"God may judge you, but his sins outnumber your own.”

Name
Apate

Age
3 Years

Gender
Cisgender Female [She/Her]

Orientation
Biromantic & Bisexual

Pack
Abolition

Rank
Warrior

Breed
Jindo Wolfdog
[80%] Jindo x [20%] Northwestern Wolf

Physical Description
A ghostly, serpentine creature. An individual that boasts a height of 23 inches (at the withers) and a weight of nearly 55 pounds, Apate carries an impressive amount of lean muscle underneath her coat from intensive physical training, suited to both the art of the hunt and grueling combat in equal measure. Her form screams efficiency, shoulders swinging like pendulums, paws making a nary a sound upon the crumbling stone that composes the city’s interior. With well-defined musculature and jutting bone indicative of a feral lifestyle, this female will not hesitate to use fang and claw to get her way — gleaming teeth almost unnaturally sharp alike the wraith she so embodies.

Cloaked in medium-length layers of rugged, wintry fur, Apate’s wolf heritage is subtle, yet present nonetheless. Her gait is powerful and steady — head low, tail high, but with, perhaps, a slinky, sinuous quality almost reminiscent of a hyena. (As if she owns the place.) With a pale, tousled coat, she appears to care very little for keeping her pelage within any standard of common professionalism, preferring to maintain a windblown, almost purposefully disheveled appearance. Her dark, almond-shaped eyes hold an unholy glint, sharply-focused and slanted towards upright, triangular ears. Her muzzle is round and tapered, with a pink nose rimmed in onyx that flows to her lips. Undoubtedly a striking, untamed figure.

Her scarification follows no particular pattern, yet slash across her frame in an undeniably noticeable manner. Jagged cuts earned from roughhousing, battle, and hunting alike. One carves along her chest, another ever-so-slightly tracing the curves of her neck, more spreading like slivers of lightning to her sides and hindquarters. Her left ear is notched. Although they provide the additional benefit of dissuading most potential challengers, Apate would undoubtedly be more inclined to inflict such wounds rather than carry them.

Demeanor
A predator amongst predators. In a world where “survival of the fittest” applies, Apate is a dog that was born and raised on the cruel, unforgiving streets, and it shows. A rambunctious individual full of snickers and gleaming fangs — for all things lawful and orderly, this lass is not. Her tongue is sharp and her teeth are even sharper; cunning saturates her blood and veins, a devious trickster through and through. If she can twist a situation to her advantage, she will do so with sly eyes and a knife-sharp grin. Let it never be said that this dog doesn't know what she’s doing.

When pushed, Apate is quick to bare her teeth and speak rather darkly — snapping jowls and flashing claws aplenty. It is clear that this female is a calculating figure, as betrayed by the dark glint to her smiles and shrewdness to her gaze. Ruthlessly determined, once she has set her mind to a scheme or task, may the gods have mercy on any who deny her it, for she will show none. She appears to care very little for conventional morality and most social standards — cruel in her humor and merciless in her words, skilled at deception and quite callous in dealing with her enemies. Sarcasm flows from her lips easily; words like honey and vinegar to quell the mind and destroy the psyche, be it for displays of power, or perhaps something a tad more malicious disguised underneath glittering incisors.

History
Born into a dreary, miserable little family. Her mother, father, and two brothers lived in the outskirts of the city — where brawls ended in death and hunting endeavors supplied nary a rat to speak of — barely scraping by with the meager resources they managed to cheat, trick, or steal away for their own. It was a bleak existence, full of danger and heartache, and before long her parents soon turned to one of the local gangs (a group of warring, militant hounds that cared very little for the other, but found there was better safety in numbers than alone) to provide for themselves.

It was there, gazing upon all the tragedies the decaying world had to offer, Apate grew. She hardened her heart and mind to strife, dedicating herself to survival. Weakness had no place in these apocalyptic lands. It was a dog-eat-dog world; kill or be killed. So, Apate adapted, gathered herself, and offered the city a quick grin before sinking her fangs in.

By her second year, the gang (and her family, with it), fell apart, crumbling away to remain a relic of the past. Her estranged siblings soon left to forge their own path, be it due to pride or simple foolishness, her mother and father perishing soon after the brutal attack that split their ragtag group into pieces. Apate, sensing an opportunity (or, perhaps, she was simply smarter than her lost kin), delved into the city’s underbelly and joined the biggest, strongest pack she could lay her paws on. As fate would have it, that pack happened to be Abolition.

Relationships
None. Open!

Mate
None. Not looking.

Theme Song
Control - Halsey
「“God damn right, you should be scared of me.
Who is in control?”」

Natural - Imagine Dragons
「“That's the price you pay.
Leave behind your heartache, cast away.
Just another product of today.
Rather be the hunter than the prey.”」

Other
Behind her roughish exterior is a lass whose one desire is to be great, to be admired — to be free of the masks she has so carefully polished and maintained for all of these years.

"I'll be the watcher of the eternal flame, I'll be the guard dog of all your fever dreams"

• Name •
Riko.

• Age •
2 years, 6 months old.

• Gender •
Female.

• Pack •
Loner.

• Rank •
N/A.

• Sexuality •
Bisexual, with a strong leaning toward other females.

• Breed •
Japanese Akita Mix.

• Appearance •
An equal amount of mass and grace, Riko sports a well-muscled, athletic build covered in a bushy double-coat. Her fur is a mixture of red and silver brinded patterns parted with white while her almond-shaped eyes are a dark chestnut brown. Her high-set tail curls tightly across her back and her ears, four in total, are strongly pointed and wide, but somewhat small compared to her broad skull, rounding out near the tips. Her face is riddled with scars, similar tears forming notches in quartet of ears. While other scars undoubtedly mark her body, they are shielded from view by her thick pelt.

• Personality •
Riko is the quite chatterbox, contrary to her name, which means. She's loud. She's proud. Deal with it. She has a habit of butting into conversations and offering her opinion on things, especially when it's not wanted or asked for. She is a bold and brash young dog with a definite do or die mentality. Riko can come across obnoxious as she is both bossy and stubborn, but it’s usually not her intention to purposefully offend or aggravate her friends.

Outsiders and trespassers aren't so lucky. She's a highly impulsive canine who has a tendency to pick fights with both packs in an attempt to carve out a bit of territory for herself. Spirited and quick to lose her temper, she can be quite the pawful. Despite the impression the above might give, Riko is loyal to those she loves above all else and would do everything in her power to protect them. Not a bad friend to have at the end of the day.

• History •
Riko has lived a rough life, but not one unordinary for a stray in the exclusion zone. She was raised beside three siblings by a single parent for the early weeks of her life, her mother's struggle to feed her pups and herself ultimately leaving her weak and malnourished by the time the pups began to ween. One of the four was lost to a hungry predator, possibly a lynx from the scent trail left behind and Sakura was loath to wander far from her den after the incident. She likely wouldn't have survived if she hadn't met another lone female named Rose who also had pups. There was safety in numbers, the two mothers deciding to raise their litters together. Once she reached a year Riko set out on her own, eager to start a pack of her own. Easier said than done in Chernobyl. The longer she spends on her on the closer the young Akita comes to accepting it might be more practical to lend her strength to a pack already formation.

• Family •
Open to siblings.

• Mate •
None at the moment.

• Theme Song •
Immortals - Fall Out Boy.

"I was taught that it's beautiful to survive, unsightly or not."

Click image for source

Name
Dallas
Gender:
Male
Pack:
Insurgent
Breed(s):
50% Saluki, 50% Greyhound
Age:
4.1/2
Rank:
Deputy
Sexuality:
Straight, but he's not much for mates.
Mate:
N/A
Family:
?(Sister) ALIVE
Personality:
Fisk is a very quiet dog, not outstanding or standoffish. He's lean, and gentle. He takes pride in how the young pups of the pack come to him and how he watches over them. Hidden under his soft, sweet exterior is a vicious killer though. He killed his way up the ranks, heartlessly letting them bleed out.
Appearance:
-photo- He has dark, chocolate brown eyes and stands at 2.4
History:
He left his old pack at age two, seeking greatness and power. He joined Insurgent, and his ambition corrupted him. He murdered his way up the ranks. His end goal is to fuse all the packs and take control.
Other:
Open to a mate

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━
“Heard a lot of last words.
Forgot ‘em all.”
━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Name
Cecil
[“Blind”]

Gender
Male

Age
3 Years

Orientation
Heh.

Pack
Insurgent

Rank
Warrior

Breed
Greek Shepherd

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“Everyone’s got about a million apologies in them.”
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Physical Description
An unrivaled barrier at its finest. Warrior-like in appearance, he naturally repels and attracts dangers, depending on how willing the challengers are to meet death. He stands at a towering thirty-one inches, and weighs about one hundred pounds. Long, lengthy legs hold his herculean bulk, reinforced by a thick layer of muscle from constant toil. Cecil’s head is massive, his skull wide and his muzzle broad, easily holding a wicked pair of jaws, with his incisors long enough to poke out from behind his jowls. Due to his breed’s history as a herder and guardian, he sports thick skin that is stiff and sturdy, incredibly hard to puncture. Equipped with strong, classically handsome features, he is a token of his breed.

Graced with a dense coat with varying lengths, it helps more than harms in the heat. Onyx and ivory in color, his coat is granted a rugged, windswept look. The area around his face, boasting a proud maned look, is wicked and unruly, untamable in its wild abandon. The mane extends to the back of his head and down to the fetching slope of his broad shoulders. His wide skull is veiled in black, with a ivory muzzle. His ears droop considerably, picking up when needed only. His tail is long and curled over itself precisely in a circle, the fur at the ends spiking up and extending like the sun’s rays. His almond eyes, rounded and colored richly. Hues of rich jungle green with streaks of rust throughout, being a witchery all their own.

The Greek Shepherd is a mountain. Towering and solid in stance, an immovable force in nature. Cecil holds himself with pride and alertness, seeming to have a high sentinel drive. A purposeful and methodical dog, he moves with regality, his steps nothing more than a glide across the terrain. A light-footed brute despite the mass amount of musculature, he knows how to balance himself, being able to move quickly on massive paws. A vigilant, watchful countenance with a look of pensiveness.

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━
“Even those who have nothing to give
Can give their lives.”
━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Demeanor
A herculean brute raised with a ruthless thirst for justice, revenge, and survival. While he appears gentle in demeanor, with soft eyes and a silvery poisoned tongue, he is known to strong-arm the worst of them, dominating with an iron fist and a clever mind to match. Cecil boasts a massive urge to serve and protect, often choosing to stay with his “flock” or smaller, less warrior pack mates to protect them from possible dangers. Still, he looks after his pack with dutiful grace and a cautious forethought.

Blessed with a silver tongue, it didn’t take Cecil long to master the ways of gentle persuasion. He knows how to contort his voice to soothe, to guide, to push and prod. He has this way of gently guiding others where he wants them to go, with or without his knowledge, despite most of his actions being purposeful. Cecil’s tongue can also drip venom. Ruthless with his words as he is with his teeth, Cecil can insult someone like no one else. Despite lacking emotional knowledge, he still manages to deliver some of the most scalding verbal abuse.

Cecil wasn’t raised to understand emotion and all that weird chemical nonsense. He was raised to conquer, to execute, and to guard. While he climbed out of that life, he still has a hard time picking up on the emotions of others and responding to them accurately. Even with his intelligence, he still lacks understanding, that intelligence going further towards strategy and manipulation. He has a strong thirst for duty, latching on to ruthless displays like they’re a type of release for him. A catharsis for grief, stress, and other such frustrations.

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━
“I am every mother’s cautionary tale.”
━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

History
Cecil had the unfortunate start to his life within the hold of a violent, warlike group of dogs who were something of a gang that ran rampant throughout Chernobyl, never staying in one place for long. His father was something of a second in command who had ambitions, and eyes set on a bloody future for him and his progeny.

Cecil’s mother tried to save him from the life he had been born into, trying to teach him softness and nurturing, love and hope. Due to his father’s belligerence and goals of someday leading the gang, Cecil couldn’t really grasp such things beyond the care of others. It ran in his blood, though, protectiveness and watchfulness. Still, as he grew, he couldn’t quite understand much else other than the simple love towards his mother.

As he approached the middle of his second year of life, his mother tried to get him to leave with her, finally having a chance to do so. Indecisive, Cecil did nothing but bounce between his love for his mother and his duty. In the end, his father found out and his mother was dispatched, alone in the city. Cecil caught wind of it too late. Regret and grief plagued him, and revenge drew him towards his father. In the end, his father perished at Cecil’s teeth, and Cecil left to wander in his grief and guilt. Before he found a place in Insurgent.

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━
“There will be scrapes and sutures.
Viciousness and victory.”
━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Family & Relationships
Devora - [Mother] - Dead
You taught me about hope and it’s glory. And its pain. Now, for all your hope, all you have to show for it is your bloated body in a ditch somewhere. Faceless and festering. Why couldn’t you have just stayed with me?

Silas - [Father] - Dead
Patricide is a beautiful word if you look at it from the right angle.

[Nothing else so far! Message me if you want to set up something, or come meet her!]

Theme Song
TBA.

Other
He fears things he doesn’t understand, like emotion and other such whimsical and confusing things. Love is a pretty strange thing to him, to say the least. Platonic and romantic.

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“Haven’t we earned a little wrath?”
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source

"A single rose can be my garden...and a single friend, my world."

Name: Aurea ("Rea")

Gender: Female

Age: 12 weeks

Pack: Abolition (future)

Rank: Loner (temporarily)

Breed: Mutt

Sexuality: n/a

Family:
Brother: Rutilis (living)

Personality: She was a daddy's girl through and through, his little "brave girl". Rea had always found herself responsible for her littermates, helping her mother look after them and ensure that everyone got home safely out of a good game of hide-and-seek. She was strikingly independent and strong for her age, until disaster struck and everything was turned upside down. The once brazen pup became a hollow shell of her former self, morphing into something significantly more skittish. Her curiosity forced her to see something she could never possibly unsee- now the young mutt never rushes into the unknown, rather, she fears it. Aurea respects and adores the knowledge of others and loves to learn, but by herself, she feels hopelessly weak and embraces an almost constant state of fear,

In other words, she has grown absolutely clingy and dependent on those surrounding her. Aurea is constantly riddled with anxiety, and finds herself particularly terrified of thunderstorms, the dark, and being by herself at any moment of time. Change makes her uncomfortable, as in her young life, the greatest change she experienced was unexpected and tore everything away from her. Regardless, she still values strong bonds, and her lax nature in the presence of other canines makes her a very lovable companion.

However, the overbearing clinginess the pup upholds can grow rather annoying. It's almost as if Rea has to be touching someone at all times, because she doesn't understand what personal space is. She loves to cuddle and listen to long, timeless tales, and enjoy whatever precious moments she can. She fails to acknowledge boundaries and barriers and relationships. On the bright side, it means she's willing to give any 'ol dog a chance...yet, this also makes her naive and far-too trusting with her own kind. She'll believe just about anything you tell her.

Appearance: Gangly and scruffy-furred, Aurea's just a pup slowly struggling to grow into her own build. Similar to her brother, the mixed-breed is on the thin side due to an active puppy metabolism, and the inability to properly fend for herself just quite yet. Her legs are strikingly long and her frame slender, and although it appears that she'll some day grow into it, it's unlikely to be so. Aurea's semi-floppy ears frame a slender skull and a long, pointed snout, ending in a coal-black wet nose. Her eyes are considerably dark, with irises the color of rich mahogany wood.

Her fur is considerably tame, but has varying lengths, particularly longer on her chest and neck area. The little pup has hints of the faintest of sable patterns, a mild cider against an apricot-colored background. Aurea still has that puppy-soft coat, but slowly, it's being replaced by a coarse adult coat, giving her funky and uneven tufts of loose fur. While Aurea used to pride in keeping herself clean to make her momma proud, she has since given up on grooming and now wears a layer of dust. The monsters won't find her if they can't smell her.

History: Rea lived a very happy life with her mom, dad, and handful of siblings that she cherished dearly. However, among all other things, Aurea was a daddy's girl. Indeed, she was momma's "sweetheart", but she was also daddy's "brave girl", "little warrior", and "dynamo". She played frequently with her littermates and took the responsibility of attempting to look after them, helping her mom count them all whenever they came back from their games.

Outside of her typical puppy shenanigans, Aurea looked up to her father with great admiration. She aspired to learn from the mysterious male, to pick through his mind and see what incredible knowledge she could find. Aurea often begged him to take her out on little adventures, to teach her about the plants and animals they would see, and hopefully one day...teach her how to talk to the stars.

However, that faithful day...isn't quite something the apricot pup can recall. She can recall the intense sensation of fear that practically suffocated her when she watched her littermates scatter, run for their lives while mom and dad tried to lure the monster away. But Aurea- she was their little warrior, she had to help her parents. The pup attempted to race after them before her mother desperately attempted to hide her away. Aurea can't remember much else, save for the hot breath of the monster on her back and its terrifying roar. Loud noises remind her of its deep cry, so she doesn't like them.

The horrifying scene of her parents and the beast has left the pup's mind semi-blank, and among other things, mute. She finds herself racked with serious anxiety, and she can never quite understand why- she just knows that she's afraid.

Other: Rea is selectively mute- it's unlikely that she's brave enough to speak to anyone outside of her littermates.