/x\ Woodrow /x\

"Rowan" , "Row"

ARPG Status: Open for collabs, interactions, and plotting!
☾━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☽

"It's a funny thing, ambition. It can take one to sublime heights or harrowing depths. And sometimes they are one and the same."

Gender:
Male | He/They

Age:
5 Years | Adult

Height / Weight:
33" | 120lbs

Particularity / Health:
Woodrow, though distraught to admit it-- isn't the healthiest of canids. He's prone to segments of undesirable eating and detestable sleeping habits-- which sometimes leave him both malnourished and prone to frequent headaches and exaggerated sensitivities (such as that when faced with the glint of the sun in one's eyes). Sometimes, he is content to ignore them, but oft will fix them rapidly before falling back into them in a rather repetitive cycle. While in the eye of others it is considered undoubtedly unhealthy, Rowan considers it a 'healthy' work ethic-- as most of the time these habits are prone to spike during times of extreme focus on his part; whether that be towards a person, an object he desires to obtain, or otherwise.

Despite this, Row maintains a rather well-kept appearance-- luxuriating in both the wealth of bounteous fur (primarily based around his neck and stomach) and the finesse of a lither muscled physique. Not tall, but not exactly short either, most of his intimidation factor lies in the glint of his sinister sunset eyes and the bulk of his upper body. With scars primarily littered about his left side, a torn ear upon the right (with scarring on the left aud), and either an ever-present smirk or vapid sneer to twist his gums, he is a curiosity to most indeed.

Voice:
Joshua Graham | Fallout

Scent:
Tree Bark & Ash

Sexuality:
Pansexual

Mate:
None

Bloodline / Family:
Telia [ Dame, Deceased ] || Logaihn [ Sire, Deceased ]
☾━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☽


Playlist: Click Me!
☾━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☽


Member of the Tribe

Level: 4
☾━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☽


Tracker Sheet
☾━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☽

"The old, the ossified, must always give way to new life and the birth of new things. Before the new things can be born, the old must perish."

Born to a mother and father who were more invested in themselves and their coupled engagements versus their child, rather than flourishing with the encouragement of supplied parental engagement, Woodrow had an upbringing similar to that of an orphan. Lonesome nights and colder days despite the general heat of the sun, and the burdensome despair of watching as time and time again he sought their affections only for their gazes to be turned elsewhere with a mention of 'later, kid'. His heart grew icy and his mind turned away from the desire of connectivity in the terms of close bonds-- whether familial or otherwise. Instead, he turned his attentions to mastery of all that he could-- invested in the imaginations of his mind to keep him afloat. If you asked him, he would say he had no particular favor towards one or the other-- but when it came to matters of the hunt, the dance of battle, and the peculiarities of amassing an organized hoard of items special to only himself-- well, he dithered in those more often than not. Secluding himself-- the former found ways to learn without the help of others; gaining scars, amassing his intellect, and unfortunately becoming deprived of other simple knowledge all at the same time-- such as how to appropriately say 'hello' to a stranger versus simply staring them down. In his mind, he had thought knowledge would keep him company and would stave the dwelling hunger in his gut for 'more', always 'more'-- but it had not.

That is when he turned gaze to that of Amarillys; lured by the unknown of what 'having company' truly meant, entranced by the thought of discovery, and fostered with the hopes that hopefully he would find something to fill the void within.
☾━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☽

"Some people felt you were a bit of a jerk. It's because you took very seriously your dream that you shouldn't take anything seriously even though the contradiction implied a passion that was relentlessly opposed to frivolity."

Reserved | Meticulous | Impassive | Pragmatic | Blunt
Row has a very simple mind-set on life; whether in terms of discoveries, relationships, and even other matters-- that being if you intend to make yourself known, you had best be prepared for the entirety of his focus. Once he is keen on his venture, the brute is loathe to shift gears or alter his decision unless the facts are lined up towards it being something he shouldn't press. In many ways, he is calculating-- always measuring and tipping the scales of his actions one way or another before he fully invests in them; which is why it is so difficult to remove himself once he has fully succumbed to the idea of it. All of that work, down the drain-- why it makes his teeth grind. Beyond his oftentimes somewhat obsessive intents-- ultimately the masculine is similar to that of the stone-- stoic bearing and all. Thick-headed in terms of understanding basic communication or even interactions with fellow canines, he will often find himself offending those with more... tender natures; either via the sharpness of his blunt words, the inability to understand even the simplest 'dad' jokes, or otherwise. Though it is not out of direct ill-intent-- more often than not Row finds himself confused with everything that isn't related to the prey he hunts, the items he finds, or the eventual companions who may grace his company-- and 'confusion' is not something he is familiar with the company of and so he chooses to instead refuse the company for the ease of silence and his hoard.

With time, perhaps, Row will learn how to soften the ever-present growl to his speech, comfort those he finds himself close with, and accept the fact that he can lean on others for help. But, for now? Well, for now-- the goal-driven brute is just as stagnant as the former ripples in a still stream.
☾━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☽

"You take what you get, you get what you please, better to die on your feet than live on your knees."

Night Time | More often than not, with his sleep as it is-- you can find Row enjoying the calm stillness of the night. Something about the sound of crickets chirping and the buzz of fireflies passing in vacant areas eases something within him.
Collecting | It would be a blatant lie to state that Row's favorite pasttime is simply the matter of finding objects (whether herbs, shells, bones, or otherwise)-- and collecting them. Not only does the time as he searches for them bring him contentment, organizing them in his own special catalouge brings him overwhelming joy, alongside the thrill of discovery; whether it is something he already has or doesn't, every item is important to him.
Sweets | It is his one true vice and while he will absolutely refuse any admittance to it... he has a sweet tooth-- from honey to the untapped sap from trees and beyond. The brute has just the slightest, ever to slightest, obsession with the sweet taste on the tip of his tongue whenever the opprotunity arises.
☾━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☽