Creator and friend:
My good friend Whip, they said, was always easy to pick out of a crowd. He towered a full foot above most who cross his path, on his awkward and twisted canine limbs. As if his height wasn't enough of a presence, his short spiked hair blazed of golden blond and blood red hues set upon the rest of his midnight fur that covered all of his being save for the pads of his adapted paws, and of course the long black talons that hung gracefully from their tips. Like a dark wolf in a flock of white sheep did he stick out among the more common humanlike races of the realm.
His senses were keen, far surpassing even the finest of fowl hunting hounds. Exceptionally long and slender wolf like ears, that were split in two at each tip, could pick up the slightest whisp of a wind rolling off a distant mountain peek warning of an oncomming storm. Even more acute than his graceful ears was his dark pointed nose that rested at the end of his narrow dog like snout. Even his exotic eyes that glowed like golden orbs hung upon a darkened sea of the deepest darkest blue, could pick out the faintest details that one of human eyes would quickly overlook, and peirce even the coldest of hearts.
He looked more animal than human, but looks alone do not make a man. Or rather a young man, for he was still a novice to the adult realm. Only a lad of no more than twenty, wandering about finding odd jobs and tasks to do, usually the worst of the lot too due to his rather peculiar apperance. Beastly by face, tooth and claw but truely docile by heart.
He was truely a kind and gentle soul, from the tip of his ebony nose to the end of his long slender whip like tail for which he aquired his nickname. Being so shuned and outcast for his gastly monsterous appearance would have warped and twisted that of a weaker spirt, but his burned brighter in spite of the taunts and ridicule he had to endure. The light that shown from deep inside him was as bright and warm as his sleek fur was dark and cold. A rare bred Whip was, even if even he himself did not know what exactly "his bred" was.
From a young age Whip had been left to fend for himself. Much like a young snake hatches from it's cosy protective shell to find it's self completely alone in a harsh and unpredictable world, so Whip was left. But rather than to thieve and pillage like most of the cities lower class street urchins left to their own whims, whip's young kind soul just didn't see the justice in stealing from those who were more or less no better off than he. So instead he would labor best he could for those that were not scared off by his ungodly appearance for his few crusts of bread, then would acceptedly slip back into the shadows to hide from the things that were truely to fear in the nights dark alleys and crossways.
The only trinket Whip possesed was a thin silver chain with a pendent that read in a carefully curved script "Amadeus," Whip's true name, though he knew not who it was who gave the title to him, he felt a strange connection with it. Other than that one unremarkable charm, his only worldly possession that was truely his, he had very little. Even the few scattered articles of clothing, dark and dingy atire he had, were things that no one else had wanted. Worn and patched more than a few times, he had salvaged them and sewn them up as presentable as he could to fit his strange lithe form.
And so the frightened young child so willing to accept his harsh reality, and grin through the pain and work for his feed grew into one of the hardest laboring, most caring creatures the gods had ever created. Blessed with a soul of pure white, and cursed with the cold dark midnight blue apperance of a beast my friend Whip, Amadeus, lived his life, and touched deeply all those who took the time to see past his outward shortcomings to the light that beamed from within.
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