Posted by Lacones on August 5, 2008, 4:00 pm
72.78.140.4
Name: Lacones
Age: 5 years
Breed: Mutt (may change… I want to find a picture)
Gender: Stallion
Strength: Strong, independent, intelligent, ability to react quickly to things going on around him, aware of his surroundings
Weakness: Perhaps too proud to the point of foolishness, a tendency to see certain emotions as weak, sometimes has a set mind-track that causes him to ignore certain things that he should not
Minor Objective: Win a battle
Super Objective: Reach silver Rank
Harem Preference: None
Intended Class [What's this?]: War
Sample Post [required]:
(recycled from a mare I played on Reykjavik as Ivy… if this doesn’t work let me know and I will make a different one)
One… two… three… four… five… just like that the seconds ticked away. Then again that right there was life. It is the endless struggle against time. Never having enough or always having too much, in the end all that we need to know is that it is finite. There is a limit to all of us who are called mortal. Some have more and some have less but in the end it all runs out and only those who choose death have a say in when it ends. The rest of us take it all in stride. We sit back and try to make the most of the time we are given and ride the wave until it ends and our final grain of sand has fallen on the pathetic thing that we call our life. And then that is it. It all seems a bit pointless doesn’t it? Really, once we are gone that’s that. Only a chosen few have their names passed on through time. There mortal selves alive again in the fact that are remembered. Their name a whisper from another’s lips as it is engraved into the mind of others. For the rest of us though, our memory dies just like our bodies. Perhaps it lingers for awhile in the minds of our loved ones, and that is assuming we even have any, but eventually it fades away as those loved ones in turn run out of time. Like our bodies, our memory slowly corrodes and is eventually lost all together.
So you may find Afflicted here a bit cynical. Well that is no worry because frankly she is. She has no problem being labeled as that. She sees things for what they are, not for some pretty painting of them that others only wish was really there. You want the blunt truth, she will give it to you. She is not part of a popularity contest and if she is, she has absolutely no desire to win. She is a bit of a loner you see. She has always been that way, ever since she was a young foal, she was always a bit different. Reclusive might not be the right word but it seems about the right fit. She was withdrawn and anything but naïve like her young peers. Life for Afflicted has never been all roses and sweets. She has seen the good with the bad and the great with the awful. She knows that most endings are not happy and that no matter what kind of effort you may put into them, not all dreams come true. She realizes that more often than not the only person you can truly depend on is yourself and that when that stallion begins to sweet talk you, it is nothing more than a good old screwing that he wants in return.
Oh what happened to the pretty pictures? Where have all the sunny skies and cloudless days gone? I will tell you. They have gone far far away from Afflicted. In fact I wonder if there was ever a time they were even nearby. This mare would probably tell you that there never was, and I myself am tempted to believe her. Afflicted, what are we to do with you? The mare who is so cynical of anything that is not bad, that she tends to push the good things away. Maybe that right there is her problem. There haven’t been enough good things to convince her otherwise. Maybe this place will do that for her or perhaps this new place will only reinforce her current opinions. Either way there is no way to predict the future so we shall just wait and see.
So as the seconds ticked away, the chestnut Arabian made her way into the fields of this strange land, the area that was deemed the gathering spot for the rejects and misfits who did not belong anywhere. There those without homes gathered and were forced to stand there like some piece of meat in a display case. They stood there while others who did belong somewhere surveyed and studied them and eventually determined whether or not they were good enough to belong to their home. It was all rather revolting and she found herself hating the idea of being claimed more and more revolting which each continuous step into the fields. It was a shame she was so tired from her journey here. Otherwise she might actually be in enough of a mood to be a witch and voice her opinion on the subject with a nasty attitude to those who approached. Oh who knows, maybe someone will bring it out of her despite her tired state. Does Afflicted here have a bit of an attitude problem? Perhaps but really certain individuals really bring it out in her and when she doesn’t like you, she isn’t polite enough to keep that information to herself.
At least though the weather reflected her mood. Dreary and gray, in the air hung a mist that made it more challenging to see than on a typical day. The ground was heavy with moisture and with each step, the onyx hooves of the mare sunk ever so slightly into the ground and then the air was filled with a sucking sound as she pulled them out and placed them back to the ground. How dreadfully annoying that sound was… annoying enough to the point where she wanted to lash out at the ground for making it. It was such a shame that the ground wouldn’t likely feel her wrath considering it was only ground after all. A snort of frustration and disdain escaped the mare’s mare as she moved her slender frame in the direction away from the other gathered equines. No use in making friends. Not that she would be making any in a mood like this. Can anyone say witchy?
A few more steps and Afflicted gives her weary muscles a break. She comes to a stop, alone and away from others enjoying her solitude with nothing but the mist to keep her company. Her chestnut coat gleams with moisture, a few scares marring the perfection that it once was. Not to say anything less of the mare now but she had already had her own blood spilled on several occasions though all that was left of those encounters now where the few scars and the memories. The fine Arabian head is lifted as dark optics look off into the gray unknown. Vision at this moment is not the best thing to rely on. Now sound and smell are the stronger senses and the mare uses both to detect that as of now none are around her. Perhaps that will change or perhaps none will bother to approach. She doesn’t honestly care. Her ears flick back and forth as she listens to the noises that surround her and her nostrils flare as she takes in the scents that are carried on the breeze. There is nothing. A moment of bliss for the mare? Perhaps but since she does not trust bliss she stays alert and ready. She tosses her head in annoyance causing her chestnut mane to dance in the air momentarily before falling back to its resting place on her powerful and arched neck. Oh the Arabian blood that flows through her veins is so obvious as she stands there. An agile frame, one meant for speed and stamina rather than brute force. She is a mare of her breed that is without a doubt.
Alias: JJ
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