Post by dagurl on Aug 4, 2008 20:49:27 GMT -4
Name:
Carys Gewnfrewi Enid Oleastro
Age:
16
Status:
Human...
Family:
None =C
Appearance:
Carys (or Carrie by her closest of friends) has blonde hair and icey blue eyes. She's about 5'5" and looks more delicate than she actually is.
Personality:
Carys/Carrie is a spunky girl that is reserved and slightly shy. She's very shy at first, but once she opens up, her friends easily call her the life of the party. She loves to embaress people but not herself. She is a great actress, in her opinion.
Carys is working on her ADHD and OCD. She's slightly obsessive about cleanliness and majorly obsessive about numbers and symmetry. She's also bipolar, so sometimes she'll start hearing voices when none are there. But that's why she has medicine.
History:
Carys's last name may show that she is distantly from Spain, but she grew up in a very Welsh home with a very Welsh heritage. She's part Scandanvian and slighly Czech. Her father is of pure Welsh descent and her mother has an Anglo-Saxon look to her when she's only about 5% of both Scandanavian and Czech, no English or Anglo-Saxon.
Carys's father left when she was a few weeks old for a better job in a factory in England yet he was killed in a factory related accident. Carys's mother fell into depression and gave Carys to her father's parents, yet they made the mistake of driving late one rainy night and they hit a tree, killing her grandfather and turning her grandmother into a vegetable. By the time Carys was eight, her grandmother had died and her mother sent her to her other grandparents who lived in Spain, for they were tracking down their very distant relatives.
Yet all the moving caused Carys to act out so they settled down in Italy. The day Carys turned 11, her grandfather was returning for her surprise party with a doll she wanted when he entered a local gas station and was held at gun point and shot by the robber. Carys then fell into depression herself, following her mother, who commited suicide a few weeks later.
Just before Carys's 15th birthday, her last remaining relative died in her sleep. All of her mother's siblings had been killed in a boating accident before she was born and her father was an only child after his father disowned all of his brothers and his one sister, only to later have them been murdered by the one other brother that had not been disowned, for the misconception that he had and they hadn't, had been passed one.
So, on Carys's 15th birthday, she was sent to an orphanage in France where she had been living yet she ran away around Christmastime and found herself here.
Sample RP:
{This is from a horse RP a loooong time ago... like two years - 1120 words}
Cocoa optics watched crimson stained water float freely away from their velveteen kissers. The water churned and chuckled at him, gasping for its own breath, drowning in blood, overfilling the creek. His own maw opened slightly in a small chuckle. He threw his cranium to the sky and cackled slightly, diving his skull into the water. Sapphire droplets flew everywhere, marking his presence. Baltasar's hostility shone like the sun through his drenching ebonite pelt. His pillars moved fluidly under the red hued liquid, keeping him afloat only slightly. The brujo's head along disappeared with his bodice as she dove under.
His heavy lids closed slowly over ice fired orbs, hiding his dilating pupils. The current swept him downstream fast, his bodice limp and light. A rock hit his leg, tearing open a new wound to heal. Bubbles surfaced from a lightly surpressed laugh as his blood mixed fluently into the water. The stream poured down the mountain, tossing him every which way. He followed his blood, downstream headed. Jagged rocks spurted from the fluid that bubbled coldly, wiping away his warmth. Baltasar cackled as his skull was sprung from the water, flints striking sandy ground of the shallow creek. New scars covered his body, drenching hid midnight pelt with rojo markings.
The brute shook, cherry droplets sprinkling the emerald ground lightly. His nares parted in a snort, exposing burgendy hued skin within. His wounded legs carried him swiftly over the land in an easy three beat lope. Baltasar' physique was an obvious factor in his survival through the more harsh of times. His muscles rippled easily beneath his coat, making his movements fluid and easy. Another cackle escaped his vocals, escaped the confines of her raspy vocals threads, shards. The aura of emotion was odd yet distinct. No dejected sense surrounded the distorted form, yet no pleasure did either. The sultan halted, tufts of soft grass sent sprawling through the heavens above him.
His twisted mind spoke evily to him, voices screaming dilegently. The emperor reared, a challenging scream echoing pointlessly to near-standers. He nipped at his rump, biting it hard enough to bleed, a new stream of blood flowing swiftly down his side. A breeze whipped by, screaming into his optics of hate and fear. Baltasar screamed his challenge again and the wind stopped, dropping his tresses and locks harshly onto his hide. He snorted and sighed. Fianlly his mind was at peace for the time being. Now to revel on his actions.
Baltasar lay down under the shade of a tall nearby sycamore tree. Faintly closing his eyes, visions of fire filled them, screams, blood. The final viewing of a massacre flashed, an olde fashion black and white motion picture. He smiled devilishly upon his maw, watching the pain of death enter all the sufferer's eyes, the now deceased carcasses laying grotesquely on the rojo blood stained carpet. The grass seemed to make a nice bedding. The stag replayed a days work slowly in his head, feeling every leftover scar from their deaths. It was worth it, every sacrifice, every mangled soul now gone from his life.
His heart fluttered a second, remembering the tom-foolery and the deciet. Wretched light she had to become. How pathetic they were, kind beasts of heaven. Hell was more suitable for this queen of unholy realms. Truth be told finally, a lineage of lights he had, wretched mortals that parished on her day of leaving. Now how many had he...? Oh yes, his third whole herd dead. Such an accomplishment on four twisted years time. His smile broadened over his maw, remembering each pair of pain filled orbits. Lights could fight, he'd learned. Not as well as hisself though, Baltasar added, pleasing himself. His parents nothing but mere bones now, and two herd gone forever from this dreaded land. Hadn't he helped them to pass over? To recieve all gifts from the heavens? Ah, yes. His own destiny called, Hell his place of home forever.
Ebonite hide covered the ivories which grinded in their moist hollow of her mouth.Sick presence he was to himself full of schizophrenia. Voices rang crudely in her head to turn and lash out, yet one small voice piped an interest any odd form. Her shards of vocal cords ached to speak yet she surpressed them along with her need to scream at the voices. His mind concluded nothing of daring euines that might approach yet still...
Ah, their death replayed again in her mind, hushing the voices for a memory movie. How he loved the pain in their optics as they struggled for breath, death be knocking at their door in the form of a five month olde coltine. Yes, such a joyous day for a foal of darque. A whole herd of darque power, vanished from the necessity to kill. The sultan smiled slightly, staring with a cryptic aura in his presence.
The Friesian rose, this hieght overpowering anything in his limited view. He shook, annoyed suddenly at the voices. Hadn't he, Baltasar, been able to control them just yesterday? They seemed to want to revolt suddenly, to wipe his being into a heap of crazed lust of death. His optics lolled back into his crania as he surpressed the desire to harm his bodice once more. Horrible things those voices, worse than he...How dare Baltasar make that assumption over himself! The voices must never leave, for they created his being and mind set, gave him the audacity to act as crazed and controlling as he possibly could. Yet, these voices seemed to hate him as a being, they wanted to ravage over his soul and body. No, Baltasar would not allow that! He ruled this God-forsaken earth. Everything was under his command as he controlled. One swipe of a mighty dagger could instantaneously crush and life out of any creatin or wraith that dare proceed into his way.
He stood, seemingly placidly in the mid area of a barren playa that expanded itself over much of the earth. He whipped his hind locks lightly against his rump and proceeded to drift into an impossible sleep. Imitations, actors, as he was, seemed to come easily. Let an follable creatin wander upon this heartless, broken souled bodice of a equus bred Friesian named Baltasar.
If only, if only, the woodpecker sighed, the bark on the tree were as soft as the sky...
[/size]
Carys Gewnfrewi Enid Oleastro
Age:
16
Status:
Human...
Family:
None =C
Appearance:
Carys (or Carrie by her closest of friends) has blonde hair and icey blue eyes. She's about 5'5" and looks more delicate than she actually is.
Personality:
Carys/Carrie is a spunky girl that is reserved and slightly shy. She's very shy at first, but once she opens up, her friends easily call her the life of the party. She loves to embaress people but not herself. She is a great actress, in her opinion.
Carys is working on her ADHD and OCD. She's slightly obsessive about cleanliness and majorly obsessive about numbers and symmetry. She's also bipolar, so sometimes she'll start hearing voices when none are there. But that's why she has medicine.
History:
Carys's last name may show that she is distantly from Spain, but she grew up in a very Welsh home with a very Welsh heritage. She's part Scandanvian and slighly Czech. Her father is of pure Welsh descent and her mother has an Anglo-Saxon look to her when she's only about 5% of both Scandanavian and Czech, no English or Anglo-Saxon.
Carys's father left when she was a few weeks old for a better job in a factory in England yet he was killed in a factory related accident. Carys's mother fell into depression and gave Carys to her father's parents, yet they made the mistake of driving late one rainy night and they hit a tree, killing her grandfather and turning her grandmother into a vegetable. By the time Carys was eight, her grandmother had died and her mother sent her to her other grandparents who lived in Spain, for they were tracking down their very distant relatives.
Yet all the moving caused Carys to act out so they settled down in Italy. The day Carys turned 11, her grandfather was returning for her surprise party with a doll she wanted when he entered a local gas station and was held at gun point and shot by the robber. Carys then fell into depression herself, following her mother, who commited suicide a few weeks later.
Just before Carys's 15th birthday, her last remaining relative died in her sleep. All of her mother's siblings had been killed in a boating accident before she was born and her father was an only child after his father disowned all of his brothers and his one sister, only to later have them been murdered by the one other brother that had not been disowned, for the misconception that he had and they hadn't, had been passed one.
So, on Carys's 15th birthday, she was sent to an orphanage in France where she had been living yet she ran away around Christmastime and found herself here.
Sample RP:
{This is from a horse RP a loooong time ago... like two years - 1120 words}
A Soul
Wandering
So Alone
A Heartless
Being
Hating
Hurting
Hearing
They Only Wish
They Knew
To Feel
What He Feels
How He Hurts
But What
They Don’t Know
Is That
He’s Dead
Never Alive
To Die
Alone
Wandering
Waiting
For Hell
To Claim
Their Demons
From His Mind
From His Bodice
Heartless
Soulless
Dead
[/i]Wandering
So Alone
A Heartless
Being
Hating
Hurting
Hearing
They Only Wish
They Knew
To Feel
What He Feels
How He Hurts
But What
They Don’t Know
Is That
He’s Dead
Never Alive
To Die
Alone
Wandering
Waiting
For Hell
To Claim
Their Demons
From His Mind
From His Bodice
Heartless
Soulless
Dead
Cocoa optics watched crimson stained water float freely away from their velveteen kissers. The water churned and chuckled at him, gasping for its own breath, drowning in blood, overfilling the creek. His own maw opened slightly in a small chuckle. He threw his cranium to the sky and cackled slightly, diving his skull into the water. Sapphire droplets flew everywhere, marking his presence. Baltasar's hostility shone like the sun through his drenching ebonite pelt. His pillars moved fluidly under the red hued liquid, keeping him afloat only slightly. The brujo's head along disappeared with his bodice as she dove under.
His heavy lids closed slowly over ice fired orbs, hiding his dilating pupils. The current swept him downstream fast, his bodice limp and light. A rock hit his leg, tearing open a new wound to heal. Bubbles surfaced from a lightly surpressed laugh as his blood mixed fluently into the water. The stream poured down the mountain, tossing him every which way. He followed his blood, downstream headed. Jagged rocks spurted from the fluid that bubbled coldly, wiping away his warmth. Baltasar cackled as his skull was sprung from the water, flints striking sandy ground of the shallow creek. New scars covered his body, drenching hid midnight pelt with rojo markings.
The brute shook, cherry droplets sprinkling the emerald ground lightly. His nares parted in a snort, exposing burgendy hued skin within. His wounded legs carried him swiftly over the land in an easy three beat lope. Baltasar' physique was an obvious factor in his survival through the more harsh of times. His muscles rippled easily beneath his coat, making his movements fluid and easy. Another cackle escaped his vocals, escaped the confines of her raspy vocals threads, shards. The aura of emotion was odd yet distinct. No dejected sense surrounded the distorted form, yet no pleasure did either. The sultan halted, tufts of soft grass sent sprawling through the heavens above him.
His twisted mind spoke evily to him, voices screaming dilegently. The emperor reared, a challenging scream echoing pointlessly to near-standers. He nipped at his rump, biting it hard enough to bleed, a new stream of blood flowing swiftly down his side. A breeze whipped by, screaming into his optics of hate and fear. Baltasar screamed his challenge again and the wind stopped, dropping his tresses and locks harshly onto his hide. He snorted and sighed. Fianlly his mind was at peace for the time being. Now to revel on his actions.
Baltasar lay down under the shade of a tall nearby sycamore tree. Faintly closing his eyes, visions of fire filled them, screams, blood. The final viewing of a massacre flashed, an olde fashion black and white motion picture. He smiled devilishly upon his maw, watching the pain of death enter all the sufferer's eyes, the now deceased carcasses laying grotesquely on the rojo blood stained carpet. The grass seemed to make a nice bedding. The stag replayed a days work slowly in his head, feeling every leftover scar from their deaths. It was worth it, every sacrifice, every mangled soul now gone from his life.
His heart fluttered a second, remembering the tom-foolery and the deciet. Wretched light she had to become. How pathetic they were, kind beasts of heaven. Hell was more suitable for this queen of unholy realms. Truth be told finally, a lineage of lights he had, wretched mortals that parished on her day of leaving. Now how many had he...? Oh yes, his third whole herd dead. Such an accomplishment on four twisted years time. His smile broadened over his maw, remembering each pair of pain filled orbits. Lights could fight, he'd learned. Not as well as hisself though, Baltasar added, pleasing himself. His parents nothing but mere bones now, and two herd gone forever from this dreaded land. Hadn't he helped them to pass over? To recieve all gifts from the heavens? Ah, yes. His own destiny called, Hell his place of home forever.
Ebonite hide covered the ivories which grinded in their moist hollow of her mouth.Sick presence he was to himself full of schizophrenia. Voices rang crudely in her head to turn and lash out, yet one small voice piped an interest any odd form. Her shards of vocal cords ached to speak yet she surpressed them along with her need to scream at the voices. His mind concluded nothing of daring euines that might approach yet still...
Ah, their death replayed again in her mind, hushing the voices for a memory movie. How he loved the pain in their optics as they struggled for breath, death be knocking at their door in the form of a five month olde coltine. Yes, such a joyous day for a foal of darque. A whole herd of darque power, vanished from the necessity to kill. The sultan smiled slightly, staring with a cryptic aura in his presence.
The Friesian rose, this hieght overpowering anything in his limited view. He shook, annoyed suddenly at the voices. Hadn't he, Baltasar, been able to control them just yesterday? They seemed to want to revolt suddenly, to wipe his being into a heap of crazed lust of death. His optics lolled back into his crania as he surpressed the desire to harm his bodice once more. Horrible things those voices, worse than he...How dare Baltasar make that assumption over himself! The voices must never leave, for they created his being and mind set, gave him the audacity to act as crazed and controlling as he possibly could. Yet, these voices seemed to hate him as a being, they wanted to ravage over his soul and body. No, Baltasar would not allow that! He ruled this God-forsaken earth. Everything was under his command as he controlled. One swipe of a mighty dagger could instantaneously crush and life out of any creatin or wraith that dare proceed into his way.
He stood, seemingly placidly in the mid area of a barren playa that expanded itself over much of the earth. He whipped his hind locks lightly against his rump and proceeded to drift into an impossible sleep. Imitations, actors, as he was, seemed to come easily. Let an follable creatin wander upon this heartless, broken souled bodice of a equus bred Friesian named Baltasar.
If only, if only, the woodpecker sighed, the bark on the tree were as soft as the sky...
[/size]