Post by Starbird on Jun 8, 2007 9:15:19 GMT -5
Name: Dante
Gender: Male
Age: 9
Breed: Coldblood- perhaps shire/clydesdale cross?
Height: 18 hands
Color: Piebald
Alliance: Dark
Deity: Apollo (I couldn't resist. Though, due to the fact he doesn't bring it up much, he's also mistaken as a follower of Dionysus or Aphrodite.)
Appearance: Tall, well-built; convex profile, brown eyes. Forelock is mostly white. His black fur has dark, steel-blue highlights to it- the way crow feathers reflect color when the light hits them right. Swishy, wispy mane and tail, with a crimped look to them. He has a multitude of small, unobtrusive 'living scars', but you can't see them unless you're grooming him. Heavy white feathering.
Personality: Easygoing, sometimes lazy, sarcastic, slightly pervy, hates mornings with a passion, nice laugh. Doesn't give a flying flip for convention, likes 'spunky' (i.e.- i loathe you, you sadistic baby-eating layabout) people and laughs at them lots. He doesn't seem 'dark', just 'lazy' or 'annoying'. Very personable- you like him even though you can't get along with him.
However, he's dark for a reason, I suppose one could say. When someone has something he wants, he's going to take it, with a smile on his face. 'It's nothing personal, but you're in my way.' It's this bad-luck-for-you, sorry-but-there's-nothing-I-can-do ruthlessness that's his scariest feature.
History: "We can do this the long way or the short way. I don't remember the long way and even if I did I'd be too lazy. The short way is a life of pleasure-seeking and dodging work. Hey, there's a girl over there..."
Sample Roleplay:
Whoooooo.
Like a ghost the ash billows off the wall, curling into languid silver plumes as it falls, some parody of snow, and floats where it will.
Huh. With a snort and a smile he looks around at the ruined city, all floating echo of dust.
Pretty little place, he thinks, and with a snort shakes the soot from his body. He steps forward, and the sound of his hoofsteps is swallowed into the grey.
His eyes are shut, a serene, ironic smile on his face as he pads along, clip... clop... clip... clop. He's heard the rumors and the legends, oh, of course he has. It's his duty, he thinks, and his maw curls ever more smug. The only duty he'd ever willingly fulfilled. Good for a good laugh- at himself. Hey, when there was no one else around, who else could you make fun of?
A certain someone had once told him it might cut down on his arrogance. He'd laughed at her.
Then she'd sicced an aspen tree and some flinten pebbles on him, and he shut up. But he literally laughed himself sick later.
(Her stepping on him hadn't helped.)
Ah, Mongol, dearie, he chuckled, whoever said we were apart? We're all such frequent guests in each others' minds...
He laughed aloud then, a sudden, strident burst that faded off instentaniously. Then again, with friends like these, who needs enemies?
He could feel baleful yellow eyes on his back already. Hoo hoo... time to go. Eep. Cackling, he burst into a run.
Gender: Male
Age: 9
Breed: Coldblood- perhaps shire/clydesdale cross?
Height: 18 hands
Color: Piebald
Alliance: Dark
Deity: Apollo (I couldn't resist. Though, due to the fact he doesn't bring it up much, he's also mistaken as a follower of Dionysus or Aphrodite.)
Appearance: Tall, well-built; convex profile, brown eyes. Forelock is mostly white. His black fur has dark, steel-blue highlights to it- the way crow feathers reflect color when the light hits them right. Swishy, wispy mane and tail, with a crimped look to them. He has a multitude of small, unobtrusive 'living scars', but you can't see them unless you're grooming him. Heavy white feathering.
Personality: Easygoing, sometimes lazy, sarcastic, slightly pervy, hates mornings with a passion, nice laugh. Doesn't give a flying flip for convention, likes 'spunky' (i.e.- i loathe you, you sadistic baby-eating layabout) people and laughs at them lots. He doesn't seem 'dark', just 'lazy' or 'annoying'. Very personable- you like him even though you can't get along with him.
However, he's dark for a reason, I suppose one could say. When someone has something he wants, he's going to take it, with a smile on his face. 'It's nothing personal, but you're in my way.' It's this bad-luck-for-you, sorry-but-there's-nothing-I-can-do ruthlessness that's his scariest feature.
History: "We can do this the long way or the short way. I don't remember the long way and even if I did I'd be too lazy. The short way is a life of pleasure-seeking and dodging work. Hey, there's a girl over there..."
Sample Roleplay:
Whoooooo.
Like a ghost the ash billows off the wall, curling into languid silver plumes as it falls, some parody of snow, and floats where it will.
Huh. With a snort and a smile he looks around at the ruined city, all floating echo of dust.
Pretty little place, he thinks, and with a snort shakes the soot from his body. He steps forward, and the sound of his hoofsteps is swallowed into the grey.
His eyes are shut, a serene, ironic smile on his face as he pads along, clip... clop... clip... clop. He's heard the rumors and the legends, oh, of course he has. It's his duty, he thinks, and his maw curls ever more smug. The only duty he'd ever willingly fulfilled. Good for a good laugh- at himself. Hey, when there was no one else around, who else could you make fun of?
A certain someone had once told him it might cut down on his arrogance. He'd laughed at her.
Then she'd sicced an aspen tree and some flinten pebbles on him, and he shut up. But he literally laughed himself sick later.
(Her stepping on him hadn't helped.)
Ah, Mongol, dearie, he chuckled, whoever said we were apart? We're all such frequent guests in each others' minds...
He laughed aloud then, a sudden, strident burst that faded off instentaniously. Then again, with friends like these, who needs enemies?
He could feel baleful yellow eyes on his back already. Hoo hoo... time to go. Eep. Cackling, he burst into a run.