Post by nikii on Dec 18, 2006 22:45:03 GMT -5
Character Name;; Illishar
Gender;;vixen
Alliance;;Rogue
Age;; 5
Color;; milk and onyx
Personality;;she is quiet, usually only speaks when spoken to. So gone is she. So lost within her own imagination. Yet she is someone whom others wish to be. He life seems as if she has no flaw, but others have no idea.
History;; Have you not heard? Oh well, you must be filled in right away. This poor poor little thing. She has many dreams of dieing. No one saves her in any of those dreams. But she was tortured when a young tike. By the unicorns, oh how they tormented her so. Bit her, scorned her, and stabbed her. But to others it would seem as if that never happened, for she is so laidback, and kind. Though her mother died when she was young, her father loved her dearly, but went away also at a young age. She doesnt know why he left, but truth was he was threatened, and he feared for her, so he left to keep his darling safe. And then the unicorns came.....
Password;;Calypso
Sample Post;; Can you hear me?
Hear me I'm crying out...
Is there anyone for me?
Is it not odd how life sneaks up on us? Does it not seem out of place how sometimes we have no control over what goes on in our own lives? It is almost like coasting down a steep hill on a sled with no way to stop. And then you fall. But in life, you just keep falling. Hence, you fall into the arms of love, or the arms of distress, hatred... any number of emotions. Such is my philosophy of life. It was the femme's intention to never become so lost in the affairs around her that she would allow the reins of her life to go slack. She didn't wish to lose control, because to lose control in this game of life can have unimaginable consequences. Is there any such thing as being afraid to love? Afraid to care so much for someone that if they weren't there, you'd die? Afraid to be so wrapped up with another being that you lose track of time and place until it doesn't matter anymore and the only things that does matter is that you have the love of your life and will never be alone? I believe there is, and this femmora is a living example of it. True love... it sounds like a fairytale if you're ever fortunate enough to have it, and it was a fairytale indeed to our fine heroine. She'd never known love. She didn't know if she wanted to.
A low noise broke the silence of the mist-covered clearing. All anyone could or can see in this is a silluette. Could it be that someone could find true love here? Could even someone who thought she could never love again be found? Could she truly be not as lost as she'd thought? Or, perhaps, could she be getting herself into bigger trouble? This leads of too our heroine, at least in this story. As was said, a noise broke the silence of the mist covered lands. Daggers beat a distinct rhythm on the sod, gently carressing the earth's surface. Her pistons stretched out, carrying her gently rocking bodice over teh land quickly. But not in a hurry. No, she would never hurry for anyone except herself. So why was she here? Good question.
Her crown was pointed to the sod, audicles were pricked slightly, flicking, listening. Always, listening. Her orbs studied the land in front of her intently, in case something should pop up in front of her that she'd regret running into. Why was she here? It might be because she was bored of the life of a wanderer, it might be because she wanted to mess with some stag's minds. But never would her true intention be revealed. She was in need of something. But no, this moowashed femme would never reveal that she was in need. She was not vain, and she was not a loner. She was independant. But she needed a home, and that was something she could not really provide for herself. As bad as it was to admit it, she needed a brute. Besides, she was in heat and that time always made her sanity go awry. She was ready to settle down.
Her banner cascaded over her nape in a rhythm of short, jouncy bumps as her pistons slid the petite femmora to a stop, in the middle of the clearing. Her whipcord was pushed against her back pillars and then was still once more. Did she dare call out? Or would she regret any noise? Hesitantly, she stretched her dial foward and emitted a low cal to any near her. She wasn't able to see much with all of this mist. But a stag would find her and she'd fall deep into the arms of love. Wouldn't she? Her maw pointed towards the ground, and had she been touching the ground her visage would have been at a 90 degree angle to it. Her optics surveyed her surroundings carefully. How would she know if someone came near her? The fog blanketed her, almost as though it were trying to block her off from the real world. The scene was almost surreal. Harks swiveled to catch noises, but these, too, were muffled by the thick mist. Could this landscape give her a second chance at love? At life?
I'm lost inside the crowd...
I need you to see I'm screaming for you to please.
Can you hear me?
Picture;; comming
Description;; A soft milk and ebon painted pelt. Soft ebon eyes, yet they seem so empty at a closer look. At irst glance the optics on her seem endless, and magical. But like I said, her optics are empty. she has the build of a draft, and the wings of a dove. though the colout of a crow's wings. But the colour doesnt matter right? Every night she cries, and weeps. The poor poor thing.
Gender;;vixen
Alliance;;Rogue
Age;; 5
Color;; milk and onyx
Personality;;she is quiet, usually only speaks when spoken to. So gone is she. So lost within her own imagination. Yet she is someone whom others wish to be. He life seems as if she has no flaw, but others have no idea.
History;; Have you not heard? Oh well, you must be filled in right away. This poor poor little thing. She has many dreams of dieing. No one saves her in any of those dreams. But she was tortured when a young tike. By the unicorns, oh how they tormented her so. Bit her, scorned her, and stabbed her. But to others it would seem as if that never happened, for she is so laidback, and kind. Though her mother died when she was young, her father loved her dearly, but went away also at a young age. She doesnt know why he left, but truth was he was threatened, and he feared for her, so he left to keep his darling safe. And then the unicorns came.....
Password;;Calypso
Sample Post;; Can you hear me?
Hear me I'm crying out...
Is there anyone for me?
Is it not odd how life sneaks up on us? Does it not seem out of place how sometimes we have no control over what goes on in our own lives? It is almost like coasting down a steep hill on a sled with no way to stop. And then you fall. But in life, you just keep falling. Hence, you fall into the arms of love, or the arms of distress, hatred... any number of emotions. Such is my philosophy of life. It was the femme's intention to never become so lost in the affairs around her that she would allow the reins of her life to go slack. She didn't wish to lose control, because to lose control in this game of life can have unimaginable consequences. Is there any such thing as being afraid to love? Afraid to care so much for someone that if they weren't there, you'd die? Afraid to be so wrapped up with another being that you lose track of time and place until it doesn't matter anymore and the only things that does matter is that you have the love of your life and will never be alone? I believe there is, and this femmora is a living example of it. True love... it sounds like a fairytale if you're ever fortunate enough to have it, and it was a fairytale indeed to our fine heroine. She'd never known love. She didn't know if she wanted to.
A low noise broke the silence of the mist-covered clearing. All anyone could or can see in this is a silluette. Could it be that someone could find true love here? Could even someone who thought she could never love again be found? Could she truly be not as lost as she'd thought? Or, perhaps, could she be getting herself into bigger trouble? This leads of too our heroine, at least in this story. As was said, a noise broke the silence of the mist covered lands. Daggers beat a distinct rhythm on the sod, gently carressing the earth's surface. Her pistons stretched out, carrying her gently rocking bodice over teh land quickly. But not in a hurry. No, she would never hurry for anyone except herself. So why was she here? Good question.
Her crown was pointed to the sod, audicles were pricked slightly, flicking, listening. Always, listening. Her orbs studied the land in front of her intently, in case something should pop up in front of her that she'd regret running into. Why was she here? It might be because she was bored of the life of a wanderer, it might be because she wanted to mess with some stag's minds. But never would her true intention be revealed. She was in need of something. But no, this moowashed femme would never reveal that she was in need. She was not vain, and she was not a loner. She was independant. But she needed a home, and that was something she could not really provide for herself. As bad as it was to admit it, she needed a brute. Besides, she was in heat and that time always made her sanity go awry. She was ready to settle down.
Her banner cascaded over her nape in a rhythm of short, jouncy bumps as her pistons slid the petite femmora to a stop, in the middle of the clearing. Her whipcord was pushed against her back pillars and then was still once more. Did she dare call out? Or would she regret any noise? Hesitantly, she stretched her dial foward and emitted a low cal to any near her. She wasn't able to see much with all of this mist. But a stag would find her and she'd fall deep into the arms of love. Wouldn't she? Her maw pointed towards the ground, and had she been touching the ground her visage would have been at a 90 degree angle to it. Her optics surveyed her surroundings carefully. How would she know if someone came near her? The fog blanketed her, almost as though it were trying to block her off from the real world. The scene was almost surreal. Harks swiveled to catch noises, but these, too, were muffled by the thick mist. Could this landscape give her a second chance at love? At life?
I'm lost inside the crowd...
I need you to see I'm screaming for you to please.
Can you hear me?
Picture;; comming
Description;; A soft milk and ebon painted pelt. Soft ebon eyes, yet they seem so empty at a closer look. At irst glance the optics on her seem endless, and magical. But like I said, her optics are empty. she has the build of a draft, and the wings of a dove. though the colout of a crow's wings. But the colour doesnt matter right? Every night she cries, and weeps. The poor poor thing.
