Avis Wren
Jul 11, 2018 6:50:55 GMT -5
Post by L on Jul 11, 2018 6:50:55 GMT -5
Name: Avis Wren
Age: Young Adult
Gender: Female
Side: Neutral
Eye Color: Silver
Coat Colour: Black, browns, oranges
Physical Build:
Her face is a mask of black. Her feet and underside, as if she rolled in soot and charcoal. Her back, segueing from onyx to brown, to grey-brown. Feathers seem to sprout from her shoulders, but they are merely markings and nothing else. Bright orange-gold highlights the curves of her "wings" and dusts just beneath them. She is an earthen sunset. She exudes power, and it is evident in her piercing stare.
Her body is slim, her gait fierce, snakelike. She is a sharp, angular woman, coming just into the prime of her youth. She tapers at the edges; her fur is thick, and gloriously soft. Maned wolf in build and stature. Her legs are long and slender; indeed, she seems to be mostly leg and not much more, though her hips curve pleasantly and her chest narrowe to a fine point. And yet, she is not tall, on the shorter side of average. She appears to walk just above the ground; she does not stumble, she does not fall. Avis walks like a wolf who knows she was bred from majesty. Her movements are smooth, at odds with the pointedness of her frame.
Perhaps this wolf is not very memorable. Perhaps this wolf is forgettable, the fur, the colour, all reminiscent of the earth. The most striking thing about her would be her eyes, like molten silver drawn from the veins of the earth.
But then again, even that, everyone else has.
ADDENDUM: As of This thread, Avis possesses L1 Flame. The power marking manifests on her right eyeball, completely covering the eye (The marking cannot be seen in its entirety.) Hence her entire right eye glows when the power is in use, though it would be impossible to tell what the marking is as it covers the visible portion, and is the exact same colour as the silver of her eyes.
Picture:
(ignore the wisps drifting off her)
Personality:
Avis is a female who knows who she is. She is kind, though she holds grudges for an eternity. She is the winter wind from the mountaintops, cool, and yet comforting to those who walk those peaks. She is the summer heat when the sun shines from its heavenly perch; she is fierce, she is fire, and she burns her love readily for all those close to her, as quickly as she would lunge for the throat of a wolf who has hurt her family.
History:
”I know,” said Avis, to the wind. It seemed that only the wind was there to listen, nowadays. ”My sire was Command. My dam was Magic.” She paused. ”But I am not the sum of a pair of gods’ creations.”
Avis Wren was born in a hollow to her sire and dam in their prime, when both were hallowed deities. It was and is also this mixed blood, the blood of kings and warrior-queens and shamans and sorcerors, that nestles in her the inbred urge to wield power.
Avis grew up relatively sheltered as a child, hidden away from the prying eyes of mortal men. She was diligent in her studies; she never really craved the limelight, nor, like many other demi-god children, wish to venture out into the world of the mortals. She had never truly liked referring to other wolves as mortals either, but understood that the blood that flowed through her veins, dirty as it was, was that of immortals.
All that changed in the blink of an eye when the wolves of her land joined forces to vanquish the gods. In the chaos that followed, they were flung into a world far away. And to restore her home to what it had been, her parents sacrificed the godly status they held to stitch the fabric of the lands she knew back together again.
The Forest was never the same after. It had lost its rose-tinted lense. She could feel the deity essence fading from her veins the moment her parents had given up their power. It was a serrated knife edge, blunt, and dull. It sliced open her heart and bled the ichor out of her. She became delibitatingly mortal.
Not long after, the girl fell sick. She’d left the Forest on many occasions since the revival of the land, but when the disease plaguing her became too great to bear, Avis realised what would happen to her. She would die there, from dust to dust. But she would not die outside the grounds of her home, and she staggered to the Forest to dig her own grave.
She did not make it far; she managed to collapse by the god-pool. It began to rain, and slowly, the mud carried her barely-breathing body towards the waters. For a pond in a rainstorm, she thought, the waters were unbelievably calm. They seemed to absorb the raindrops instead of bouncing them off. It wasn’t a bad way to die, surrounded by the gaussian glow of her former home. The pressure pushed her eyelids shut; in the throes of death, she didn’t notice when she breathed it in.
The girl was resurrected by her family. And she walked. As she walked, away, through worlds and lands, she felt the magic fade from her veins. There was no more tangible magic to hold onto, and she was as plain as the day came. So she entered the furthest land she could find, when she had become completely magic-less.
There was a new power here. She could feel it.
Lineage: Optional
Extra Comments: I'm bringing a character from another site over, so the sample will have elements not from WWM! :-)
Sample Post:
Her dreams were fitful. She slept, but she did not. She was dead, but she was not. It had been many years since death... since darkness... since life... It was a lonely existence. She turned, yet she was still, still as her corpse decomposed too long under the eerily still waters of the god-pond.
Sometimes she could even see hints of a world lost in turmoil with eyes that had closed aeons ago.
This was not Ferus. It was a land in-between, where her soul had no physical manifestation. She was a wraith in the truest sense; she had no body, not even incorporeal, to call her own. She was a presence, blackened from the heat of her own flames. There was no name she knew herself by, for the memory had faded with life. There was no age, no time in this place, and only the last, lingering thought of her eyes slipping shut underneath iridescent water remained with her. Yes, it was a lonely existence indeed.
Blood of my blood.
Her voice was a rolling cadence, like the shifting of sands upon a dune. It seethed with every syllable, permeated the air, a hissing, dual, triple, infinitely-toned sound. Layer upon layer not unlike the earth and its ground. The dreamscape trembled; sensing an awakening. Around her were tremors and yet, the air about her was unmoving.
Silver eyes flashed in the dark. It was the blackest black, and there were only the eyes.
Tendrils of magic snaked out, like lines extending from the web's heart. She shivered, even though she had nothing to do so with. She was a mass of onyx, no feature distinguishable from the other except the silver eyes. There were no shadows - it was too dark for shadows; even the eyes cast no glow. They were simply there, unblinking, unnerving.
Age: Young Adult
Gender: Female
Side: Neutral
Eye Color: Silver
Coat Colour: Black, browns, oranges
Physical Build:
Her face is a mask of black. Her feet and underside, as if she rolled in soot and charcoal. Her back, segueing from onyx to brown, to grey-brown. Feathers seem to sprout from her shoulders, but they are merely markings and nothing else. Bright orange-gold highlights the curves of her "wings" and dusts just beneath them. She is an earthen sunset. She exudes power, and it is evident in her piercing stare.
Her body is slim, her gait fierce, snakelike. She is a sharp, angular woman, coming just into the prime of her youth. She tapers at the edges; her fur is thick, and gloriously soft. Maned wolf in build and stature. Her legs are long and slender; indeed, she seems to be mostly leg and not much more, though her hips curve pleasantly and her chest narrowe to a fine point. And yet, she is not tall, on the shorter side of average. She appears to walk just above the ground; she does not stumble, she does not fall. Avis walks like a wolf who knows she was bred from majesty. Her movements are smooth, at odds with the pointedness of her frame.
Perhaps this wolf is not very memorable. Perhaps this wolf is forgettable, the fur, the colour, all reminiscent of the earth. The most striking thing about her would be her eyes, like molten silver drawn from the veins of the earth.
But then again, even that, everyone else has.
ADDENDUM: As of This thread, Avis possesses L1 Flame. The power marking manifests on her right eyeball, completely covering the eye (The marking cannot be seen in its entirety.) Hence her entire right eye glows when the power is in use, though it would be impossible to tell what the marking is as it covers the visible portion, and is the exact same colour as the silver of her eyes.
Picture:
(ignore the wisps drifting off her)Personality:
Fiercely protective | Logical | Loyal | No holds barred regarding family| Friendly, but not friends - does not see the point in making enemies | Reclusive | Highly observant; perceptive | Difficult to lie to | Sarcastic
Avis is a female who knows who she is. She is kind, though she holds grudges for an eternity. She is the winter wind from the mountaintops, cool, and yet comforting to those who walk those peaks. She is the summer heat when the sun shines from its heavenly perch; she is fierce, she is fire, and she burns her love readily for all those close to her, as quickly as she would lunge for the throat of a wolf who has hurt her family.
History:
You could be a god, you know.
”I know,” said Avis, to the wind. It seemed that only the wind was there to listen, nowadays. ”My sire was Command. My dam was Magic.” She paused. ”But I am not the sum of a pair of gods’ creations.”
Avis Wren was born in a hollow to her sire and dam in their prime, when both were hallowed deities. It was and is also this mixed blood, the blood of kings and warrior-queens and shamans and sorcerors, that nestles in her the inbred urge to wield power.
Avis grew up relatively sheltered as a child, hidden away from the prying eyes of mortal men. She was diligent in her studies; she never really craved the limelight, nor, like many other demi-god children, wish to venture out into the world of the mortals. She had never truly liked referring to other wolves as mortals either, but understood that the blood that flowed through her veins, dirty as it was, was that of immortals.
All that changed in the blink of an eye when the wolves of her land joined forces to vanquish the gods. In the chaos that followed, they were flung into a world far away. And to restore her home to what it had been, her parents sacrificed the godly status they held to stitch the fabric of the lands she knew back together again.
The Forest was never the same after. It had lost its rose-tinted lense. She could feel the deity essence fading from her veins the moment her parents had given up their power. It was a serrated knife edge, blunt, and dull. It sliced open her heart and bled the ichor out of her. She became delibitatingly mortal.
Not long after, the girl fell sick. She’d left the Forest on many occasions since the revival of the land, but when the disease plaguing her became too great to bear, Avis realised what would happen to her. She would die there, from dust to dust. But she would not die outside the grounds of her home, and she staggered to the Forest to dig her own grave.
She did not make it far; she managed to collapse by the god-pool. It began to rain, and slowly, the mud carried her barely-breathing body towards the waters. For a pond in a rainstorm, she thought, the waters were unbelievably calm. They seemed to absorb the raindrops instead of bouncing them off. It wasn’t a bad way to die, surrounded by the gaussian glow of her former home. The pressure pushed her eyelids shut; in the throes of death, she didn’t notice when she breathed it in.
The girl was resurrected by her family. And she walked. As she walked, away, through worlds and lands, she felt the magic fade from her veins. There was no more tangible magic to hold onto, and she was as plain as the day came. So she entered the furthest land she could find, when she had become completely magic-less.
There was a new power here. She could feel it.
Lineage: Optional
Extra Comments: I'm bringing a character from another site over, so the sample will have elements not from WWM! :-)
Sample Post:
There once was a god.
Her dreams were fitful. She slept, but she did not. She was dead, but she was not. It had been many years since death... since darkness... since life... It was a lonely existence. She turned, yet she was still, still as her corpse decomposed too long under the eerily still waters of the god-pond.
Sometimes she could even see hints of a world lost in turmoil with eyes that had closed aeons ago.
This was not Ferus. It was a land in-between, where her soul had no physical manifestation. She was a wraith in the truest sense; she had no body, not even incorporeal, to call her own. She was a presence, blackened from the heat of her own flames. There was no name she knew herself by, for the memory had faded with life. There was no age, no time in this place, and only the last, lingering thought of her eyes slipping shut underneath iridescent water remained with her. Yes, it was a lonely existence indeed.
Blood of my blood.
Her voice was a rolling cadence, like the shifting of sands upon a dune. It seethed with every syllable, permeated the air, a hissing, dual, triple, infinitely-toned sound. Layer upon layer not unlike the earth and its ground. The dreamscape trembled; sensing an awakening. Around her were tremors and yet, the air about her was unmoving.
Silver eyes flashed in the dark. It was the blackest black, and there were only the eyes.
Blood of my blood.
Tendrils of magic snaked out, like lines extending from the web's heart. She shivered, even though she had nothing to do so with. She was a mass of onyx, no feature distinguishable from the other except the silver eyes. There were no shadows - it was too dark for shadows; even the eyes cast no glow. They were simply there, unblinking, unnerving.
Blood of my blood.
Find me.
Find me.
