Post by Khan~‡~Rasha on Dec 28, 2005 12:35:00 GMT 1
Dubbance~ Aniu
Seasons~ 11 Seasons
Blood~ Femmora
Bond~ Neither of any Brujo.
Positioned~ Beta
Discript/Pic~
A femmora dove wolven, voids of eternal darkness switch over beast, sharp bonded talons unsheath silken pads. Muzzle gapes, masculine carania bows in might, ripple of tearing musle, fangs slip over maw, oxygen taken in, massive breath, scent through pitched nose. Velvetine auds swish, whip held high the femmora shows comrades of high rank, as alphen brujo strides past, whip lowers, and chains fly from crania as howl is emmited from strong vocals of the white dove femmora.
Personal~ Never Headstrong, stubborn, persistent; Brutally honest, sarcastic, cunning, serpentine, brave, loyal.
History~
"Dearest...?"
The small, frail whisper was uttered into the silence, releasing a steamed puff. The steam increased, rapidly echoing up into the black abyss, disappearing for eternity into nothing. Two thin, thin crescents kept letting out tiny puffs, quickening, increasing with the decreasing temperature. Small, umber orbs were glistening, minuscule, carmine horns pricked forth.
The creature let out a cry, trying to stand on shaky appendages. A larger, lighter form quickly rushed to the fledgling, a muzzle pushing up to its side. The wee one settled immediately. Dove pads folded neatly under awkward legs, muzzle nestling close for a bit of a nap.
The larger creature, decidedly feminine, kept her gaze on the babe, locking it until the tiny set of ribs lifted and drifted with slumber. Pools then cast themselves away from the cave once more, out of the mouth and into the blanketed valley beyond, sweeping over everything: the sandy, dead vegetation; the forestry, scratching barenaked branches over the horizon; even the mountains, far off though they may be. A sigh escaped her ashen maw. Where was he?
It wasn't the first time he'd run off. It had all started on a balmy midsummer's night: The femmora had been among her friends when he approached. She was a sucker for smooth words and handsome looks, and so fell into love's tempting net very soon after. Such a simple mistake - and yet so complex. Deceit ran rampant. Not only were hidden lovers unveiled, but also a hidden virile, much unlike the one the femmora had once knew. The new brute was evil, untrustworthy, bellicose, lustful, and stupid all rolled into one. When she noticed there was one growing inside her, her name was dropped, disappearing into obscurity. The charming, responsible, young wolven was now cast away into the flames of naivety and regret. She would never own such a name again. The thought etched unworthiness.
It was a cold winter night when the youngling was born. The shameful femmora was stumbling about, finally making it to the cave she stood in at present. That twisted, hideous brute had followed along, leaving soon after to supposedly "find a better shelter." One nuzzle and he was gone. Nameless was left to suffer through a first birth alone, scared into silence for fear that other wolven would come and wreak havoc. The flicka was brought in by some sort of miracle. And by now, but a week after the lonesome reproduction, Eviline Brujo had still not come.
Nameless glanced back over at the flicka, sighing once again, setting another steamy puff into the chill. What would she do? Her former home had thrown her away, and she knew not where to go. The young brujo would suffer through a lonely life, nothing but his mother to rely on.
Thoughts scrambled for one last shred of hope. They found darkness, abyss, nothing more. The love she'd clung to merely days ago was now tattered and torn, gripped by the strong hands of reality and shaken until dead. One last glance at the offending terra beyond and the femmora traversed towards her spawn, lowering to lay beside the small, fragile frame. Worthless thoughts took her to everywhere imaginable: What her life would be like if she'd been wiser and seen Eviline Brujo for who he truly was. What would she be doing now, instead of laying next to a bastard whelp, alone and afraid? What if she were to die and the flicka would awake without a mother? What then?
Questions threw her attention at the wee one. There was one thing she'd forgotten, after all this time: What to name her spawn. It needed something important, something that screams intelligence and good judgment, exactly the opposite of her dam's foolish decisions, representing the clan for something better.
Iced pools softened. All of a sudden, she knew exactly what to christen the infant beside her, whispering it to feel the words roll off her tongue:
"Aniu..."
Family~ Unknown, beleived dead
Placement Desiered~ The Caçadores Finais
Seasons~ 11 Seasons
Blood~ Femmora
Bond~ Neither of any Brujo.
Positioned~ Beta
Discript/Pic~
A femmora dove wolven, voids of eternal darkness switch over beast, sharp bonded talons unsheath silken pads. Muzzle gapes, masculine carania bows in might, ripple of tearing musle, fangs slip over maw, oxygen taken in, massive breath, scent through pitched nose. Velvetine auds swish, whip held high the femmora shows comrades of high rank, as alphen brujo strides past, whip lowers, and chains fly from crania as howl is emmited from strong vocals of the white dove femmora.
Personal~ Never Headstrong, stubborn, persistent; Brutally honest, sarcastic, cunning, serpentine, brave, loyal.
History~
"Dearest...?"
The small, frail whisper was uttered into the silence, releasing a steamed puff. The steam increased, rapidly echoing up into the black abyss, disappearing for eternity into nothing. Two thin, thin crescents kept letting out tiny puffs, quickening, increasing with the decreasing temperature. Small, umber orbs were glistening, minuscule, carmine horns pricked forth.
The creature let out a cry, trying to stand on shaky appendages. A larger, lighter form quickly rushed to the fledgling, a muzzle pushing up to its side. The wee one settled immediately. Dove pads folded neatly under awkward legs, muzzle nestling close for a bit of a nap.
The larger creature, decidedly feminine, kept her gaze on the babe, locking it until the tiny set of ribs lifted and drifted with slumber. Pools then cast themselves away from the cave once more, out of the mouth and into the blanketed valley beyond, sweeping over everything: the sandy, dead vegetation; the forestry, scratching barenaked branches over the horizon; even the mountains, far off though they may be. A sigh escaped her ashen maw. Where was he?
It wasn't the first time he'd run off. It had all started on a balmy midsummer's night: The femmora had been among her friends when he approached. She was a sucker for smooth words and handsome looks, and so fell into love's tempting net very soon after. Such a simple mistake - and yet so complex. Deceit ran rampant. Not only were hidden lovers unveiled, but also a hidden virile, much unlike the one the femmora had once knew. The new brute was evil, untrustworthy, bellicose, lustful, and stupid all rolled into one. When she noticed there was one growing inside her, her name was dropped, disappearing into obscurity. The charming, responsible, young wolven was now cast away into the flames of naivety and regret. She would never own such a name again. The thought etched unworthiness.
It was a cold winter night when the youngling was born. The shameful femmora was stumbling about, finally making it to the cave she stood in at present. That twisted, hideous brute had followed along, leaving soon after to supposedly "find a better shelter." One nuzzle and he was gone. Nameless was left to suffer through a first birth alone, scared into silence for fear that other wolven would come and wreak havoc. The flicka was brought in by some sort of miracle. And by now, but a week after the lonesome reproduction, Eviline Brujo had still not come.
Nameless glanced back over at the flicka, sighing once again, setting another steamy puff into the chill. What would she do? Her former home had thrown her away, and she knew not where to go. The young brujo would suffer through a lonely life, nothing but his mother to rely on.
Thoughts scrambled for one last shred of hope. They found darkness, abyss, nothing more. The love she'd clung to merely days ago was now tattered and torn, gripped by the strong hands of reality and shaken until dead. One last glance at the offending terra beyond and the femmora traversed towards her spawn, lowering to lay beside the small, fragile frame. Worthless thoughts took her to everywhere imaginable: What her life would be like if she'd been wiser and seen Eviline Brujo for who he truly was. What would she be doing now, instead of laying next to a bastard whelp, alone and afraid? What if she were to die and the flicka would awake without a mother? What then?
Questions threw her attention at the wee one. There was one thing she'd forgotten, after all this time: What to name her spawn. It needed something important, something that screams intelligence and good judgment, exactly the opposite of her dam's foolish decisions, representing the clan for something better.
Iced pools softened. All of a sudden, she knew exactly what to christen the infant beside her, whispering it to feel the words roll off her tongue:
"Aniu..."
Family~ Unknown, beleived dead
Placement Desiered~ The Caçadores Finais
