Post by Tether on Aug 2, 2009 22:16:48 GMT -8
Name: Blindside
Alias: Bly
Gender: XY
Age: 5
Breed: Warmblood Mix
Height: 15hh
Herd: Rogue
Appearance: Though Bly is little more than a mutt by bloodline standards, his appearance can nevertheless be considered quite handsome. Built like a Warmblood with toned muscles and a naturally long-legged stride, he seems to be rather average in this regard. His size, on the other hand, is much less than the average Warmblood stallion's at 15 hands. However, it is not his size but his pelt that garners him the most attention: a deep mahogany bay riddled with silver streaks, Bly’s unique brindle coloration marks him as a rare specimen in the equine world. There is a single white sock on his left hind leg; the other three are unmarked. He has his share of scrapes and scars, but none quite as noteworthy as the one that crosses his left eye. This eye, it is rumored, has never been opened since the day Bly received the scar and never will open again. Whether or not this is because Bly physically cannot open his eye or because he simply will not remains to be seen.
Photo:
Personality: “Broken” is one of the best words to describe Bly’s mental and emotional state. Ever since the destruction of his homeland and family, he’s been in a rough place. It’s twisted him and made him grim and introverted, though he’s prone to explosive bouts of aggression – even if seemingly unprovoked. The smallest, strangest little things seem to be able to set him off, making him highly unpredictable. Fighting is one of his favorite forms of recreation, though he’s strangely methodical during sparring and lacks the bloodlust that most stallions would have. This sort of pure fury he reserves for those he truly abhors. Bly has a sharp tongue and seems to prefer tongue-lashing those who would oppose him before attempting any sort of physical attack. He likes to think this gives him the tactical advantage. For the most part he dislikes females and is especially harsh towards them if they displease him in any way; males seem to draw less venom from him, perhaps because of his inferiority complex. He values honesty, determination, & loyalty – qualities that he himself possesses. Bly has not had a close companion since he was a young colt, and thus is slightly stunted in terms of social interaction. He is a loner mostly by choice, but has a secret hope that he might find companionship even though he’s uncertain as to how to proceed should someone actually admit that they enjoy his company. Bly likes foals though he would never admit it aloud as he has a hard time even admitting it to himself. This is but one shred of proof that beneath this dangerously feral exterior lurks a pure yet shattered heart that might still have the potential to be saved.
History: Bly was born and raised in a vast grassland far from the lands of Aureate and nearly everything else. His herd was isolated from most other equines save a rivaling clan to the south with which those in Bly’s herd were always bickering. Judas, the leader of Bly’s herd and Bly’s sire, was adamant that all of his colts become skilled and disciplined fighters to aid in the protection of their family and homeland. One of the middle colts, Bly was often overlooked because he was not the strongest nor the fastest and his height put him at a disadvantage. His brothers teased him for being the runt; even the four colts born after Bly were better skilled than he was. When the aggression between the two herds escalated in Bly’s third year, he did his best to prove himself to his family as a force to be reckoned with…but ultimately failed. His attempt to face off in battle against a rivaling stallion left his youngest brother dead. Bly escaped the altercation with little more than a scarred right eye, but his herd disowned him in utter disgrace. From that day on Bly was a rogue and a wanderer, though he never strayed far from his homeland. The tension he could feel mounting between the rivaling herds kept him close in the event that he would be needed after all. It was a futile hope. A freak summer storm the following year brought with it lightning strikes that set the dry grasslands ablaze. Bly was unable to do anything to prevent his homeland and family from being burnt to the ground. This realization was ultimately the reason he fled into the desert, where the flames could not follow though the heat and misery were far greater. Bly felt it was appropriate that he should suffer with each step of his journey for the innocent lives he had been powerless to save from untimely death. Now that he has come to Aureate, his status as a rogue still intact, he aims to start again by whatever means possible. His greatest hope, however, is that he will not see so great a tragedy as the one that befell him come to pass again.
Sample Post:
Beneath the cover of a palm's fronds, a battle worn stallion jerked awake with a sudden gasp. He rolled onto his knees, gathering his legs beneath him before he'd even had time to fully process what he was doing. Blindside blinked the sleep from his eyes, lolling his head to and fro as he stared at the endless surrounding desert. Not a breath of life stirred amongst the sand. The sun had not yet risen and the sand was comfortably cool and gray beneath the blue-black sky. What could have woken him? A single water droplet landed on his nose. The startled stallion shied, snorting and tossing his head at the unexpected sensation. "What the--?" The single raindrop was swiftly followed by a few thousand of its closest friends, which quickly became a downpour. Bly squinted up at the cloudy gray sky with his good eye and groaned. "Ooooof course." He had inadvertantly chosen the first day of heavy rain to arrive in a new haunting ground. "Just my luck." There's no better way to make an impression on your fellow equine than to show up covered from head-to-toe in sandy mud, he thought dryly. Heaving himself onto his feet, Bly shook the worst of the just-slightly-sticky sand from his brindled pelt and set a course for an oasis he had spotted the night before. It might've been his imagination, but Bly could have sworn that the green brush he saw sprouting far off in the distance spanned the length of something much larger than an oasis--perhaps he'd found a river! The promise of water had been fresh in his nostrils when he had fallen asleep beneath the palm; with the rain coming down now, he wouldn't be able to rely on his sense of smell to guide him to the oasis. With a final stretch of his sore limbs and a parting grumble ("Better not have been a d**n mirage..."), Blindside set forth.
The brindled stallion set a swift pace for himself, stepping quickly and carefully to avoid sinking his hooves too deep into the wet sand. The last thing he wanted was to get stuck out here when the sun decided to show its face again and steal away all the moisture. Bly knew he would surely die then, dehydrated as he was. But for now, rain poured down in sheets over the cool evening, leaving puddles big enough for the stallion to pause and drink from. It had been such a long time since he'd felt so comfortable in the desert; Blindside welcomed the change with open arms though he knew he would only feel itchy and uncomfortable once the sun rose. With a strange sort of quick-step, he carried on toward the promising line of green in the distance, grimly reminded of the last time he had seen that vivid, virescent color...The rain died down slowly to a drizzle, then a mist, though the sun was no closer to rising. Bly paused in his trek long enough to look up at the gray sky of the early dawn once more. Perhaps that's how all things really worked: they poured down upon you all at once, then disappeared before you'd even realized they'd decided to leave, with only residue to remind you that they had been there at all. Bly's good eye narrowed in distaste of such a fanciful idea. "Stupid," he growled, "How could I have been so stupid?" The heat must be getting to him more than he'd thought. But of course things disappear, he thought derisively to himself, things always disappear! Things grow old and fade. Things die. It's the law of nature and the law of the land. Nothing can change that, he reminded himself bitterly. Laws are not meant to be broken. And dreams are not meant to be chased. Instead they're shattered and scattered on the breeze like-- "Ashes to ashes..." Blindside murmured aloud, lost within the sticky cobwebs of his memories.
The sun had risen nearly to its peak by the time Bly had made it to the strip of green he sought. The early rain of the morning had evaporated completely, leaving the sand bone-dry and scorching beneath the stallion's hooves. As he approached what he had supposed was an "oasis," the brindled stallion was delighted to discover that it was in fact a river - and a rather sizeable one at that! Greedily he raced to the river's edge and plunged his head into the water, drinking greedily. Sipping from puddles was like trying to squeeze blood from a rock in comparison to drinking from this river. The water was cool and refreshing, utterly lacking in sandy grit. Bly sighed as he lifted his dripping maw from the water. "This must be heaven, or else a very strange form of hell," he muttered sarcastically. Tossing his head to shake his clinging sweat-heavy mane away from his nape, the small stallion lifted his muzzle to the dry breeze and inhaled. After a moment, his expression became quizzical. A heartbeat later he began to look concerned, perhaps even fearful. He'd smelled no one. Absolutely no one. How could that be? How could there be no equines living so close to such a vital and precious resource? This river was like liquid gold and not a single stallion, mare, or foal had come to claim it as their own. It was absolutely ludicrous! The rogue frowned, troubled by the circumstances of his solitude. It felt almost like cheating...or perhaps stealing was a better analogy. Blindside felt as if at any moment, some official-looking equine would march out from behind the papyrus to his left and demand he explain why he was drinking from the "sacred river" or something equally inane, and Bly would be forced to move on. He waited a moment longer, ears swiveling about earnestly, nostrils quivering expectantly... Nothing. Not a sound, not a scent, not a hoofprint or rustle of sand. He was alone again. "Their loss..." Blindside shrugged. "...My gain."
Alias: Bly
Gender: XY
Age: 5
Breed: Warmblood Mix
Height: 15hh
Herd: Rogue
Appearance: Though Bly is little more than a mutt by bloodline standards, his appearance can nevertheless be considered quite handsome. Built like a Warmblood with toned muscles and a naturally long-legged stride, he seems to be rather average in this regard. His size, on the other hand, is much less than the average Warmblood stallion's at 15 hands. However, it is not his size but his pelt that garners him the most attention: a deep mahogany bay riddled with silver streaks, Bly’s unique brindle coloration marks him as a rare specimen in the equine world. There is a single white sock on his left hind leg; the other three are unmarked. He has his share of scrapes and scars, but none quite as noteworthy as the one that crosses his left eye. This eye, it is rumored, has never been opened since the day Bly received the scar and never will open again. Whether or not this is because Bly physically cannot open his eye or because he simply will not remains to be seen.
Photo:
Personality: “Broken” is one of the best words to describe Bly’s mental and emotional state. Ever since the destruction of his homeland and family, he’s been in a rough place. It’s twisted him and made him grim and introverted, though he’s prone to explosive bouts of aggression – even if seemingly unprovoked. The smallest, strangest little things seem to be able to set him off, making him highly unpredictable. Fighting is one of his favorite forms of recreation, though he’s strangely methodical during sparring and lacks the bloodlust that most stallions would have. This sort of pure fury he reserves for those he truly abhors. Bly has a sharp tongue and seems to prefer tongue-lashing those who would oppose him before attempting any sort of physical attack. He likes to think this gives him the tactical advantage. For the most part he dislikes females and is especially harsh towards them if they displease him in any way; males seem to draw less venom from him, perhaps because of his inferiority complex. He values honesty, determination, & loyalty – qualities that he himself possesses. Bly has not had a close companion since he was a young colt, and thus is slightly stunted in terms of social interaction. He is a loner mostly by choice, but has a secret hope that he might find companionship even though he’s uncertain as to how to proceed should someone actually admit that they enjoy his company. Bly likes foals though he would never admit it aloud as he has a hard time even admitting it to himself. This is but one shred of proof that beneath this dangerously feral exterior lurks a pure yet shattered heart that might still have the potential to be saved.
History: Bly was born and raised in a vast grassland far from the lands of Aureate and nearly everything else. His herd was isolated from most other equines save a rivaling clan to the south with which those in Bly’s herd were always bickering. Judas, the leader of Bly’s herd and Bly’s sire, was adamant that all of his colts become skilled and disciplined fighters to aid in the protection of their family and homeland. One of the middle colts, Bly was often overlooked because he was not the strongest nor the fastest and his height put him at a disadvantage. His brothers teased him for being the runt; even the four colts born after Bly were better skilled than he was. When the aggression between the two herds escalated in Bly’s third year, he did his best to prove himself to his family as a force to be reckoned with…but ultimately failed. His attempt to face off in battle against a rivaling stallion left his youngest brother dead. Bly escaped the altercation with little more than a scarred right eye, but his herd disowned him in utter disgrace. From that day on Bly was a rogue and a wanderer, though he never strayed far from his homeland. The tension he could feel mounting between the rivaling herds kept him close in the event that he would be needed after all. It was a futile hope. A freak summer storm the following year brought with it lightning strikes that set the dry grasslands ablaze. Bly was unable to do anything to prevent his homeland and family from being burnt to the ground. This realization was ultimately the reason he fled into the desert, where the flames could not follow though the heat and misery were far greater. Bly felt it was appropriate that he should suffer with each step of his journey for the innocent lives he had been powerless to save from untimely death. Now that he has come to Aureate, his status as a rogue still intact, he aims to start again by whatever means possible. His greatest hope, however, is that he will not see so great a tragedy as the one that befell him come to pass again.
Sample Post:
Dreaming
...I was only dreaming:
...I was only dreaming:
Beneath the cover of a palm's fronds, a battle worn stallion jerked awake with a sudden gasp. He rolled onto his knees, gathering his legs beneath him before he'd even had time to fully process what he was doing. Blindside blinked the sleep from his eyes, lolling his head to and fro as he stared at the endless surrounding desert. Not a breath of life stirred amongst the sand. The sun had not yet risen and the sand was comfortably cool and gray beneath the blue-black sky. What could have woken him? A single water droplet landed on his nose. The startled stallion shied, snorting and tossing his head at the unexpected sensation. "What the--?" The single raindrop was swiftly followed by a few thousand of its closest friends, which quickly became a downpour. Bly squinted up at the cloudy gray sky with his good eye and groaned. "Ooooof course." He had inadvertantly chosen the first day of heavy rain to arrive in a new haunting ground. "Just my luck." There's no better way to make an impression on your fellow equine than to show up covered from head-to-toe in sandy mud, he thought dryly. Heaving himself onto his feet, Bly shook the worst of the just-slightly-sticky sand from his brindled pelt and set a course for an oasis he had spotted the night before. It might've been his imagination, but Bly could have sworn that the green brush he saw sprouting far off in the distance spanned the length of something much larger than an oasis--perhaps he'd found a river! The promise of water had been fresh in his nostrils when he had fallen asleep beneath the palm; with the rain coming down now, he wouldn't be able to rely on his sense of smell to guide him to the oasis. With a final stretch of his sore limbs and a parting grumble ("Better not have been a d**n mirage..."), Blindside set forth.
Singing
...I can hear them singing:
...I can hear them singing:
The brindled stallion set a swift pace for himself, stepping quickly and carefully to avoid sinking his hooves too deep into the wet sand. The last thing he wanted was to get stuck out here when the sun decided to show its face again and steal away all the moisture. Bly knew he would surely die then, dehydrated as he was. But for now, rain poured down in sheets over the cool evening, leaving puddles big enough for the stallion to pause and drink from. It had been such a long time since he'd felt so comfortable in the desert; Blindside welcomed the change with open arms though he knew he would only feel itchy and uncomfortable once the sun rose. With a strange sort of quick-step, he carried on toward the promising line of green in the distance, grimly reminded of the last time he had seen that vivid, virescent color...The rain died down slowly to a drizzle, then a mist, though the sun was no closer to rising. Bly paused in his trek long enough to look up at the gray sky of the early dawn once more. Perhaps that's how all things really worked: they poured down upon you all at once, then disappeared before you'd even realized they'd decided to leave, with only residue to remind you that they had been there at all. Bly's good eye narrowed in distaste of such a fanciful idea. "Stupid," he growled, "How could I have been so stupid?" The heat must be getting to him more than he'd thought. But of course things disappear, he thought derisively to himself, things always disappear! Things grow old and fade. Things die. It's the law of nature and the law of the land. Nothing can change that, he reminded himself bitterly. Laws are not meant to be broken. And dreams are not meant to be chased. Instead they're shattered and scattered on the breeze like-- "Ashes to ashes..." Blindside murmured aloud, lost within the sticky cobwebs of his memories.
dying
...Everyone's reminded:
...Everyone's reminded:
The sun had risen nearly to its peak by the time Bly had made it to the strip of green he sought. The early rain of the morning had evaporated completely, leaving the sand bone-dry and scorching beneath the stallion's hooves. As he approached what he had supposed was an "oasis," the brindled stallion was delighted to discover that it was in fact a river - and a rather sizeable one at that! Greedily he raced to the river's edge and plunged his head into the water, drinking greedily. Sipping from puddles was like trying to squeeze blood from a rock in comparison to drinking from this river. The water was cool and refreshing, utterly lacking in sandy grit. Bly sighed as he lifted his dripping maw from the water. "This must be heaven, or else a very strange form of hell," he muttered sarcastically. Tossing his head to shake his clinging sweat-heavy mane away from his nape, the small stallion lifted his muzzle to the dry breeze and inhaled. After a moment, his expression became quizzical. A heartbeat later he began to look concerned, perhaps even fearful. He'd smelled no one. Absolutely no one. How could that be? How could there be no equines living so close to such a vital and precious resource? This river was like liquid gold and not a single stallion, mare, or foal had come to claim it as their own. It was absolutely ludicrous! The rogue frowned, troubled by the circumstances of his solitude. It felt almost like cheating...or perhaps stealing was a better analogy. Blindside felt as if at any moment, some official-looking equine would march out from behind the papyrus to his left and demand he explain why he was drinking from the "sacred river" or something equally inane, and Bly would be forced to move on. He waited a moment longer, ears swiveling about earnestly, nostrils quivering expectantly... Nothing. Not a sound, not a scent, not a hoofprint or rustle of sand. He was alone again. "Their loss..." Blindside shrugged. "...My gain."
laughter
There is no more laughter.
There is no more laughter.
