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SeasonSpring Year Two Week: seven Breeding: No! Summer is less then a half of a month or so away and wow are these temps just soaring. The North West are in the mid 60s and the South West are in the 90s and 80s. The middle states are in the 70s and 80s. All of East other then Florida are in the 60s- 80s. Canada, the top at 50s and the bottom in the 70s. Many thunder showers are everywhere and thunderstorms are popping up everywhere it seems |
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Celtic
| Celtic |
Posted: May 6 2006, 06:06 AM
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Loner  Group: Loner Posts: 2 Member No.: 179 Joined: 6-May 06  |
OOC:
Name: Tiff Age 15 Contact: wolfeye56@yahoo.com How much are you online: Once or Twice a week How long you have been wolf Rping: A long time... IC: Name: Celtic Age: Three Gender: Male Breed: Iberian Wolf Family:(At least Two Paragraphs) Appearance:(At least Two Paragraphs) Personality:(At least Two Paragraphs) History:(At least 4 Paragraphs) Sample Post Standing at the edge a lifeless pond, no movement rippled across it's surface, not even when a small leaf would shed from the limb above and drop onto the crystal clear reflection of the world above. Behind he heard the sounds of hunters, foaming mouths and snarling jowls, his fears trailed through his body, his fur prickled. His heart jumped, His tanned forepaws touched the brink of the water, the chill of the autumn pond made him start. Their bloodied paws were pounding the earth, shaking it lifeless like they were going to shake Celtic. He lunged, his teeth held tight, his body dove into the water, he felt like he was falling for he don't know how long. Tossing and turning in a world with no gravity, fighting any which way, he broke from the unbreathable prison and dared not to look over his shoulder. his legs kicked,even though they feeble from the run, his lungs ached and were swollon from the cold air and water he had swallowed 'pon his unearthly descent. His limbs flailed beneath him, throwing the water back, rushing beneath his tail, which acted as a rutter, he touched the rocky surface of the other bank, lifting his heavy half dead carcess from the pond he turned to watch the snarling wolves sniffing at the bank. Why didn't they look up? The wind was in their hungry favor, they longed for a wolves pure blood, in essence he was that pure untouched blood. The wind wrapped itself tightly around him, causing the cold to burn his shoulders. He spun on golden heels and darted off into the woods. He forgot everything as he entered the shawl of woodland, he darted every which way and let the sharp buckthorn rip out his fur in giant tufts or let extending sticks break sharply across his galliant sides. His chest was heaving, his bright pink tongue lolled from his bright white teeth. He descended into a steep rut in the land, not caring if he slipped or fell. Happiness that he had made a perfect escape was distant. He only cared about the terrace beneath his feet and the world sprawling out before him like an unrolled map. He only wished to be as far from the ancient packlands as possible, before the blood wanting monsters returned to his formiable scent. Came to an abrupt hault, his tattered body pressed against a rocky wall, the cool shade that spread over him was enough to bring a slight peace over his withers. His gold eyes flashed, his brown ears pricked, listening above the sound of his panting and heavy breathing. Afraid the hungry wolves were on his tail he continued, his legs shook and desbris littered his once healthy and beautiful pelt. It's rich gold coloring was now an earthy brown from the dried and wet blood, from the masses of mud that clogged his underbelly and from the dried leaves and plants that had become knotted into his sides. Burrs coated everyone of his legs and his once manicured face was bruised and cut, drooling blood from a cut tongue he continued. A shame, a clear disgrace to his family, his family were fighters with the strong urge for wolf blood. Born devoid of the strange lust for the crimson liquid he knew that he was the choosen one, that he was the one they would need to kill and drink of his blood so that they could shed the strong urges to drink brethren blood. He should of fought, should of done something other then run away. But fear had him across the muzzle and he did what he needed to do. His paws were bloody and left prints behind him, they ached badly and stung everytime he stepped over gravel or sharp rock. The sun beat down and it had become much warmer then earlier in the day, his heart pounded. He knew they wouldn't ever stop looking for him, but he had to lead a double life. He couldn't remember his past, he had to be lost, confused, no one could know his of his blood, his rare breed. He darted to a pool of thick black mud and rolled in it, coating his gold and tan colored hide from everyone. His name, surely someone would recongize it, his expression was sober as he thought hard on a new name. A new alias which none could figure out who he was. With a dark pelt, and a new limp to his step he could become anyone, even his father. He growled outloud. "Dark Colt, that is my new name... after my father." He almost felt a wickedness descend over his body but then it deminished and he continued on his way. A new character in the scheme of life. --------------------  |
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