Sharguu

## Application Sheet

Sharguu was a gray-brown male wolf with golden yellow eyes. He joined the pack of Chandor and his story is just beginning. Sharguu was designed by Sivsi, and created and RP'd by akitapup.

## Personality

asocial - / unpredictable - / repressed - / possessive - / independent + / dutiful + / magnanimous + / observant +

Sharguu is an enigma and difficult to anyone who must deal with him at first. Years of surviving in the worst situations has left him a quiet creature and asocial with newcomers. Pulling him out of his shell is a delicate task, and the wrong step may end with him acting out physically, out of a need to protect himself and his belongings. Food and affection all fall under "belongings"; he is so desperate to keep what he little he has that he will use force to keep it. Even by the least forthcoming of wolves, it's easy to recognize that Sharguu represses anything other than the immediate need to survive. That is all he has known since leaving Thistle.

He is unpredictable at times, and will leave a conversation without a word if he has something more important on his mind. As quiet as he is, he slips in through the fog and the shadows with ease and sees more than he should at times. He is observant. This aids in hunting, typically, being able to pick apart where his prey is weak and just where to bite. It also means he knows more than he wants to, though, he's never used such secrets against another wolf.

In the right situation, Sharguu is dedicated to his pack, if they can inspire loyalty within him. He's dutiful and will do whatever task they ask of him, unless it encroaches on his own body and mind. There was a reason he stuck around in the Armada so long and it was not simply because he was easy to pick at- they recognized he was decent enough at his talents to not throw out. With the talents of a year of surviving on his own, he is an incredible hunter and will throw himself in danger for the thrill of it. It sets fire to his blood and reminds him he is not just the names he was called. This one streak of brilliance in him leads him to be independent and go off on his own at times, despite the danger it may pose.

Despite his violent past, he does not enjoy inflicting his fangs upon another. With pups, he is incredibly gentle and for the most part tries his best to be "good" to others. That said, when cornered and left with no outs, he won't hold back. He wonders if he should regret it. He wonders what his mother would think.

With time, and the right wolves by his side, he'll learn to trust. He wants to be good. Grudges are fickle and he finds it easy to forgive, especially when any injuries- physical and emotional- are an accident done out of ignorance. He only wants room to live his life, to escape his jaded history.

## Pre-Group History

Sharguu's first memories are kept in a gilded cage.

He remembers the warmth of his mother and her sharp eyes. He can recall the heat of his siblings next to his side as they fought for a teat to latch onto. Yes, even his father's face, he still remembers. And at the very least, he knows the name his mother bestowed upon him.

There is another set of voices he can recall- the Prince and the King, offering gentle words to his parents. Though their faces may be blurred, he would recognize their voices anywhere.

They were not allowed outside of the den much, but it was a treat when they were. They had a grand territory on the steppes, and he can recall the magnificent glimpses of the views beyond the hill. The stags and their does on the fields below, the swans overhead, and the golden eagle lazily circling the encampment. Much of Angarag's culture was lost to him, but he remembers his mother pointing out the great bird. "A messenger," she called him. "He brings us to our God." Tengeri, the great one in the sky.

Perhaps it is a good thing he only remembers such sweet memories, for the next ones to taint his mind was violence and his fallen brethren. It is clear now- the sight of his mother, crawling back with wicked wounds to pull him and his sister out of the den. He remembers the cries of his remaining siblings all too clearly. His mother collapsed the next morning in the snow, far away from whatever had transpired. His sister stopped crying all too soon. His mother's heat kept him alive, but barely so, for it was a wintry spring and too cold for any lone pup to survive. Still, he recalls the shadow on the ground, circling and circling.

His dam's final sounds were growls, as a lone wolf approached. A vulture to the slaughter, she surely thought. But the wolf waited on the outskirts, until his mother pulled herself away from him, giving the newcomer a dark look. The wolf, hesitant, took his scruff in her mouth and walked away.

She became his mother, then. The wolf- Thistle, he called her (a result of her personality)- was a mute creature who had milk left but no pups herself. A recent scar adorned her neck. Perhaps it was meant to be. She finished nursing him, weaning him off eventually when he became too big. He learned not to converse with words but with his body. Teeth, whines, ears and prickled fur were a part of his new language. He did adore her. She taught him how to hunt rabbits and partridge. She showed him the moon cycles and how to travel with ease. Hardly an affectionate creature, it was difficult to connect, but when he pretended to sleep she would kiss his forehead good night. Still, she was no Angarag. The eagle that once followed him had long since gone and he wondered if God had abandoned him. Was he not worth Tengeri's time? He often kept these thoughts to himself. After all, he had no idea if Thistle had a religion. If she could even talk back, what would she say?

The next year, before the cusp of spring, Thistle began to flirt around the borders of packs, attracting male suitors. They were quite happy to make her acquaintance until they saw him. One persistent male pulled her to his side, promising a life of safety- if she left behind her son. It apparently was an offer she happily took, as she chased Sharguu off.

Living alone was difficult and harsh. Weeks would be spent without eating anything substantial and then he would gorge himself on carcasses whenever he got the chance, assuming a bear or cat did not chase him off it. He was ran off of territories, and slept under a lonely moon most nights. With only himself to depend on, he learned to hunt bigger prey without assistance, often throwing himself in the path of danger to secure himself a meal.

He wandered til he turned two, and a pack of bison hunters, called the Armada, took him in after watching him hunt a deer. Surely, he should have been thankful, but they made it difficult. He was often mocked for his lack of voice (which he had, but used sparingly) and they took out their frustrations on him with tooth and fang. These wolves were not gentle, or proud. They were as violent as the beasts they felled. They prayed to a cruel god, and found his to be nothing but a joke. One of his bullies was a giant brute, the son of the alphas, high in status even without his mother's name attached. He sought joy in beating Sharguu without reason, and the quiet wolf took it so much without a shed tear. Why fight back, if he got his meal? Why fight back if he slept safely? Over the years, it became worse, with the wolf trying to pry a reaction out of him; anything from marring his face to forcing him to eat maggot infested carcasses were amongst the treatments. And sometimes it was darker than that- but Sharguu prefers to forget it.

A little wolf of the pack, a strong but small female slowly befriended him. Her name was Sela. Ironically, she was the mate of the bully, paired together with him out of the alpha's decree. With her, his silence was not so strange and he did not feel so lowly. Their midnight trysts felt like religion. So when he found his bully now beating on Sela, teeth raised against her soft fur, an alien urge rose inside of Sharguu. He turned his own fangs upon his tormentor and tore the wolf apart, flaying his face until he was unrecognizable to any who knew him. After years of abuse, violence, and mockery, Sharguu had enough of it.

Sela, horrified, told him to run.

He did not listen until she bit him, chased him off like Thistle, abandoned him like his mother. Then, he understood; he had no place there. So he ran.

Like the ghost of the steppes his people once were, he found new lands to haunt.

## Trivia

* Severely food aggressive- will take a while for him to wean off of this.
* Enjoys catching bugs.

## External Links

* Official Application Sheet
* akitapup's deviantART Gallery