05-16-2009, 09:17 PM
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 .......OOC Name: Sace .......Preferred method of contact: PM .......Character Name: Hemming Raðúlfr .......Character Age: 4 years .......Character Gender: Male .......Regular Wolf or Luperci: Luperci .......How did you hear about 'Souls?: I played here a couple of years ago .......He was lost off in some other world, his feet hitting the dry soil haphazardly as he plodded along, waving his finger in the air around his head. Eyes closed, he exclaimed in the best a feminine voice he could muster, "Come, come, come, come, give me your hand. What's done cannot be undone!" The gray wolf had been reciting lines from various sources since he had watched his backpack, filled with books and some gizmos he had collected, slip over the edge of a cliff and plunge deep into the Atlantic. Unfortunately, though he would never forget the precise number of To bed!s uttered by Lady MacBeth, the wolf had never been a strong swimmer. It was fortunate, however, that he was fully aware of where his weaknesses lied. .......Though Hemming was not sure how far he had wandered - through charred lands that were beginning to be reborn, through mountain ranges, through forests and fields - he knew he had made his way through A Tale of Two Cities, The Importance of Being Earnest, Don Quixote, and was now almost finished MacBeth. Perhaps he would be ambitious and tackle War and Peace next, or maybe Il barbiere di Siviglia, his favorite opera. Convinced that he would never see those words printed on paper again, he was absolutely dedicated to repeating them as many times as possible. He hadn't really thought about obtaining new copies of the books, fearing that any thinking devoted to anything else would cause him to immediately forget everything he had ever read. It was a terrifying thought. .......In the distance, a fence was beginning to become evident, and beyond that was a collection of some shapes that the wolf could hardly make out. By Scene Four, Hemming was gently resting his hands on the fence, peering through at the animals inside. Distracted from his play, likely with no small influence from his stomach, he stared. As he wandered and walked, his flesh seemed to be melting off his bones, and the sight of these creatures uncovered a hunger that had long been buried by words. "How curious," he muttered, wondering if they were captive or simply happened to be grazing within the confines of the fence. However, he could smell a pack and knew that the lands within the fence did belong to someone. .......Sighing, he started to walk again, parallel to the fence and with one hand occasionally settling upon it absent-mindedly. "I have almost forgotten the taste of fears; the time has been, my senses would have cool'd to hear a night-shriek..." .......By Scene Seven he had reached a gap in the fencing. He stalled, looking in from behind where the fence would be if it were not absent, and mumbled under his breath, now, as if it was now important he was quiet. It smelled more strongly of other wolves here, and as he noticed this he took a half-step backwards. Hemming couldn't quite remember the last time he actually spoke to someone, and rather doubted his ability to maintain a conversation. Like his hidden hunger had appeared earlier as he gazed at the wapiti, a longing for interaction creeped up on him now. Though he had Charles Darnay, Algernon and MacBeth to keep him company, they were rather predictable. Finally the muttering had stopped, as Hemming paused in deliberation. An important decision was being made. .......After a few moments of staring through the gap in the fence, he took another step back and sat down, cross-legged. A moment later he laid down, hands under his head. Staring at the silvered sky, he mouthed Scene Eight. |