xxxshadowxxx
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« Thread Started on Jun 13, 2006, 6:31pm » | |
Name: Kora
Species(dog/wolf): Dog
Breed: Husky
Gender: female
Age: 4
*Personality & Description:likes to keep to herself, but is polite, doesn't speak much, taught to be most polite to boys.
She has a pretty pelt it is black and white mixed together. She has blue eyes and a scar down her right and left eye. She is about 6 feet.
*History: She lived with her parents but when the males killed her family and catched ehr and took her to there place and trand her to be evil and to kill any one who gets now them. They got scar of her when they saw her tiala nd ears because when they saw her she had a blakc hat on and her jenas covered her tail. When they found out they kicked her out when she was 11 years old. She then on lived in the forest witht eh wild. But hwen she found her way through her bad past she found a girl. They took her ina dn gave her food. When one day when she was sleeping the mother's mate kileld ehr and the little cub. She then ran from the house and found ehr self back in the forest she lived there for 7 years but she found a place in a street? Will they take her in or leave her out like the others?
*RPing Example: Kora padded over the asphalt quickly. Her sleek bod turned as she neared the corner. Her pacing was out of anxiety and desperation. Kora was not fond of being cooped up, she was a street dog, and was used to a being able to roam where she pleased.
She shied to the back of the cage as a twoleg walked past her cage, barely paying heed to the dog whom coward in the corner. Plum held itself close to her bod, her barrel nearly touched the floor.
Yes, she was afraid of people. Why, she did not know, but the constant pain of the scar on the top of her head, zig-zagging its way a few inches down the back of her neck. It was about five or so inches long, left from a sharp object and a quick jerk of a hand.
Her amnesia sometimes confused her. Why couldn't she remember anything? She often pondered over it, and knew little about her family and younger days. Her memory, though, had began to return, slowly but surely. The clouded figure of a human was the most troubling of all the images. Often she wondered who he was, and what his impact on her life had been.
Realizing that the twoleg was gone, she lowered herself to the ground quietly. Appendeges curled to her bod, plume curling around her lengthy pillars. Her crania rested upon her mitts, he mind in deep thought again.
Other: nope
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Name: Dracula or drac
Species(dog/wolf): Mixed
Breed:White Shepherd and husky
Gender: male
Age: 3
*Personality & Description: Drac is two dogs in one: who he is and who he wants to be. (Metaphorical, mind you, he's not crazy) Who he wants to be, which is the Drac other dogs meet, is a cocky and confident mutt. He dreams to be the icy jerk that everyone admires for staying cool under pressure. He is intelligent, but not witty, and acts uncaring to those around him. He does some wild things, feeling uncomfortable around others in spite of his understanding of them, and often will blurt out the first thing that comes to his mind, no matter how random and nonsensical it may be.
The truth of it all is, Drac is hopelessly compassionate, incredibly nice, and it's a pity he feels compelled to hide it. He never has anything but good intentions, and would do anything to insure the safety of his friends, in spite of how cold he may act toward them. He is amazingly intuitive, able to look deeper into situations and read others like a book. Too bad none of this insight is saved for himself, as Drac chooses to ignore the harsh reality of who he really it, and how much of a fake he's trying to be in spite of his lovely, authentic personality. He just wants to be liked and admired, thus he had created his arrogant front to be the imposter of his true self.
Dracula seems to be tough, pretends to be invincible, and he's terrified of being a failure. He hates to make promises, in fear of breaking them, and lives within his own self-doubt. Contrary to his cocky attitude, he doesn't have any faith in his own abilities. But he's brave when it really matters and counts, and with a little encouragment from those who really need him, or care about him, he can re-discovered what an able-bodied creature he is.
*History:
*RPing Example: The hooded figure seated at the long oak table felt like he'd been there for hours, pouring over books he'd torn down from the library. He was about to fall asleep over his work, and already he had started making himself comfortable. He'd pulled off his gloves, exposing his parchment white skin, and he'd even set his sword off to the side. This castle was guarded by a beast, and the ghostly figure who sat at the table did not fear any sudden appearances of Heartless or other enemies. The only thing that had him the least bit worried was if the beast himself decided to come down here to take a look around. Thus far, the almighty ruler was a no-show, leaving the hooded phantom at peace. Thus far. A concept that should be emphasized, for the ghostly figure's moment of tranquility was to be, from here on out, short lived.
The book that was laid out before him suddenly lifted from the table, and the hooded form froze in surprise as the text became suddenly larger, and he moved out of the way just in time as the heavy book came flying into the air, collapsing in a heap on the ground. His back arched until he was parallel with the floor, with one bare palm pressed to the ground. His legs swung out from under the table and over his head, coming back behind him in a curious, seated back-flip. He was left in a crouch and dove forward to grasp the hilt of the sword he set behind before preparing himself to fight this new enemy. It was a Neoshadow, who had literally materialized from beneath the book he'd been reading in a surprise attack. The phantom found this a bit amusing, knowing that he'd been caught off guard because of his sleepy state. He was wide awake now, and apparently unaffected by the sudden appearance of two more Gargoyle type Heartless at his flanks.
The figure in the black hood dashed forward, planting his boots onto the sturdy table while swinging his katana down and around. He hacked his attacked apart, and sneered as it dissipated back into darkness. Now he just had to worry about the other two coming at his sides. The katana, otherwise known as Heartbreak, was actually thrown at the Gargoyle to his right, stabbing the creature through the middle and continuing to fly, Heartless and all. Finally the blade came to a stop into one of the bookshelves that line the wall, pinning the angered, and agonized Heartless there like a thumbtack through some kind of grotesque office memo. Now without a weapon and yet another Heartless to deal with, the ghostly man reached for the nearest thing to him, which happened to be a lighted candlestick. It wasn't much, but it was all he had, and he used it well.
The gold-plated ornament was thrashed across the face of the oncoming, flying Heartless, and the monster surprised him by letting out a loud "ouch!". His hidden face contorted with confusion as he watched the beast writhe and twitch on the ground, stunned by the direct hit. Slowly the man in the black coat hopped down from the table, approaching the downed Heartless and stepping cruelly on the short, but muscled neck. For now the creature only garbled out choked, shrill cries and groped at the air as if to try and tear off the hidden face on the conquistador who loomed over him. The figure peeled back the hood, exposing an extremely pale face and nearly white hair. Gray-blue eyes were locked on the Heartless beneath him, and the ghostly pale man clicked the two piercings of his lips against his teeth curiously. Ouch? He wasn't aware that Heartless could speak, and his suspicions grew. Yet in spite of his curiosity he didn't hesitate to blast the dazed, and very pissed Heartless into oblivion with a simple ice spell.
He then moved onto the Gargoyle still pinned to the bookshelf by Heartbreak, only to find this Heartless equally as angered. With all disregard for pain, the monster had started to twist its body around, pulling the blade through its belly across and through its body, desperately trying to tear itself free to attack the albino-looking man in front of it. "Mindless," the ghostly man remarked and shook his head. He grasped the creature's ankle tightly, and ducked his head back to avoid a clawed hand that swung in his direction. It was almost amusing, watching this creature struggle. Let it be known that this ghost was not a particularly cruel man, quite the contrary. He didn't like seeing people in pain. The amusing part of it was that he and this Heartless were in almost the exact same position in life, and while they could have made great allies they chose to hate each other instead. It was ironic. "But determined. I'll give you that."
It took one simple movement, a hard pull on the ankle he had hold of, to turn things for the worst for the Heartless. The sharpened edge of the sword plus the strength behind the ghost's arm sent the katana tearing through flesh and bone before finally bursting out the creature's other side, having arced upward to slice through its chest cavity all the way out of the junction of his neck. The body dropped and disintegrated into a purple and black plume before it even hit the floor. The ghost, as he called himself, was grateful that they simply vanished. He didn't think he'd be able to continue his reading with a bunch of monstrous bodies lying about. The form turned around before suddenly being startled by a voice, the same who had made the exclamation of "ouch!" when he struck the Heartless with the candlestick, which was still in his hand.
"Bravo, monsieur!" The voice came from his flank, and he whirled around to face-- the air. The ghost grit his teeth, lips drawing back to expose some lengthy and sharp canines. "Show yourself!" He barked. He had a short temper when it came to being played the fool. He'd been kept as a pawn for too large a portion of his life to put up with it anymore. A tap came on his shoulder, and out of the corner of his eye he saw a flickering flame. Immediately his head snapped to the side, his breath caught in his throat as he came face-to-face with the candlestick. And that was just the thing, it had a face, an it was grinning at him. Too bad the ghost was a little set off by the fire, he hated fire.
"Surely those beasts would have taken my own heart," the candlestick elaborated. For the moment the ghostly pale man was much more concerned about the tiny waving flames at the ends of the ornament's.. arms? Could they be considered arms? He didn't even seem bothered by the fact that he was talking to a candlestick. He'd had plenty of experiences that were way more strange, but he would admit that he felt a bit uneased by the fire being swung about so carelessly. It wasn't as if it were an inferno, but it was close to his face, and made him uncomfortable enough to set down the talking gold piece just to get it away. "You saved my life."
The ghost looked down and away at the candlestick's words. He shook his head and folded his arms across his chest, trying to be indifferent. He didn't want to be the hero. He never woke up in the morning, thinking "I feel like doing good, and that I should go save someone". He didn't want the responsibility on his shoulders, because in the end their blood would be on his hands, and he'd have no one to blame. Still, the ghost always seemed to end up helping others in the end. "That wasn't my intention," he replied back cruelly. From the corner of his eye he watched a frown play across the face of the ornament, before quickly being replaced a warm, friendly smile. He just didn't give up, did he? The ghost didn't understand why people insisted on him being so cruel. They just couldn't leave him alone.
"Regardless," the ornament stated. "You did save me. I am Lumiere, and you are Monsieur...?" The ghost knew very well that he was obliged to introduce himself, but for the moment he was still a little upset that this Lumiere fellow was dead set on sticking around. Why did he have to care? It bothered him to no end, and his mood explained his short, disrespectful response.
"I'm a ghost, can't you tell?" he barked back. The phantom wasn't aware that his shoulders had raised themselves higher and closer to his ears, hunched as if he were to pout. He certainly looked the part of a two year-old, with his frown and glare, folded arms and tensed muscles. Too bad he'd destroyed the image of a toddler already when he destroyed those Heartless, and not to mention the "snake bite" piercings that stabbed through his face.
"Oui, but even ghosts have names, no?"
The phantom growled something beneath his breath, yanking Heartbreak from its place sheathed in the bookshelf. He set the weapon back down on the table just to appear intimidating, and then once again spoke. Finally the unsociable ghost gave in, once again looking to the floor for solace as he spoke. "Dagobert, that's my name."
Lumiere gave a sage nod and another friendly grin. This guy didn't seem to be as bad as his first impression told. It wasn't like him to be cautious, but the last person who came into the castle dressed like that, Xaldin, had been nothing but trouble. This situation contradicted the last, for it seemed that this "ghost" was the one that was troubled. "So, Monsieur Dagobert, how can I help you?"
"Help?" Dagobert questioned, honestly confused by the offer. He'd just been rude, uncaring, and outright spat at the golden ornament, and he was offering a hand to help? This guy was even more strange than he could've imagined. The phantom managed to shrug it off, figuring that if aide was offered, he may as well take it. This library was huge, and he didn't know the first place to look. "I guess.." He muttered, thinking over the offer carefully before giving another sigh. "I'm looking for a report. It will probably just be in pages, in a file or folder.. maybe a book. Written in a document-style. Just research notes."
Lumiere thought this over carefully before giving a nod and a wave, a signal for Dagobert to follow as he skipped off of the table and down along one of the long stretches of bookshelves. It still amazed the ghost how extraordinarily huge this place was. Whoever this Beast was, he must like to read. Too bad they didn't look like they'd been used recently. Most of the books here were left to lie and collect dust. It was a shame too. Each bookshelf was a towering pier of knowledge, waiting for any curious reader to stumble on.
"Right over her, Monsieur," Lumiere remarked and pointed toward a specific junction to where one wall of books met the other. Dagobert only gave a nod, stepping past the candlestick and toward the shelf. He picked up one book at a time, thumbing through the loose-leaf paper and files. So far he hadn't found anything that particularly interested him. Mostly there were hand-written accounts about the castle, its inhabitants. Kings and queens of the past, ancient diaries, a few snippets about Heartless and former Keyblade wielders that had stopped by the castle centuries ago. Dagobert was left to search, listening to Lumiere taking his camouflaged place back up on the table. He assumed that he was resting, but he wouldn't really know. Did candlesticks need rest anyway?
"No use.." The ghost growled beneath his breath. While he knew it wasn't true, that he still had plenty more books to go, he was tired. He was grumpy. The last thing he wanted to look at was another book. Dagobert stumbled back to the long oak table once again, deciding that perhaps it was best to take a break. Hey, you, if you've actually read this far into this post, you get a cookie. He'd been reading and searching non-stop for hours, and he knew that if he read anymore about the exiting history of this cursed castle that his blue and gray eyes would start to bleed. The ghost slumped down into the large furnished chair that had served as his previous throne. His elbows were anchored onto his knees as he cradled his forehead in his palms, fingernails digging at his scalp. He looked almost like he was trying to claw his brains out.
Other: nope
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