House of Wolves RP CHAT THREAD

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Amer said:
Name: Lamar
Age: 4 yrs
Rank: Committee member
Gender: male
Personality: Friendly, which comes of as hyena brand creepy to the dogs who don’t trust the Commmmmmitttteeee. (yeah idk how many ‘m’s, ‘t’s, and ‘e’s belong in that word. Laughs a lot. He is a lying lier, but his cheerfulness is genuine.
His entire character is based off the 5 second impression I got of that coyote in the Lamar valley in Yellowstone.
I probably won’t develop him further or play him much.
Breed/species: Coyote
Pelt description: regular old coyote but slightly lighter and buffier like the one I saw.
Eye color: uhhhh amber??? That was probably it.
Build: Average, healthy, well-fed build. Not a small coyote. Is very cute. :3
Here is my only picture of him running at crazy-fast speeds. Maybe I’ll draw him.
View attachment 2209114
History: Born and raised and primed to become a committyee member
Pack: The Committee
Mate/Crush: single and free
Offspring: none
Parents: they’re out there
Siblings: he has a brother, not sure if he’s a comite member tho.
Song associated: probably poorly written, like this ref sheet
Other: loves to run. Sometimes in front of vehicles.
Username: @Amer
Click to expand...
I flipping love him
 
Butterscotchbitesfinger said:
(I would make a Coyote but I have never actually seen or observed one so I don’t know what they really look like. But I will make one if someone fills me in on it)
Click to expand...
They’re kinda like a small, solitary wolf (or dog) and are described as wily probably because they have to figure out how to capture prey on their own, so they’re probably pretty smart. As far as I’ve seen, they act a lot like stray dogs and often can be seen around cities.
 
HeavensHens88 said:
after all the agonizing thought I put into her
this is
terribly rushed and likely not even done
and now I have no time to read anything, of course
oh, well, such is ME :D


Name: Asio
Age: 66 moons
Rank: Paragon's left-hand woman
Gender: Female
Personality:
Morality is meaningless.
Murderousness is in.
As a rule, she doesn’t give two claws about anyone else’s feelings, wellbeing, or even life. If she’s going to spend her time looking after a tail that isn’t her own, they have to earn her respect. And, since she knows her fellow coyotes for the rabble of classic opportunists they are, that’s not the easiest feat to achieve.
Scathingly sarcastic and lets it be thoroughly known when she’s displeased.
Does not suffer fools the least bit gladly. Bitterly, dangerously resentful toward anyone who commits any trespasses against her.
Obsessively secretive; takes every precaution to keep her next move traceable by absolutely none. Conversely, she seems to know where everyone is at any given time to a disturbing extent. Delights in sowing frightful discord among both the packs and the committee. If something goes awry and all evidence points to the least likely culprit, it’s bound to be the handiwork of Asio- not that she’ll ever be caught. She never commits a crime unless it’s perfect.
Though she swore on her life that she wouldn’t become her father, she has indeed collected and stored enough information and experience to develop a brilliant head that could easily surpass his.
She’s an insanely talented mimic, especially when it comes to bird calls.
And, yes, she’s a total Brit- melodious accent included.
All of this makes her an invaluable agent of espionage.
She’s entirely her own mistress, yet willingly subjects herself to Iscariot for reasons unknown to even her. Since she’s faithfully remained at his side for this long despite literally having the means to travel the world, she feels a certain amount of entitlement.
And Petrel is there, always there, to interfere with her rightful recompense.
To say that she hates him would be an understatement.
Oh, and the dogs.
There are so many perfect skeletons yearning to be rearranged, so much untapped blood just dying to be spilled, but for the sake of everything they’ve built, she keeps herself in check.
For now.
Species:
Description: 18” tall. Elongated torso and nimble legs. Narrow, pointed head, hardly prominent forehead. Weird bone protrusion off the back of her skull that’s only noticeable if you collide with her head. Coarse, short fur that’s golden with a darker saddle of brown guard hairs and solid, neatly edged black unders. And she’s gotta keep those sketchy black eyes despite the improbability. (Typhoon phases in and out of reality in the background)
View attachment 2209294
History:
Once, in a specific span of space and time, there existed a coyote. This particular coyote, who just happened to be an escaped convict from the mammal lab three buildings over, lived in the tunnel den he’d dug beneath an ornithology lab somewhere in the great wide UK. Being that this coyote’s studies had been inadvertently translating the excessive language of man back to his own, his vocabulary was much, much larger than the average coyote’s. He’d even given himself his own majestically avian name- Strigidae.
It should be noted that this coyote was an ornithologist in his own right.
He, who’d even gone so far to accommodate his educational pursuits as to become unnaturally diurnal, was roused one night by a scratching at his cobweb door. His tired eyes were greeted by not only one, but four other canines that shared far more of his foreign characteristics than he’d ever thought possible.
It was a female canine who shared more of his foreign characteristics than he’d ever thought possible.
Quite the eye-catching female and three mewling pups.
Now, if we’re being honest here, it should be said that poor shut-in Strig would’ve been just as attentive if it were four foxes at his door.
But they weren’t, they were his kind, and he was in a state of rapture.
“Hey there, handsome,” the fine-looking dame cooed. “I’m Roxanne and this here is Yappy, Snappy, and Crappy. Would you by any chance be willing to loam a room to four weary travelers, hotstuff?”
Strig snapped out of his starstruck daze when those names had him look those pups over for the first time. Significantly less than a moon old, they should’ve been perky little balls of lard. Not only were these little more than bags of bones, there was so little life left in them that five heartbeats of crying knocked them out cold. They should’ve been talking by now, too, but not a single legible peep ever came out of the trembling snouts.
Once he got them set up in his auditory observatory, he posted himself in the hallway to his bedroom and waited to hurt.
And hurt he did.
She never once offered herself to them for nursing. Whenever one woke enough to make a pathetic utterance, she’d smack it to silence with the sharply-clawed underside of her paw. The constant stream of muttered profanity that flowed from her curled muzzle was heavily laced with the word “mistakes.”
It was then Strig vowed those were his pups to save.
Every chance he got -and Roxanne quickly proved to be a careless wanderer, so there were a lot of chances- he was curled around those scraps and forcing paw-pulverized mouse down their throats. Whenever she managed to show up, she didn’t seem to notice that her kids were no longer frequenters of Death’s door.
As we all expected, Roxanne barely managed to stick around for a week.
She took off long before dawn, thinking she’d escape unseen, but Strig knew. The moment the sun set that day, he roused the three abandoned sucklings and sat them down.
“You are now Nyctea, Asio, and Aegolius. These are your given names. You have no others. You are my children, and you will bear these names with the dignity that both they command and I expect. There will be no contention over this. Do you understand?”
It was the closest he ever came to threatening. And, despite not yet having mastered their own tongues, they all understood.
Fatherhood had never even been the vaguest of possibilities in Strig’s mind, but he gave it his all. From tireless hunting of only the highest-quality meat to compensate for the vital milk they’d never gotten to giving them regimented daily lessons on everything they needed to know about life (((obviously, primarily birds))) to -oh, OWLS FORBID- weaving extravagant tales of fantasyto keep them amused, he made sure that they never had an opportunity to even recall the wretched mother who’d thoughtlessly brought them into the world. Aegolius quickly became his stepfather’s mental clone; while Nyctea also shared their love of science, he preferred to keep even more so to the sheltering shadows.
And, right from the start, Asio proved to be the untamable rebel. She just never could understand how the males of her family could be so complacent with their sedentary underground lives. To satisfy the burning unrest within her, she ran with the wrong crowds, picked up nasty habits with no remorse, and never came home on time.
Her risqué shenanigans reached their pinnacle she announced one overdue return with “Hey, Dae, look what I did!”, the mangled head of some unfortunate pet dangling from her jaws.
The very next morning, Strig was ushering her out of the den. “We love you, sweet, we really do,” he fervently promised amidst his muttered fretting. “But it’s definitely best if you go…elsewhere until this…calms down.”
No matter how he blood-coated it, Asio knew she was being given the boot.
And that fear in his eyes. Was it of the vengeance her acts might bring down onto their household or of her herself?
Regardless, Asio felt no pain in admitting she liked it.
Now that she’d severed all ties, she continued to delight in playing the canine mob’s hitwoman. They gave her targets, each an increasingly challenging case. It went from mere pets, to unimportant ferals, and then even to full-fledged members of the mob that’d ruffled the wrong fur. And as she continued, she developed quite the method of elimination. It was a beautifully immaculate system she had going.
And then they told her to kill him.
Of course it went down in a dark alley. She was told to scale the barbed wire pen and fell what waited at the end of the chain.
It was a beast bigger than she’d ever downed.
He woke and fought. Hard.
But Asio had the surpassing element of surprise. As always.
Strangely, she felt no delight in taking this life.
She never did understand why, but she knew she had to go after that.
Subsequently, her being a mateless female was starting to be taken notice of.
And, so, moonhigh of the next night, telling not a soul of her departure, she stole away into the night. She was instantly drawn to the sea and what it coaxed to its banks.
The days Asio spent at the dock morphed into moons, until she came to prove her own hypothesis: humans that went onto the floating vessel did indeed journey to lands too distant to return from.
She boarded the heartbeat she understood.
It was on that voyage that she developed her taste for human flesh.
Human child flesh, to be precise.
It was so sweet. None of that disappointing, tough lean always infallibly found on animals. Just rolls and rolls and rolls of honeyed, buttery fat. And don’t even get her started on the perfect, scrumptious blood---
Every three nights, another precious little one would be missing from its quarters. The frantic mothers always riled up a mob to scour the boat for the psychotic thief, but they never found so much as a scrap of the kid’s clothing.
Three hefty babies in ten days. They were such easy kills -no fuss, no muss, just a single vertebra removed from the back of their grotesquely fleshy necks- and yet the wonderfully unrefined fear they radiated was beyond that of any of her victims.
Oh, she certainly gorged herself, and it wasn’t just the hunger of her stomach that she satiated.
She disembarked without a hitch, and then began her wandering.
…many moons later, she came to a screeching halt here and launched her undetectable reign of terror.
But why on earth did she stop here of all places?
She swears she’s here for the kicks- and the opportunities to amuse her sick self are definitely bountiful.
But maybe it’s more than that.
Pack: The Committee
Crush: haha
Offspring: Oh, she can’t STAND children.
Parents: Strigidae (stepfather) and Roxanne (blood mother)
Siblings: Nyctea (formerly Yappy) and Aegolius (formerly Crappy)
Song associated: Who We Are (Imagine Dragons) {Cover by Freya Niamh}
Other: Birds are her exploitable weakness. Just wait and see. ,;3
Username: HeavensHens88
Click to expand...
SHE'S A PRECIOUS LITTLE HUMAN EATER
 
HeavensHens88 said:
after all the agonizing thought I put into her
this is
terribly rushed and likely not even done
and now I have no time to read anything, of course
oh, well, such is ME :D


Name: Asio
Age: 66 moons
Rank: Paragon's left-hand woman
Gender: Female
Personality:
Morality is meaningless.
Murderousness is in.
As a rule, she doesn’t give two claws about anyone else’s feelings, wellbeing, or even life. If she’s going to spend her time looking after a tail that isn’t her own, they have to earn her respect. And, since she knows her fellow coyotes for the rabble of classic opportunists they are, that’s not the easiest feat to achieve.
Scathingly sarcastic and lets it be thoroughly known when she’s displeased.
Does not suffer fools the least bit gladly. Bitterly, dangerously resentful toward anyone who commits any trespasses against her.
Obsessively secretive; takes every precaution to keep her next move traceable by absolutely none. Conversely, she seems to know where everyone is at any given time to a disturbing extent. Delights in sowing frightful discord among both the packs and the committee. If something goes awry and all evidence points to the least likely culprit, it’s bound to be the handiwork of Asio- not that she’ll ever be caught. She never commits a crime unless it’s perfect.
Though she swore on her life that she wouldn’t become her father, she has indeed collected and stored enough information and experience to develop a brilliant head that could easily surpass his.
She’s an insanely talented mimic, especially when it comes to bird calls.
And, yes, she’s a total Brit- melodious accent included.
All of this makes her an invaluable agent of espionage.
She’s entirely her own mistress, yet willingly subjects herself to Iscariot for reasons unknown to even her. Since she’s faithfully remained at his side for this long despite literally having the means to travel the world, she feels a certain amount of entitlement.
And Petrel is there, always there, to interfere with her rightful recompense.
To say that she hates him would be an understatement.
Oh, and the dogs.
There are so many perfect skeletons yearning to be rearranged, so much untapped blood just dying to be spilled, but for the sake of everything they’ve built, she keeps herself in check.
For now.
Species:
Description: 18” tall. Elongated torso and nimble legs. Narrow, pointed head, hardly prominent forehead. Weird bone protrusion off the back of her skull that’s only noticeable if you collide with her head. Coarse, short fur that’s golden with a darker saddle of brown guard hairs and solid, neatly edged black unders. And she’s gotta keep those sketchy black eyes despite the improbability. (Typhoon phases in and out of reality in the background)
View attachment 2209294
History:
Once, in a specific span of space and time, there existed a coyote. This particular coyote, who just happened to be an escaped convict from the mammal lab three buildings over, lived in the tunnel den he’d dug beneath an ornithology lab somewhere in the great wide UK. Being that this coyote’s studies had been inadvertently translating the excessive language of man back to his own, his vocabulary was much, much larger than the average coyote’s. He’d even given himself his own majestically avian name- Strigidae.
It should be noted that this coyote was an ornithologist in his own right.
He, who’d even gone so far to accommodate his educational pursuits as to become unnaturally diurnal, was roused one night by a scratching at his cobweb door. His tired eyes were greeted by not only one, but four other canines that shared far more of his foreign characteristics than he’d ever thought possible.
It was a female canine who shared more of his foreign characteristics than he’d ever thought possible.
Quite the eye-catching female and three mewling pups.
Now, if we’re being honest here, it should be said that poor shut-in Strig would’ve been just as attentive if it were four foxes at his door.
But they weren’t, they were his kind, and he was in a state of rapture.
“Hey there, handsome,” the fine-looking dame cooed. “I’m Roxanne and this here is Yappy, Snappy, and Crappy. Would you by any chance be willing to loam a room to four weary travelers, hotstuff?”
Strig snapped out of his starstruck daze when those names had him look those pups over for the first time. Significantly less than a moon old, they should’ve been perky little balls of lard. Not only were these little more than bags of bones, there was so little life left in them that five heartbeats of crying knocked them out cold. They should’ve been talking by now, too, but not a single legible peep ever came out of the trembling snouts.
Once he got them set up in his auditory observatory, he posted himself in the hallway to his bedroom and waited to hurt.
And hurt he did.
She never once offered herself to them for nursing. Whenever one woke enough to make a pathetic utterance, she’d smack it to silence with the sharply-clawed underside of her paw. The constant stream of muttered profanity that flowed from her curled muzzle was heavily laced with the word “mistakes.”
It was then Strig vowed those were his pups to save.
Every chance he got -and Roxanne quickly proved to be a careless wanderer, so there were a lot of chances- he was curled around those scraps and forcing paw-pulverized mouse down their throats. Whenever she managed to show up, she didn’t seem to notice that her kids were no longer frequenters of Death’s door.
As we all expected, Roxanne barely managed to stick around for a week.
She took off long before dawn, thinking she’d escape unseen, but Strig knew. The moment the sun set that day, he roused the three abandoned sucklings and sat them down.
“You are now Nyctea, Asio, and Aegolius. These are your given names. You have no others. You are my children, and you will bear these names with the dignity that both they command and I expect. There will be no contention over this. Do you understand?”
It was the closest he ever came to threatening. And, despite not yet having mastered their own tongues, they all understood.
Fatherhood had never even been the vaguest of possibilities in Strig’s mind, but he gave it his all. From tireless hunting of only the highest-quality meat to compensate for the vital milk they’d never gotten to giving them regimented daily lessons on everything they needed to know about life (((obviously, primarily birds))) to -oh, OWLS FORBID- weaving extravagant tales of fantasyto keep them amused, he made sure that they never had an opportunity to even recall the wretched mother who’d thoughtlessly brought them into the world. Aegolius quickly became his stepfather’s mental clone; while Nyctea also shared their love of science, he preferred to keep even more so to the sheltering shadows.
And, right from the start, Asio proved to be the untamable rebel. She just never could understand how the males of her family could be so complacent with their sedentary underground lives. To satisfy the burning unrest within her, she ran with the wrong crowds, picked up nasty habits with no remorse, and never came home on time.
Her risqué shenanigans reached their pinnacle she announced one overdue return with “Hey, Dae, look what I did!”, the mangled head of some unfortunate pet dangling from her jaws.
The very next morning, Strig was ushering her out of the den. “We love you, sweet, we really do,” he fervently promised amidst his muttered fretting. “But it’s definitely best if you go…elsewhere until this…calms down.”
No matter how he blood-coated it, Asio knew she was being given the boot.
And that fear in his eyes. Was it of the vengeance her acts might bring down onto their household or of her herself?
Regardless, Asio felt no pain in admitting she liked it.
Now that she’d severed all ties, she continued to delight in playing the canine mob’s hitwoman. They gave her targets, each an increasingly challenging case. It went from mere pets, to unimportant ferals, and then even to full-fledged members of the mob that’d ruffled the wrong fur. And as she continued, she developed quite the method of elimination. It was a beautifully immaculate system she had going.
And then they told her to kill him.
Of course it went down in a dark alley. She was told to scale the barbed wire pen and fell what waited at the end of the chain.
It was a beast bigger than she’d ever downed.
He woke and fought. Hard.
But Asio had the surpassing element of surprise. As always.
Strangely, she felt no delight in taking this life.
She never did understand why, but she knew she had to go after that.
Subsequently, her being a mateless female was starting to be taken notice of.
And, so, moonhigh of the next night, telling not a soul of her departure, she stole away into the night. She was instantly drawn to the sea and what it coaxed to its banks.
The days Asio spent at the dock morphed into moons, until she came to prove her own hypothesis: humans that went onto the floating vessel did indeed journey to lands too distant to return from.
She boarded the heartbeat she understood.
It was on that voyage that she developed her taste for human flesh.
Human child flesh, to be precise.
It was so sweet. None of that disappointing, tough lean always infallibly found on animals. Just rolls and rolls and rolls of honeyed, buttery fat. And don’t even get her started on the perfect, scrumptious blood---
Every three nights, another precious little one would be missing from its quarters. The frantic mothers always riled up a mob to scour the boat for the psychotic thief, but they never found so much as a scrap of the kid’s clothing.
Three hefty babies in ten days. They were such easy kills -no fuss, no muss, just a single vertebra removed from the back of their grotesquely fleshy necks- and yet the wonderfully unrefined fear they radiated was beyond that of any of her victims.
Oh, she certainly gorged herself, and it wasn’t just the hunger of her stomach that she satiated.
She disembarked without a hitch, and then began her wandering.
…many moons later, she came to a screeching halt here and launched her undetectable reign of terror.
But why on earth did she stop here of all places?
She swears she’s here for the kicks- and the opportunities to amuse her sick self are definitely bountiful.
But maybe it’s more than that.
Pack: The Committee
Crush: haha
Offspring: Oh, she can’t STAND children.
Parents: Strigidae (stepfather) and Roxanne (blood mother)
Siblings: Nyctea (formerly Yappy) and Aegolius (formerly Crappy)
Song associated: Who We Are (Imagine Dragons) {Cover by Freya Niamh}
Other: Birds are her exploitable weakness. Just wait and see. ,;3
Username: HeavensHens88
Click to expand...
I’m shook.
 
PeepersMama said:
Im also super biased because i can't stand any dog irl haha (☞ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)☞
Click to expand...
me too
RoostersAreAwesome said:
Does anyone want to make Heron or Rose, Arrow’s adult pups in Lupus? I’d imagine that they’re stubborn and a bit independent, like their mother, and probably bitter that she yeeted them to their grandmother and then just waltzed off to Canis, but you can make their personalities whatever you want. I’ll most likely make Huckleberry.. when I have the motivation. XD

Also, has anyone else noticed that the entire Canis government is female? :lol:
Click to expand...

Unfortunately I’m making my own pups currently as Heather’s children.
also... no... I did not notice that.
:0
Butterscotchbitesfinger said:
(They sounds like the equivalent of a dingo here. Ok I will make one after looking them up. Might have to wait till tomorrow as I’m a busy person (TV time))
Click to expand...
They are.
 

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