Cress

## Application Sheet

Cress was a pale cream-furred male wolf with light golden eyes. He joined the pack of Chandor in the midst of the Hive Wars, but ultimately left the pack, and the Domain. He was created and RP'd by mongoosefangs.

## Personality

* ***Charming, but Self-Serving.*** At a glance Cress is a charming and lively wolf with a clever tongue. He carries himself with a certain quiet superiority, confident in his own capabilities and *not*, when it comes down to it, particularly good at submitting to the status quo. The pale wolf is adept at thinking outside the box and making the most out of every opportunity. His typical demeanor is one of good humor, but ultimately unconcerned with anything that does not directly benefit or interest him. Indeed, little ever seems to ruffle his fur.
* ***Witty and Calculated.*** His main strength is in analyzing, strategizing, staying one step ahead. Cress is most comfortable when he has time to assess a situation first- he's sharp enough to improvise if need be, but not nearly as smooth under pressure. Given the right circumstances he could actually make a competent commander in a high-ranking pack position. In the past he's proved valuable when it comes to scouting and organizing the hunt, but spend enough time around Cress and one may notice that he tends to shirk or delegate the actual labor. He'll always have a compelling explanation for this, a rueful wish-I-could-join-you look on his face as he grooms his own immaculate fur. Whatever the task, Cress strongly prefers to leave the dirty work to others, and would rather not lift a paw himself unless an easy victory is assured.
* ***Manipulative and Opportunistic.*** Perhaps vanity does play some part in this. Or perhaps it has something to do with the fact that he missed out on many of the bonding opportunities of his youth, and has never quite felt like 'one of the boys'. At the end of the day Cress considers himself above such drudgery. His only true loyalty is to himself; he's unlikely to bestow favors unless there's something in it for him. But where one might be tempted to write him off as lazy or cowardly for getting others to do his bidding, Cress would assert himself as prudent, resourceful, and smarter than the average wolf. Why risk his own hide when other options are available? Cress's mind is never idle; he's always considering his next move.
* ***Vain.*** He's grown more cautious than usual lately, and it's worth noting that he seems to have a little phobia of getting another wolf's teeth or saliva on him, even in a playful spar. This is a recent development that he can't quite shake. Now more than ever, Cress is concerned with keeping his pelt pristine, and he's very much motivated to *not* find himself pinned down in a fight.
* ***Covetous.*** If he has one glaring weakness, it's his insatiable fondness for the fairer sex. Cress *will* flirt, and few ladies are exempt from his attentions at some point or another. He may conflate his physical lust with 'love', but one should never expect an emotional commitment out of him. Cress doesn't like to be tied down. He is known to abandon friends and lovers alike when he no longer feels the initial spark. There is a restless jealousy beneath the pale wolf's skin that yearns for what it does not or cannot possess. As it is, Cress can be intense and relentless in pursuing his goals- but in the greater scheme of things he is unambitious; his goals tend to be of the short-sighted, carnal variety, and nothing ever satisfies him for long.
* ***Fair-Weather Friend.*** Cress might like you to believe that he's completely self-assured, but that's far from the truth. It's possible to catch him off guard, and nothing vexes him more than one of his carefully crafted plans falling through. He hates to lose. Worse still, he hates to be labeled a loser. Cress doesn't take failure or rejection especially gracefully. He may be able to hold his tongue, he may bide his time, but sooner or later he will repay a perceived slight, usually with that same smiling facade. Few wolves will ever see him visibly upset. Cress does in fact have a terrible temper, and tends to take his feelings out on his surroundings in private, but towards his peers he takes great pains to hide the true extent of his burning envy, his frustrations and fears.
* ***Fears Consequence and Responsibility.*** And he *does* fear, at the core of it all. Cress fears the consequences of his actions. He has never been a religious or superstitious wolf, but there is plenty of reckoning to be had in the mortal realm, and perhaps the most frightening prospect of all is admitting that he screwed up. It's so much easier to run. Easier to leave the past behind, pretend it never happened, than to offer a single apology for his own mistakes. He'll go to any length to keep the truth of his past from getting out. Would he do things differently, if given the chance to turn back time? Of course. Cress never intended for things to spiral so far out of control. But being a logical wolf, he knows it's useless to dwell on such regrets. The blood is already on his paws. And if it saves him from facing judgment for another day... he's not opposed to adding more.

## Pre-Group History

*"They're all gone... I'm the only one left."*

A sadly common narrative these days, and not one that any wolf is likely to question, given the circumstances that have ravaged the Domain as of late. It's not exactly a *lie*, either; as far as Cress knows, he may well be the sole survivor of his former pack. His face is appropriately sad when he says this. There may even be a tinge of true regret in his voice. But to ask no more, and to leave it at that, is to miss the deadly serpent coiled beneath the rock. To know the full story one must look back, far south of these lands, years ago, in a little pack called Woodfall.

It wasn't an impressive pack. Some twentyish wolves in all: an alpha pair, a handful of rank-and-file adults, and their pups, of which Cress was no early standout. Believe it or not, he was a sickly child once upon a time. Nothing so severe as to be life threatening but ultimately, it meant Cress spent much of his first year confined to the den while his peers went and played without him, bored out of his skull and brooding over the disparity he perceived between himself and others.

When he did gain his full strength, Cress threw himself headlong into Woodfall pack life, determined to make up for lost time and enjoy all that the world had to offer. He would never be the most physically powerful wolf, but his sharp mind was a different matter. He was cunning in a way that most of Woodfall was not, and he used it to his full advantage: devising traps, outthinking his opponents, and convincing others to work on his behalf carried him far out of puphood and into a fully fledged member of the pack. Those who sneered at the once-sickly upstart were forced to admit he had a certain skill as Cress found his niche as a strategist. Woodfall ate well under his direction- even when he was conspicuously absent from the hunt. If his methods were unorthodox, one could hardly argue with the results, and his more open-minded peers might have gone so far as to nominate him for their next alpha eventually.

But Cress didn't want to be a leader. Cress wanted to enjoy all the worldly pleasures that had been denied him in his youth. He was a notorious flirt, courting every she-wolf in Woodfall at least once, leaving a string of jilted hearts in his wake as his whims carried him from lover to lover. Passing lone wolves were not safe from his pursuits either. He would have his fun, only to grow inevitably restless. Yet there was one female who captured his full attention. Her name was Rosehip, fair and gentle and recently appointed as Woodfall's chief medic. Cress had watched her from the sidelines ever since they were pups. And though she rebuffed his every advance, perhaps the chase was the thrill of it: Cress *wanted* her, more than he had ever wanted anyone, and he supposed this must be the mark of true love.

The trouble was that Rosehip was in love with someone else.

Feldspar, the pack's top hunter, was all brawn and no brains. He was kind, upstanding, but oblivious as a newborn fawn, and Cress would have loathed him on principle even if Feldspar wasn't standing in the way of his ultimate goal. Though he never let it show, it made his blood boil to see the two of them together. Nothing Cress did was enough to impress Rosehip. He might have tried to sully Feldspar's reputation, but the hunter was too noble, too well-liked in Woodfall. To do so would only ruin his own image. Disgusted with the pack, disgusted with himself, Cress took more and more to scouting on the far edges of the land where he could at least seethe in silence.

It was in this manner, one morning, that he came upon a strange scent at the border and a smattering of paw prints leading down into a narrow, rocky ravine. The scent made his hackles rise; Cress did not linger, but as he headed back towards Woodfall an opportunity presented itself in his mind.

Wolves hardly ever came to this part of the territory. No one else had reported the puma yet.

It was easy to spin a story about fat mountain goats sighted on the northern rim, easier still to convince Feldspar to join him in a casual hunt. And it was surprisingly easy to keep his voice from shaking, even as Cress led his unwitting rival into the trap, down the ravine where the scent had been fresh only a few days before. The pale wolf hung back as Feldspar padded ahead. Keep him chatting, keep him distracted, while Cress's own eyes darted around the stony walls. Where was that cat...?

Before he knew what was happening Feldspar pushed him aside with a warning cry. The tawny blur which had been aiming for Cress latched on to the hunter instead. He could only watch in shock as the other wolf fought for both of their lives against the mad, yowling lion. Cress had just enough time to consider that this was a very bad idea after all, turning as if to run- but then, just like that, it was over. Pouring scarlet from a dozen wounds, Feldspar stood panting while the big feline lay dead at his feet. Cress was speechless. And Feldspar turned to the wolf who hated him- the wolf he had *no idea* hated him- and said only this: *are you all right, friend?*

It occurred to Cress that he could have finished his rival off right then and there, injured as Feldspar was. But he neither raised a paw, nor spoke as they trudged home, his mind a storm of furious and ugly thoughts. Cress had never planned for this outcome. He had miscalculated. If not for Feldspar, it would be *his* body at the bottom of the ravine. What did it mean? If this was guilt, he hated it. It was nightfall by the time they reached the medic's den, and for the first time Cress couldn't even look Rosehip in the eye as they eased the wounded hunter onto a bed of moss. He muttered something about how Feldspar had saved his life, and slunk away into the darkness. Cress knew then, in whatever passed for his heart, that he would never win hers. Already he could see how this would play out. Rosehip would nurse her champion back to health, Feldspar would recover with hardly a scratch, and the lovebirds would live happily ever after.

Except that wasn't what happened. Feldspar *should* have recovered. He was strong and in his prime. But even as his wounds scabbed over, Woodfall's best hunter slipped into a sudden fever and none of the pack's medicine had any effect. Day by day his symptoms grew stranger, more severe: he complained of thirst, yet could hardly bear to drink. He would alternate between staring blankly with glazed eyes and grimacing at unseen foes, an edge of hysteria in his voice. No wolf could reason with him, and even Cress was taken aback by this drastic change in behavior. The noble hunter was being replaced by... something else.

Meanwhile, Rosehip had fallen suspiciously quiet. She had kissed Feldspar, cleaned his wounds, was she also feeling a little feverish? And just how many other packmates had she gone on to treat in the days since...?

By the time the true danger was realized, half of Woodfall was as good as dead. The medical den was full of wolves in varying stages of infection. At the very back of the cave, the thing that had been Feldspar snarled and frothed at anyone who came close, while Rosehip panted and shuddered in a corner of her own. Some of the survivors still fought to enter, to comfort their dying loved ones, while others fought to keep the den locked down at any cost. And Cress- knowing deep down that he had inadvertently brought this upon them all- he did what any sensible, logical, self-preserving wolf would do.

*He ran like hell.*

*Fleeing his birthplace, Cress finds himself in the Domain. He's relieved to discover a land where no one has ever heard of a little pack called Woodfall, but he arrives at an... interesting time in local history. Reports of mysterious wolves: pale with bloodstained pelts, reeking of death, speaking only in bestial chattering tongues. Cress has never had any reason to believe in ghosts before, but he's taking no chances. The safety of a new pack is his best bet.*

## Group History

After a few quiet seasons living in Chandor, Cress made few friends and ultimately vanished from the pack after the Hive Wars, his status and location completely unknown.

## Trivia

* Cress isn't a frail wolf, but he's not much of a combatant either, especially against a larger opponent or one with prior training. With minimal experience under his pelt, he's not above fighting dirty to get the upper hand. Ambush tactics are his usual go-to. If he's unable to overwhelm his foe with a single surprise attack, he's just as quick to cut his losses and retreat. Cress will hold his own in a fight for only as long as it takes to mount an escape, and he is absolutely *not* willing to sacrifice himself for a packmate or some lofty ideal.
* It's entirely possible that Cress has offspring unknown to him from various one night stands with loners over the years. He may not remember all the she-wolves he's courted (or will pretend not to remember) and has no interest in taking responsibility for a family. His past hypothetical children could be anywhere from 1-2 years old at this point in time.
* In the short term, Cress has dialed back somewhat on his hedonistic behaviors. He was neither expecting nor intending to decimate his entire pack, and it's a lot, even for a wolf who refuses to accept fault for anything. He's also on high alert for anything that resembles the symptoms of rabies (which has the potential to make Hive encounters extra spicy and terrifying for him, and/or may turn him into a bit of a hypochondriac.)
* Feldspar, Rosehip, and most of Woodfall's wolves are super dead, but there could potentially be as many as a handful of survivors. They would probably not find Cress's involvement in the catastrophe immediately apparent (as Feldspar never blamed him for the puma attack) but it would have been known that Cress was trying to woo Rosehip, that Cress and Feldspar were hunting together when the attack occurred, and that Cress deserted the pack in its darkest hour of need.
* Throughout most of his puphood and early life Cress was plagued with digestive issues. Finding things that he could comfortably eat was something of a challenge. It's rare that he experiences symptoms anymore, but he's still kind of a picky diner, especially where carrion is concerned. Cress isn't one to scavenge no matter how hungry he is. He also doesn't care for stinky fish, or pungent mustelid prey (one could argue that weasel shall not eat weasel, out of professional courtesy.)

## External Links

* Official Application Sheet
* mongoosefangs's deviantART Gallery