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Description

Soul Tracker | Playlist | Moodboard

If chopper grease, rusty switchblades, cheap moonshine hangovers, and the sweat of a Five Finger Death Punch mosh-pit could all take wolf form...

Name: Mar
Nicknames: Shitbird, Bile, That Old Bastard
Age: 8 years
Gender: Male
Moon: Waning Crescent - Hawthorn

Mate: Nerio
Territory: Stonehaven
Rank: Tradewolf
Trade: Keeper
Apprentice: Murdoch
Abilities: n/a
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral / Neutral Evil (depends on his mood)

H / W: 90 cm (35.5”) / 43 kg (95 lbs)
Build: Lean, tall, and scrappy, like a knotted old tree on a cliff’s edge. Notably long-legged and rat-faced.
Scent: Eau de Milkweed and Dry Leaves, with distinguished Carrion Breath.
Voicecanon: Beerus, youtu.be/2k0P8nTro1c?t=6 – gruff, languid, and surprisingly articulate.

Personality
ESTP Headstrong | Good-Humored | Aggressive | Crude | Lazy | Hedonistic | Wily | Cagey
Headstrong | There’s nothing this cocksure guy believes more in than himself. Although he’s lost some of the recklessness of his youth, his willpower and stubbornness remain as strong as ironwood. Come hell or high water, he’ll fight for his Name or his Lover, or even his pack, if it suits him – and he’ll succeed or die trying. Unfortunately, this doesn’t always translate into loyalty, but it probably helps..

Good-Humored | He may have a prickly, abrasive exterior, but if you can take a joke and share a laugh, you’ll have no trouble getting along with this mangey cur (or at least less trouble). As unpalatable a companion he may make, particularly in highbrow circles (or any decent circles, for that matter), he does know how to have a good time, and is actually rather easy-going and lenient, until his substantial pride is offended.

Aggressive | He likes to fight. He likes to fight a lot. He likes fighting for glory, for his self-proclaimed good name, and for his own personal gratification. He’d fight a fella for looking at his Lady wrong, he’d fight a juvenile for a scrap of meat. Heck, he’d challenge a bull elk in rutting season just for the scars it’d earn him. He’d probably tag your ears if you tried to make friends with him too, but that’s just because violence is his love language. And his hate-language. Really, whether he likes you or doesn’t like you, he does like to fight, and will do so at every opportunity. This charming quality of his is thankfully curbed by his propensity for laziness.

Crude | Keep your impressionable pups out of earshot – for they’ll get a lifetime’s worth of education out of one sentence from this bastard’s mouth. This old dog has no shame. He’ll say what he wants to, sleep where he wants to, piss where he wants to, and rut where he wants to, and there’s nothing that can persuade him to move. Except a direct order from the Alpha, that is. Ahaha…ha…

Lazy | Underachiever, and proud. Unless his reputation as a vicious warrior or hunter is on the line, he never operates above fifty-percent. He thinks as long as he’s pulling his own weight he’s in the clear, and never mind the pack. Oh, he’ll do the menial jobs assigned to him by his “much-beloved betters,” but he’ll smarm and grouse about it the whole time.
It does seem strange, for one so power-oriented and vainglorious, to descend to the do-nothing ranks of an omega… But maybe aspiring to the bottom level is just his way of taking control of his life.

Hedonistic | He’s prodigal in every sense of the word. Aside from a religious dedication to things that make him feel good - his obvious love of the Bare Necessities (Red Meat, Relaxation, and Rutting), he avoids things that don’t make him feel good. Apologize? Nah. Say sorry for being an asshole? Nah. Admit you were wrong? Nah, that’s for namby-pamby wusses.

Wily | Although he’s got the imagination and emotional intellect of a tree stump, his strategic cunning is surprisingly sharp, belying his brutish exterior. He’s got a hunter’s knack for hemming in prey, measuring an opponent, and sniffing out weaknesses in others. But while his frightening aptitude for deductive reasoning may prove a surprise, his arrogance and underestimation of others is not – and is often the detriment to his cunning.
So for all his cleverness, he’s narrow-sighted and thick-skulled – and, not unlike Wile E. the Coyote, if you’re quick and creative, he can be easily out-foxed!

Cagey | All the confidence and bravado Mar puts out does well to hide the distrusting and suspicious nature beneath. Maybe he just believes he’s invulnerable because the only alternative terrifies him. He cannot accept vulnerability, failure, or lack of control, in any form. And he’ll quickly shut out or shut up anyone who repeats the echoes of doubt in his head.

Other Traits | Sociable, Jovial, Gruff, Cynical, Cruel, Indifferent, Vain, Irreverent

History
Birth: Mar’s mother became afflicted with him near eight years ago. She would tell you that it was an accident, and a tragedy. She would warn you against going into the Freelands alone. She would caution that loners were never to be trusted, especially the ones with green eyes. She might have even had the courage to tell you what had happened to her, if ever she’d been seen again, that winter morning she left her last pup in an herbalist’s den.
But she left without a word to anyone. Mar, the only survivor of her brood, was barely weaned. After his siblings had starved to death – whether by accident or design, even the young she-wolf did not know – she was left with this young whelp, who refused to perish. So she let him follow her, and rollicked alone underfoot as she walked the Ithunnwood. She’d almost thought she could love him as her son, until his eyes turned slowly from blue to green, the color in her nightmares. One day, when her son tried to play-fight her, unable to discern him from the dark memories, she lashed out, and he was left with a bloody wound on his nape. She then decided two things: one, that he would be named Mar, for the wound his father had dealt her, and the wound she’d left on him; and two, she could not be his mother. When the herbalist asked for an explanation for the pup, all she could do was stammer an apology. And then she was gone.
Childhood: As secretive as she may have wanted to keep her son’s heritage, it soon became clear that without any voice raised to claim the abandoned pup’s siring, that he was foundered from outside the pack. But young Mar didn’t need to hear the whispers of loner’s-son and bastard to feel the sting of his aberrant heritage. Before anyone had the chance to render harsh judgement, young Mar took control of the situation, and decided to make of himself the bastard he feared they saw.
In the Tundes way, the orphan was taken care of, handed off from caretaker to caretaker: herbalist matrons, mothers with pups, or elders with spare time. But he would indefinitely run away, back to the woods, although he would deny it if anyone asked if he was looking for his parents. And after picking one too many fights with adoptive siblings, soon no one would take him. Which was just fine with him. He was soon old enough to take care of himself, anyway.
Adulthood: And take care of himself, he did. Winters came and gone, and he forgot about his mother and her distant stares and her weeping. He soon made for himself a name as more than just a childhood trouble-maker – he also became a remarkable hunter. Unlike his perhaps rather more cool-blooded kinsmen, the bull’s stabbing antlers thrilled him, and he relished bloodying his nose. This heedless disregard for personal safety certainly earned him some scars, but it also made him dangerous to any creature on four legs. Be they hooved or clawed depended on his mood. The young wolf was never shy to pick a fight with pack-mates, and he was delighted whenever he found someone who enjoyed a scrap as much as he did – and usually the skirmishes ended with a few good-natured cackles.
As he grew older and the times began to change, the civil unrest beginning to brew, Mar was able to channel his red-blooded energy into the mantle of Einar in the ranks of his pack. While he didn’t exactly have a good name amongst his kinsmen, he had a reliable one, as a determined hunter and a proud defender of their territory from outsiders. In those days, he could not rest in the company of hungry mouths as long as he could help feed them, and was perhaps one of the most vigilant wolves to keep loners out of Tundes lands. What he lacked in affection for his kinsmen he made up for in this dogged loyalty. He might have been a mongrel, but he was the pack’s mongrel. He was content.
Recent: Then the humans came. To Mar, they were of no greater consequence than two-legged rabbits, histories be damned. But they seemed to cause quite a fuss. Osirus, the new pack leader had forbade anyone but he and his few closest to go see them, but that didn’t stop this bothersome young she-wolf – Malaysia was her name, and Mar considered her nothing more than an upstart demagogue – from running in and making a great stink of everything. She’d had the audacity to go in and meet the humans with a bevy of her toadies for protection, and then gobble them all up, and say it was her holy blood that gave her the right to do so. Well, Mar didn’t know a thing about divinity or any of her spirit-nonsense, but the ruckus she made seemed like a lot of unnecessary babble, for eating a few two-legs. And of course Osirus, the ever-patient, ever-silent just seemed to watch from afar as she tore their pack right down the middle. Absolutely absurd.
Mar personally thought the solution was a simple one. Malaysia and her creatures were just behaving as any hungry and slightly moon-mad wolves would. Eat-or-be-eaten was the rule of nature, and so their actions seemed quite alright, never mind all the spiritual shenanigans. But they were just a bunch of pissants defying the Alpha’s power, and if the Alpha had a problem with that, then he ought to stop them before they made a bigger mess of things. But even as Mar voiced his opinion, that the violent heretics ought to be razed before they could cause any more trouble, it seemed that everyone in the pack was still shell-shocked over what had happened. No paws moved to put an end to the ‘Kol’. The massacre’s blood stained the sand, and while the talk of gods and spirits did not cease, there was no real talk about taking action against the aggressors.
And when Mar decried Osirus’s willful impasse, stating that he’d be more than happy to put an end to the blood-spillers, he was only met with solemn rebuffs and disparagement. Violence was not the answer. Well, violence may not be the answer but doing absolutely sure as hell wasn’t, either. Bitter and disillusioned, it wasn’t long before stepped down from his post as a Einar. They wanted to do nothing, fine, he could do that too. Let him be an Omega. It didn’t matter. Let him be low. After all, he’d have to be low if he wanted to pick up the broken pieces Tundes was doomed to make of itself. He could just enjoy the show.
That’s what he told himself, anyway.

Group History
[linked here]

Relationships

Relationship Tracker
Orientation: Heterosexual Greyromantic
Preferences: The Baddest Bitch ™
Mate: Nerio
Offspring: Augusta | Stonehaven | Alive
Fifer | Taika | Alive
Melinoe | Stonehaven | Alive
Rictus | Stonehaven | Alive

Mother: Arcis | Tundes | Unknown
Father: Thistle | Loner | Unknown
Siblings: Unknown Number | Deceased
Paternal Aunt: Sorrel | Tundes | Unknown
Cousin: Bindweed | Kol | Alive

Trivia
- He’s a sadist……… and a masochist! Which is why you’ll always notice that big, wicked grin whenever he’s in a fight (no matter how much of the blood is his -)
- He’s the Tundes he-wolf mentioned in Bindweed’s biography. He roughed her up and chased her out of the territory when she tried to return, after the beach slaughter. He doesn’t know she’s his cousin – just like she doesn’t know he’s hers.
- He strongly distrusts magic and would say anyone who uses it is a weakling in need of a crutch. That said, (although he’d deny it in front of a court) he’s not offended by the Kol ideology. But they do seem to be putting themselves through a lot of trouble for an excuse to have a little long-pork…
- He is suspicious of bathing, and rolls in mushrooms to augment his ‘natural musk.’
- He has a tendency for calling everyone Pup. It doesn’t matter if you’re 7 moons or 7 years old – unless of course you’re an alpha or a beta that is – he doesn’t want his hide tanned that badly.
- If you see this old dog lying around, he may not be sleeping. Although he loves a good nap, lying around with your eyes shut makes a lovely opportunity for eavesdropping.
- Real Life Childhood Footage
- His Actual Adult Life
Likes: Banter, Sleeping, Doe Meat, Autumn, Winter, Long Hunts, Dust Baths, a Challenge, the smell of Burning Wood
Dislikes: Pups, Tree Sap, Burs, Pink Wildflowers, Any Wildflowers, Being Called Out, Anything Touchy-Feely

Contact: Skype, Discord, Notes, Google Docs, anything!
Events: Opt In!

Description

Soul Tracker | Playlist | Moodboard

If chopper grease, rusty switchblades, cheap moonshine hangovers, and the sweat of a Five Finger Death Punch mosh-pit could all take wolf form...

Name: Mar
Nicknames: Shitbird, Bile, That Old Bastard
Age: 8 years
Gender: Male
Moon: Waning Crescent - Hawthorn

Mate: Nerio
Territory: Stonehaven
Rank: Tradewolf
Trade: Keeper
Apprentice: Murdoch
Abilities: n/a
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral / Neutral Evil (depends on his mood)

H / W: 90 cm (35.5”) / 43 kg (95 lbs)
Build: Lean, tall, and scrappy, like a knotted old tree on a cliff’s edge. Notably long-legged and rat-faced.
Scent: Eau de Milkweed and Dry Leaves, with distinguished Carrion Breath.
Voicecanon: Beerus, youtu.be/2k0P8nTro1c?t=6 – gruff, languid, and surprisingly articulate.

Personality
ESTP Headstrong | Good-Humored | Aggressive | Crude | Lazy | Hedonistic | Wily | Cagey
Headstrong | There’s nothing this cocksure guy believes more in than himself. Although he’s lost some of the recklessness of his youth, his willpower and stubbornness remain as strong as ironwood. Come hell or high water, he’ll fight for his Name or his Lover, or even his pack, if it suits him – and he’ll succeed or die trying. Unfortunately, this doesn’t always translate into loyalty, but it probably helps..

Good-Humored | He may have a prickly, abrasive exterior, but if you can take a joke and share a laugh, you’ll have no trouble getting along with this mangey cur (or at least less trouble). As unpalatable a companion he may make, particularly in highbrow circles (or any decent circles, for that matter), he does know how to have a good time, and is actually rather easy-going and lenient, until his substantial pride is offended.

Aggressive | He likes to fight. He likes to fight a lot. He likes fighting for glory, for his self-proclaimed good name, and for his own personal gratification. He’d fight a fella for looking at his Lady wrong, he’d fight a juvenile for a scrap of meat. Heck, he’d challenge a bull elk in rutting season just for the scars it’d earn him. He’d probably tag your ears if you tried to make friends with him too, but that’s just because violence is his love language. And his hate-language. Really, whether he likes you or doesn’t like you, he does like to fight, and will do so at every opportunity. This charming quality of his is thankfully curbed by his propensity for laziness.

Crude | Keep your impressionable pups out of earshot – for they’ll get a lifetime’s worth of education out of one sentence from this bastard’s mouth. This old dog has no shame. He’ll say what he wants to, sleep where he wants to, piss where he wants to, and rut where he wants to, and there’s nothing that can persuade him to move. Except a direct order from the Alpha, that is. Ahaha…ha…

Lazy | Underachiever, and proud. Unless his reputation as a vicious warrior or hunter is on the line, he never operates above fifty-percent. He thinks as long as he’s pulling his own weight he’s in the clear, and never mind the pack. Oh, he’ll do the menial jobs assigned to him by his “much-beloved betters,” but he’ll smarm and grouse about it the whole time.
It does seem strange, for one so power-oriented and vainglorious, to descend to the do-nothing ranks of an omega… But maybe aspiring to the bottom level is just his way of taking control of his life.

Hedonistic | He’s prodigal in every sense of the word. Aside from a religious dedication to things that make him feel good - his obvious love of the Bare Necessities (Red Meat, Relaxation, and Rutting), he avoids things that don’t make him feel good. Apologize? Nah. Say sorry for being an asshole? Nah. Admit you were wrong? Nah, that’s for namby-pamby wusses.

Wily | Although he’s got the imagination and emotional intellect of a tree stump, his strategic cunning is surprisingly sharp, belying his brutish exterior. He’s got a hunter’s knack for hemming in prey, measuring an opponent, and sniffing out weaknesses in others. But while his frightening aptitude for deductive reasoning may prove a surprise, his arrogance and underestimation of others is not – and is often the detriment to his cunning.
So for all his cleverness, he’s narrow-sighted and thick-skulled – and, not unlike Wile E. the Coyote, if you’re quick and creative, he can be easily out-foxed!

Cagey | All the confidence and bravado Mar puts out does well to hide the distrusting and suspicious nature beneath. Maybe he just believes he’s invulnerable because the only alternative terrifies him. He cannot accept vulnerability, failure, or lack of control, in any form. And he’ll quickly shut out or shut up anyone who repeats the echoes of doubt in his head.

Other Traits | Sociable, Jovial, Gruff, Cynical, Cruel, Indifferent, Vain, Irreverent

History
Birth: Mar’s mother became afflicted with him near eight years ago. She would tell you that it was an accident, and a tragedy. She would warn you against going into the Freelands alone. She would caution that loners were never to be trusted, especially the ones with green eyes. She might have even had the courage to tell you what had happened to her, if ever she’d been seen again, that winter morning she left her last pup in an herbalist’s den.
But she left without a word to anyone. Mar, the only survivor of her brood, was barely weaned. After his siblings had starved to death – whether by accident or design, even the young she-wolf did not know – she was left with this young whelp, who refused to perish. So she let him follow her, and rollicked alone underfoot as she walked the Ithunnwood. She’d almost thought she could love him as her son, until his eyes turned slowly from blue to green, the color in her nightmares. One day, when her son tried to play-fight her, unable to discern him from the dark memories, she lashed out, and he was left with a bloody wound on his nape. She then decided two things: one, that he would be named Mar, for the wound his father had dealt her, and the wound she’d left on him; and two, she could not be his mother. When the herbalist asked for an explanation for the pup, all she could do was stammer an apology. And then she was gone.
Childhood: As secretive as she may have wanted to keep her son’s heritage, it soon became clear that without any voice raised to claim the abandoned pup’s siring, that he was foundered from outside the pack. But young Mar didn’t need to hear the whispers of loner’s-son and bastard to feel the sting of his aberrant heritage. Before anyone had the chance to render harsh judgement, young Mar took control of the situation, and decided to make of himself the bastard he feared they saw.
In the Tundes way, the orphan was taken care of, handed off from caretaker to caretaker: herbalist matrons, mothers with pups, or elders with spare time. But he would indefinitely run away, back to the woods, although he would deny it if anyone asked if he was looking for his parents. And after picking one too many fights with adoptive siblings, soon no one would take him. Which was just fine with him. He was soon old enough to take care of himself, anyway.
Adulthood: And take care of himself, he did. Winters came and gone, and he forgot about his mother and her distant stares and her weeping. He soon made for himself a name as more than just a childhood trouble-maker – he also became a remarkable hunter. Unlike his perhaps rather more cool-blooded kinsmen, the bull’s stabbing antlers thrilled him, and he relished bloodying his nose. This heedless disregard for personal safety certainly earned him some scars, but it also made him dangerous to any creature on four legs. Be they hooved or clawed depended on his mood. The young wolf was never shy to pick a fight with pack-mates, and he was delighted whenever he found someone who enjoyed a scrap as much as he did – and usually the skirmishes ended with a few good-natured cackles.
As he grew older and the times began to change, the civil unrest beginning to brew, Mar was able to channel his red-blooded energy into the mantle of Einar in the ranks of his pack. While he didn’t exactly have a good name amongst his kinsmen, he had a reliable one, as a determined hunter and a proud defender of their territory from outsiders. In those days, he could not rest in the company of hungry mouths as long as he could help feed them, and was perhaps one of the most vigilant wolves to keep loners out of Tundes lands. What he lacked in affection for his kinsmen he made up for in this dogged loyalty. He might have been a mongrel, but he was the pack’s mongrel. He was content.
Recent: Then the humans came. To Mar, they were of no greater consequence than two-legged rabbits, histories be damned. But they seemed to cause quite a fuss. Osirus, the new pack leader had forbade anyone but he and his few closest to go see them, but that didn’t stop this bothersome young she-wolf – Malaysia was her name, and Mar considered her nothing more than an upstart demagogue – from running in and making a great stink of everything. She’d had the audacity to go in and meet the humans with a bevy of her toadies for protection, and then gobble them all up, and say it was her holy blood that gave her the right to do so. Well, Mar didn’t know a thing about divinity or any of her spirit-nonsense, but the ruckus she made seemed like a lot of unnecessary babble, for eating a few two-legs. And of course Osirus, the ever-patient, ever-silent just seemed to watch from afar as she tore their pack right down the middle. Absolutely absurd.
Mar personally thought the solution was a simple one. Malaysia and her creatures were just behaving as any hungry and slightly moon-mad wolves would. Eat-or-be-eaten was the rule of nature, and so their actions seemed quite alright, never mind all the spiritual shenanigans. But they were just a bunch of pissants defying the Alpha’s power, and if the Alpha had a problem with that, then he ought to stop them before they made a bigger mess of things. But even as Mar voiced his opinion, that the violent heretics ought to be razed before they could cause any more trouble, it seemed that everyone in the pack was still shell-shocked over what had happened. No paws moved to put an end to the ‘Kol’. The massacre’s blood stained the sand, and while the talk of gods and spirits did not cease, there was no real talk about taking action against the aggressors.
And when Mar decried Osirus’s willful impasse, stating that he’d be more than happy to put an end to the blood-spillers, he was only met with solemn rebuffs and disparagement. Violence was not the answer. Well, violence may not be the answer but doing absolutely sure as hell wasn’t, either. Bitter and disillusioned, it wasn’t long before stepped down from his post as a Einar. They wanted to do nothing, fine, he could do that too. Let him be an Omega. It didn’t matter. Let him be low. After all, he’d have to be low if he wanted to pick up the broken pieces Tundes was doomed to make of itself. He could just enjoy the show.
That’s what he told himself, anyway.

Group History
[linked here]

Relationships

Relationship Tracker
Orientation: Heterosexual Greyromantic
Preferences: The Baddest Bitch ™
Mate: Nerio
Offspring: Augusta | Stonehaven | Alive
Fifer | Taika | Alive
Melinoe | Stonehaven | Alive
Rictus | Stonehaven | Alive

Mother: Arcis | Tundes | Unknown
Father: Thistle | Loner | Unknown
Siblings: Unknown Number | Deceased
Paternal Aunt: Sorrel | Tundes | Unknown
Cousin: Bindweed | Kol | Alive

Trivia
- He’s a sadist……… and a masochist! Which is why you’ll always notice that big, wicked grin whenever he’s in a fight (no matter how much of the blood is his -)
- He’s the Tundes he-wolf mentioned in Bindweed’s biography. He roughed her up and chased her out of the territory when she tried to return, after the beach slaughter. He doesn’t know she’s his cousin – just like she doesn’t know he’s hers.
- He strongly distrusts magic and would say anyone who uses it is a weakling in need of a crutch. That said, (although he’d deny it in front of a court) he’s not offended by the Kol ideology. But they do seem to be putting themselves through a lot of trouble for an excuse to have a little long-pork…
- He is suspicious of bathing, and rolls in mushrooms to augment his ‘natural musk.’
- He has a tendency for calling everyone Pup. It doesn’t matter if you’re 7 moons or 7 years old – unless of course you’re an alpha or a beta that is – he doesn’t want his hide tanned that badly.
- If you see this old dog lying around, he may not be sleeping. Although he loves a good nap, lying around with your eyes shut makes a lovely opportunity for eavesdropping.
- Real Life Childhood Footage
- His Actual Adult Life
Likes: Banter, Sleeping, Doe Meat, Autumn, Winter, Long Hunts, Dust Baths, a Challenge, the smell of Burning Wood
Dislikes: Pups, Tree Sap, Burs, Pink Wildflowers, Any Wildflowers, Being Called Out, Anything Touchy-Feely

Contact: Skype, Discord, Notes, Google Docs, anything!
Events: Opt In!