Osilon

[mellon]

Osilon Parlis.
i'm just a man, i'm not a hero
just a boy who was meant to sing this song

Name: Osilon
Nickname: The Weirdo
Alliance: Luce
Gender: Male
Age: 2
Breed: Clydesdale
Height: 16.2hh
Personality: Many would describe Osilon as loud and outspoken, as at times he is a confident young stallion, fearless and proud to the point of arrogance. To say that he enjoys speaking would be an understatement; it is in fact one of the things he does best. He has been known to speak before he thinks - it is actually quite common, although his close friends and family have learnt to ignore his somewhat abrupt behaviour, and will instead tease him for it. Osilon has a way with words, making ideas into flowing sentences that all can understand, and for this reason he is a talented storyteller, although it is rare for one to hear any of his twisted tales. He lacks the wisdom of elder storytellers, and for this reason is looked at with disdain by most adult horses,

Many would at first link Osilon to the Score alliance, for he can seem slightly crazy, and likes twisted things, but he does in fact follow the path of Luce. Many wonder if Osilon is mentally stable, as he has been known to lash out violently using both his tongue and slightly more harmful weaponry, and he is generally reffered to as 'The Weirdo'. Despite his occasional loudness, Osilon also enjoys silence, and at times becomes a quiet, inverted youngster who speaks to nobody at all. During these times he is more irritable than normal, and is prone to snapping at the slightest of things. Overall, his personality is very much a mixed bag, chopping and changing like the British weather. Some say he is mad, others say he is simply confused, but the truth? Well, he's Osilon.

Appearance: Osilon is the typical Clydesdale, towering over many equines with a height of 16.2 hands, and still maturing. He is big-boned, stocky to the point where he is twice the width of finer animals, although he is still small and lean compared to full-grown stallions of his bloodlines. He has a large head, with the typical roman nose, small, sharp eyes, and long tufted ears. His neck is thick, which, along with his short back, sloping shoulders, and deep chest, suggest at the pulling power of the Clydesdale. He has rounded hindquarters, and thick limbs like maturing saplings - thick, strong, but still thin compared to their potential size. He has a thick covering of feathers running down his legs, another typical trait of his ancestors, a long, scruffy tail that hangs in untidy waves, and a short mane that sticks up above his neck almost like a mohawk, although it curves slightly towards the end.


By means of colouring, Osilon is classified a Strawberry Roan - a fruity blend of chestnut and white hairs that from a distance gives the impression that the horse in question is in fact a faded pink. This colour makes up the majority of his pelt, although there are several black hairs mixed into the harsh coat. He has four 'white' socks, although to be correct these are more like a pale yellow in colour, and his hooves too have taken the colouring of his lower legs, being a soiled cream. Osilon has a thick white blaze that runs down the centre of his face, angling towards the right as it reaches his nose. His eyes are a rich sea green, paler in the middle than they are towards the outside of the iris, with small splints of brown in each corner. He has a red-and-white tail that neatly matches his pelt, although it is slightly darker in shade, and his youthful body is host to a small collection of scars, although none are particularly noteworthy.


Lastly, the less important details that make a character, but cannot be spotted from a distance. He has a long stride that seems to eat up the ground, his walk being unusually fast, although he slows down as the pace increases to a gallop. His acceleration is like that of a rocket, for he can leap easily into action from a halt, although Osilon has poor agility, and needs a great deal of space to maneuver his body. He can jump, as all wild equines can, but prefers not to, although he greatly enjoys swimming, and takes pleasure in the feeling of weightlessness that being in water gives. Osilon has a deep, thundering voice that can seem more like a raspy growl at times, odd from one so young, although he generally tries to speak softly, quietly, as not to alarm any weak-hearted creatures nearby.

History: Osilon was born to a high-ranking father, and a slightly less important mother. He spent much of his early life standing with his dam, for he was birthed into a time of bloodshed and battle. His father, Aeri, was a soldier - a Lieutenant, to be exact - and many of the stories he heard were told by his sire, tales of stallions tearing flesh from bone, tales of the cries of dying warriors. As a foal, Osilon lived mainly inside a world he created in his mind, making up stories, and remaining seperate from the smaller, more active youngsters of his age. He lived in this manner for eight months, until the war came to a sudden, dramatic close, and Osilon's herd were victorious. His life changed dramatically then, for his father was finally home to see his son every day, but for some reason Osilon became withdrawn, and time soon passed.

At fifteen months of age, Osilon and his sire argued - a long, bitter argument that eventually ended in Osilon leaving his herd for good, failing to bid farewell to his mother or his friends. After that day, he traveled as a loner, searching for somewhere his father would never think to look for him. In this time Osilon fought several other stallions, winning most battles, but falling to a particularly savage male known as Kayge. Osilon was forced to serve this brute for several months, acting as his slave, until one of Kayge's own tricks failed, and Osilon was free to go as he wished. He then came across a land divided by two alliances, and took his place among them, hoping for a clean slate, and a fresh beginning.


Sample Post: The moon had long since rolled casually across the sky, and now watched over the world from its precarious position, bathing everything on earth in a pale glow. The welcoming conifers and shrubs of the forest had already turned into haunting, knotted bundles of spikes that seemed to contort in the darkness, and for the most part, there was silence. But this peaceful atmosphere was ruined by a soft, rhythmic beat that was growing louder and louder, the pulse of the sound becoming faster as its creator came closer to its destination. The culprit emerged, giving a piercing whistle, and slowing instantly. The sound stopped as the beast became still, his dark eyes flashing dangerously in the dim light. It was a stallion, grey in colour, and only a few inches taller than the largest of ponies. He had an elegant face, and a thick neck, which coupled with his sloping shoulders and deep chest, gave him a powerful confirmation.

The stallion snorted softly, his nostrils flaring as he took in the scent of the tree sap, the damp soil, and enjoyed the feeling of exhilaration that it offered. But he was not merely passing to enjoy the scenery; the grey male had a far more serious reason to be in the forest. From what he could see, the land was unoccupied - a perfect excuse to stop and take the throne for himself. The Paso Fino took in the landscape, ears twitching rapidly, before taking a slow step forward. He had a good feeling about the situation; it seemed that life had chosen a lucky card for the stallion. He threw his weight onto his hind legs, balancing on two limbs, and kicking at the air with his front hooves. The beast's pale mane rippled as a gust of wind caught it, giving him a spectral appearance that was somewhat unnerving. Perhaps under normal circumstances, the male would have been slightly uncomfortable about being alone in the forest. As it was, he felt perfectly at home, acknowledging the fact that his time had indeed come.

A rush of euphoria filled the stallion as he leapt back onto all four limbs, tossing his head in the air in an act of pride, and breaking the silence with a deep growl. "I, Deimos, claim this land, and the throne of the Malkeiri. Challenge me, and die." His words were harsher than he intended, for the male did not particularly want to have to battle to the death to protect his new home, but they seemed to fit the occasion. It was a dark night, and he felt slightly crueler than usual, front legs stretching out in front of his body as he bolted into a flat-out gallop, throwing his weight from side to side to keep his balance as he swerved in and out of the trees, tail flowing freely behind him. The Paso Fino had not felt as good for ages; his mind was full of the feeling that he was on top of the world, looking down at every other lifeform in existence, and knowing that he was free to do as he wished. Yes, life was good, and something, somewhere, told Deimos that it was about to get even better.

Other Information: N/A
Password: allhallow'seve

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[Befera]

Very, very, very good profile.

Accepted

If you arent trying for Luce king, I encourage you to try for the last spirit open, Seia.

[mellon]

Thanks ^^

I think Osilon's a bit young/weird to be Luce King - he'd make a terrible monarch. Still, it's an interesting thought... Muahaha.