Profile of Prophecy: Quick Facts
Played By: Koilada
Basic Info
Full Name: Prophecy, Oracle
Subspecies: Red Wolf
Sex: Female
Age: 5 years (May 13th, 2018)
Birthplace: Star's Summit (Outside of the Teekon Wilds)
Subspecies: Red Wolf
Sex: Female
Age: 5 years (May 13th, 2018)
Birthplace: Star's Summit (Outside of the Teekon Wilds)
At a Glance
Haunting green eyes distract from the small, delicate frame of chocolate-and-cream, and bare forth from a face so blank it's a wonder the she-wolf can express at all.
Scent: A subtle mix of rose, lavender, and starflower that
holds a morning-air freshness to it. Once described
as "enchanting" by some lovelorn lad it enraptured.
Scent: A subtle mix of rose, lavender, and starflower that
holds a morning-air freshness to it. Once described
as "enchanting" by some lovelorn lad it enraptured.
Profile of Prophecy: Details
Appearance
Height: 72.4cm | 28.5"
Weight: 35.5kg | 78lb
Build:
✿ Diluted black-phase
✿ Soft, thick fur that flows in minute, delicate waves.
✿ Light green eyes
✿ Lithe and thin
✿ Light-footed, graceful, and subtle in movement
✿ Small-ish, rounded ears
✿ Mostly wears a neutral, lightly confused, sleepy, or dazed expression
✿ Rarely expresses or otherwise exaggerates her facial movements
Voice: {Wip link}
✿ Talks in a strangely formal prose
✿ Rarely uses contractions
✿ Use of words is oft described as "flowery"
Weight: 35.5kg | 78lb
Build:
✿ Diluted black-phase
✿ Soft, thick fur that flows in minute, delicate waves.
✿ Light green eyes
✿ Lithe and thin
✿ Light-footed, graceful, and subtle in movement
✿ Small-ish, rounded ears
✿ Mostly wears a neutral, lightly confused, sleepy, or dazed expression
✿ Rarely expresses or otherwise exaggerates her facial movements
Voice: {Wip link}
✿ Talks in a strangely formal prose
✿ Rarely uses contractions
✿ Use of words is oft described as "flowery"
Personality
---- [ N E U T R A L ] ----
---| Impassive |
Prophecy doesn't really have things like "personal opinions" or physical reactions, no, she's actually rather blank, calm, and seems, at least outwardly, to be relatively stoic. In fact, some would say she lacks a defined identity, and that may be true - to an extent.
Prophecy lacks self-actualisation; she doesn't pay much heed to herself as her being was dictated to be solely as a vessel for the sight of spirits, or that was the knowledge she was raised on, at least. Beyond the pacifistic surface, Prophecy is actually conflicted on her purpose, her person, and her place in the world.
---| Formal |
This she-wolf's archaic way of speaking bleeds into a very formal form. She addresses in an impersonal manner - either by "sir" or "my lady" and rarely uses names, even if they are offered to her. This also shows in her seeming inability to use contracted words or slang phrases.
---| Observer/Distant |
Lightfooted and silent, Prophecy moves as if there were air between her paws and the ground, coupled with her tendency to lurk unseen, either through sheer lack of presence or hiding in shadows, and ability to apparently pop out of nowhere, she has earned the nickname "The Ghost."
This innate quality makes it easy for her to watch and listen among the pack without much issue. Prophecy is not a spy, however, she is simply impersonal and detached from those around her and she much prefers to watch rather than learn through interaction. At her core, she is simply curious.
---| Conflicted |
Prophecy is unsure of herself and her beliefs. With waves from the most realistic world and those from the mystical crashing into her from both sides since she was first introduced to her packmates, her mind has been sent into a whirr of confusion and uncertainty. A large chunk of her observational curiosity can be attributed to this.
---- [ P O S I T I V E ] ----
---| Innocent |
Isolation creates a lack of understanding of the real world around you, and that's exactly true for Prophecy. Raised on mysticism and spirituality, she has little experience with the physical reality around her, particularly when it comes to the pack and its wolves. This can give her a somewhat whimsical charm to those who get to know her, as well as a frequent chance of humorous misunderstandings.
---| Perceptive |
Prophecy, while unskilled in social and personal matters, is actually remarkably sharp-eyed and perceptive - at least, when it comes to observation. Her watchfulness coupled with the sheer amount of time she spends observing the pack and the island means she is able to pick up on ticks, traits, and hints others may miss.
---| Alert |
It is extremely hard to sneak up on or surprise The Ghost - not that you'd likely able to tell if you did. Her ears and eyes are always fine-tuned to her surroundings, and he whispers she overhears probably meant she knew you were planning the jump out at her beforehand.
---- [ N E G A T I V E ] ----
---| Tactles |
What's tact? Prophecy doesn't know. This she-wolf has no social prudence, nor sense of privacy or emotional sensitivity in the slightest. This stems less from any impulsiveness or conscious choice to offend and more that she, quite literally, does not understand why what she does or says is strange or hurtful - it's just the truth, after all, and why is "spying" or listening in on conversations upsetting? Isn't it better to be aware?
The very concept of "rudeness" is foreign to her.
---| Abstruse |
Prophecy can be quite a difficult wolf to make sense of. Her preference for talking in flowered prose and her rather nonsensical way of explaining or describing things alone can cause difficulty when it comes to understanding her and her intentions, but her odd and rather cryptic actions and presence can cause discomfort or awkwardness before a conversation even has a chance to begin. This is not helped by her love for lurking hidden among the pack, watching and observing all that takes place and ears tuned to the quietest of whispers, no matter how personal.
---| Socially Awkward |
Due to her upbringing, Prophecy has a very obvious problem when it comes to social understanding. Her tactlessness and esoteric person already make it hard to hold a companionable conversation with her, but the fact that she so often takes the spoken word literally makes it even worse. Prose comes naturally to Prophecy, but telling her to "go eat a rock" or "you have my heart" with result in her either doing just that, or questioning the possibility of the statement. This also means she lacks a defined sense of humour, and her emotional understanding of others is minimal at best.
Biography
✧✧✧ T H E --- H I S T O R Y --- O F --- A N --- O R A C L E ✧✧✧
Prophecy’s story, like all wolves, began with her mother.
Cassandra, a she-wolf as brown as the earth she was birthed upon, was born with an airy mind and voices in her ear. The Whispers, as she called them, were hardly a point of shame for her, and as she grew she would be unabashedly vocal about their words to all who spoke to the dark female - some would say the Whispers even commanded her actions, and that she paid more heed to them than any alpha. Usually, the voices were harmless; nonsensical prattling that any would take for delusions, but sometimes they’d whisper in wroth, and spirits be with whoever they set her on.
It wasn’t long before they began to call her mad. Most simply ignored her, but other, more volatile wolves, took to degrading her.
Her parents, proud as they were, found only embarrassment and humiliation in their deranged daughter, and as Cassandra grew and her behaviours intensified, that shame twisted into contempt.
So it was a nightmare come reality when The Travellers came, their speakings of mysticism touched her ears.
The voices were spirits now, or that was what she’d tell, and they came to her for some divine purpose, one more special than the others around her. She was chosen, and those who could not hear the Whispers had only closed their minds to the magic of the land, but they would soon come to see.
------
Prophecy’s father was a mystery, even to Cassandra. The story she told remained unchanged, but the identity of her sire is one that was never given life.
She’d been out one night, as the Whispers had directed, and by the light of the full moon she was approached by a he-wolf. His fur, curled and soft, was whiter than any cloud in the sky or Winter’s snow, his eyes were so silver that the moonlight that shone down upon made them seem as white as his pelt. He was a spirit-wolf, the Whispers told her, and he’d come to give her a voice.
When she’d returned with a belly-full of pups and tales of the spirits’ White, her parents were furious, for the description she gave was identical to a lone-wandering acquaintance of her father's, though Cassandra would swear until the island sank that her lover's eyes were more ethereal than his. At her refusal to believe, they called her mad, just as the others who sneered and ordered her to rid herself of them by any means necessary. It was one pup, she told them, and it would be their voice.
The insults and degradation by her parents and peers only solidified her belief in the Whispers - she had to keep this pup away from the pack until they were ready. They would corrupt it, they told her, they will hurt and kill our voice.
And so Cassandra unearthed a den in the most secluded part of the territory to live out her pregnancy alone, and it was then, to a bone-skinned mother, her seer was born.
Premature by several moon phases, she was born among three stillborn siblings on the full moon not long after their new Star-speaker's ascension to leader. This must be a sign, she thought, to have forced her way out so early, right as a new reign had begun.
Prophecy was never named. “My oracle,” "my seer," "my prophecy," her mother had called her, lacking all maternal familiarity. To her and her Whispers she was not a daughter, but her vessel for her beloved spirits; her proof that her spirits were real.
And so, Prophecy was raised in isolation, on her mother’s ramblings of spirits and voices and magic and the unseeable. Most importantly, she was raised on the belief that she was the voice of the mystical, and she was there to guide the non-believers to acceptance.
“Listen, my prophecy,” her mother would say, “Do you hear the Whispers? Those are your spirits, little seer, and you must heed them.”
Prophecy would listen obediently, but she never heard any voices beyond her mother’s.
------
It was into Prophecy’s youth, content that she was no longer young enough to be swayed by non-believers that Cassandra finally allowed her daughter exposure to other wolves, moving the duo back to Star's Summit to spread her teaching.
Deprived of all contact beside her mother, adapting to pack life was something of a culture shock for the socially-inept Prophecy. When they asked her name, she would tell them she had none, when they ask who her mother was, they’d laugh, and when they asked her about voices and spirits, Prophecy would tell them straight-faced and serious.
And still they snickered and sneered, but most of all, they called her mad. Mad as her mother; the madwolf’s delusional daughter.
She didn’t understand.
Their jeers did not hurt nor wound, they only confused. When she asked for their reasoning, they only mocked her, if they didn’t just avoid her outright.
It took many moons of her mad-talk and confused inquiry to finally get an answer, but it wouldn’t come civilly. just like her mother, while some simply chose to ignore her fanatical beliefs, others became violent.
“Tell us again, madwolf, tells us about your spirits.” The leader of the four juveniles goaded.
She did exactly as they said, earnestly and innocently, and they shoved her into the mud for it. The oldest held her with his paws on her chest while the others nipped and bit and yanked at her limbs and loins. Why? She thought ash she yelped beneath them, she only did as they asked. They asked and she told, and they were attacking her for it.
In reality, it had only been a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity under their teeth before her rescue came.
A male voice shouted from above and the juveniles quickly made themselves scarce. The white of Prophecy’s fur was stained with mud and red, but she was safe.
The male took her to a herbalist, who assured him that the damage was minor and would heal before long, and when she tried to leave, he followed. Her saviour seemed reluctant to leave her side, a fact that seemed to fill the young she-wolf with relief.
When she found the voice to question him about all that confused her, he looked upon her with sad eyes, took her away from prying ears, and explained everything he knew about her mother’s history, the packs’ history, and most staggeringly, the magic and spirits those rarely believed existed… Or rather, their point of view on the matter.
“I’m not here to change your beliefs” he ended, “I just hope I brought you some manner of understanding, why they insult your mother so and why you’ve inherited
her burden.”
And then, with one last look, he left her to her thoughts.
------
That wolf’s lesson had rocked her world to its core.
Was it true, then? Was her mother just a mad wolf who heard voices in her own head and, in her earthless mind, thought them spirits? Prophecy had never heard
the Whispers, and neither had the pack, so that meant what he said could be correct, right? But what about The Travellers? Obviously they believed in their magic, but did they hear voices?
Such questions circled in her mind endlessly, and as the moons passed, she began to distance herself, both from her mother and they pack, and by extension, both their worlds. The only wolf she spoke to regularly was her saviour, the closest thing to a friend she had, and through their talks Prophecy slowly began to see his way; that her life was raised in another wolf’s delusions.
But she had to be certain. Part of her was hesitant to leave the world she'd known and step into another.
She went to find her mother one last time, her mind torn in two camps - the one that still clung to her spirits and whispers, and one that pulled away. She needed to be sure, she needed to see her mother’s world again.
Cassandra was found in the lake, a rabbit at her paws with its throat slit, the blood that swirled in the still surface painted the full moon’s reflection a vivid crimson.
“Look, my oracle” her mother cooed, dreamy-eyed and soft-smiled, “the sky is red.”
The lump in Prophecy’s throat felt like a rock as she swallowed, and turning her head from the wolf who raised her, she answered:
“No mother, it is only blood you see.”
Prophecy left her mother there, returning to her packmates and making her presence more public for the first time since the juveniles’ ambush.
She would not see her mother alive again
------
It was a moon later that it happened. The moon bled crimson and the sky dyed in its colour, bathing the land below in a horrifying scape.
“Look my oracle, the sky is red”
Her mother’s words echoed in her mind as Prophecy stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed as the very words came to life above.
Prophecy tore down to the lake, mind whirring and heart racing, and…
She was greeted by Cassandra.
Floating in the water, her throat torn and her blood barely noticeable over the reflection of the red moon.
Prophecy collapsed.
Mad. Not mad. Mad. Not mad. Mad. Not mad. Mad. Not mad. Mad. Not mad.
And for the second time in her short life, Prophecy didn’t know what was real anymore.
She couldn't do anything but run. Run from Star's Summit, run from the lands in which she had grown and run until her paws bled and her lungs collapsed inside her.
But why was she running? Prophecy didn't know, but every instinct in her heart and fibre in her body screamed to head north.
Cassandra, a she-wolf as brown as the earth she was birthed upon, was born with an airy mind and voices in her ear. The Whispers, as she called them, were hardly a point of shame for her, and as she grew she would be unabashedly vocal about their words to all who spoke to the dark female - some would say the Whispers even commanded her actions, and that she paid more heed to them than any alpha. Usually, the voices were harmless; nonsensical prattling that any would take for delusions, but sometimes they’d whisper in wroth, and spirits be with whoever they set her on.
It wasn’t long before they began to call her mad. Most simply ignored her, but other, more volatile wolves, took to degrading her.
Her parents, proud as they were, found only embarrassment and humiliation in their deranged daughter, and as Cassandra grew and her behaviours intensified, that shame twisted into contempt.
So it was a nightmare come reality when The Travellers came, their speakings of mysticism touched her ears.
The voices were spirits now, or that was what she’d tell, and they came to her for some divine purpose, one more special than the others around her. She was chosen, and those who could not hear the Whispers had only closed their minds to the magic of the land, but they would soon come to see.
------
Prophecy’s father was a mystery, even to Cassandra. The story she told remained unchanged, but the identity of her sire is one that was never given life.
She’d been out one night, as the Whispers had directed, and by the light of the full moon she was approached by a he-wolf. His fur, curled and soft, was whiter than any cloud in the sky or Winter’s snow, his eyes were so silver that the moonlight that shone down upon made them seem as white as his pelt. He was a spirit-wolf, the Whispers told her, and he’d come to give her a voice.
When she’d returned with a belly-full of pups and tales of the spirits’ White, her parents were furious, for the description she gave was identical to a lone-wandering acquaintance of her father's, though Cassandra would swear until the island sank that her lover's eyes were more ethereal than his. At her refusal to believe, they called her mad, just as the others who sneered and ordered her to rid herself of them by any means necessary. It was one pup, she told them, and it would be their voice.
The insults and degradation by her parents and peers only solidified her belief in the Whispers - she had to keep this pup away from the pack until they were ready. They would corrupt it, they told her, they will hurt and kill our voice.
And so Cassandra unearthed a den in the most secluded part of the territory to live out her pregnancy alone, and it was then, to a bone-skinned mother, her seer was born.
Premature by several moon phases, she was born among three stillborn siblings on the full moon not long after their new Star-speaker's ascension to leader. This must be a sign, she thought, to have forced her way out so early, right as a new reign had begun.
Prophecy was never named. “My oracle,” "my seer," "my prophecy," her mother had called her, lacking all maternal familiarity. To her and her Whispers she was not a daughter, but her vessel for her beloved spirits; her proof that her spirits were real.
And so, Prophecy was raised in isolation, on her mother’s ramblings of spirits and voices and magic and the unseeable. Most importantly, she was raised on the belief that she was the voice of the mystical, and she was there to guide the non-believers to acceptance.
“Listen, my prophecy,” her mother would say, “Do you hear the Whispers? Those are your spirits, little seer, and you must heed them.”
Prophecy would listen obediently, but she never heard any voices beyond her mother’s.
------
It was into Prophecy’s youth, content that she was no longer young enough to be swayed by non-believers that Cassandra finally allowed her daughter exposure to other wolves, moving the duo back to Star's Summit to spread her teaching.
Deprived of all contact beside her mother, adapting to pack life was something of a culture shock for the socially-inept Prophecy. When they asked her name, she would tell them she had none, when they ask who her mother was, they’d laugh, and when they asked her about voices and spirits, Prophecy would tell them straight-faced and serious.
And still they snickered and sneered, but most of all, they called her mad. Mad as her mother; the madwolf’s delusional daughter.
She didn’t understand.
Their jeers did not hurt nor wound, they only confused. When she asked for their reasoning, they only mocked her, if they didn’t just avoid her outright.
It took many moons of her mad-talk and confused inquiry to finally get an answer, but it wouldn’t come civilly. just like her mother, while some simply chose to ignore her fanatical beliefs, others became violent.
“Tell us again, madwolf, tells us about your spirits.” The leader of the four juveniles goaded.
She did exactly as they said, earnestly and innocently, and they shoved her into the mud for it. The oldest held her with his paws on her chest while the others nipped and bit and yanked at her limbs and loins. Why? She thought ash she yelped beneath them, she only did as they asked. They asked and she told, and they were attacking her for it.
In reality, it had only been a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity under their teeth before her rescue came.
A male voice shouted from above and the juveniles quickly made themselves scarce. The white of Prophecy’s fur was stained with mud and red, but she was safe.
The male took her to a herbalist, who assured him that the damage was minor and would heal before long, and when she tried to leave, he followed. Her saviour seemed reluctant to leave her side, a fact that seemed to fill the young she-wolf with relief.
When she found the voice to question him about all that confused her, he looked upon her with sad eyes, took her away from prying ears, and explained everything he knew about her mother’s history, the packs’ history, and most staggeringly, the magic and spirits those rarely believed existed… Or rather, their point of view on the matter.
“I’m not here to change your beliefs” he ended, “I just hope I brought you some manner of understanding, why they insult your mother so and why you’ve inherited
her burden.”
And then, with one last look, he left her to her thoughts.
------
That wolf’s lesson had rocked her world to its core.
Was it true, then? Was her mother just a mad wolf who heard voices in her own head and, in her earthless mind, thought them spirits? Prophecy had never heard
the Whispers, and neither had the pack, so that meant what he said could be correct, right? But what about The Travellers? Obviously they believed in their magic, but did they hear voices?
Such questions circled in her mind endlessly, and as the moons passed, she began to distance herself, both from her mother and they pack, and by extension, both their worlds. The only wolf she spoke to regularly was her saviour, the closest thing to a friend she had, and through their talks Prophecy slowly began to see his way; that her life was raised in another wolf’s delusions.
But she had to be certain. Part of her was hesitant to leave the world she'd known and step into another.
She went to find her mother one last time, her mind torn in two camps - the one that still clung to her spirits and whispers, and one that pulled away. She needed to be sure, she needed to see her mother’s world again.
Cassandra was found in the lake, a rabbit at her paws with its throat slit, the blood that swirled in the still surface painted the full moon’s reflection a vivid crimson.
“Look, my oracle” her mother cooed, dreamy-eyed and soft-smiled, “the sky is red.”
The lump in Prophecy’s throat felt like a rock as she swallowed, and turning her head from the wolf who raised her, she answered:
“No mother, it is only blood you see.”
Prophecy left her mother there, returning to her packmates and making her presence more public for the first time since the juveniles’ ambush.
She would not see her mother alive again
------
It was a moon later that it happened. The moon bled crimson and the sky dyed in its colour, bathing the land below in a horrifying scape.
“Look my oracle, the sky is red”
Her mother’s words echoed in her mind as Prophecy stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed as the very words came to life above.
Prophecy tore down to the lake, mind whirring and heart racing, and…
She was greeted by Cassandra.
Floating in the water, her throat torn and her blood barely noticeable over the reflection of the red moon.
Prophecy collapsed.
Mad. Not mad. Mad. Not mad. Mad. Not mad. Mad. Not mad. Mad. Not mad.
And for the second time in her short life, Prophecy didn’t know what was real anymore.
She couldn't do anything but run. Run from Star's Summit, run from the lands in which she had grown and run until her paws bled and her lungs collapsed inside her.
But why was she running? Prophecy didn't know, but every instinct in her heart and fibre in her body screamed to head north.
Relations
------[Parents]
??? [Father], Cassandra [Mother; deceased]
------[Siblings]
Stillborn Littermates
------[Other]
???
------[Mate]
N/A
------[Offspring]
N/A
??? [Father], Cassandra [Mother; deceased]
------[Siblings]
Stillborn Littermates
------[Other]
???
------[Mate]
N/A
------[Offspring]
N/A
Profile of Prophecy: Additional Information
Registered on December 08, 2019, last visited September 30, 2023, 05:22 AM
Art Credits
Me (ref), SilverPocky (icon), me (sketch), Jaeggy (chibi), lightingspam (bio image), kr00bs (bio image 2)
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