[CLOSED] AZAELIA'S SIBLINGS: MERIDA & PERCY!

Weight        100            Height        2'3            Length 4'7

Coat        Ashy white & grey            Eyes        Hazel

Pack Life
Three siblings—Merida, Percy, and Azaelia—were born into the most dysfunctional family imaginable, complete with a psychotic mother who beat her children into becoming militant machines and a father who was no more than a vegetable. Percy and Azaelia cooked up the idea that falling in line was better than being cast away into the outside world, the rogue world, but Merida would not stand for it. She’d rather be fed to the bears than be ordered to kill and steal from families of her own kind. Though she loved them unconditionally, she was determined to prove her siblings wrong, so she escaped to the rogue world at eight months old.

Dispersing
As it turned out, it wasn’t so bad! She made lots of friends and even met a bear! Fought one, too. With her band of rogue friends, she was unstoppable, unconquerable, and effortlessly unflappable. Everything was all fun and games until a famine struck the eastern territories. Rumor had it a pack of coywolves was decimating the wolf territories. Her band of friends fell victim, and none survived but Merida, determined to stay alive. This couldn’t be the end.

Once she was alone, she realized how weak she was. She couldn’t fight a bear on her own. She couldn’t fend off hostile wolves. She couldn’t protect herself against ambushes, famine, and all else she would soon experience all by herself in the woods. Nearly half of her weeks were spend debilitated from chronic migraines. What could she possibly do in this state during the next attack? But her spirit wasn’t broken. She had to swallow her pride and return to her family. She wasn’t cut out to be alone.

Returning
She arrived to her home territory to find it completely changed. A new wolf was leading the pack, frankly one she’d never seen before. One of those faces hiding in the army of forty. Her family was gone, and she soon learned that both of her parents had been executed; her father by her mother, and her mother by her sister. She never thought the clean-handed delta had it in her. Merida would’ve felt proud for Azaelia, for doing something brave and becoming an alpha, if only the circumstances were different. Though she couldn’t agree to resent her, she was surprised she was able to live with herself.

As for Percy, the dastardly ever-bored brute, he had left after their father was killed. He was sure to have made a pristine escape with that cunning stealth of his. Azaelia was gone, too. She heard that she ran away after executing their mother. Merida probably would’ve done the same, and she’d have to do it again. This time, she left to the south, only to have her fears and weaknesses realized again, almost immediately. She was captured by people and entered into the scheme of dog-fighting.

Captivity
She was no fighter. She couldn’t defend herself against the trained dogs, hybrids, and wolves beating her almost to death every day. Clearly, she was there for entertainment, so owners could show off the might of their animals. Within a few weeks, it was time for the great reveal. The grand show of their top fighter, their champion, their mascot. Merida was always thrown into the rink first as a “warm up” for the “real fighters.” Turns out the champion she was about to warm up was none other than the reckless, the dauntless, the heartless Percy. He came into the rink scarred, clearly battered and overworked, but ready to play his next game so he could revel in the cheers of his bettors.

Escaping!
The two were still when the gun went off. The crowd went silent for a few, then suddenly began booing and arguing, mean already tackling each other to the ground in fits of rage and disappointment. “Where’s my money! This is bullshit! Someone go kick the damn things!” But to Percy and Merida, all the sounds around them were dares to escape. So they did.

A person came into the rink with a metal rod, with clear intention to whack some adrenaline into Percy, but he fought back to the astonishment of the crowd. He called for Merida to escape while more persons entered the rink to stop the brute, but she had to help him. She dashed forward and latched herself onto the nearest person, and together they’d made enough room and wreaked enough mayhem to make their escape. They jumped over the fence and sprinted out of the open door in the back, hearing the rest of the fighters barking in both jealousy and triumph.

They kept running until gunshots faded. The loud bangs only pumped them with endurance. They followed vegetation to the northeast, and there have been traveling, hunting, fighting, and surviving together ever since.


Though the smallest of her siblings, she certainly has the biggest personality. She is bold, excitable, loud, perhaps a little reckless, and always asking questions. She’s never afraid to voice her opinion.

She is well educated in the social hierarchy of her kind—blasphomy! She is her own free spirit and will be whoever she wants; a friend, a lover, a hunter, a healer, a therapist, a child ~ Life is a game of dress-up for little Merida, and she never declines the opportunity to try on a new pair of shoes.

She’s a keen investigator when she puts on her trench coat. Her intuition is precise, and her gut is her guide. Her ability to adapt to many different situations makes her a friend to everybody, always able to communicate efficiently in different ways depending on who she’s dealing with. She learned this as a rogue, always having to pacify those around her in order to build alliances and especially friendships. A master at controlling her own emotions, she is wonderful at helping others with their own.

Without those relationships, Merida can be quite lost. She often feels small and weak, and has to put on a hardhat to convince herself that she’s OK. Being alone and letting others down are her worst fears, so she tries her very best to avoid those things, sometimes to her own dismay.

But no matter! Merida is always able to get herself back on the track to being the very best Merida she can be. Though quite a ditz and shamelessly forgetful, Merida loves herself and all of her imperfections. Except her chronic migraines. Those can go away.

Weight        140            Height        2'7            Length        6'2

Coat        Grey top w black accents, creamy bottom            Eyes        Amber

Pack Life
The first born is always the favorite. They’re the healthiest and are first in line to become the next alpha. Percy mused about this when he was young; growing up first-born in the baddest pack in town, he was destined to be the baddest wolf in town. But Percy was not the favorite, and he’d find out that he was not, in fact, next in line to become the leader of The North. He was neglected by his mother, who favored Azaelia and her softer qualities which she sought to destroy. His father happened to favor her too, albeit much in private. Percy wondered, what the hell was going on here?

Still, he strived to be the best, always tussling in a one-sided competition with Azaelia for power, for acknowledgement, for love, for anything. He and Merida were both numbers to their mother, and he envied Merida for not scorning Azaelia. Instead, she left. Brave, he thought. And stupid. He was settling in his position in the army and, despite his desire for a superior position, quite enjoyed the violent excursions he took part in. He found his craft and eventually gave up on trying to surpass Azaelia, and it was then when he was finally promoted to Paladin.

He didn’t realize how much he needed Merida until she was gone. And he didn’t realize how miserable Azaelia was, even despite the favoritism, until their father was executed. Azaelia went mad, and Percy pitied her. She had no self-control. Percy couldn’t take the disorder and felt worthless. All he wanted was the love of his family, but they were all either dead, gone, or completely psychotic. Leaving the army to find the only one who had made him feel remotely important wasn’t a hard decision, but finding his traveling companion, and eventual mate, would certainly put a dent in his plans.

Dispersing
The two met in the midst of a coy war. They’d both been starved by the famine, and were determined to put an end to it. As if they alone could conquer the entire species, they charged head first into probably the stupidest idea either of them had ever had. Luckily, it turned out wonderfully and they both scored a few coy heads!
How dandy until the people showed up. His mate wasn’t more than a hundred pounds but she was a hell of a challenge to take down. And she was naively bold. He couldn’t stop her flashing her feathers at the people as she tried her best to fend them off, and it got her killed. He still blames himself.

Captivity
Next thing he knew, he was waking up to a metal rod bashing against his body until he was forced to stand, and in a daze he lashed back, expecting to conquer whatever killed his mate, but it wasn’t a person. It wasn’t wolfish, not coyish, but a more angular canine whose teeth were incomparable to his own. The body was limp on the floor, and sudden screams invaded his ears. He was surrounded.

As time went on, the screams became music. He loved to impress the crowd and avoid the dreaded beatings, so he did everything he could to defeat every opponent. Dog after wolf after dog, claw and gnaw, hoorahs from every angle. He wasn’t fazed by his protruding bones and spilling blood when he was winning, but his final opponent would change everything.

The crowd was silent in anticipation as he—Was he?—staring straight into the eyes of his sister, Merida. “How the hell did you get yourself in here?”

Escaping!
Before a flailing person could lay his rod on Percy’s body, he struck him and yelled for Merida to run. He should’ve known that she’d blatantly ignore him and put herself in harm’s way. Still, the two put up a fight good enough to buy them a ticket out. They booked it, jumping over the fence and out the door past the snarling canines. He pitied them, whoever and whatever they were.

He and Merida have been inseparable since. She told him what had happened back at home; Azaelia executing their mother and ending the wars. Merida seemed unsettled about it, but Percy was proud. Azaelia had finally come to her senses, put herself together and fixed the mess that drove everybody away and killed their innocent father. But he worried about her still. Knowing his sister, she wouldn’t be able to live with herself after a decision like that. If there was any chance that she was still alive after all those years, he had to find her, too, and finally reunite them all.


Percy, much like his youngest sister, loves to have fun. She’s a bit more organized about it, but Percy cannot resist the urge to f*** around whether it’s starting catastrophic buffalo stampedes or testing his half-assed wit with the ladies. He’s learned that he can be quite persuasive, and that flirting is really no different than making treaties. Thus, he is a brilliant ambassador. And player.

As easily as he deceives others does he deceive himself. He is one-hundred-percent in denial of his sensitivity, especially towards his siblings and his helpless desire to be loved for who he is underneath the mask. By swerving the ladies and making sure their hearts break first, he can avoid rejection. That’s what his therapist, Merida, says anyways. But enough about that blasphemy! Let’s talk about his favorite activity besides breaking hearts: fighting!

He’s been a fighter his entire life. He’s spent his four years either in an army, commanding it, or in the dog-fighting rink as their high-bid champion. It has been splendid. He’s keen on analysis and has been able to transfer the combat skill to acumen that has helped him and his sister survive across the territories. He couldn’t imagine what would happen if he lost her. It’s among his greatest fears, next to snakes.

Along with being overly confident and hideously cocky—How he lands the ladies nobody knows. Not even the ladies.—he’s impulsive, and though quite good at voicing decisions and opinions sometimes makes the very obviously wrong one, usually as a result of losing focus and/or (usually and) just wanting to hear his own voice.

Nonetheless, he’s certainly a fun and necessary companion in any setting, always contributing to conversations in the most hilariously absurd and/or (usually and) incompatible way possible. Nobody is complete without a Percy of their own.