Post by aoisora on Dec 27, 2008 21:22:19 GMT -6
Name-[/i] Sora
Gender-[/i] She is surely of the feminine persuasion
Alliance-[/i] She is quite the tender-hearted one,joyously filled by the dawning light.
Herd- She has yet to gain the courage to request permanent residence any land that has stretched beneath her feet.
Rank- Without a herd, one is of little worth. She currently lacks the self-confidence to carry any self-proclaimed titles.
Age-[/i] She will be five late this spring.
Appearance-[/i] Her mother did not name her Grace. Sora, though pretty in her own right, is no stunning beauty that is so often seen in the exotic Arab or Spanish breeds. She is quite slender, if not down right lanky, having yet to fully grow into herself despite her age. Delicate, almost fragile, like a doll. Her most distinguishing features are her eyes, both a piercingly light blue; however, her truest strength lies in the sheer vibrancy of her coloring.
Personality-[/i] Sora is not naive, though upon upon first impression that is often the assumption, and when not considered naive, she is thought to be flighty. She is neither, merely socially awkward and absurdly optimistic. She enjoys a roller coaster life, and will laugh nearly every chance she can. Too sensitive for her own good, when the situation does not call for laughter she is more often than not, the first one to put a bleeding heart on her sleeve, selfless and too compassionate for this greedy world. She is, as a flip to her coin, as stubborn as the day is long, refusing to allow the world's dour mood to spoil her happiness and determined to make at least one person smile through her efforts. When she believes in something, it is often hard to make her see the logic of another scenario, though she'll gladly admit to the sense of it all -after- the fact and has a bad habit of taking everything to heart which makes her a very poor sport to joke with. Through all of this, though she is fully aware of her mental competence, she has yet to gain any true self-confidence in her abilities as a whole. She does not doubt her stability, her logics, her opinions... simply the use to which all of this can be put, what good does she do anyone but herself?
Past-[/i] Sora was born in the late spring, in a low southern valley, greeted with warm air and clear blue skies. Her mother, Sakura, was a soft-spoken lady who allowed her daughter to explore the world at her own leisure, seeing it as the best way for the young filly to gain her own appreciation for the world she would live in. Sora's first six months were spent this way, gleaning from her own adventures her unique logic of the world, able to form her own opinions choose her own battles. For the first six months of her life, she remained nameless. It was her father, Hero, that dubbed her after the sky. Upon their first meeting, between father and child, no words were spoken aloud, it took only one look into a pair of bright blue eyes that were unclouded by doubt and fear to know the name that would do her justice. The young filly took her name in stride, reveling in her youthful freedom as her heart was allowed to soar.
At the age of two, her safety blanket was slowly taken away. She would remain with her father's herd for at least another year, and her mother believed it time she was taught to fill a role, to begin to bear the weight of her own burden.
Eager to learn, Sora tried, tried and tried again to be her mother's ideal daughter. Despite her good heart and ample intelligence, nothing seemed to click. She was no longer allowed to think only of her self, no longer allowed to make decisions that affected only her. She was a part of the herd, she must begin to think as the herd thought, to do as the herd did. When she failed to do this, she was dubbed selfish, inconsiderate and at times, ungrateful. Worthless. Such hurtful names were never spoken in her presence of course, but then, young ones are often notorious for hearing all the things that ought not to. For the first time, her eyes were not a brilliant sky blue. She doubted herself, feeling deep in her heart that there was truly nothing she could do for her herd; that the things she was able to do served no purpose but her own.
She wasted no time in departing from her father's herd upon her next birthday, taking wholly upon herself what she considered to be some tremendous, worthless burden. She would not trouble them again. She has wandered comfortably, in her own delightful solitude for a year and a half, trying to find her worth. She has searched with a smile on her face, and her beliefs have held fast, but the clouds have yet to disperse from once brilliant blue skies.
RP Example -
The world faded into view, greeting startled eyes in shades of gray and darker gray that were never quite black. Spinning, never still; so different from the calm that he had felt in the warmth of darkness. The safety of innocent ignorance. His stomach churned, though he knew it be empty, as he watched the towering trees crowd in above his resting head. An alien sound wrenched its way from between his parched, brittle lips as it tore at his throat. The sound erupted in the air around him, despite the lack of force put into its creation, ruining the quiet and ringing harshly in his previously deafened ears. His protest did nothing to stop the imposing forest. He inhaled sharply, the oxygen burning his lungs and causing soulful eyes widen in pained surprise. Too much, too fast. He let the fire burn along his airways, into his veins, working itself from the inside out. He exhaled, his narrow chest rattling as he forced every last gust of air from his lungs. This too burned, and he knew he was alive.
This revelation came as no surprise. Somewhere, deep inside of himself, he had known that the darkness would not be his forever. It was not a question of being alive, it was a question of living. He was alive, but what was he living for? Clarity overwhelmed him as he caught on to, and clung feverishly to this first coherent thought. He followed the particular path of logic down its winding path, through the raging storm of his emotions; he had no answers as it was, but he was at the least, capable of thinking. The pieces fitting loosely together, if he was able to think, he was far more able to do something so basic as to move. Lacking most grace that comes to one of his kind and assumed age, he moved mechanically through the actions that would bring him level with forest that finally ceased to swim around the corners of his sight. No longer supported wholly by the ground, he swayed drunkenly for a moment until he was able to find his equilibrium. Once balanced, he took the liberty of removing the dirt and leaves from his ashen pelt with a spasmodic shake of his heavy frame, one heavy leg stomping the ground as a final reflex. Equilibrium gained and a semblance of personal dignity maintained, there remained nothing more than to take stock of his newest circumstances.
The trees remained still now, their branches only swaying occasionally in the subtle breeze that flirted by, not even enough to disturb the unruly curls that fell from his crown. Russet eyes, deep and quiet, regarded that before him. The surrounding scenery was unfamiliar; too alive to be anything he may have encountered in the warmth of his darkness, and too light, too open to be anything that felt even vaguely comfortable to any part of him. The trees, their particular bark and smell unidentifiable and irrelevant, were wide and tall with dull green leaves and an ashy gray skin. The grass was bright, tall, not at all the type he would have chosen to eat if he gave it half a thought. Nostrils flare, his esophagus burning once more as he inhaled too deeply. This time, however, the fire is drenched with ice, a different kind of burning sensation, the air cooler as a stronger breeze picks up to the north. The trees dance more violently now, more than just the uppermost branches giving way to the force of nature, and he can't help but to be fascinated. A few tentative steps are taken toward the nearest tree, his eyes focused on the branches just above eye level as they sway hypnotically. Not five steps more, and his pace falters, hindered by some unacknowledged interference. He tries, to no avail, to step over the annoyance, needing just that small fraction of space it prohibited him from gaining, to explore the leaves to his heart's content. The thing takes up too much space – too much space for him to step over it without stepping on it while still staying within his desired range of the tree. A withering glare is cast toward the ground, expecting to see some obnoxious root protruding from the soil at the tree's base or perhaps some petrified ant hill. He was certainly not expecting a small, visibly trembling creature whose body seemed too frail to even support the labored breaths it struggled to take in. Taken aback, he stumbled over his own feet in a haste to be away from the thing, though he knew it was only to better inspect it from a distance. Eyes wide and bright with something akin to anxious wonderment, he dropped his mighty head toward the presumably sleeping thing. No, not a thing his nose told him, a child. Worse even than his greatest fears at the moment that it may have been some deceitful predator, it was a child. The true personification of vulnerability. Instinctively, he knew this was already too far in over his head. There was no remembrance of children in the depths of darkness. He had been the one to be coddled, protected; no need for him to learn. He jerked his head up slightly, dragging his nose away from her sickly scent. The forest swam again, and he shut his eyes tightly against the onslaught. So easily, there went his hard-won peace of mind, things no longer blessedly clear. He retreated farther from her, brow furrowing as he took in her constant shivers, the thinness of her coat visible beneath the matted mud that caked her petite form and overall lack of color.
The approach of another was completely unexpected, catching him off guard. Eyes widening with surprise as his head jerked up abruptly, he straightened himself to look upon the advancing figure of a fellow stag. The brute was short in stature, and Grim wouldn't hesitate to guess that the lack of development went farther than just physical appearance. He watched with weary eyes, and though he had distanced himself from the sickly thing who had chosen to make their death bed in the hollowed roots of a tree, he now angled himself just so slightly, attempting to conceal it with his own bulk. The other spoke, and Grim made no effort to hide his distaste at the sound of the lowlife's wheezing vocal performance as it grated along his spine like nails on a chalkboard. One arrogant brow slanted slightly, haughtily, as the stranger spoke of the ailing child like it was his own seed. Truly, there was only one dimwitted guest to their company. Grim glanced wearily once more to the barely breathing filly, watching her suffer through some unknown ordeal. Were he merciful, he would surely end her misery...
Though still gravely from disuse, baritone chords took to the air after a moment of contemplation, “I fear, Sir,” he spat the honorific toward the other stag's feet, feeling more insulted by the assumption that he would fall for this ill-thought out scheme than a need to protect the dying foal, “ that any claims you'd once had to the foal are null and void. She lays at the feet of the ever-watchful Grim Reaper, just waiting to carry her into Death's cold embrace.” His eyes gleamed with some personal humor as he realized the ironic truth of his statement, though an unwilling party to the company, it would seem he had a part to play...
[post taken from another story line on another rpg with my stallion Grim Reaper]
