Scox Elevander { folami

[I L Y I C H]

SCOX ELEVANDER
"Sweet dreams are made of this"

Gender: male
Age: 7 years
Species: folami

Eye color: Ocher
Body Build: Rangy but agile.
Fur Length: Medium.
Spay/Neutered/Steral: Steral.
*In-Depth Physical Appearance:
Rangy and strong, the beast seems gargantuan to most. Bestial in his size Scox stands at the larger end of his species height range. It is however rather difficult to look at him as an enemy. Despite his size and what one would assume to be girth Scox is pathetically slim. Bone juts out along back and hip. Ribs are only hidden by the sheer thickness of hair. Battered and bruised what could have been a powerful warrior turns into a sickly looking rouge. Scox in appearance seems vicious. Ill. As he should be, after all not everyone has a mask and even if they do it is not necessary to wear it always. Scox is not one to hide behind such trivial things. Masks are for the weak, or those who know not of themselves.

Laced with scar tissue the monster may seem, as previously stated, sickly. Thin and stringy the bastard child is one of destruction and has the proof grafted to his flesh. Such unpleasant things, however, remain entrapped bellow a shroud of corrupted pureness. Off-white in shade the demon appears almost snowy in substance much of the time. Unkempt and rather poor of hygiene the dog often looks ratty. Disgusting. Leaning towards a brownish-white Scox seems almost dirty, whether he grooms himself or not. Thus he makes little attempt to clam the insanity ever present within the twisted rippling hairs. Along side this fact and a pair of dirty ocher eyes, Scox is simply not a mutt to look twice at. A mistake, but a commonly made one.

Mother: Esmeralda, deceased.
Father: Torak, deceased.
Siblings: Keni, Holly, and Falone deceased x2 living x1.
Friends: None.
Mate: None.
Children: Terrifying concept.

Trained?: er...?
Opposing the feline massacre?: nope.
Personality:
Loose in the head, or dark in the heart. It's a good question, perhaps. One with no real answer. Was a child born blackened or melted within? Poetry and Rhymes can spin what they will, but the question shall never be answered. An answer never formed. Scox is a mad man, a lunatic with a taste for blood above that of any vampire known to man or beast alike. Cannibalistic and unafraid to admit it it would seem that the beast has no trouble with distancing himself. Of all the random sayings that he could think up Scox tends to stick to 'be yourself' as his favorite line. He has no filter, and as such will do what he wishes and say what he thinks. None are safe from that rapid sailor's tongue, nor the white needles encasing it. With a lack of loyalty and a haughty air of arrogance the devil coats himself in selfish lusts and desires.

Yet despite this constant tale of destruction Scox is a beast of chivalry. Wile he will sleep with anyone the pallid man is more apt to be kind to women. He had watched the way his mother was treated, and has gained a chivalric attitude because of it. Polite where often disgust fell through, the monster plays with females unintentionally. He is too apt to manipulate things, and as such often does not realize he is playing a game. Due to this Scox has almost entirely given up on reality. Life is a game, and he would play it like the master that he knew himself to be. Perhaps this is why the brute seems so fearless. So careless at times. Constantly forgetful. For in games a man has many lives, and all of them are reckless.

Despite the random acts of kindness that Scox may display at any given time to obtain what he wants, the man is no good egg. Cracked through the ghostly shell lay canines stained red with dementia. Paranoia. Poisoned yolk flows from his shell, and it stains the world with it's acid about him. An arrogant cheat, Scox finds little care for playing fair. Life ain't fair boy-o-boy, and he wouldn't pretend it was. Darkness is his path, after all. Darkness from the day he fell from mommy-dearests womb. Scox was born with a sever depression disorder. Though it often seems far flung the lad finds it difficult to care for others and in that same manor finds it hard to feel empathetic towards them as well. Asperger's perhaps. Schizoid personality disorder. With no tact for relationships and a general air of mopey uncaring the creature simply doesn't add up to a 'productive citizen'.

Scox takes what he wants. He does as he pleases. To a man with nothing to loose and a love for adrenaline fights are a relief. Layered atop his constant lethargy lay the weight of constant anxiety. Stimulus drives him mad. More often then not a simple repetitive noise will drive the demon into a rage. His mind simply can not handle the input. It shorts out and a nasty thing is born. A thing made off all the bitterness and hate bottled up in a child who never grew up. All of the disgust and loathing that has flooded the monster's veins from day one bursts forth with no stemming dam. No blockade. It is raw black hatred. For the world. For everything. What can not be controlled must be destroyed. That which is of annoyance must be removed. Scox is on the search for something with which to repair himself, and so far he is at a loss for such an instrument.

Still part of the pack?: Bidziil.
Rank: Hunter.
History:
Can a child truly be born evil, or is it the future that makes it so? Whatever the answer it would seem that one can be born with a certain darkness. Genetic or not. Predisposed for both of his disorders the young Scox found himself in a world of problems. Hurts. Confusions. He could never understand why he was meant to love these creatures surrounding him. It did not matter to the boy that they seemed quiet alike, they did not like him. Of that Scox was sure. Born the largest, he never the less found it hard to compete. Wile his mind was strong it seemed a portion was weak. Teachings came hard for Scox, who thought of his own ways and was reprimanded for it. Because of this the child grew harsh and cold towards others. His mildly chaotic talk grew worse, and he began to twitch.

It was during this time when the children were around three months old that they began to notice the differences between their family and other families. Daddy was mean. Daddy liked to hurt them, and hurt mommy. At first Scox was infuriated. Mommy did nothing. She didn't protect them and she didn't protect herself. But the little white pup learned swiftly to not argue. To shut his trap and take it. It was worse otherwise. It was during these months, trapped in a state of self imposed Stockholm syndrome that young Scox began to plan. He may be slow in some areas but this devil was quiet sharp in others. Planning was not a forte, and yet he spent months doing just that. Playing along getting bigger. Getting stronger. Going limp when the beatings came. Standing when he was told and smiling all the wile. It was this treatment that locked that corrupted grin upon the bastard's face once and for all.

It took almost a year for things to finally fall into place. To finally settle so the mentally sick brute could finally hatch his plots. Daddy died first, slick with blood and beaten to the ground. Mommy next, to save her from any other Daddy who would come along as he scented the weakness. Brothers and sisters last. They were too corrupted to live on. In his state of terrible lust the two year old did not notice the limping away of one individual until he had come to pause. Falone was gone. How sad! Oh but he would go on to ruin another family, would he not? Yet Scox soon began to bury the thought of a lost brother. Began to forget. Lovingly he buried the fallen, and sadly he left to complete the job. The entire time the brute had planned to commit suicide. To remove the last little trace of black smeared across the white canvas, and yet! Yet there was Falone, was there not? Still alive! Oh he had forgotten!

For the last five years Scox has been wandering aimlessly, playfully cruel and utterly devoid of caring as he tracked bloody paw prints across the wilds. The search for Falone has taken a backseat to a demand for more. Blood and adrenaline. Skill and playthings. He's been killing fucking and skipping his way about the country for years, and it's about time Scox slipped right on in to this new place. This new land. A white canvas just waiting for the crimson spill and the Indian black ink. It was ages before he even began to notice. Others? Oh yes. Scox found them all, and he watched them closely. Old and wise he was seen by their scouts and drawn forward. Drawn outward. Boring. Ah! But the killing of kitty cats seemed a fine ambition. Having been born wild the beast had never known what he was or why he was such a thing. It was all rather amusing to watch a culture fall together. Amusing in a highly annoying migraine inducing manor.