Ark Coara

Inactive Member
Luperci The Sword of Nín
ṡ̸̢̠̗̑̃͐ŏ̸̩̋̍m̶͉͎̣̦̝̆e̸̜̻̠̪͝ͅò̸̢̰̯̖̝̀̒̉ņ̴͕̠͌̈́̈̌̚ê̸͚ ̵̣͇͋͝m̴͚̮͘ṳ̵͐ͅs̴̪͉̬̦͛͆͑̏͒ṭ̸͈̩̪̓̆̑͌ ̶̝̈́̈́b̸͈̭͒͘ǫ̷͕̱͉̩̍̅̓̔w̸̥̣̯̯͗̉̏̏͘
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Dog hybrid
Date of Birth:
20th December 2016
Luperci Ortus
For an amalgamation of various landrace breeds, Ark is impressively tall, and years of training and battle have rewarded him with a chiseled physique. Lean muscle ripples across his body, and his paw pads are calloused and dusty. His muzzle is long, and his tail is feathery and soft, a throwback to his Golden Retriever blood.

Darker than his brother, Ark is colored much like the sludge at the bottom of Nín's waterways, though some of the lighter grays come across as blue in extreme sunlight. Accents of cream tickle his nose and chest, but his most catching feature is his one good eye, smoldering and burning a bright amber. The other is milky-white and glazed over, unseeing.

Old scars riddle his body from head to toe: the most noticeable slash is that over his damaged left eye, though there are also nicks along the right side of his muzzle, as well as grazing his neck. There is a notch missing from his left ear, and more errant flashes of pink are visible across his chest and arms, battle scars from the Old Realm's last stand against their aggressors.

Oftentimes, Ark will don his trusty battle armor, leather-made and reinforced with iron where necessary. Matching bracers and knee-guards protect his joints. A man of little finesse, his weapon of choice is a large spiked mace, one that Ark takes meticulous care to clean after each encounter.
The raids against his Kingdom irrevocably changed Ark as a young man, and he has never fully been able to capture that wide-eyed optimism before his youth was robbed from him.

Having faced much hardship in his life, he very easily could let these things define him — abused by his brother, exposed to the horrors of war, exiled from his homelands — but, instead, Ark has chosen to embrace these hardships and use them to harness something he keeps close to his heart.


His hatred and vengeance is often an insidious, quiet thing, just barely contained below the surface, but on the battlefield, it overtakes him, makes him someone else entirely. Ark has trained for years and years, pushing his body to the absolute limit, looking for anyone and everyone to take out his bottled-up anger on because those that had betrayed him where no where to be found. Only those that pledge their loyalty to him are spared from his wrath.

To any unsuspecting outsider, he is simply a mercenary with every reason to parade around with his large weapon and his few words. Those that get too close unfortunately learn the truth but never live to tell the tale.
Solas Nartholiel
Azgar, warhorse

WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It may contain very strong language, drug usage, graphic violence, or graphic sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.

Specifically, this thread is marked mature because of: violence, mentions of incest.

The firstborn of his parents' second litter, Ark had his work cut out for him as a son of a pious Lorn family; he was expected to follow their patron Goddess, Nín, wholeheartedly and with zeal. For his brothers and sisters, this was as natural as breathing — but Ark remained cautiously skeptical, instead gravitating to the art of the sword. His older sibling, Rand Coara, tried so very hard to change his mind and guide him as any good brother would.

It was innocuous, at first. But soon Rand's guidance grew more physical, idle touches remaining longer, small displays of brotherly love taking on an forbidden intimacy that made Ark's stomach churn. Eventually, he found the courage to tell his Priest brother no; and the abuse stopped, as if it had never transpired in the first place.

Rand's degeneracy would never see the light of day, however. As Ark's military career flourished, rumors of incest, surely, would burn all of his hopes and hard work to the ground. Ark toiled in uncomfortable silence, growing embittered with the Lady that Rand seemed to worship so mindlessly.

When the siege began, Ark was on the front line, defending his Realm and slaying her foes left and right. Unfortunately, the damage was irreversible, the wounds cutting too deep. The Old Kingdom was set ablaze, slowly bleeding out as refugees scattered from the onslaught. Entire families were wiped out, clans fragmented, homes destroyed.

It just so happened that his brother had gathered together a group of the last remaining faithful in the wake of the war, and Ark — wounded, half-blinded, and shell-shocked — had no choice but to follow.
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