Post by Cain on Jun 9, 2009 16:44:32 GMT -5
OUT OF CHARACTER
Name: Tasmine - real name and what I go by :]
Age: 17
Contact: Your best bet is probably my MSN - xTasmine@hotmail.co.uk
IN CHARACTER
Name: Cain
Age: 300
Gender: Male or female.
Alliance: Neutral
Breed: Timber wolf
Appearance: (No picture yet; will make one once I can get on the computer with Photoshop.. probably tomorrow): Cain is a large built male, with a barrel chest and sizeable paws. His pelt, shaggy and thick, is a dull black, with the occasional tick of grey scattered throughout on his underside. His eyes are a dark brown. Overall he is not especially striking or unique in his appearance - the only vaguely remarkable thing about him is his size, and even that does not top all males. He is big, but he's not huge.
Pack: the Amaranth
Sample Post: (from another RP)
Almost immediately after Plar arrived, another wolf appeared. Golden-pelted and green-eyed. Plar did not miss the way the females clocked him, and sent the male a look of scorn. He had no time for pretty-boys, who thought they were tough but wouldn't fight for fear of messing up their pretty coats or getting a scar on their pretty faces. After a second he noticed the male's slightly torn ears and the scars down his muzzle, and intensified the disgust in his stare. Battle-scars or no, it'll take more than those tiny fleshwounds to prove yourself capable of playing with the big boys. Removing his eyes from the male disdainfully, he turned to his Alphess, because Agrats had just raised herself to her feet and was making her way towards him.
He watched, slightly incredulously, as Agrats casually closed the distance between them and sat down, even smiling somewhat amicably. He half-wondered why her face didn't crack; it'd been frozen impassively for so long now. He took in the smile, which was disconcerting despite giving no outward signs of an alterior motive. A smile on her is never a good thing. Plar worshipped his Alphess, he really did. Because among of all the pathetic, weak, drivelling wolves staining the population, Agrats seemed to be among the few who knew how it "should be done" - she led the few who knew how it should be done - thus making her something to be respected. Her history of bloodspilling, violence and terror was inspiring, driving the already insane Plar to greater and greater lengths; together the Amarth wolves(those worth it) would show the rest of the world just how terrified they should be, and Agrats was leading the charge. Even before she was Alphess Plar had been vouching for her. That being said, he knew foreboding feeling you got when the storm was coming and usually amused himself watching her rage cut down swathes of wolves. But something told him now the rage was aimed closer to home. He watched her intently as she spoke.
I see you have come into contact with Harley? Her voice was pleasant, a wolf discussing a particularly fun hunt with a packmate - and completely ill-fitting of the stormclouds Plar could feel straining to rain and thunder in her. He couldn't see it, but he knew danger lay down this path. But didn't it always, with this wolf? Well? Where is he? He knew he had to bring all of the pack to me. Surely he told you that. Plar felt the pleasantries were coming to an end, and soon. His own endless rage was clawing for a chance to explode, trying hard to hit the "detonate button". However it was wrestled with by his sick mind's respect for the female. Not a good combination. He did. Though he seemed to find it too great a challenge and left, hurriedly. Taking any chance of Plar not killing on sight with him, he noted. Firework eyes flickered to Brier for a brief second, seeing the wolf's claws stabbing the soil in frightened anticipation. He was glad Agrats could not see such a punishable act on Brier's part, but his body was then pumped full of adrenaline - clearly Brier foresaw danger too, he had not been imagining it. Agrats was not done.
Instantly, Agrats' posture changed. She was snarling, crouched, preparing to attack. Plar's mind did not stop to think. She was preparing to attack him. Nobody prepared to attack him. As soon as Agrats assumed the position, Plar's own huge body mirrored it. His pelt bristled and lip pulled back showing formidible teeth, well used to spelling the end for others. His molten-metal eyes stared wildly into Agrats' own burning yellow, unthinking. This was all in the space of half a second. To the pack they must have looked terrifying; two huge black wolves seemingly about to engage in a clash of the titans. But he wasn't, he couldn't. His mind, having let the Rage hit detonate, did not let it go any further. His position was held. After all, what would you expect of Plar? Nomatter the situation, for him aggression is met with aggression, if not death. Always. This was indeed a new occurance.
I thought out of all the wolves in the pack you of all of them would have ripped that good for nothing wolf to shreds! Plar said nothing save for loosing a small growl, keeping his mouth snarling. Have you gotten soft? Do I need to demote you? You foul beast! Get back after him before he leaves these lands and make sure when you come back here you are covered in his blood! Plar's mind responded, "gladly", but he himself still did not speak. It was just before Agrats' next words that Plar's eyes left her briefly and looked to the pack. Brier, submissive, terrified. His mind recognised that unless the wolf picked himself up, now, he would be sealing a very nasty fate for himself. But Plar was too occupied to try and signal the wolf to get the hell up, as his eyes flickered to the next wolf who'd caught his attention. Dezba. He'd always thought the wolf had some potential, not being your run of the mill type who thought they were Amarth standard. Yes, he reckoned the younger one would train up very nicely indeed. He noted, slightly irritated and slightly pleased, that she too was snarling at him, backing Agrats. What chance could she hope to have against him? But with a grudging admiration he liked how she had the stones to give it a go anyway. He would not grudge her her loyalty to the Alphess. However, everything changed when he saw the loner.
Leave now! Before I change my mind about setting you one your own task of terror!! Plar did not register the words for a second or two. Because the loner, the loner with the ice-blue eyes, he too was looking to Plar with the "you'll have to go through me" air about him. Plar's expression fell out of a snarl and into a shock. He raised himself from an aggressive position into his normal, high-standing way. His posture spoke as if nothing happened, and he was normal Plar, but his face told a different story. The reason for his reaction was, if you knew him, justified. He licked his lips as he stared back at the loner, looking almost as if Christoph had just sprouted wings and sang in a jackdaw's voice, such was his narrow-eyed confusion. Because he suddenly realised things had changed. What wolf here could hope to take him down? None, save for Agrats, with a small amount of assistance. Was he not Plar, the Amarth Beserker, of whom stories were told and nightmares had? Wolves used to come to the Amarth praying they did not run into him too soon; they heard his name and legend long before they set foot on the pack's soil. So when did the stories stop? When did he stop being Plar, the feared, and become just some wolf common loners(his mind spat the word) would challenge? No, no, this was all wrong.
This entire thought process raced by in mere seconds, and he zoned in on Agrats again just in time to see her snap her fangs together at him. Did she just say he would have a raid of his own choosing? He stared blankly at her for half a beat before he did a most surprising thing: he bowed deeply to the Alphess. Of course, he growled. Thank you, Agrats. Without waiting for a response, he snarled and launched himself towards where Harley had last been seen. Things were going to change. They were going to be how they used to be - no, worse. Or better, depending how you looked at it. He vowed right there and then that others would fear his name for as long as he walked this earth and long after. He would show them exactly why they should be afraid, until not one loner would even look him in the eye, nevermind try to challenge him. Agrats was right. He'd gotten soft, forgotten who he was. Well no more, and never again. Skidding to a stop, he gathered the Rage that had been desperate for a release, and poured it all into a chilling howl that marked the beginning of a new era for him.
I am Plar.
Oh, yes, he thought as he sped towards the Torech. Things were definately going to change. First Harley, then the world. They would know his name.
Name: Tasmine - real name and what I go by :]
Age: 17
Contact: Your best bet is probably my MSN - xTasmine@hotmail.co.uk
IN CHARACTER
Name: Cain
Age: 300
Gender: Male or female.
Alliance: Neutral
Breed: Timber wolf
Appearance: (No picture yet; will make one once I can get on the computer with Photoshop.. probably tomorrow): Cain is a large built male, with a barrel chest and sizeable paws. His pelt, shaggy and thick, is a dull black, with the occasional tick of grey scattered throughout on his underside. His eyes are a dark brown. Overall he is not especially striking or unique in his appearance - the only vaguely remarkable thing about him is his size, and even that does not top all males. He is big, but he's not huge.
Pack: the Amaranth
Sample Post: (from another RP)
Almost immediately after Plar arrived, another wolf appeared. Golden-pelted and green-eyed. Plar did not miss the way the females clocked him, and sent the male a look of scorn. He had no time for pretty-boys, who thought they were tough but wouldn't fight for fear of messing up their pretty coats or getting a scar on their pretty faces. After a second he noticed the male's slightly torn ears and the scars down his muzzle, and intensified the disgust in his stare. Battle-scars or no, it'll take more than those tiny fleshwounds to prove yourself capable of playing with the big boys. Removing his eyes from the male disdainfully, he turned to his Alphess, because Agrats had just raised herself to her feet and was making her way towards him.
He watched, slightly incredulously, as Agrats casually closed the distance between them and sat down, even smiling somewhat amicably. He half-wondered why her face didn't crack; it'd been frozen impassively for so long now. He took in the smile, which was disconcerting despite giving no outward signs of an alterior motive. A smile on her is never a good thing. Plar worshipped his Alphess, he really did. Because among of all the pathetic, weak, drivelling wolves staining the population, Agrats seemed to be among the few who knew how it "should be done" - she led the few who knew how it should be done - thus making her something to be respected. Her history of bloodspilling, violence and terror was inspiring, driving the already insane Plar to greater and greater lengths; together the Amarth wolves(those worth it) would show the rest of the world just how terrified they should be, and Agrats was leading the charge. Even before she was Alphess Plar had been vouching for her. That being said, he knew foreboding feeling you got when the storm was coming and usually amused himself watching her rage cut down swathes of wolves. But something told him now the rage was aimed closer to home. He watched her intently as she spoke.
I see you have come into contact with Harley? Her voice was pleasant, a wolf discussing a particularly fun hunt with a packmate - and completely ill-fitting of the stormclouds Plar could feel straining to rain and thunder in her. He couldn't see it, but he knew danger lay down this path. But didn't it always, with this wolf? Well? Where is he? He knew he had to bring all of the pack to me. Surely he told you that. Plar felt the pleasantries were coming to an end, and soon. His own endless rage was clawing for a chance to explode, trying hard to hit the "detonate button". However it was wrestled with by his sick mind's respect for the female. Not a good combination. He did. Though he seemed to find it too great a challenge and left, hurriedly. Taking any chance of Plar not killing on sight with him, he noted. Firework eyes flickered to Brier for a brief second, seeing the wolf's claws stabbing the soil in frightened anticipation. He was glad Agrats could not see such a punishable act on Brier's part, but his body was then pumped full of adrenaline - clearly Brier foresaw danger too, he had not been imagining it. Agrats was not done.
Instantly, Agrats' posture changed. She was snarling, crouched, preparing to attack. Plar's mind did not stop to think. She was preparing to attack him. Nobody prepared to attack him. As soon as Agrats assumed the position, Plar's own huge body mirrored it. His pelt bristled and lip pulled back showing formidible teeth, well used to spelling the end for others. His molten-metal eyes stared wildly into Agrats' own burning yellow, unthinking. This was all in the space of half a second. To the pack they must have looked terrifying; two huge black wolves seemingly about to engage in a clash of the titans. But he wasn't, he couldn't. His mind, having let the Rage hit detonate, did not let it go any further. His position was held. After all, what would you expect of Plar? Nomatter the situation, for him aggression is met with aggression, if not death. Always. This was indeed a new occurance.
I thought out of all the wolves in the pack you of all of them would have ripped that good for nothing wolf to shreds! Plar said nothing save for loosing a small growl, keeping his mouth snarling. Have you gotten soft? Do I need to demote you? You foul beast! Get back after him before he leaves these lands and make sure when you come back here you are covered in his blood! Plar's mind responded, "gladly", but he himself still did not speak. It was just before Agrats' next words that Plar's eyes left her briefly and looked to the pack. Brier, submissive, terrified. His mind recognised that unless the wolf picked himself up, now, he would be sealing a very nasty fate for himself. But Plar was too occupied to try and signal the wolf to get the hell up, as his eyes flickered to the next wolf who'd caught his attention. Dezba. He'd always thought the wolf had some potential, not being your run of the mill type who thought they were Amarth standard. Yes, he reckoned the younger one would train up very nicely indeed. He noted, slightly irritated and slightly pleased, that she too was snarling at him, backing Agrats. What chance could she hope to have against him? But with a grudging admiration he liked how she had the stones to give it a go anyway. He would not grudge her her loyalty to the Alphess. However, everything changed when he saw the loner.
Leave now! Before I change my mind about setting you one your own task of terror!! Plar did not register the words for a second or two. Because the loner, the loner with the ice-blue eyes, he too was looking to Plar with the "you'll have to go through me" air about him. Plar's expression fell out of a snarl and into a shock. He raised himself from an aggressive position into his normal, high-standing way. His posture spoke as if nothing happened, and he was normal Plar, but his face told a different story. The reason for his reaction was, if you knew him, justified. He licked his lips as he stared back at the loner, looking almost as if Christoph had just sprouted wings and sang in a jackdaw's voice, such was his narrow-eyed confusion. Because he suddenly realised things had changed. What wolf here could hope to take him down? None, save for Agrats, with a small amount of assistance. Was he not Plar, the Amarth Beserker, of whom stories were told and nightmares had? Wolves used to come to the Amarth praying they did not run into him too soon; they heard his name and legend long before they set foot on the pack's soil. So when did the stories stop? When did he stop being Plar, the feared, and become just some wolf common loners(his mind spat the word) would challenge? No, no, this was all wrong.
This entire thought process raced by in mere seconds, and he zoned in on Agrats again just in time to see her snap her fangs together at him. Did she just say he would have a raid of his own choosing? He stared blankly at her for half a beat before he did a most surprising thing: he bowed deeply to the Alphess. Of course, he growled. Thank you, Agrats. Without waiting for a response, he snarled and launched himself towards where Harley had last been seen. Things were going to change. They were going to be how they used to be - no, worse. Or better, depending how you looked at it. He vowed right there and then that others would fear his name for as long as he walked this earth and long after. He would show them exactly why they should be afraid, until not one loner would even look him in the eye, nevermind try to challenge him. Agrats was right. He'd gotten soft, forgotten who he was. Well no more, and never again. Skidding to a stop, he gathered the Rage that had been desperate for a release, and poured it all into a chilling howl that marked the beginning of a new era for him.
I am Plar.
Oh, yes, he thought as he sped towards the Torech. Things were definately going to change. First Harley, then the world. They would know his name.