Vervain

Orestes (Son, NPC)

## Application Sheet

Vervain was a red-furred male wolf with leaf-green eyes. The father to two children already at home in the Domain (Matthias and Ariadne), Vervain never knew them, and instead, found himself settling in the pack of Hintertomb. His story is just beginning. Vervain was created and RP'd by 4everhound.

## Personality

* ***Dedicated.*** In sharp contrast to his easygoing and borderline flippant attitude, Vervain is a driven and meticulous worker who gives his all in everything he does. He takes pride in his work to an almost obsessive degree, always moving and shifting things until they're just where and how he wants them. He doesn't shy away from odd or messy jobs, and if any complaints are thrown it's usually in playful jest.
* ***Jovial.*** Carefree and easygoing (on the outside, at least), Vervain is quite the amiable companion most days. He's happy to lend a paw or an ear to anyone who needs it, and enjoys a good adventure as much as anyone. Be it singing, storytelling, or walks along the worn paths, Vervain delights in the simple things in life. If he's down, he doesn't let it show on his face or in his actions. Ever.
* ***Scholarly.*** Vervain takes a keen interest in all things educational. A sharp mind is as handy as any set of fangs, after all–sometimes even more so. No matter what the circumstances are, there is always an opportunity to learn and to teach, which makes him come across as something of an optimist (when in reality, he is anything but). This attitude also leaves him unfazed by most of life's challenges, even the harsh and unpleasant.
* ***Candid.*** Vervain doesn't mind saying what he thinks, even (or perhaps especially) when someone else very much does. He doesn't sugarcoat, and in fact seems to derive a special kind of amusement from seeing how his words affect those around him. He's good for giving honest opinions, less so when subtlety is required. He'll speak his thoughts, and regardless of their content he'll do it with a toothy grin on his face and nothing but goodwill in his heart.
* ***Frivolous.*** Vervain is a wolf who finds amusement in just about anything...even when there's none to be had. He toys, he teases, he's brutally honest and needlessly cryptic in equal amounts–he does whatever staves off the boredom (among other things) the longest. Usually, it's just lighthearted fun meant to lift the spirits of the other party, but there are times when he deliberately "pokes the nest" with carefully placed words, just to see what happens.
* ***Indelicate.*** As much as he seems the playful and mischievous type, Vervain has some issues connecting with others on a deeper level, which shows itself through his occasional insensitivity. Having spun his fair share of lies in his day, he has resolved to stick mostly to the truth, whether or not the situation calls for it. He is plenty capable of tact, but unless the circumstances are dire he usually opts not to use it.
* ***Self-Loathing.*** No wolf could have a lower opinion of anyone than Vervain has of himself. He doesn't "wallow" per se; in fact, most of the time he doesn't appear to be bothered by anything at all. He simply feels he is a wolf more or less beyond redemption, and is perfectly accepting of it. Whenever he isn't fooling around or losing himself in his task, he's quietly ruminating, mulling over his greatest wrongdoing and the fact that he'll never be able to fully atone for it.
* ***Haunted.*** Vervain likes to keep himself busy. If he isn't, he allows all manner of dark thoughts to swarm inside his head. While he gives no outward sign that anything is amiss, memories of his past actions torment him still. Because of this, a good night's sleep is hard to come by, and the red wolf can often be found up and wandering all hours of the day. Vervain has long since stopped trying to find solutions to his current problem, if he ever had. After all, it's what he deserved.

## Pre-Group History

Before he was Vervain, he had once been a wolf named Ferdinand. Of course, "Ferdinand" wasn't his true name either, but it was the one he was most fond of, the one he'd had the longest. Before that, he had gone by many other names, so many in fact that his birth name had since been discarded, along with a good portion of his childhood and adolescence. All he really remembered was that he'd had an ordinary birth to ordinary parents, but soon enough felt that this average lifestyle was unfitting for an extraordinary wolf such as him. So, the moment he was given the chance, the young wolf ran away from home and never looked back, seeking a life of freedom and fun–a life of adventure.

Needless to say he received it, and–like many others to make such vague, frivolous wishes–so much more than he'd bargained for.

For some time, the young wolf wandered about with no particular direction in mind, picking up and shedding names the way a serpent sheds its skin–often, and without care. Sometimes he traveled with another, sometimes with a whole group. But those never did last, and sooner or later the male found himself alone once again. He didn't mind it; even he needed some time to himself every now and then. It was all part of the cycle, because nothing was ever "permanent" in his eyes. Not his name, not his actions, not any of the positions he'd held in various communities. A leader in some, a follower in others. In all, a performer. An actor playing a role. The closest thing he'd ever had to stability was his stint as a spiritual leader to a small nomadic pack to the distant east, where he had gone by the name of Ferdinand. The experience had been many things for him. Emboldening. Enlightening. But, like all other things, that too was temporary.

Soon enough he was on the move again, the same spring in his step and smile on his face. He was back to his old habits of living only in the moment, and continued that way right up until the moment he met…them.

Well, originally it had only been *her*, out in the fields all alone, the sunlight dazzling her golden coat like something out of a dream. Being who he is, the male couldn't stop himself from approaching, his charming spiel already on his tongue, his mind racing with all sorts of fanciful ideas–and then he saw the kid. A little pup with a fluffy brown coat, bouncing up excitedly to what was very obviously *his mother*.

The male started backtracking, fully intended to leave things well enough alone for once, but it was much too late. He had been spotted, and was forced to step out into the open as twin pairs of blue eyes zeroed in on him. Suddenly thrust into the center of attention, he was forced to drum up a story on the spot, an explanation as to who he was and what exactly he was doing...something better than the truth, of course. His brain immediately latched onto that something, and he introduced himself as an accomplished healer of great reknown, traveling far and wide in search of rare herbs for his medicines. The she-wolf was a tad skeptical, but the boy looked up at him with honest admiration and asked for his name.

The wolf had none (no new ones anyway), and simply let the pup call him whatever he liked. And after a moment's thought, the pup decided on something–"vervain". Apparently, it was what he was standing in right then. Wolf and pup had a good laugh about it, and eventually the she-wolf cracked a smile as well.

From that moment on, the newly dubbed "Vervain" found himself cast into a new role, one he hadn't sought out, but would come to cherish all the same.

At first, he was just "around". A familiar face who popped in every now and then. An acquaintance. But the young pup, Mandrake, had taken a shine to Vervain, and begged him to visit as often as he could to teach him and his mother, Sage, what he knew about herbs. Vervain relented, and found himself in the small family's company more and more frequently over the next few weeks. His knowledge of herbs was negligible at best, so he only stuck to teaching the basics, hiding the rest of his "know-how" under the guise of trade secrets, with the promise that all will be revealed when the time was right. The lessons became secondary soon enough, anyhow. Indeed, there were days the trio did nothing but lounge in the fields or play by the river, with Vervain sliding from reluctant accomplice to genuine participant.

He'd play with Mandrake during the day, marveling how much the boy was growing in such a short time. And at night, he and Sage would quietly enjoy one another's presence, talking about all the little things in life that gave it meaning. These were not the wild and reckless days of his youth. These were simple days. Happy days. Days spent as one third of a family, as much a part of them as they were of him. Maybe this was the kind of act he was best at...or maybe, for the first time in his life, it was anything but. In the end, it didn't matter.

Because as he should have known, nothing in his life was ever permanent.

It was almost laughable, how quickly it all fell apart. A neighboring pack resided nearby, close friends of Sage and Mandrake whom they visited often. An unknown illness swept through the land and ravaged the community, afflicting the old and young alike. Vervain had been gone a few days on a solo hunting trip, and was horror-struck to return to find Sage and Mandrake among the sick and bedridden. But somehow, even worse than that, was the look in their eyes when they saw him–the damning look of pure hope.

They'd been waiting. *All* of them. They'd waited even as the sickness dulled their coats, weakened their limbs, sapped the very life from their bodies. They'd waited for *him.* Sage and Mandrake had told them all about Vervain, how he was a skilled healer of great reknown, and if anyone would know of a cure, it would be him. Mandrake had told them through his shallow, labored breathing to have faith in his father, that "all will be revealed when the time is right". After hearing this explanation, Vervain could only stare at them. That one lie, that very first scene in this lengthy play, had reared its head to bite him when his guard was down–when he was starting to accept that he may be more than what he had been all his life.

But he wasn't.

He looked from one weary face to the next, their eyes shining in a way that made him sick to his stomach. They didn't know. How could they? How could they possibly suspect that beneath it all, beneath his smiles and his charms, he was nothing but a fraud? An actor who played his part a little *too* well. And like any good actor, the red wolf did what he did best, what he always did when backed into a corner.

He lied.

The herbs he needed weren't here, he explained. He needed time to gather and prepare them, he said. Mandrake accepted it. They all did. All but Sage, the skeptic, the one who knew him better than anyone else. Her eyes were the last he saw when he turned away, a question clear in her expression. A question he couldn't bring himself to answer. With his back to them, he walked. He walked with his head high, even as his lips trembled, until he was well out of sight.

Then, he ran.

Ran and ran, all through the night and then some. When he came to, it was morning, and he was somewhere far, far away. His legs burned and ached, his heart even more so. Homeless and nameless once again, this time as punishment rather than reward. It took no time at all to fall back into old habits, only now he felt no joy, only temporary thrills that did nothing to fill the void in his heart. Now, he ran twice as hard, not towards the next big adventure but away from his greatest tragedy, brought about by his own folly. He indulged in anything and everything, never sticking around to see the outcome, the days melding together into a blurry mess of thoughtless pleasures. All of it temporary, all of it fleeting. All of it meaningless.

Until one day, when he found himself drinking at a stream beside another wolf, a female who turned out to be well-versed in the art of healing. Out of morbid curiosity, the nameless wolf decided to ask her about a certain illness that had swept through a pack so long ago, one that acted swiftly and had no cure. Upon hearing him describe the symptoms, however, the she-wolf replied that it did indeed have a cure, and set about describing the plant to him.

Tall, thin stalks with brightly-colored flowers. Found all over fields and the like, as effective as it was long-lived.

Vervain.

The male continued to wander. On and on, until he couldn't anymore. He stopped to rest, his mind on nothing in particular. That was when he first noticed them. Another group, another community to be avoided. Except this one was decidedly...different. *Very* different. More reasons to avoid them, surely. But the red male found that he couldn't. They wandered, much in the same way he wandered. Something inside him stirred at that notion, calling him forth. Haunted, hunted–that look he knew quite well, for he was forced to see it every time he bent his head to drink. When the mask slipped, and he was at his most vulnerable.

They moved even when their bodies didn't, all in vain attempts to outpace the shadows that nipped at their heels. Of that, he also knew. So he moved with them. Then, among them. And as he did, he gave himself a name. An old name, once a blessing, now a curse. He moved knowing what it would mean to follow them, because what lurked in them also festered in himself.

On and on, pursued by the unseen. On and on, until they no longer could.

## External Links

* Official Application Sheet
* 4everhound's deviantART Gallery