Post by Ziu on Dec 21, 2013 5:17:36 GMT
(The app information said any character, but feel free to reject this if you want.)
Character Name: Ziu
Allegiance: Formerly a German war-dog, now alone.
Requested Rank: Do dogs have ranks?
History: Ziu comes from a long line of working German Shepherds, bred to be of both excellence and quality in coat, structure and duty. Unlike the hunchbacked specimens of today, prone to problems due to how their backsides slope, Ziu was born in a time where Shepherds were still square and sturdy. Though not, by any means, a show-winning specimen - he would've been one to place fourth or fifth in Best of Breed - he was still a valuable, beautiful animal. Hoary and dark like a timber wolf as a pup, his youth was spent in the forested, rolling tapestry of green and stone grey that was the German Alps. Raised by a wealthy breeder of such powerful, well-built animals, he was taken to hunt small game when he was old enough, and then on a few hunts to score boar and deer. He was taught how to act as a protection dog, calm and mannerly when at heel - only to explode into a vicious beast, nothing but an oncoming wall of muscle-bound tooth and jaw, all on a simple command. He grew into a pelt dark and sabled, with a kind expression that hid an alpha-dog's haughty nature. He lived up to the magnificence his name carried - the High German version of Tyr, the Old Norse name for the war god of ancient times.
It was fitting that he grew to be a prideful dog, having been raised in the prideful palace that was his producer's. The man had a cold, demanding demeanour, every bit as blue-blooded in mannerism, thought and behaviour as the nobility he was descended from. The servants cowered before him, him a mighty eagle amongst the fleeting rabbits, and this attitude was reflected in the dogs he raised. They were dominant creatures, fit for only the firmest and sturdiest of hands, and were a favourite of high-ranking generals, coin-carrying hunters and the athletic elite. Women with the fierceness of a lioness often picked a pup for protection or to keep up appearances, and some took Ziu's siblings to start new bloodlines of their own. Though Ziu himself never had the honour of being used for breeding, he still had many that wished to purchase him, though he was young enough that none were picked before the war started.
After the call to arms, national pride giving into the tide of a genocidal agenda, it was inevitable that dogs would be called to use on the front lines. Not only were they a source of morale and companionship, they could be used to sniff out explosive devices, alert soldiers to the enemy, drag the wounded back on sledges and intimidate prisoners. What kind of force was complete without a canine unit, especially in the vast, harsh varieties of terrain that the German campaign would cover? Ziu's breeder had a field day, and he - like many of his kin - were sent off to be trained and used on the front lines. A few were deemed worthy enough to enter the bizarre education program for German canines, in which an attempt was made to teach the dogs to speak, spell and more. Ziu was not one of them, and he would never be one of them - the only glory he would find was fighting in the blood and mud of the front lines.
The front lines, as expected, were not one bit glorious. Ziu was sent to one of the most hellish battlefields of the war - the Russian Front. He had entered service after the Germans and the Russians had went at it again, Hitler and Stalin clashing in one of the bloodiest, most brutal and most desperate fights of the war. Ziu was immediately thrown into a world of starvation, fear and cold - there was simply not enough food to go around, and the sadistic idea of desperate animals became planted in German minds. His abuse escalated into beatings, for a near-death experience with anti-tank mines had nearly driven Ziu insane. The dog was whimpering and pacing in his kennel, anxious at every low rumble or small pop, and he grew ever hungrier. He desperately lunged at his handlers, trying to defend himself from far-off cacophonies and grab at the meagre rations they carried in their hands. It was only the thick, iron chain they used to secure him that kept Ziu from ripping them apart, and the fact he was suffering from a canine form of shell-shock.
But not everyone was so cruel to Ziu. Friedrich Schnell, an officer on the Russian Front, came across Ziu one cold winter's day. When he found Ziu, the proud, Alps-born canine was a quivering and nearly-unassertive wreck. One solid smack to the jaw, and Ziu would run, tail-tucked as he urinated in submission and fear. His eyes were always wide, his heart racing, the dog panting wildly as he tried to find a place to escape to - never did he succeed. Schnell demanded that the dog be turned over to him at once.
Something in the dog snapped as soon as his chain was undone, and it only took five seconds of being free for that to happen.
As soon as he released Ziu from his chain, the dog attacked Schnell, biting deep into his arm and wrenching left and right. He had to kick the dog away, breaking one of Ziu's ribs with the force of his foot. The dog immediately went after him again, snapping and tearing into the officer's leg with a mixture of terror and hunger. It took four soldiers to pull the dog off their CO, and by then, Schnell's leg looked like a mine had detonated from the inside of it. He was bleeding out quickly, the severity of his wound enough that he would be dead within minutes.
And then the mortars fell, just as Ziu was about to be pinned. One blast landed near the bloodied group, and Ziu let out a shriek of terror. Everyone was off of him and running for cover in a second, and Ziu was left to flee for his life, bolting past falling debris and churning earth. One blast landed far too close, sending the Shepherd tumbling into a ditch, dislocating one shoulder and peppering a hip with shrapnel. The dog cried out and ran for his life, stumbling and staggering out of the war zone and into the ruins of a small Russian town.
And that is where his story on IO begins.
Writing Sample:
The dog whimpered in his meagre shelter, a mixture of snow and sleet driving into the triangles of concrete that served as Ziu's den. The dog whimpered at the pain in his hip, holes made by mortar debris still filling in and healing over. The swelling in his dislocated shoulder had gone down, but the dog still walked with a stiff and unseemly limp. Small scars raked through his coat, making it an uneven patchwork over ribs that were beginning to jut. The dog curled up in a tight, furry heap, giving a low whine at the cold and his overall suffering.
He was so hungry. He desperately wanted some sort of food, but he was too tired, too frightened to go out into the storm. He still couldn't hear well out of one ear, and every movement was nearly a stumble. Ziu had not seen hide nor hair of his human "comrades", nor had he seen the huskily-barking enemies that were on the other side of the exploding rain he had suffered through. The dog was in no rush to find either side, nor did he want any more to do with the tormenting apes that had beaten and starved him.
If he so wished to give in to his misery and ill health, the little den would have been a quiet place to die in. It was out of the way, and the ice-rain and the exploding rain had kept his handlers hunkered down and immobile before. They wouldn't find him as easily, and the other humans that shot at his own didn't move much either. Something in Ziu wasn't done yet - the war-dog still had brief thoughts of food, even though ache and terror were suppressing them. A truly-dying dog would have had no appetite to speak of.
Character Name: Ziu
Allegiance: Formerly a German war-dog, now alone.
Requested Rank: Do dogs have ranks?
History: Ziu comes from a long line of working German Shepherds, bred to be of both excellence and quality in coat, structure and duty. Unlike the hunchbacked specimens of today, prone to problems due to how their backsides slope, Ziu was born in a time where Shepherds were still square and sturdy. Though not, by any means, a show-winning specimen - he would've been one to place fourth or fifth in Best of Breed - he was still a valuable, beautiful animal. Hoary and dark like a timber wolf as a pup, his youth was spent in the forested, rolling tapestry of green and stone grey that was the German Alps. Raised by a wealthy breeder of such powerful, well-built animals, he was taken to hunt small game when he was old enough, and then on a few hunts to score boar and deer. He was taught how to act as a protection dog, calm and mannerly when at heel - only to explode into a vicious beast, nothing but an oncoming wall of muscle-bound tooth and jaw, all on a simple command. He grew into a pelt dark and sabled, with a kind expression that hid an alpha-dog's haughty nature. He lived up to the magnificence his name carried - the High German version of Tyr, the Old Norse name for the war god of ancient times.
It was fitting that he grew to be a prideful dog, having been raised in the prideful palace that was his producer's. The man had a cold, demanding demeanour, every bit as blue-blooded in mannerism, thought and behaviour as the nobility he was descended from. The servants cowered before him, him a mighty eagle amongst the fleeting rabbits, and this attitude was reflected in the dogs he raised. They were dominant creatures, fit for only the firmest and sturdiest of hands, and were a favourite of high-ranking generals, coin-carrying hunters and the athletic elite. Women with the fierceness of a lioness often picked a pup for protection or to keep up appearances, and some took Ziu's siblings to start new bloodlines of their own. Though Ziu himself never had the honour of being used for breeding, he still had many that wished to purchase him, though he was young enough that none were picked before the war started.
After the call to arms, national pride giving into the tide of a genocidal agenda, it was inevitable that dogs would be called to use on the front lines. Not only were they a source of morale and companionship, they could be used to sniff out explosive devices, alert soldiers to the enemy, drag the wounded back on sledges and intimidate prisoners. What kind of force was complete without a canine unit, especially in the vast, harsh varieties of terrain that the German campaign would cover? Ziu's breeder had a field day, and he - like many of his kin - were sent off to be trained and used on the front lines. A few were deemed worthy enough to enter the bizarre education program for German canines, in which an attempt was made to teach the dogs to speak, spell and more. Ziu was not one of them, and he would never be one of them - the only glory he would find was fighting in the blood and mud of the front lines.
The front lines, as expected, were not one bit glorious. Ziu was sent to one of the most hellish battlefields of the war - the Russian Front. He had entered service after the Germans and the Russians had went at it again, Hitler and Stalin clashing in one of the bloodiest, most brutal and most desperate fights of the war. Ziu was immediately thrown into a world of starvation, fear and cold - there was simply not enough food to go around, and the sadistic idea of desperate animals became planted in German minds. His abuse escalated into beatings, for a near-death experience with anti-tank mines had nearly driven Ziu insane. The dog was whimpering and pacing in his kennel, anxious at every low rumble or small pop, and he grew ever hungrier. He desperately lunged at his handlers, trying to defend himself from far-off cacophonies and grab at the meagre rations they carried in their hands. It was only the thick, iron chain they used to secure him that kept Ziu from ripping them apart, and the fact he was suffering from a canine form of shell-shock.
But not everyone was so cruel to Ziu. Friedrich Schnell, an officer on the Russian Front, came across Ziu one cold winter's day. When he found Ziu, the proud, Alps-born canine was a quivering and nearly-unassertive wreck. One solid smack to the jaw, and Ziu would run, tail-tucked as he urinated in submission and fear. His eyes were always wide, his heart racing, the dog panting wildly as he tried to find a place to escape to - never did he succeed. Schnell demanded that the dog be turned over to him at once.
Something in the dog snapped as soon as his chain was undone, and it only took five seconds of being free for that to happen.
As soon as he released Ziu from his chain, the dog attacked Schnell, biting deep into his arm and wrenching left and right. He had to kick the dog away, breaking one of Ziu's ribs with the force of his foot. The dog immediately went after him again, snapping and tearing into the officer's leg with a mixture of terror and hunger. It took four soldiers to pull the dog off their CO, and by then, Schnell's leg looked like a mine had detonated from the inside of it. He was bleeding out quickly, the severity of his wound enough that he would be dead within minutes.
And then the mortars fell, just as Ziu was about to be pinned. One blast landed near the bloodied group, and Ziu let out a shriek of terror. Everyone was off of him and running for cover in a second, and Ziu was left to flee for his life, bolting past falling debris and churning earth. One blast landed far too close, sending the Shepherd tumbling into a ditch, dislocating one shoulder and peppering a hip with shrapnel. The dog cried out and ran for his life, stumbling and staggering out of the war zone and into the ruins of a small Russian town.
And that is where his story on IO begins.
Writing Sample:
The dog whimpered in his meagre shelter, a mixture of snow and sleet driving into the triangles of concrete that served as Ziu's den. The dog whimpered at the pain in his hip, holes made by mortar debris still filling in and healing over. The swelling in his dislocated shoulder had gone down, but the dog still walked with a stiff and unseemly limp. Small scars raked through his coat, making it an uneven patchwork over ribs that were beginning to jut. The dog curled up in a tight, furry heap, giving a low whine at the cold and his overall suffering.
He was so hungry. He desperately wanted some sort of food, but he was too tired, too frightened to go out into the storm. He still couldn't hear well out of one ear, and every movement was nearly a stumble. Ziu had not seen hide nor hair of his human "comrades", nor had he seen the huskily-barking enemies that were on the other side of the exploding rain he had suffered through. The dog was in no rush to find either side, nor did he want any more to do with the tormenting apes that had beaten and starved him.
If he so wished to give in to his misery and ill health, the little den would have been a quiet place to die in. It was out of the way, and the ice-rain and the exploding rain had kept his handlers hunkered down and immobile before. They wouldn't find him as easily, and the other humans that shot at his own didn't move much either. Something in Ziu wasn't done yet - the war-dog still had brief thoughts of food, even though ache and terror were suppressing them. A truly-dying dog would have had no appetite to speak of.
