Post by My†hril on Apr 27, 2010 13:57:09 GMT -5
º ßasics º
OOC Name/Nickname: Syph
Calling: Mythril
Age: 6 Years
Gender: Female
Species/Breed: Siberian Husky
º I §ee you £ooking at me º
Pelt/Hair color and length: A thick snow white under coat with long soft onyx dusted guard hairs lining her neck, shoulders, and back.
Eye color: Ice Blue
Build (height, weight, overall structure): Well muscled with a weight of 47 lbs she stood at an even 22 in at the shoulder. Average really for her breed.
Detailed Description (or picture): Midnight tipped sharply pointed twins mounted atop a heavy cranium, twist and dance to their own music, catching the sounds of the world around. A mask of soft ash spills up and over to circle icy blue white optics peering out in silence. The form of a broad arrow head pointed up towards that thick muscled nape, marred only by a thin star centered between those watchful eyes. Thick strands of snow white encase a well muscled compact frame supported by equally thick pillars ending in roughen paws. The dusting of a nightly color fell along that crown, down her neck like millions of tiny midnight snowflakes. The shadowing continued to trail along her back and sides to finally decorate the full thick twist of a tail that swayed lazily behind. From that maw black lined silks part slightly to reveal the deceptively docile length of gleaming ivory hidden beneath. Visual, Visual 2
º The þast Molds Who We BecØme º
History: There is little information about where this canine came from though one could assume she'd been on the island since birth. Nor is it truly known which side she would stand by if push comes to shove. With guarded eyes an a walled off heart Mythril is a nearly unknown factor in the great scheme of things. She speaks little of her past and the tragedies that transpired to make her into the coolly aloof creature that she was today. Have you the skill and patience to find out this beasts secrets?
Personality: There was something about this beast, two sides of a single coin given to the worlds view. A mask, a gift to conceal, often used to protect a soft heart. First impressions are often far from the truth, leaving one to hide from the public behind a faced of cool distance. An arrogance that appeared to line every well worked muscle lining that powerful frame. It was an impression she did not mind giving off, allowing very few to discover the truth beneath the thick pelt of snow and shadow. The pride for which she held herself only added to the illusion of a snobbish demeanor. Successfully concealing the depth of loyalty and honor that dictates every action the canine preformed. Five years on her own left little room for patience in regards to the fools who run the land. The teaching of her parents, their high morals and firm black and white out-look on life had been drilled into the fae from pup-hood until the day they had vanished from her life. But was this who she truly was? Beneath the training under the aloof visage presented to the general world lays a nearly forgotten aspect of herself. Somewhere locked behind a wall mortared with pain was a canine who had once held everything. Lively and flirtatious with a laughter now silenced. All was not lost though, a privileged few were privy to the ghostly figure's hidden heart. Those who had braved the chilly demeanor to find what lay beneath.
º †here's No Place £ike Home º
Parents: Deceased
Siblings: Unknown
Other Family: Unknown
Friends: None yet
Half of the Island Character Resides: Western
Group: Loners
Rank: Healer
º Prove ¥ourself º
Where did you find us? Alagaesia
If found in an ad please state who sent you: None
RPG Sample: The cries of joy announcing the arrival of spring fell on uncaring ears. Or at least to the simple observer that was the impression the husky made as she traveled onward at a unhurried pace. The follies of the young had brought to her a full belly and a contented mood. Under most circumstances one would be hard pressed to find this particular female active during the light of the day. But finding prey and feasting early in the evening had left Mythril with little to do but lounge around her temporary make-shift den. With the coming of the light she had felt restless that continued to plague her until she finally gave in.
A wild reckless race through the woods where she had woven expertly between the thickly placed towering trees. The gifts of strength and stamina breed true in her blood, coupled with an unusual talent of agility her mother had bestowed upon her made for some interesting escapes and easy evasion.
Sound muscles honed from near constant motion rippled beneath a hide of cool glittering snow. She was shedding, and while she had spent the better part of the evening before grooming the majority of the fluffy white hairs from her form, there were still small clumps that threatened to fall off. She was not a vain creature by any means but the look was not something she found appealing. The dusting of onyx over her shoulders across her back shifted in depth and texture with every stride taken.
Radars tipped with ebony twisted to catch the sounds of the surrounding forests. It wasn't usual that she'd cross another's path in this area, but that didn't mean it wasn't possible. Since that day Mythril had decided to separate herself from the politics, which effectively cut her off from most the inhabitants and protected her heart where other means had failed. A pause in step, a symphony of motion ceasing in an instant. Ice blue optics set within a shadowed mask shone brightly as the fae surveyed the lands while that cranium pivoted atop its short pillar. Blacken pits flared briefly on an exhaled breath before being cast into the breeze, drawing a deep breath. A plethora of information danced along sensitive membranes, and with it an elusive scent, one that brought tension to the ghostly husky.
The femme stood at the edge of a flower be speckled meadows, the skies overhead shown with an array of pale blues studded with fluffy white clouds. There was a possibility of rain later in the day but that was merely a chance and a minor detail that was noted and filed away for later. The birds called merrily the scuttle of vermin burrowing in the rolling hills scarcely dotted with towering trees. There was no hint of danger, but that meant little to Mythril. She held still, attention focused on searching the surrounding woods behind and the open fields before for the source of scent that carried a distinct canine aspect to it.
If you could just add a little about her involvement in the plot in her history it would be enough. Was she on the island...for it/against it/could care less. Other than that it's perfect 
