Thessaly

[Thessaly]

Name: Thessaly
Age: 2 years
Gender: Female
Personality:
Aloof , Thessaly is a very disinterested individual. She will only take part in what is requested of her, a true warrior at heart. She was raised to look out for the betterment of her squad, and eventually the betterment of her King. She rarely rarely takes part in the emotional aspect of being an Overseer - her unit of soldiers are not like a family to her as they ought to be to bring them closer, thus making them work better together. Instead, she keeps her distance, reserved and stoic. Should a fleet member come to her seeking advice, he will rarely receive more than a murmur, and it is usually the naive few who even bother asking. By the time any have reached her unit, they ought to be trained properly - she is not a mentor, she is a mouthpiece. She commands and they follow, it is all very simple in her mind.

Warrior , Thessaly was raised in the ways of battle. Despite being at such a young age, she has already worked her way up to leading a battalion of working troops. Because the countryside is docile and there are no civil wars breaking out, her troops rarely have any work to do, despite their years of training and qualifications. Thessaly, despite her reserved nature, connects with them through only one mean - she is saddened by the lack of work to do, and craves the glory of battle, the shredding of flesh, the stench of carnage seeping through her nostrils. She attempts to reconcile this deficiency of war by running her troops with the hunters. If she cannot train them with a full-out war, why not have them practice their fights against the vicious moose or the wild boar. She rarely sends them after a simple deer, or a weakling fawn - they must be kept in trim condition, and only the fiercest creatures will keep them there.

Flexible , It is commonplace to put wolves of modifying nature in a position of power, especially is Javon himself is rattling out commands. One thing he fears more than death itself is revolt from the inside - should a commander of a high legion turn on him, they would have their squadron to back him up. And so Overseer's must be impressionable, as Thessaly is. She feels a need to please her King, and this desire for his praise is what he saw most that granted her such a high position, despite her obvious lack of experience. She, as trained by the superiors before her, would do anything to find some sort of exaltation from her Highness. Any commands given to her are directly relayed to her troops, with a quickness and a promptness. And she rarely does anything if there is nothing being told to her (unless it is training, which as said by Javon, must always be a top priority).
Looks: She has retained much of her feminine characteristics, despite her being a more masculine brute on paper. Her looks rarely reflect her personality, except for the calm, normally emotionless eyes. As one would smile with their eyes out of joy, this she cannot do. Her face rarely shows emotions, though if provoked enough, it is easy to dispel some sort of anger from it. Her body is lithe, and lanky, as most of her species is. She walks with a sultry gait, trotting more than walking, and able to run at a rather fast pace. Her fur is short, and choppy in some places. She rarely maintains herself, for her duties are often more important than what she appears as. It is a rich, dark brown, almost black in appearance. In the shadows and at night, she can appear to be a full black wolf, but against the golden rays of sun, her fur glitters a chocolate or hazel color.
History: Thessaly was raised in a litter of three, the only female and last to be born. She was immediately considering the runt by her father, though her second brother was roughly the same size - perhaps only a bit bigger because of his gender. Her mother coddled her only daughter, embracing her with tenderness and warmth, wanting the young child to grow up and be some beautiful maiden for a strong, noble Commander. She showered the girl with so much femininity, but even that could not keep Thessaly from watching as her brothers sparred, wrestling with their father as he taught them all the tricks of becoming a fighter. As she is now, she was an aloof youngster, and when her mother was done raining flowers over her head, she would sit and watch the scenery of battle. She listened to every word her father said, though he knew little of her existence. Had she been sitting right in front of him, he might not have noticed her then, either. She watched her brother's movements, and soon began to point out their mistakes in her head, two seconds before the mistake caused them to fault and they lost the fight against their father.

For a year this carried on, and all the while, Thessaly pretended to be the effeminate beauty her mother cherished. But the day before her brothers were to be sent off to the Kingdom to see if they could gain rank, Thessaly approached her father. She challenged him to a duel, and should she win, she would be sent off with her brothers. He laughed in her face, and stepped away from her challenge. He would not face his daughter, 3 years his junior and never once been trained in her life. After a year of watching and taking note of each of her sibling's skills and weaknesses, she thought of a new plan. She turned to the two older brothers, and challenged them instead. She fought them as one, and defeated them fairly. It was an arduous fight - two against one are never good odds, even if Thessaly knew all of their tactics and all of their weak points. She faltered once, and thought it would be the end, but the laughter of her enigmatic father drove her forward again. When the battle was finished and the three lay bloodied, bruised and broken she could only hear the screams of a mother, distressed and confused; the gasps of a father, amazed and uncertain; hoarse whispers of brothers, defeated and broken.

She turned to her father, but he did not say a word. Instead, he walked off and slept the rest of the night, fitful with some sort of nightmares. Her mother lay by his side, tense and anxious for the day to come. Her brothers rested together, cleaning each others' wounds and utterly shamed. The next day, her father merely nodded towards Thessaly. She did not go with her brothers, for they had both decided to stay home, knowing they would not want to be shamed again by their sister in front of the entire Kingdom. From then on, she was alone - she grew older and wiser, though she is still not as wizened as she ought to be as Overseer. Her gain of power was a quick one - someone high up had taken a liking to her, and was the jet fuel to her rise. She accepted all positions and jobs thrown her way, slipping in with the fold of soldiers and warriors, forgetting her distant past. Her father's laugh still drove her forward more than anything, but a steady robotic mask was beginning to take its place.

Were you referred by someone? Yes, myself. Pointz nao?
Roleplay sample: Dollface made contact, and despite the obvious lance of pain that reverberated across her chest, she felt a surge of glory in the hit. Her right shoulder collided with the other female’s legs, and though she made no apparent sounds of agony, by the soreness it brought Dollface, she knew she had inflicted twice as much damage to her opponent. She, unlike her foe, was not trained in the arts of war by a superior fighter, and had only her gut instincts to lead her on, however she was far from weak with these primitive ideologies. She still knew weak anatomical points like the jugular, the spine and the base of the skull; she still knew where the largest arteries pumped sluggish fluids through a canine’s body; she still knew the points of contact that could throw a dog off balance (throw a dog off it’s feet and it was down for the count); she did not need special treatment to get the job done, all she needed was her brute force and slashing fangs.

A retaliation was one of the last things the young dog expected. Though it was true she had not hit her true goal and thrown the dog to the ground, she was still outnumbered four to one. With a positive fighting quality for each of them - force, intelligence, agility and temperament - they far outclassed this haughty bitch’s prowess in quickness. Of course, Dollface thought she could get the job done with force alone.

As soon as Dollface had shoved into the whelp, she felt herself sliding into open space - the other had made a quick move of escape, able to slip away from Doll’s heavy chest before she could be knocked to the ground. It was a slick move, but one that didn’t surprise the red-coated artillery force. Because that was all she was in the eyes of Jigsaw: a weapon of mass destruction to help his plans unfold. Dollface recognized her speed, noting that thinner bodies usually meant a quicker pace at escape. She tried to keep up, but her body, awkward from a transfer between problematic puppy legs and hefty, muscular limbs was too busy trying to avoid stepping on its own toes. It seemed as though a nerve signal was jarred in the allocation between her brain and her legs. She faulted, twisting her forelimbs together as she tried to twist and face her rival again. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the glint of shiny, new bone against the sun and seconds later, a vicious pain in her shoulder.

Clementine was tearing away at the skin and flesh of Dollface’s bulky shoulder, but luckily a thick layer of puppy fat and northern-bred fur protected her from any sort of life-long damage. The black and white’s puppy teeth could not penetrate deep enough to sink too far into her muscle, so the most she received was a thorny pain in her side that irritated her more than it did inflict real aggravation. Despite her flaw, it was a lucky break that Clementine grabbed her around the ruff, a thick mane-like extension of hair around her neck. However, at the angle she was, it would be difficult for her to grab and any sort of flesh on her opponent. The only thing left to do was throw her, and this was another option where her obvious strength would only illustrate her superiority.

A visceral inclination of emotions told her to balk - if she moved much more, she was only assisting her predator from ripping more shreds of fur and skin from her shoulder, so she made an abrupt halt, twisting her left shoulder to the right, leaning her right farther towards the ground. This would shift the weight of the other dog farther onto her back - a seemingly backwards plan, but helpful to the whole process of things. With the weight more evenly distributed, Dollface could use all four of her limbs to assist in the process of throwing off her antagonist. As she situated, she bent her knees before lurching, throwing her stomach and back into a high arch, bucking much like a wild horse to throw the other from her back. She twisted in midair, flipping her body sideways as far as it could go to the left - should she not toss the other off her backside, she would at least catch her another way by not landing on her feet but instead her side. She came down with a loud thud and hoped that if Clementine was not lying in the grass elsewhere, bruised and broken, she would be lying under the tiring form of Dollface, crushed by her massive weight.