Post by damascus on Jun 4, 2006 1:12:37 GMT -5
About You-
Nickname: Ress, Shiv, I guess when using this username, Dama--take your pick.
Experience in Roleplay: My god, I can't remember. Long enough.
About your Charecter-
Name: Vanaco
Gender: Female
Age: Six years old
Blood:Wolfdog
Breed:Wolf blood is eastern gray; dog blood is Newfoundland
Fur color: Black, wavy
Eye color: Light Blue
Markings: None that stand out
Other*: None
Description: Both halves of her less-than-blue blood are rather apparent in every physical feature of this aging female. She is built strong and heavy like the classic Newfoundland dog, with muscles(the envy of any male) rippling under a coat that is thick and impenetrable. However, wolf blood has lengthened the otherwise stocky legs of her dog anscestors and gave her features a look that is not so, well.. blunt. Vanaco is a fighter through and through and so much could be told by her broken conformation: the shin in her right foreleg is crooked with a noticable lump just below the knee, where her leg snapped near in two. A left ear is all but non existant, a mere stump between her mane of black fur.
Personality: Pick a child, any child, point them in the direction and ask them to predict the personality of this burly she-hybred. Doubtless the answer will be "Mean" or something following those lines, and the child would be bordering the truth.
Her ugliness.. it's more than skin deep.
Yeah.
Vanaco's special.
Her temper is quick, fast, and her mental stability more than a little precarious. One moment she could be perfectly lucid, burying her muzzle in the snow(delighting herself); the next she could be on her paws with her shaggy black fur on end, lips pulled back in a vicious grin. Her opinion? Not changing. Please Vanaco, will you do this? Er.. F*** off, dog.
With a dark history that torments her daydreams and nightmares alike, Vanaco's heart was left black and scarred; the little goodness in her eaten away by the overpowering hatred for dog and wolf alike, for man and life itself, since the beginning of her time.
But most of all.. she is insane.
History: Combined with Roleplaying Sample, or at least partially. The rest will come later.
Roleplaying Sample:
It was there. It was always there. She could do as she pleased. She could race through fresh white snowfall with her tongue slapping the icy fur billowing on her cheek, it would be there. She could be immensed in the battle of her life, about to be thrown down and torn apart by the dog that finally borderlines the darkness of insanity, and yet it would still be there, in the back of her thoughts, in the back of her mind, cozy between her deepest darkest emotions and secrets.
She didn't have a name for it. Well.. she called it "It".
He--it's a he, she knew it was a he, sure as daylight--comes to certain canines, more often than not hybreds. They called themselves blessed, they called themselves chosen; others knew them as 'special'. But alas, they knew not the secrets of the voice, deep down in their head, whispering devious plots and horrific ideas to their chosen's inner ear. And thus the creature would be driven to the brink of insanity, spurred by the sharp heels of It, unable to resist It's unbearably seducing voice.
And they would die. And the monster that was It would laugh, and move on to the next target, the next game. The monster never dies.
At six months old and six days, Vanaco made a new friend.
It was a sweet imaginary for her at first, for Vanaco had never fit in with all the other pups. They called her ugly, they called her fat. They called her a freak; the beautiful pups would tease her, before laughing and sauntering away with a stinging, "God, she's so ugly." But most of all, the comments were about her wolf blood, about her canis lupus father that had mated with her mother when she had decided to take a wild stroll in the dark woods one night. Wolves were not respected around those parts--the dogs were trained to hate them, to loath them; this pup and that would preach of how their father killed this wolf. Oh, and it wasn't any wolf, be assured. It was an alf male.
This is where you gasp dramatically. But back to It.
It came as a sweet imaginary for Vanaco, a chance to escape from her reality. While the dog pups played games of mock battles, she would press herself into the dark corner--It likes the dark, you know--and close her beautiful blue eyes, where she could be alone with that beautiful voice that had become her everything. It would make her lips pull apart in an unfamiliar action that was a smile, It would make her cry of joy, It would throw her seizing onto the ground as she rolled with laughter. It told fabulous jokes, humble jokes about life that didn't hurt anybody.
But the change came so slowly, so geniusly slow, that she did not notice it was happening.
The jokes became cruel and harsh; the sort that would leave the subject stunned with his jaw gasping, blown away without reach for a retort. And when Vanaco would curl up into her insanity with It, he no longer comforted her when the other pups were teasing her to the brink of a breakdown. Instead, he swore and he cursed, he spoke words that Vanaco thought were taboo, he told her things that Vanaco knew were taboo. He began to teach Vanaco about this sweet little word called revenge; he spoke of the wonders and the beauty that would grow in the fabulous word's path. Making that path was hard, he assured her, it was very hard. Creating that perfect world was something that canines and men alike would frown on, It informed her. But.. They were just holding her back.. Trying to hold her back..
{Are you going to take that?} It screamed into her concious, into Vanaco. {How long will you let yourself be pushed around, you worthless dog?}
Vanaco withered from the comment. She didn't like It insulting her. She would do anything to make It happy. And really, who didn't dream of the perfect world? Were a few sacrifices not worth that beautiful bliss?
Late one chilly December night, tucked away warm and cozy in the barn that Vanaco knew was only her temporary home, Vanaco laughed. Laughed, and laughed, a hauntingly crazed laugh that made the cold, cold night seem warm by comparision. And It laughed with her, but that voice no longer seemed so beautifully seductive.
The first sacrifice had been made.
(Woah. o.o Considering how late it is, I didn't think I could come up with something like that.. one of my favorite things that I've written. Anyway, the rest will come later.. I need a break. And don't worry, btw, she's not that crazy still.)
Nickname: Ress, Shiv, I guess when using this username, Dama--take your pick.
Experience in Roleplay: My god, I can't remember. Long enough.
About your Charecter-
Name: Vanaco
Gender: Female
Age: Six years old
Blood:Wolfdog
Breed:Wolf blood is eastern gray; dog blood is Newfoundland
Fur color: Black, wavy
Eye color: Light Blue
Markings: None that stand out
Other*: None
Description: Both halves of her less-than-blue blood are rather apparent in every physical feature of this aging female. She is built strong and heavy like the classic Newfoundland dog, with muscles(the envy of any male) rippling under a coat that is thick and impenetrable. However, wolf blood has lengthened the otherwise stocky legs of her dog anscestors and gave her features a look that is not so, well.. blunt. Vanaco is a fighter through and through and so much could be told by her broken conformation: the shin in her right foreleg is crooked with a noticable lump just below the knee, where her leg snapped near in two. A left ear is all but non existant, a mere stump between her mane of black fur.
Personality: Pick a child, any child, point them in the direction and ask them to predict the personality of this burly she-hybred. Doubtless the answer will be "Mean" or something following those lines, and the child would be bordering the truth.
Her ugliness.. it's more than skin deep.
Yeah.
Vanaco's special.
Her temper is quick, fast, and her mental stability more than a little precarious. One moment she could be perfectly lucid, burying her muzzle in the snow(delighting herself); the next she could be on her paws with her shaggy black fur on end, lips pulled back in a vicious grin. Her opinion? Not changing. Please Vanaco, will you do this? Er.. F*** off, dog.
With a dark history that torments her daydreams and nightmares alike, Vanaco's heart was left black and scarred; the little goodness in her eaten away by the overpowering hatred for dog and wolf alike, for man and life itself, since the beginning of her time.
But most of all.. she is insane.
History: Combined with Roleplaying Sample, or at least partially. The rest will come later.
Roleplaying Sample:
It was there. It was always there. She could do as she pleased. She could race through fresh white snowfall with her tongue slapping the icy fur billowing on her cheek, it would be there. She could be immensed in the battle of her life, about to be thrown down and torn apart by the dog that finally borderlines the darkness of insanity, and yet it would still be there, in the back of her thoughts, in the back of her mind, cozy between her deepest darkest emotions and secrets.
She didn't have a name for it. Well.. she called it "It".
He--it's a he, she knew it was a he, sure as daylight--comes to certain canines, more often than not hybreds. They called themselves blessed, they called themselves chosen; others knew them as 'special'. But alas, they knew not the secrets of the voice, deep down in their head, whispering devious plots and horrific ideas to their chosen's inner ear. And thus the creature would be driven to the brink of insanity, spurred by the sharp heels of It, unable to resist It's unbearably seducing voice.
And they would die. And the monster that was It would laugh, and move on to the next target, the next game. The monster never dies.
At six months old and six days, Vanaco made a new friend.
It was a sweet imaginary for her at first, for Vanaco had never fit in with all the other pups. They called her ugly, they called her fat. They called her a freak; the beautiful pups would tease her, before laughing and sauntering away with a stinging, "God, she's so ugly." But most of all, the comments were about her wolf blood, about her canis lupus father that had mated with her mother when she had decided to take a wild stroll in the dark woods one night. Wolves were not respected around those parts--the dogs were trained to hate them, to loath them; this pup and that would preach of how their father killed this wolf. Oh, and it wasn't any wolf, be assured. It was an alf male.
This is where you gasp dramatically. But back to It.
It came as a sweet imaginary for Vanaco, a chance to escape from her reality. While the dog pups played games of mock battles, she would press herself into the dark corner--It likes the dark, you know--and close her beautiful blue eyes, where she could be alone with that beautiful voice that had become her everything. It would make her lips pull apart in an unfamiliar action that was a smile, It would make her cry of joy, It would throw her seizing onto the ground as she rolled with laughter. It told fabulous jokes, humble jokes about life that didn't hurt anybody.
But the change came so slowly, so geniusly slow, that she did not notice it was happening.
The jokes became cruel and harsh; the sort that would leave the subject stunned with his jaw gasping, blown away without reach for a retort. And when Vanaco would curl up into her insanity with It, he no longer comforted her when the other pups were teasing her to the brink of a breakdown. Instead, he swore and he cursed, he spoke words that Vanaco thought were taboo, he told her things that Vanaco knew were taboo. He began to teach Vanaco about this sweet little word called revenge; he spoke of the wonders and the beauty that would grow in the fabulous word's path. Making that path was hard, he assured her, it was very hard. Creating that perfect world was something that canines and men alike would frown on, It informed her. But.. They were just holding her back.. Trying to hold her back..
{Are you going to take that?} It screamed into her concious, into Vanaco. {How long will you let yourself be pushed around, you worthless dog?}
Vanaco withered from the comment. She didn't like It insulting her. She would do anything to make It happy. And really, who didn't dream of the perfect world? Were a few sacrifices not worth that beautiful bliss?
Late one chilly December night, tucked away warm and cozy in the barn that Vanaco knew was only her temporary home, Vanaco laughed. Laughed, and laughed, a hauntingly crazed laugh that made the cold, cold night seem warm by comparision. And It laughed with her, but that voice no longer seemed so beautifully seductive.
The first sacrifice had been made.
(Woah. o.o Considering how late it is, I didn't think I could come up with something like that.. one of my favorite things that I've written. Anyway, the rest will come later.. I need a break. And don't worry, btw, she's not that crazy still.)
