NAME: bolovan monteanu,
meaning boulder in romanianAGE: four years old
BIRTHDAY: february year 1
GENDER: ♂
SEXUALITY: heterosexual
ALLEGIANCE: monteanu family
RANK: second-in-command
• will give me just enough •
MASTER TRADE: outlaw
SECONDARY TRADE: barbarian
• to bury my love •
APPEARANCE:▸ size: large (45in/500lbs)
▸ base color: black
▸ markings: four white paws, maroon bordering on front paws, wing pattern of black, maroon and white on back, maroon tail tip, white muzzle, pink nose, black bridge of nose.
large and formidable, bolovan carries all the classic genetics of the monteanu as well as the speed and strength to match. he is a brute, standing forty-five inches at the shoulder and weighing a quarter ton. muscles ripple under tight skin, trained in ripping and shredding, springing and jumping, leaping and grabbing. though his size is intimidating to some, bolovan prefers keeping his cards close to his chest. he is a blood-born battler, but knows diplomacy can be just as powerful as claws. nevertheless, bolovan is trained in the art of war and conquering. he bears the bloodmarked sigil of the monteanu: a pair of crimson and white wings painted on his back by the gods themselves. it marks him forever as a family member, and shouts his alliance loud to the world. his dark, jet-black coat contrasts his older brother petru's, and bolovan likes to say the maroon hues of his pelt are designed to ward off challenges from lions who dare minimize his strength and prowess.
• IN THE MOONDUST •
FEELINGS ON FAMILY: bolovan's loyalty remains untested. he cares deeply for his brother and sister and sees his family as its own pride, despite never rising to such ranks. it does not matter - the monteanu have territory, even if not formal, and bolovan doesn't need other lions telling him it's somehow
invalid. all he's ever known is the moneanu way of life, and to him such an existence is natural and comforting. for now, he remains allied only to his family unit, as the thought of joining a formal pride seems testing at best. what of his brother and sister? what more does he need? well respected, bolovan is named aptly well as the rock and security for many of his relatives, especially his brother. he enjoys his status as back-up, enforcing petru's decrees and helping those in need. someday, bolovan would
like a mate and cubs, but his interest at the moment revolves completely around the monteanu clan.
TRAITS:+ steadfast
+ emotionally and physically strong
+ endless loyalty
+ stoic
+ level-headed
+ practical
- defensive
- possessive
- highly territorial
- authoritarian
- egoistic
PERSONALITY:i know a story relevant to almost every situationbolovan, at his core, is a creative. he also has an incredibly accurate memory, and often weaves past experiences into present-day anecdotes. especially for the cubs of the family, this can be a useful tool for teaching lessons and instilling values. although he has no cubs of his own, bolovan always wishes to be a father and hopes to spread his knowledge to his own kin one day. at times his childish stories seem out of place, especially in the middle of a dire situation, when bolovan remembers an experience he had and decides to share it mid-fight. nevertheless, his legends and epic tales are beloved by his family, and has been called
povestitor, or storyteller in the moneanu's native language of romanian.
i keep multiple holy symbols on me and invoke whatever deity might come in useful at any given momentspiritual and mystical, bolovan has always had an affinity for the magical and metaphysical. he believes gods and spirits are all around him, and habitually keeps small trinkets and artifacts nearby which he prays upon. bolovan likes to think of himself as the family's spiritual guide, though he's never been given this title. everything happens for a reason, and he is in tune to the earth and its needs, and the island's unique flavor of religion. he is faithful to the traditional gods of his homeland's heritage, and his moral compass is often steered by a divine sense of justice and egoism.
i eat like a pig and have bad mannersbolovan tends to keep to the rogue lifestyle, not caring about his appearance of personal reputation when it comes to devouring kill. he's a strict rule-abider, and if there are any arguments about the men eating first, well... you'll hear his yowl loud and clear. while not a polite eater, bolovan has the decency to keep to himself during dinner times and tends to not enjoy sharing his piece of the kill, even with family members whom he adores. in his mind, the carcass has been divided up fairly so... why should he spare his opportunity for a full belly?
i'm always picking things up, absently fiddling with them, and sometimes accidentally breaking themeven as a cub petru's brother tended to find small bones, stones, shells, and other objects to hold onto. it goes back to his belief that everything is sacred, and god talks through all objects. however, as bolovan got older he failed to significantly take into account his newfound strength, and often ruined the small possessions he kept close. this creates a whirlwind of frustration for the man, who has a highly prized collection of treasures in a little den he's digged out. as he tends to be a solitary beast, bolovan often prefers being with his
things rather than other lions, and often is found cradled in his cavern, shells, twigs, tufts of hair, skulls, and whatever he's picked off of his enemies, prey, or simply walked across.
i can stare down a hellhound without flinchingbravery is certainly this lion's middle name, and what he lacks in personability he makes up in sheer grit. there is no challenge bolovan will not face head on, two eyes locked on his target. it is one of the reasons he was chosen - or assigned, or born into - his role as petru's deputy of sorts. he rarely smiles, and while this seems off and unkind, it's simply his stoicism finding its way to his expressions. bolovan is a surprisingly agile hunter for his size and gender, and while he's no match for a lioness chasing a buffalo, he can hold his own in the wild. there are no lions too tough, too ferocious, and too beastly for bolovan - he believes in fighting to the death if he must, all to protect his family.
RP Sample:the night sky dazzles and twinkles above him, an ombre twilight stretching from the horizon to the heavens like a sheet, punctured by a thousand claws so fine only the smallest pinprick of light managed to wiggle through the rips. bolovan sits, staring upward, eyes closed as he whispers a soft, silent prayer to whatever god feels compelled and drawn to his heart. if his family remains safe, perhaps that's all he can ask for, truly, in this lifetime and in this moment. his green eyes open, and bolovan stares down at his paws now dusky from the late-night dew.
he stands, poised to return to his brother and the other lions associated with him. the family's been fluctuating lately. cubs are growing and earning their keep, deciding the life of a wanderer and pride cat suits them better than staying with the monteanu's clan. that doesn't matter much to him. with fewer challengers and mouths to feed, his security within the monteanu tribe seems unshakable, and he knows eventually he will see his relatives again, even in the heat of battle.
the dark male's mind travels to a certain lioness he knew long ago, perhaps in his teenage years when any feminine attention appealed to him greatly. they were in love - or so he thought. she was an outsider, a young beautiful lioness who called no land home and preferred traveling on her own. bolovan still remembers her beautiful ocher eyes, how they stared at him with adoring affection and endless respect. she made him feel like a man, like a leader.
but the fling ended when he approached the elder monteanu, asking for her blessing as a wife and found a thickly-furred paw directed at his cheek. bolovan barely escaped a marring that day, and the lesson remains instilled in his mind. Family first. an ill-bred, untamed rogue is not good enough for him. It is his duty, as petru's brother, to hold the clan together, and follow all codes and conducts laid out before his paws from nobles of his bloodline long, long ago, and even before then. the next time he saw the pretty maiden, bolovan's outlook changed. he chased her, snarling and hissing, swiping with purposed failure, as she wailed at her lover in a desperate gamble for his heart once more. but bolovan knew his place, and it could not be with her.
he pads to the entrance of his cove, surrounded by his things: bones, hair, little chains he's crafted out of tufts of his own mane and pieces of vine he picked from a bluebird's nest. bolovan nuzzles a particular object with a sorrow-filled grunt: the tail-head of his begotten lover, the last piece he took from her during their final showdown. To mark her? Maybe, for a lioness without a tail-tip is definitely branded for life, but a more solemn part of bolovan wants something to remember her by. and so he takes the tail in his teeth, tuft of blond hair flowery on his tongue, and lays down in his cavern. he places the tail between his paws, stroking it softly, his eyes closed as he vanishes back to a memory he wishes never to forget.
