Post by enantios on May 16, 2010 13:54:06 GMT -5
º ßasics º
OOC Name/Nickname: Hostile
Calling: Enantios, Greek for Hostile
Age: 6 years
Gender: Male
Species/Breed: Rhodesian Ridgeback
º I §ee you £ooking at me º
Pelt/Hair color and length: Short, reddish brown hairs.
Eye color: His eyes are amber.
Build (height, weight, overall structure): He is 29 inches tall at the shoulder and 89 pounds. His legs are long, but stocky with muscle. His body is built for the perfect mixture of speed and power, used in the breeds historical use of lion hunting.
Detailed Description (or picture):
º The þast Molds Who We BecØme º
History: Enantios was born to a den keeper who had a secret affair with a rogue male. She became impregnated and gave birth to two puppies - a male and a female. The female was born sickly and died shortly after her birth. The male, however, lived and his mother gave him the name Enantios.
Enantios grew into a muscular juvenile, lean, strong and fast. He proved to be a skilled and powerful hunter, able to bring down large game. However his mother disappeared one day and never came back. Enantios was devastated, but he was far too busy in the pack to let it pull him down. He was forced to put his mother to the back of his mind and continue his duties.
Now Enantios is a strong, powerful brute who is completely dedicated to the pack and the pack only. Perhaps more out of desperateness to forget his mother than to loyalty of the pack.
Personality: To all outsiders, Enantios lives up to his name. He his hostile and guarded against them, careful with his words and steps. However within his own pack he is far less rugged. He enjoys playing with any puppies that had been born, checking on the elderly, running errands for those who need the help, and just being out-right social.
He is very unforgiving. There are no second chances in his mind. You screw up once and you're done. This also keeps him from asking for second chances, even from those who would give him one.
He certainly has a one-track mind. He finds it difficult to focus on multiple things at once. This makes for a focused hunter and a deadly one on one fighter, but gets rather frustrating when you can't communicate well.
º †here's No Place £ike Home º
Parents: A rogue brute of unknown name and lineage. A den keeper fae.
Siblings: He had a sister but she died as a puppy.
Other Family: None.
Friends: None for now.
Half of the Island Character Resides: West
Group: Metnal Pack
Rank: Hunter
º Prove ¥ourself º
Where did you find us? PBS
If found in an ad please state who sent you: Don't remember who posted it....
RPG Sample:
The sun's brilliant rays were diminishing behind the dusty clouds of the sky, fading completely as it ducked it's head under the far away hills. However the sun itself had long since vanished from this little one's vision, it had been hidden behind the massive cathedral for some while he'd slowly made his approach. The building's crumbling stones towered above him, the only sings of life were the guards outside that were leaned against the wall, lazily watching stitchlings patter to and fro. He slipped easily past, his face sullen, silver locks brushing lightly against his creamy cheek. His one creamy arm stood out against his darker body. His other arm and torso were a navy blue, fanning out around his waste like a suit top that human rockers often wore. Below the fan was black fabric, covering his copper feet.
The gloomy woe disappeared from his face like the vapor disappeared into the night sky after the rains. He walked quietly through the crowds of the cheery stitchpunks. He wondered how they smiled so naturally - so easily. Had they no idea what lay outside their very protective walls? He sighed, and halted in the middle of the "square" they had set up and reached his arm over his head. His coppery fingers brushed against his guitar, grabbing it and swinging it over his head. He'd had this guitar since his creation, specially made by his creator for him. It'd been painted solid black with intricate silver vine-work weaving its way over the surface. The slender wires gleaming in the light of the cathedral.
He moved his arms into position, ducking his head to pull the leather strap over his shoulder and shrugged to get comfortable before brushing his fingers over the strings. A light strum came forth. Some stitchlings came over from their play to watch him. He smiled at them and began strumming, his fingers dancing over the neck and his other hand raking at the strings on the body as his music flowed from the instrument. A deep bass sound flooded over the square and a grin spread over his handsome face. Such joy this brought him.
Word Count: 361
