Penelope Forrest

Out of Character

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Luperci
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Wed Oct 16, 2019 10:53 pm Owl#2959
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Mon Nov 18, 2019 11:45 pm
What is this like the 3rd rejoin attempt? Yeah, what's up, I'm Owl
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In Character

Female 01 May 2016
Dog (25% Akbash 25% Moremma 50% Great Pyrenees) Ortus
Nel is well built, long, and very powerful. While in her four legged form, her coat hangs off of her like silk and her plume tail curls over her back. Her ears flop over her head and lay on shaggy cheeks. Her fine white coat is interrupted by a smudge of black over the bridge of her muzzle and her ruddy brown nose. She takes immaculate care of her fur and regularly dips into clear streams and lakes to keep her coat white.

When she shifts to optime, her height is what shines. She stands 6'10" and her thick coat gives her added girth. She typically wears limited clothing, with a simple belt and kilt or warm winter cloak. Though, the exception is her spiked collar. It's thick leather but the exterior is bent metal with rugged spikes cut into it. She wears it with pride, though while in optime she will loop it to her belt. Occasionally, when the mood suits her she enjoys painting her face with fanciful dyes that she happens to stumble upon.

Her grooming routine takes up a decent amount of her time but what isn't spent cleaning is spent walking with her small herd of goats. Her lanky form does best on the move and following the goats. While she sticks out among their dark colors, her spiked collar and scowling face serves as a proper warning.
Penelope Forrest can be described in few words, to those that decide to stick around. She's been known as the white menace. Her demeanor proceeds her as she is often fickle and quick to judge. She keeps the company of few but her goats, who she guards passionately.

She is instinctually loyal, driven to protect those that need her. She is strong, bold, and very nearly fearless. Though, with her bravery comes arrogance and a lot stupidity when she gets too ahead of herself. Sometimes, she's driven to bite first and ask questions later. It can be difficult to get on her good side.

Her soft side is buried deep down for only the creatures close to her. The most important to her now is her band of goats, which are nine strong. She cares for the goats nearly better than herself, guiding them to greener pastures and to the freshest water. At night, she sleeps among them, a light sleeper in case of intruders in the night. She shows a maternal devotion to all of them and has made many sacrifices on their behalf.

Nel is spirited and bold, suspicious and fickle, but she understands herself and has never pondered her meaning in life. It's just her and her goats and that's all that matters.
Penelope, or rather Nel, was born in a low pasture between mountains in a pack of other dogs like her. It was a branching community made of smaller family groups that all grazed livestock in a sweeping valley that protected them. Nel's mother and father tended mostly to goats and sheep. Her father was named Horton and acted as a strict leader among the other dogs. Nel learned quickly to be upright and attentive, tend to the flock.

Her mother, Honey, guided her in the care and the finer art of things. And Nel was happy in the valley, with the other dogs that looked like her. They were white or fawn-colored, thick coats and steady brown eyes. They tended to their flocks and were a community.

It was into her second year when things began to change, goat and sheep began disappearing. Late in the night, when the watchers had given into sleep, lulled by the years of peace in the valley. An ancient paranoia permeated through the pack of wolves and bandits in the woods. The old ceremonial collars were returned to use and dogs stalked through the night, waiting for the predators.

In the days that came, dogs began disappearing and Nel donned her collar at well, barely past her second year. Her father waited until the wolves appeared, but they came with many and though the dogs were brave they were outnumbered by the starving mountain wolves. Nel was forced to flea with a splinter group of the flock into the hills to escape the bloodshed. It was the end of her fantasy and while she picked up a few of the scattered goats along the way, many were lost.

Since then, she has been traveling west to the coast line. Constantly in search of good pasture, clean water and a safe place for her flock to graze. Maybe someday, a pack to call her own.
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