Post by ..Dream†Weaver.. on May 20, 2007 12:04:20 GMT -5
Scream it Through the Night
DreamWeaver
Shorten it at Your Own Risk
Dream
Point out the Obvious
Essa
Name the Hue
Ashen and crimson splashed
Cling to the Truth
Dark
Take the Test
Timbers stood tall and shaky, their bare branches eerie in the silence of midnight. The sky splashed with small pinpoints of light, called stars by the two leggeds that inhabitent other lands. Bare limbs sway in the smallest breeze, scratching the skies as if it could peel away the black canvas layed out across it. The emerald shoots were scarce and browned, most of the terrain just sodden as black as the sky. Rapid creek tore through the terra, eating away at the banks, licking away the dirt that lined the shores making a rather steep embankment that could give way once the lightest of movements was made on it. Little life was said to inhabit these parts, for all life was soon destroyed, whether it be from a carnivore or lack of feed, it was bound to happen. The silence was eerie, not at all comforting, the creaking of the timbers not reassuring in the slightest of sounds. Few shrubs lined the bare forestry, and they too were either bare or bore poisonous berries. Lone lupe stalked in and out of the foliage, its pelt clinging to its build, marking the place where each bone portruded painfully from its sides. The defined dial was held low, maw towards the ground as it searched for its dinner. Tassel dragged the ground, a tan hide matching the surroundings as it trecked silently on, padders stirring up only little movement in its light footed path.
An ashen build splashed violently with crimson, daggers tainted the lightest hue of red. Pools were tainted sapphire, radiating out into the edge of the iris, the rectangular pupil defined against the light surface. Lengthy forelock tumbled down the center of a dished dial, curving over to cover one of the aqua hued lanterns. Large, dialated hollows inhaled each breath that fueled my boddice for more movement, the oxygen taken by the cells and returned as carbon dioxide, to be expelled from my bulk to make room for more carbon. My tiara was built in an arabic feature, with the large nasal cavaties and intelligent pools. Serpentine was arched, tendrils flowing from their connecting point in the boa's crest to meet the top of my limb joint. Petite and slender appendiges were straight, muscles flexed beneath the flawlessly tainted hide. Banner portruding from my rump, cascading like a waterfall to lick my hocks and graze the sodden. A picture of perfection, but far from that.
Not everyone is a push over, like most of the Dark alliance is. Some claim to be of the dark, yet they allow themselves to be captured and tred on by the path of love. Yet, others like myself, prefer the crimson trail, killing for pleasure, and the joy of pain and torment enough to satisfy even the worst of moods. The want to fight, to win, to see your opponent lay out flat on the sodden, gasping for air as you walk away victoriously... it's too much to describe the satisfaction that courses through your mind. Now, who says just because I have the build of an angel that I can't have the wants and behavior of a devil? Just because I look fragile and delicate doesn't mean I can't kick your ass, does it? No, it doesn't.
My accoustics were burried beneath my locks, laced to their gravestones for now and ever more. My facades were hardened beneath expression, pools locked with a combination so secure that only I knew the way in. Limbs moved with a liquid grace, carrying my arabic build across the deadened wastelands, scythes slicing through the tough sodden and leaving a perfect imprint with each stride. Tendrils bounced on my arched serpentine, plush pointed to the hells as banner flagged out behind, held high in the dominance I thought I so clearly deserved, and with reason. Hollows continued their intake of oxygen, gaze never leaving the eerie forestry that I treaded through. My chassi maneuvered the timbers with amazing ease, a keen sence developed over a mere three rotations of inhabiting them in icolation.
As sleek pillars carried my painted build from the 'safety' of the bark giants, I had caught the lupins eye. I froze, not in fear, but a satisfied smirk crossing my kissers as the wolf moved in on me. Muscles were loose beneath my hide, hollows intaking the surrounding aromas, the scent of the carnivore that wanted me as his meal. His lappets curled from sharp ivories, a snarl erupting from his voice box. Audits swiveled slightly, taking in the sounds, then falling back to their thrones. Not a sound emitted my plush, as the lupe halted before me, lowering himself in a hunting position.
His dial low to the ground, forelimbs folded upon the terrain, hind limbs holding his rump high, banner low. His large accoustics were back, snarl fixed upon his facade. The lupe moved closer, in a threatening manner, as fangs lashed out at my hind, enclosing around the cannon. A smirk crossed my visage, feeling the hot sensation of crimson escaping the wound. I allowed the lupe to remain his hold, then pulled sharply. Hind struck out, dagger aimed at his skullet. Knicking it only slightly, as the lupe sprung back in the life-saving move. Hind was throbing, as crimson rolled down the ashen hide of my appendige. Ignoring the fact that the tendon was broken, I rose upon hinds, fores slashing the air threateningly. Blood curdling and spine chilling scream erupted from my kissers, enhancing the fact I craved a killing. Fore struck out, striking the lupes shoulderblade. Yelping, the tanned figure jumped back, the lunged fourth once more. His vennors grasped at thin air, as a miss was made.
Fearing death, the lupe spun on hinds, disappearing beneath the foliage. Dial swung around to face the hind, looking over the injury the lupin had inflicted. Crimson tore through, and ashen bone splintered through the gash. Holding that pillar from the topography, gaze flicked off to the distance. Infection had set in on the wound, which was now swollen and throbing painfuly. The fact I was meerely a yearling and hadn't developed a mature immune system at the moment didn't help much, either. Limbs carried my painted bulk from the spot, visions set upon the surface of the terrain, scythes upchurning the sodden in the movement I made. Limp was held in the gait, and injured limb lifted quickly from the terra firma the moment it was placed, for the fact that not only was it gushing a constant stream of crimson and infection had set in, the tendon was torn and it throbbed like hell. Hollows inhaled the sickly aroma of infection, though outweight by the sweet sensation of crimson, and a craving for blood entered my mind.
A look in the Past
Born to a rogue mare, Sata, and a rogue sahib, Tronde. Within a day of my beginning of life, my dame brought me to a thicket of long emerald stalks to graze upon. My sire came, and Sata pushed me down. I lay in a cove of blades, surrounding me and hidding me from view. I watched as Tronde slayed Sata, and looking around for me, his nostrils flared. Tronde didn't find me, yet. Once I'd reached the age of three weeks, I was starved, dehydrated and on the brink of death. As I tumbled down a trench into a meadow full of other equine, I stumbled upon Borgon. He took me in, brought me back to health. Soon, Borgon met Lucky, and I was tough and defiant, never disciplined. I disliked Lucky with every fiber of my essence, but I allowed her to be with my sire. As time went on, Lucky adopted my sibling, Distemper. He and I caused much mischeif, and even killed another babe. Distemper passed on, protected me, though I didn't know it. A lupe bit my lower limb, infection set in on the torn tendons, and I was thought to die. Borgon wanted to send me to the humans, my beloved Rendition helped me through it, though, and I didn't have to leave. That's when I was reunited with Tronde. He fought me, attempted to murder me, though I escaped, and am now on these lands.
The Appearance
Holding an Arabic appearance, I normally have an arched serpentine and highly held plume. With two large audits, normally found plastered in their graves, and two sapphire orbs that can seem irresistable. A dished tiara, and normally dialated nostrils make up my facades. A petite form, standing at merrily fourteen three, and slim, long limbs. Tresses flow from their joining point in my serpentine to the upper limb joint of my forelimbs. Plume scrapes the topography, and licks my hocks. A picture of perfection, yet an attitude that doesn't match. A forelock that, when straightened, goes just above the nostrils. Yet the foretresses usually curve to cover one sapphire orb, the other azule surface to gaze out at the unknown.
Persona
Watch your back, no one's watching it for you. Now, you know the angelic appearance, what about the demonic behavior? Belligerent. One word that describes it all. A yearning to fight, a want to feel the flesh of another tear between her dentals. Strong willed. Don't push her, she'll fight it. Another word for strong willed-thick headed and stubborn, so don't try to get your way with her, she'll always have it hers in the end.
DreamWeaver
Shorten it at Your Own Risk
Dream
Point out the Obvious
Essa
Name the Hue
Ashen and crimson splashed
Cling to the Truth
Dark
Take the Test
Timbers stood tall and shaky, their bare branches eerie in the silence of midnight. The sky splashed with small pinpoints of light, called stars by the two leggeds that inhabitent other lands. Bare limbs sway in the smallest breeze, scratching the skies as if it could peel away the black canvas layed out across it. The emerald shoots were scarce and browned, most of the terrain just sodden as black as the sky. Rapid creek tore through the terra, eating away at the banks, licking away the dirt that lined the shores making a rather steep embankment that could give way once the lightest of movements was made on it. Little life was said to inhabit these parts, for all life was soon destroyed, whether it be from a carnivore or lack of feed, it was bound to happen. The silence was eerie, not at all comforting, the creaking of the timbers not reassuring in the slightest of sounds. Few shrubs lined the bare forestry, and they too were either bare or bore poisonous berries. Lone lupe stalked in and out of the foliage, its pelt clinging to its build, marking the place where each bone portruded painfully from its sides. The defined dial was held low, maw towards the ground as it searched for its dinner. Tassel dragged the ground, a tan hide matching the surroundings as it trecked silently on, padders stirring up only little movement in its light footed path.
An ashen build splashed violently with crimson, daggers tainted the lightest hue of red. Pools were tainted sapphire, radiating out into the edge of the iris, the rectangular pupil defined against the light surface. Lengthy forelock tumbled down the center of a dished dial, curving over to cover one of the aqua hued lanterns. Large, dialated hollows inhaled each breath that fueled my boddice for more movement, the oxygen taken by the cells and returned as carbon dioxide, to be expelled from my bulk to make room for more carbon. My tiara was built in an arabic feature, with the large nasal cavaties and intelligent pools. Serpentine was arched, tendrils flowing from their connecting point in the boa's crest to meet the top of my limb joint. Petite and slender appendiges were straight, muscles flexed beneath the flawlessly tainted hide. Banner portruding from my rump, cascading like a waterfall to lick my hocks and graze the sodden. A picture of perfection, but far from that.
Not everyone is a push over, like most of the Dark alliance is. Some claim to be of the dark, yet they allow themselves to be captured and tred on by the path of love. Yet, others like myself, prefer the crimson trail, killing for pleasure, and the joy of pain and torment enough to satisfy even the worst of moods. The want to fight, to win, to see your opponent lay out flat on the sodden, gasping for air as you walk away victoriously... it's too much to describe the satisfaction that courses through your mind. Now, who says just because I have the build of an angel that I can't have the wants and behavior of a devil? Just because I look fragile and delicate doesn't mean I can't kick your ass, does it? No, it doesn't.
My accoustics were burried beneath my locks, laced to their gravestones for now and ever more. My facades were hardened beneath expression, pools locked with a combination so secure that only I knew the way in. Limbs moved with a liquid grace, carrying my arabic build across the deadened wastelands, scythes slicing through the tough sodden and leaving a perfect imprint with each stride. Tendrils bounced on my arched serpentine, plush pointed to the hells as banner flagged out behind, held high in the dominance I thought I so clearly deserved, and with reason. Hollows continued their intake of oxygen, gaze never leaving the eerie forestry that I treaded through. My chassi maneuvered the timbers with amazing ease, a keen sence developed over a mere three rotations of inhabiting them in icolation.
As sleek pillars carried my painted build from the 'safety' of the bark giants, I had caught the lupins eye. I froze, not in fear, but a satisfied smirk crossing my kissers as the wolf moved in on me. Muscles were loose beneath my hide, hollows intaking the surrounding aromas, the scent of the carnivore that wanted me as his meal. His lappets curled from sharp ivories, a snarl erupting from his voice box. Audits swiveled slightly, taking in the sounds, then falling back to their thrones. Not a sound emitted my plush, as the lupe halted before me, lowering himself in a hunting position.
His dial low to the ground, forelimbs folded upon the terrain, hind limbs holding his rump high, banner low. His large accoustics were back, snarl fixed upon his facade. The lupe moved closer, in a threatening manner, as fangs lashed out at my hind, enclosing around the cannon. A smirk crossed my visage, feeling the hot sensation of crimson escaping the wound. I allowed the lupe to remain his hold, then pulled sharply. Hind struck out, dagger aimed at his skullet. Knicking it only slightly, as the lupe sprung back in the life-saving move. Hind was throbing, as crimson rolled down the ashen hide of my appendige. Ignoring the fact that the tendon was broken, I rose upon hinds, fores slashing the air threateningly. Blood curdling and spine chilling scream erupted from my kissers, enhancing the fact I craved a killing. Fore struck out, striking the lupes shoulderblade. Yelping, the tanned figure jumped back, the lunged fourth once more. His vennors grasped at thin air, as a miss was made.
Fearing death, the lupe spun on hinds, disappearing beneath the foliage. Dial swung around to face the hind, looking over the injury the lupin had inflicted. Crimson tore through, and ashen bone splintered through the gash. Holding that pillar from the topography, gaze flicked off to the distance. Infection had set in on the wound, which was now swollen and throbing painfuly. The fact I was meerely a yearling and hadn't developed a mature immune system at the moment didn't help much, either. Limbs carried my painted bulk from the spot, visions set upon the surface of the terrain, scythes upchurning the sodden in the movement I made. Limp was held in the gait, and injured limb lifted quickly from the terra firma the moment it was placed, for the fact that not only was it gushing a constant stream of crimson and infection had set in, the tendon was torn and it throbbed like hell. Hollows inhaled the sickly aroma of infection, though outweight by the sweet sensation of crimson, and a craving for blood entered my mind.
A look in the Past
Born to a rogue mare, Sata, and a rogue sahib, Tronde. Within a day of my beginning of life, my dame brought me to a thicket of long emerald stalks to graze upon. My sire came, and Sata pushed me down. I lay in a cove of blades, surrounding me and hidding me from view. I watched as Tronde slayed Sata, and looking around for me, his nostrils flared. Tronde didn't find me, yet. Once I'd reached the age of three weeks, I was starved, dehydrated and on the brink of death. As I tumbled down a trench into a meadow full of other equine, I stumbled upon Borgon. He took me in, brought me back to health. Soon, Borgon met Lucky, and I was tough and defiant, never disciplined. I disliked Lucky with every fiber of my essence, but I allowed her to be with my sire. As time went on, Lucky adopted my sibling, Distemper. He and I caused much mischeif, and even killed another babe. Distemper passed on, protected me, though I didn't know it. A lupe bit my lower limb, infection set in on the torn tendons, and I was thought to die. Borgon wanted to send me to the humans, my beloved Rendition helped me through it, though, and I didn't have to leave. That's when I was reunited with Tronde. He fought me, attempted to murder me, though I escaped, and am now on these lands.
The Appearance
Holding an Arabic appearance, I normally have an arched serpentine and highly held plume. With two large audits, normally found plastered in their graves, and two sapphire orbs that can seem irresistable. A dished tiara, and normally dialated nostrils make up my facades. A petite form, standing at merrily fourteen three, and slim, long limbs. Tresses flow from their joining point in my serpentine to the upper limb joint of my forelimbs. Plume scrapes the topography, and licks my hocks. A picture of perfection, yet an attitude that doesn't match. A forelock that, when straightened, goes just above the nostrils. Yet the foretresses usually curve to cover one sapphire orb, the other azule surface to gaze out at the unknown.
Persona
Watch your back, no one's watching it for you. Now, you know the angelic appearance, what about the demonic behavior? Belligerent. One word that describes it all. A yearning to fight, a want to feel the flesh of another tear between her dentals. Strong willed. Don't push her, she'll fight it. Another word for strong willed-thick headed and stubborn, so don't try to get your way with her, she'll always have it hers in the end.