Crowell Proudfoot

Inactive Member
Second Cadet (NPC)
Avatar credit:
Discord Handle: aspen#1383
Date of Birth:
1st October 2019
Due to his wolfish heritage, Crow is fairly large, although not quite as large as full-blooded wolves. His features are definitively wolfish at first glance, but upon further inspection, his ears are a little too tall, his tail a little too curved, his muzzle a little too thin. His pelt is dark, nearly pure black, with faint dark brown haze strewn about and a stark white splotch on his chest. His eyes are a vibrant yellow and his nose and pawpads are black.
His most notable feature, of course, is that he is missing the lower part of his right (hind) leg. The stump that is left behind is scored by deep scars that have healed over into fleshy tissue, showing even through his thick fur.

Crow’s build is toned and muscular, although not excessively. In terms of weight, he’s on the thinner side, as he doesn’t always eat as much as a young man his age should. That being said, he is still fit and capable in his youth and his arms and chest are noticeably toned due to his training in blacksmithing.

Crowell’s humanization is relatively low. He isn’t often seen wearing clothes or trinkets save for the numerous straps he wears to keep his prosthetic leg in place. He isn’t against clothes, he just prefers to go without them. When in his Optime form, his mane tends to stick up in the front in a messy swoop and the back just blends in with the fur on his neck. He prefers to keep his mane cropped fairly short so it doesn’t get in his way; he’s not one for drawing attention to himself.

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Illustration of Crowell’s leg! Thank you to Songbird for the inspo! <3

Crow is often seen carrying a simple satchel over his left shoulder, containing simple tools and excess pelts and cotton for use in adjusting his leg.

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Lupus: 70 lbs, 25 in

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Secui: 85 lbs, 34 in

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Optime: 190 lbs, 6’3”
Once cheerful and eager in his youth, the accident left Crowell a shadow of his former self. He’s melancholy and brooding, exuding an air of seriousness unbecoming of a man so young. His eyes are dark, haunted, and the only smiles it seems Crow can make these days are wry and sarcastic. He has a quick tongue and a sharp wit, prone to making snarky comments under his breath when he thinks no one is listening. Deep down, he doesn’t mean any harm truly, he just needs to learn to get his mouth under control. Crow is quick to frustration, especially surrounding himself and what he thinks he’s capable of. He has enough self-control to not lash out at others, but he has been known to break things in a fit of rage when things aren’t going his way.

Despite his outwardly callous demeanor, Crow is respectful of those ranked above him and those that have seniority over him. If he is reprimanded or asked to stop doing something, he will do so, and he has a bit of an “eager to please” streak.

Crowell has a very low opinion of himself, haunted by the mistakes he has made. That being said, however, on most days there’s a spark in the wolfdog, a drive to overcome and make up for what was lost. He is ambitious and driven to excel in his craft, if not for himself then for his family and for his future pack. He is also eager to learn, keenly aware of his shortcomings and eager to move past them. On bad days, though, he can be struck down by melancholy, torn up from the inside-out with self-hatred. Although he is young, this has led Crowell to develop a bit of a drinking problem if alcohol is available. If given the chance he will most likely pick up tobacco smoking too as a form of relief, but he will not actively seek it out. When he does drink, he tries to hold himself accountable and make sure he doesn’t get blackout drunk. He fears making a fool of himself in front of others, and surely trying to walk home on three or one-and-a-half legs will make him the laughingstock of the pack. Or, so he thinks.

Crowell finds joy in creating things and working with his hands. Blacksmithing is something he’s very interested in, as well as leatherworking and woodworking. He also dabbles in drawing, although he’s not proficient in it.

Although he doesn’t fancy himself so, his looks are rather charming. Crowell isn’t very interested in pursuing anything romantic at this point in his life, but he doesn’t have any sort of gender or sexual preference when it comes to a mate.

Due to his family’s heritage, Crow speaks with a faint British accent. His voice is fairly low and masculine. An example can be found here.
The Proudfoot family, a family of primarily wolven Luperci, once originated across the sea in England. Several generations past, members travelled across the pond and landed in what was once New England in North America. They settled around the Portland area and made their homes there, gradually developing the family blacksmithing trade. The family expanded to other trades, such as leather- and woodworking, and made their livelihoods by offering up goods that they made. Although perhaps not the most well-known or prolific family in Portland, they chalked out a living there and did what they could to survive.

Crowell Proudfoot was born to a wolf father, Remus, and a wolfdog mother, Cecilia. Crow, as he is affectionately called, was first in a litter of three others: two brothers and a sister named John, Lancey, and Sibil. Being the first-born and oldest brother, he felt as if he had a reputation to maintain. He must be a good role-model for his siblings, he must take on the family business, he must be good and just as to not damage his family name. This went all well and good, and his puphood was relatively uneventful, filled with a beginning education, rudimentary introductions to the family trade, and training in hunting and battle, until he made a mistake that has haunted him ever since.

Remus and his brother went on a hunting party with other members of the town, aiming to bring down a large black bear that had been plaguing the town for a matter of days. Crowell, desperate to prove himself in the eyes of his father and his community, snuck out of his mother’s gaze and went after them. He could help bring down a bear. Most certainly, he could. He hadn’t quite mastered the art of shifting yet, but no matter! He was a skilled fighter even at his age, there was no way this could go wrong. Crow followed after the small hunting party, using the best stealthing skills he could muster as they made their way to where the bear was last seen. The bear was located quickly and drawn out by the wolves in their Secui forms. Crow watched and waited for the perfect time to launch his attack as well, springing into the fray once he noticed an opening. The bear, thrown into a frenzied fear-rage, took this flash of movement as a time to strike and clamped down on the pup's leg with a mouth of monstrous teeth. It caught Crow on the right hind leg, leaving the limb a bloodied, mangled mess almost immediately. This was the precise moment when he realized that he had made a grave mistake.

The next hours were a haze. The bear was dispatched, the pup gathered carefully in paternal arms, and rushed to the nearest healer as fast as two legs could carry a being. Crowell didn’t remember much after this, eventually finding himself wake up in a fur-lined nest. His leg was nothing but a bloodied stump, cauterized to stop the bleeding and bound as best as a Luperci could.

Thus began his new way of life. He adjusted to walking on three legs fairly quickly, although his demeanor had shifted to one of brooding bitterness with a touch of self-loathing. His family treated him gently, as if he were the most fragile thing in the world, triggering bouts of foul temper and frustration. When he was old enough to properly shift, things became more of an issue. First, Crow was fashioned a crude crutch so he could walk in his Optime form, although this quickly became a problem as he needed use of both hands to get his blacksmith training underway. Crow was something of a tinkerer, possessing a keen mind and inventive imagination, so with his family’s help, he begun the process of crafting his first fake leg. It was, to say the least, impressive, a fairly masterful concoction of wood and leather that ultimately helped him greatly with mobility. It took getting used to, of course, and it had to be adjusted as he grew, and he couldn’t be on his feet for extended periods of time...but it was something. Something to ease his guilt and anger about his situation. The leg wasn’t perfect by any means and it often--and still does--irritate him in the way it shifts in place, but it’s better than nothing.

Being in Portland became something of a hardship for Crowell. It reminded him too much of his mistakes and his burdens, so, as his first year birth date neared, he decided it would be best if he left. He had heard of a place further north called ‘Souls, more specifically of a pack known as Casa di Cavalieri. There were members of this pack milling around in Portland for some time, running a trading outpost. They were kind enough to give him directions. When Crowell’s first year anniversary rolled around, he was gifted with a traveling pack, a set of blacksmithing tools, and a hearty farewell from his family. Despite his age, he had more than proved himself a capable young man in spite of his injuries and his family had no doubt he would be able to handle himself. He left Portland soon after and headed north to find the Casa he had heard about, making the journey in a little over a week’s time.
Crowell Proudfoot is Offline
Last Visit:
6 January 2022, 04:23 PM
Time Spent Online:
17 Hours, 6 Minutes, 40 Seconds