "Here little bunny rabbit..." He wriggled his tail, and leaped into the thicket...   ••listen to your fears to the waves by the piers as its drumming to your heartbeat baby youve got cold feet••

[»Talyn.]

Accepted!