Post by chaos on Jun 19, 2007 19:10:06 GMT -5
Name: Chaos
*Nickname: None
Alliance: 'Score'
Gender: Female
Age: Four
Breed: quarter horse x arabian
Height: 15 hh
Personality: I have been known as a beast, a b itch, self-conceited, an ego-maniac. I suppose it all depends on how you look at it, what your viewpoint is. At times I'll be quiet, simply listening to others babble on, but there is always a time when I will stand up and state my opinions, challenging any who oppose me - this actually occurs more often than me being 'quiet'. I have an annoyance with stallions. I'll go with them when it is required, but I will really have nothing to do with them. I go my own way, and more often than not stallions would rather think of me as a 'toy' than a partner, and that is simply not acceptable. Now, there you have it, a glimpse into Chaos.
Appearance: I have the colour of a bay, not quite uncommon among equines. I am slightly burly, but slender, as quarter horses and arabians have quite contrasting body types. My chest is rather broad, my 'nose' slightly dished, but not too evidently. All in all, I am quite attractive - although one may find scars running down my pelt if they look closely enough.
History: Bear with me, I'm terrible at histories, so this will be unnaturally corny. =P
I was born to a seemingly caring dam - my father was no where to be found, as he had deserted my mother far before I was born. I grew up semi-normally, as my mother wasn't 'abusive', you would say, although she never really acted as though she cared. At a year old I left my small herd and my mother, who bid me farewell with an appearance of self-detatchment. On my own, living in the forestry, living off of vegetation and small animals, it was then that I became what is known here as 'score'. I will do whatever it takes to stay alive - including killing others, eating their flesh, draining the crimson from their corpses. I've wandered for years, spending miniscule amounts of time here and there, and now I have stumbled upon this place. Who knows, maybe I'll spend more than a month here.
[151 words]
Sample Post: From a different site.
A faint w h i s p e r.
Do you hear it? It isn't the obnoxious chatter of various beings, nor the whistle of the wind. It might be your heart, it may even be mine. But do I have one? Literally, yes. For I could not live without the muscle pumping my blood every second of every single day. But metaphorically, a heart was said to be the bearer of the soul, but what if you are so terribly wound up in something many consider to be evil? But what makes something evil? Greed? Or perhaps someone who takes the life of someone else? Perhaps. The truth, though? Someone is truly evil simply because they enjoy it. Therefore, considering this prospect, do I attain myself to be 'evil'? Well, that all depends upon the circumstances, doesn't it? Does that mean I run around, slaughtering anyone in my midst, a bloodthirst savage? Ha, no. Obviously, this is redundant, highly unlikely that anyone behaves this way, unless they are a blundering idiot. And who would ever expect me to hesitate before I attacked? My pugnacious nature is no surprise, as to how I was raised, but let us not get into that story, now shall we? I enjoy fighting, occasionally, although I admit I would grow tiresome of it were I did so too often. Would you not?
Dawn breaks overhead; crested in the notorious happenings that reconcile day to day. Earnestly, none is predictable. The ruffled fatigue of others whom have just awoken is nothing but an annoyance - move, fools. A smirk flits atop my countenance momentarily, and I cannot cease its revenue. The earth creaks and groans under my weight; no matter how terribly lithe I have become; as I shuffle lethargically onward. Veiny leaves of trees come fluttering down upon me, scattering flies and warming my lucid hide. My cochlea flicker atop a scarred cerembrum, the two shades of ebony and ivory joining to appear as if I am not as large as is true. Drafted along the prospects of azure waters that sweep gaily to my hocks, hollows flare in an almost ginger manner, extricating the oxygen in exchange for a fresh supply. Soft hums of my own accord from my throttling larynx are succumbed to rhythmic rolls coerced with my fluent motions, surmising the hock to the knee to the shoulder and such. A deft sneer is displayed atop my countenance, and I never bother to hide it in the presence of others; what's the point? It is common knowledge - to myself and those I know, anyways - that I consider myself subtly superb to most others, except a very few number whom astound me with their brilliance.
Ephermal brow escalates atop my beautifully carved zenith, a highly distinguished appearance emanating from one so rugged. At first glance one can spy the many scars lacing the fleshy exterior of my hide, concerning the many battles I have gotten myself into. I hold the prospect with much pride, for most battles I have come out victorious - but I am no fool - none can win every spite they find themselves in. I have lost my fair share. To excern myself from wandering eyes I make sure I give the distinct aura of a malevolent paramoure, one who does not enjoy company and has many a whim to slaughter something that runs itself along my path. A wry smirk decorates my facade, soft expulsions of breath exiting me as dawn continues to settle itself into the horizon, painting it with shrill blues and violent magentas, ochres and violets and pallids decorating the canvas that is the sky. The light comes spilling over the peaks, far away in the distance and casts over my bodice with an enlightened achromatic hue, giving my physique a slightly amber colour instead of the usual atramentous and alabaster.
Sometimes we ask ourselves, are we made to lead, or to follow? Perhaps this is a difficult question to answer for many, though I have figured upon my answer long ago. I was meant to be at the front tide, leading others who will willingly obey. My shoulders are rolled backwards, making me appear even more dignified. Of course, many of our darks are the 'true' darks, not so vague. They may respond with quick wit all the while holding on to their valued animosity. These are true, rueful darks. The actual prospect, the actual word, 'dark', is a frightening notion, for some, although you must ask yourself, am I afraid of the dark, or what is inside it? As it is, we are afraid of what is evil, and, perhaps even more so, what we do not know. These frivelous thoughts must be extricated from our systems, as is fear is weakness. When we are fearful, we hesitate, we think more than we need to before we strike, isn't that so? The same prospect, perhaps, to anger. Although we do not weaken ourselves because of fear in the directed, but while fury may bring strength, does it not also make us reckless? For those who do not know how to control their asperity is completely intolerable. Could we make them all perfect, responding brilliantly, fighting with strength and intellect? I believe so. But of course, none can be perfect, yet we can come close, very close, to perfection among our kind. And so here I stand, completely content in being solo, although, perhaps someone will, eventually, release me from being alone.
[920 words]
*Other Information: None
Password: all hallow's eve
*Nickname: None
Alliance: 'Score'
Gender: Female
Age: Four
Breed: quarter horse x arabian
Height: 15 hh
Personality: I have been known as a beast, a b itch, self-conceited, an ego-maniac. I suppose it all depends on how you look at it, what your viewpoint is. At times I'll be quiet, simply listening to others babble on, but there is always a time when I will stand up and state my opinions, challenging any who oppose me - this actually occurs more often than me being 'quiet'. I have an annoyance with stallions. I'll go with them when it is required, but I will really have nothing to do with them. I go my own way, and more often than not stallions would rather think of me as a 'toy' than a partner, and that is simply not acceptable. Now, there you have it, a glimpse into Chaos.
Appearance: I have the colour of a bay, not quite uncommon among equines. I am slightly burly, but slender, as quarter horses and arabians have quite contrasting body types. My chest is rather broad, my 'nose' slightly dished, but not too evidently. All in all, I am quite attractive - although one may find scars running down my pelt if they look closely enough.
History: Bear with me, I'm terrible at histories, so this will be unnaturally corny. =P
I was born to a seemingly caring dam - my father was no where to be found, as he had deserted my mother far before I was born. I grew up semi-normally, as my mother wasn't 'abusive', you would say, although she never really acted as though she cared. At a year old I left my small herd and my mother, who bid me farewell with an appearance of self-detatchment. On my own, living in the forestry, living off of vegetation and small animals, it was then that I became what is known here as 'score'. I will do whatever it takes to stay alive - including killing others, eating their flesh, draining the crimson from their corpses. I've wandered for years, spending miniscule amounts of time here and there, and now I have stumbled upon this place. Who knows, maybe I'll spend more than a month here.
[151 words]
Sample Post: From a different site.
A faint w h i s p e r.
Do you hear it? It isn't the obnoxious chatter of various beings, nor the whistle of the wind. It might be your heart, it may even be mine. But do I have one? Literally, yes. For I could not live without the muscle pumping my blood every second of every single day. But metaphorically, a heart was said to be the bearer of the soul, but what if you are so terribly wound up in something many consider to be evil? But what makes something evil? Greed? Or perhaps someone who takes the life of someone else? Perhaps. The truth, though? Someone is truly evil simply because they enjoy it. Therefore, considering this prospect, do I attain myself to be 'evil'? Well, that all depends upon the circumstances, doesn't it? Does that mean I run around, slaughtering anyone in my midst, a bloodthirst savage? Ha, no. Obviously, this is redundant, highly unlikely that anyone behaves this way, unless they are a blundering idiot. And who would ever expect me to hesitate before I attacked? My pugnacious nature is no surprise, as to how I was raised, but let us not get into that story, now shall we? I enjoy fighting, occasionally, although I admit I would grow tiresome of it were I did so too often. Would you not?
Dawn breaks overhead; crested in the notorious happenings that reconcile day to day. Earnestly, none is predictable. The ruffled fatigue of others whom have just awoken is nothing but an annoyance - move, fools. A smirk flits atop my countenance momentarily, and I cannot cease its revenue. The earth creaks and groans under my weight; no matter how terribly lithe I have become; as I shuffle lethargically onward. Veiny leaves of trees come fluttering down upon me, scattering flies and warming my lucid hide. My cochlea flicker atop a scarred cerembrum, the two shades of ebony and ivory joining to appear as if I am not as large as is true. Drafted along the prospects of azure waters that sweep gaily to my hocks, hollows flare in an almost ginger manner, extricating the oxygen in exchange for a fresh supply. Soft hums of my own accord from my throttling larynx are succumbed to rhythmic rolls coerced with my fluent motions, surmising the hock to the knee to the shoulder and such. A deft sneer is displayed atop my countenance, and I never bother to hide it in the presence of others; what's the point? It is common knowledge - to myself and those I know, anyways - that I consider myself subtly superb to most others, except a very few number whom astound me with their brilliance.
Ephermal brow escalates atop my beautifully carved zenith, a highly distinguished appearance emanating from one so rugged. At first glance one can spy the many scars lacing the fleshy exterior of my hide, concerning the many battles I have gotten myself into. I hold the prospect with much pride, for most battles I have come out victorious - but I am no fool - none can win every spite they find themselves in. I have lost my fair share. To excern myself from wandering eyes I make sure I give the distinct aura of a malevolent paramoure, one who does not enjoy company and has many a whim to slaughter something that runs itself along my path. A wry smirk decorates my facade, soft expulsions of breath exiting me as dawn continues to settle itself into the horizon, painting it with shrill blues and violent magentas, ochres and violets and pallids decorating the canvas that is the sky. The light comes spilling over the peaks, far away in the distance and casts over my bodice with an enlightened achromatic hue, giving my physique a slightly amber colour instead of the usual atramentous and alabaster.
Sometimes we ask ourselves, are we made to lead, or to follow? Perhaps this is a difficult question to answer for many, though I have figured upon my answer long ago. I was meant to be at the front tide, leading others who will willingly obey. My shoulders are rolled backwards, making me appear even more dignified. Of course, many of our darks are the 'true' darks, not so vague. They may respond with quick wit all the while holding on to their valued animosity. These are true, rueful darks. The actual prospect, the actual word, 'dark', is a frightening notion, for some, although you must ask yourself, am I afraid of the dark, or what is inside it? As it is, we are afraid of what is evil, and, perhaps even more so, what we do not know. These frivelous thoughts must be extricated from our systems, as is fear is weakness. When we are fearful, we hesitate, we think more than we need to before we strike, isn't that so? The same prospect, perhaps, to anger. Although we do not weaken ourselves because of fear in the directed, but while fury may bring strength, does it not also make us reckless? For those who do not know how to control their asperity is completely intolerable. Could we make them all perfect, responding brilliantly, fighting with strength and intellect? I believe so. But of course, none can be perfect, yet we can come close, very close, to perfection among our kind. And so here I stand, completely content in being solo, although, perhaps someone will, eventually, release me from being alone.
[920 words]
*Other Information: None
Password: all hallow's eve
