Name Meaning: Warlike
Nickname(s): Demari, Mari, Dee, Mar-Mar, Whistler
Age: 3 years
Species: Western Dhole
Appearance: Demarius is covered in memories from his harsh past. Scars snake across his body this way and that, some old and small, others recent and large. The most prominent scars are the ones that go from the right side of his face, across to the left should. Three long light pink gashes. Demarius is rather small compared to other species of canines, only measuring to about 30 inches and only weighing about 34 pounds. Demarius looks a lot like an oversized red fox, with his thick skull, large ears, long red fur, white underbelly, murky greenish brown eyes, and thick, black bushy tail. A lot of canines mistake him for one, for not often do they see a dhole.
Personality: Demarius’ nature is something that had always gotten him into trouble in his old pack. Vicious cruelty was respected in a pack of fighters, but Demarius was anything but. He is one of the sweetest creatures you will ever meet, and it is in his nature to help others that are hurt. That and his immense calm and patience makes him a great healer. He loves to talk and be around other creatures, be it canines or others species. Except large birds. They terrify him. He often becomes anxious when he is left alone for long periods of time. Demarius doesn’t like physical conflict, for he has had enough conflict in his life already, and he likes to solve things peacefully. He has no patience for arrogant and violent wolves. Loyalty is a strong principle for him and if it came to it, he would fight to protect the ones he cares for. Demarius is sharp witted, but for all his wits he can be a bit too eager in giving away his trust to others.
Demarius was born on a swelteringly hot summer day in a litter of six pups, four males and two females. His father, High Ranking Agro, proudly sat by watching them snuggle up to their mother, High Ranking Shadow. Six future warriors. They all looked alike, red and white fur, only the sizes differing. So as tradition went, he started by naming the biggest to the smallest. The biggest, a male, he named Ragnar. The next biggest were two male pups, both the same size. He named the first Oliver, and the second Axe. The third biggest was the first born female, so her he named Nightshade. The fourth biggest was the second born female, for which he named Scylla. The smallest of the litter was the last male, the runt of the litter. Agro gave him the name Demarius, the name that belonged to the original founder of the pack, a fierce name for what he thought to be the fiercest pup. For he was also born the runt of the litter as a Low Ranking, and now he was one of the High Rankings.
A week after the pups were born they were up and about, eyes open to the world. Agro encouraged them all to play fight with each other, learn skills while they were young. He told them to be as aggressive as they wanted, and they all were quite fierce. Except for Demarius. He would wrestle with the other pups, but not with the aggressive nature Agro was hoping to see in him. Arriving back from a hunt, he saw Demarius laying down on his back, pawing at a butterfly. Agro frowned, disappointed to see such behavior, and trotted over to where his son lay.
He said, tone firm. The pup just looked up and smiled, tail wagging. Agro struck out faster than a cobra then, nipping the pup. Demarius yelped and jumped up, whimpering.
“Go wrestle with your siblings.”
He barked out, gruff. The small pup slunk away to join his sparring siblings. Seeing that he joined in, Agro nodded, satisfied, and walked away to tend to other business.
Two Months Old
Demarius trudged along the windy, twisting path tiredly, his whole body aching. he was two months old, which meant he started warrior training. All the others were bigger than him, and ten times as viscous. He didn’t want to fight, but he didn’t have much of a choice. He had some nasty wounds from the fights he had been in, which would surely become scars.
A loud, deafening roar startled him, and a flash of orange and black sent him running. He was always told to run if he ever spotted a striped one. After running for what seemed like an eternity, he stumbled into a clearing, frightened out of his mind. He couldn’t see his mentor.
Demarius gave a strangled cry as a large black shape dived down from the sly, clawing and pecking at him. More came from the sky, a horrible mass of beaks and claws and loud caws. The crows flew off into the sky as yipping red blurs burst into the clearing, biting at the birds. Demarius lay there, dazed and hurting. His father walked up to him and carefully grabbed him by the scruff and headed back to camp.
One Year Old
Darius moved quietly beside his sister, Scylla, sniffing the air every few moments. He was a year old now, and had finally gained full warrior status. No more being forced to fight every day. Quite a few scars covered his body, many from training, but most from the crow attack. Right then he was on border patrol. It was a peaceful change from the everyday violence of training. All of a sudden Scylla gave an alarmed yip and raced off, leaving him standing there confused before he finally realized why she bolted off like that. There, a few feet in front of him, lay a female striped one. Her paw was caught in a hunter’s trap, and her eyes were filled with pain. The urge to run was strong, but the urge to help a creature in pain was equally strong.
The feline shifted upon seeing him, sitting up. She eyed him for a few moments before she began to speak.
“If you help me get this thing off, I won’t bite. I’ll do something for you in return.”
She rumbled, and Demarius was surprised, for he had never heard a striped make any other sound then a roar. Tentatively he nodded, slowly walking towards her. In training, he had been taught how to disengage a hunters trap if he ever got trapped in one. He grabbed the top half of the trap in his jaws and with his front paw pressed down upon the button that would open it. It sprang open with a spring sound and he jumped away, ready to run. The feline lifted her paw and put it back down, testing how much weight it could put on it. She winced, and leaned on her other paw.
“Thank you.” She said, limping towards him. Demarius nodded, still nervous.
“My name is Lilith. I suppose I owe you a favor, now.” She continued, a slight smile gracing her features. He tried to relax a small bit. A smile was a friendly gesture. He was pretty sure he wasn’t going to be eaten.
“I’m Demarius. I don’t know of any favor you could do for me.”
He murmured. Lilith looked highly amused at his lack of ideas. He didn’t look like another one of the mindless little canines who only craved blood.
“You look like you would be a good healer. I could give you knowledge of what herbs to use on what.”
Demarius began to grow excited. In the pack, there was very basic healing. Learning more ways to help others would be amazing. He could use this knowledge to help his packmates.
“Yes! Yes! Teach me healing skills!”
He exclaimed excitedly. Lilith smirked, laughing.
“Okay, we can start now.”
Two Years Old
Demarius crashed to the ground, the air leaving his lungs. He lay there gasping as his father stalked over to him, anger written all over his features.
“You’re a disgrace! Leave here before I rip out your throat.”
Agro snarled, bristling. Demarius stood and ran to his best ability. His side was bleeding heavily from the gashes he received. His father had found out about his training with Lilith, and now he had no pack. He would have to fend on his own now. The thought made him whimper. He moved faster when he heard yips rise up behind him. He would find a better place to be, and he wasn’t going to look back.
Weaknesses: He cannot swim, and he has a fear of large birds, like crows or ravens.
Strengths: Being raised in a pack who dedicated there life to being the ultimate warriors, he knows quite a bit about fighting skills, and is good at climbing trees.
Family: Father; Agro Mother; Shadow Sister; Nightshade Sister; Scylla Brother; Oliver Brother; Ragnar Brother; Axe
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