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Private Sentry [Ein]
Posted 05-29-2018, 10:01 PM |
Ares
Rogue
Male, 3.00
Endomorph
37 in, 135 lbs
0 ep
© Sylvirr


He is anything but passive. Proud and fit, the burned wolf strolls through the terra, wearing the wounds that mar his body with pride, for he is a survivor. He has tasted the flames intimately, and come out alive. Perhaps, with time, the fur would grow back on his brutally burned leg and hip, but then again, perhaps not. He knew not, nor did he worry about it now for old wounds were old wounds and now, though he walks with a limp that is distinct in its gait, for his back leg aches with the after-burn of scarred muscle that has re-knitted itself improperly, he is proud. He is a creature that is MADE of fire now, as he always has been. With an acrid gaze of acid, he lifts his battle-scarred maw to the sky and squints, inhaling deeply the scent of the wind and the tasting the breath of his distant prey with a predator's hunger rising deep in his gut.

And so he will push onward, and he begins to walk. He is, by no means, a tall man. No, he is stout and strong and study, lacking the grace and finesse of many others in his field. He is rough around the edges, a boulder that has been weathered by the storm into a jagged crown, rather than a stone polished by a river. He is not a kind man, nor is he a very smart one. But he is good at hitting things, and that is what is most important.






Einheria



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Posted 05-30-2018, 04:06 AM | This post was last modified: 05-30-2018, 04:08 AM by Einheria
Einheria
Rogue
Male, 2.00
Ectomorph
42inch in, 100lbs lbs
0 ep
© Belethi

EINHERIA

Like anything of lilac and gall, he seemed to flit like that of the lights dappling through the flora, full of grace, delicate in all manners with a deceptive look about him. Blocked cream against the tones of nature. He stood out like ire of course, overtly long and thin and willowy with a look of the dales in every incitement, flowers in his hair. Blood staining the tips of his claws in a permanent burgundy venture. He did not smell like death though and he certainly did not look like it. Wild eyes and a sharp, a frail looking face that seemed to beseech the offset of all his horror. He did not remember how seasons changed and how he seemed to move from place to place, a little haplessly, a little far removed by the ideals of his kind and his culture and how things seemed to meld into place like some sort of old voyeur’s ichor- a little faded now after the rain. He had his intentions though, as malevolent as they where and it seemed as long as he stayed to the foundations of the wood he would be far removed from the conflict of lesser men.

Then there came the rocks and they would stop him, halt him where they stood, pale rook eyes settling upon them in a forthcoming and oppugent cinder of his own right, they were odd, sacred, with a look of the heavens about the way they seemed displaced in art- and he loved art. Tracing lines with a wayward hand lavishly, knowingly, somewhat dependant on their prospect. And it made him envious. If anything was to be made in dared mockery of him he would tear it down. It seemed only customary that the survival of culture- be it in the makings of gods or otherwise was decided and chosen by victors. By those empowered.

He ‘would’ destroy it

But for now, he had only settled with the conquest of them, throwing himself up to sit upon them. Ascended. False godhood cast in the ego of a fey, his head raised, judging as the pale of his eyes seemed to graze the below as if he was never once a part of that ocean of flora, and the life that thrived amidst it. But when you where as pugnacious as he was, he would seem invested more so in removing the ideology completely, snuffing it out and building anew an identity better befitting of someone like him. Something terrible and gorgeous and out for thievery. Maybe one day he would take away the art and the life of this dreary plateau but for now he knew no better than to wait and hope.


Ares



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Posted 05-30-2018, 11:30 PM |
Ares
Rogue
Male, 3.00
Endomorph
37 in, 135 lbs
0 ep
© Sylvirr

The day is young, fresh and clean, and he gazes out over the plateau with eyes narrowed against the rising sun on the horizon, only for the spires of silver and ivory to catch the light and glint in his direction. He is art in itself, painted in hues of fire and earth, strength and pride etched into every fiber of his being, each moment of his presence being punctuated by a sheer force of will. He who chases the sun is faced with it's starting point, pausing only to glance over his shoulder and it is that motion that cases his gaze to fall upon the golden prince. His brows knit, pulling taught, the wrinkle in his forehead causing his scarred visage to curl and wrinkle briefly.

Jade and emerald, his eyes fall to the cream and ginger peach
fae prince, and his head cocks. Perhaps this is a mirage? An illusion, a trick of the light? ..But no. He advances, his gait heavy, off. He is a warrior, and he bears the scars.
"Eíste pnévma? Í énas daímonas?"






OOC: Hover for Translation
Einheria



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Posted 05-31-2018, 05:59 AM |
Einheria
Rogue
Male, 2.00
Ectomorph
42inch in, 100lbs lbs
0 ep
© Belethi

EINHERIA

He knew that silence was kept begrudgingly and that sooner still something would come to interrupt the quiet he was holding in his relaxation, enjoying the sun and the light and the warmth despite the bite of winter. However of course he’d find himself in company, some man forged in red and fire and fury. A pugnacious little thing, awful with words. Words Einheria seemed most unpleased for, could not make sense of, the sound of them was unlike anything he had ever known to learn. He was subtle of course in this displeasure. The slight downturn of his mouth, sharper eyes, and the way he seemed slow to grace this intruder with his attentions. His precious time.
“oh?” he would usher in a deeply chiding manner, crossing his paws upon his makeshift throne of rock. Those god-placed stones.
“I don’t speake beneath the tongues of less’r men.” He would offer precariously, his attentions- as slow as they were to set upon him where just as quick to remove themselves as he would raise his vulpine visage back to the graces of the sunlight in a drawling, reptilian manner.
“they ar’ benign and b'neath me.” He’d simper in his words for a moment or so, his expression seemingly sharp, darkening with his thoughts before he would offer with a pungency to his tone
“Exhibit A-”to compliment his words a single hand gesture towards this new forged company. Whoever believed this fool was ever worthy of his being, this presence, the complacency of his words that were not immediately drawn to violence.


Ares



[ Reply ]






Posted 06-02-2018, 08:50 AM |
Ares
Rogue
Male, 3.00
Endomorph
37 in, 135 lbs
0 ep
© Sylvirr

Question, answered. He is real, and he is judgemental. A scowl crosses his scarred visage, lip curling upwards ever so slightly to display the barest glint of tooth in gum, though this is followed by a 'tch', a sound of clear disdain. But he cannot help but be intrigued--who is this, who dares to judge himself above others? He did not, after all, speak in the language of the gods. He is certain that this is a spirit then, for a demon would have have tried to appeal to his better nature to fool him, and so he would forgive the insult. Stout and scarred he may be, but there is a strength to his person, a safety felt in his presence despite the gruffness. Rough-around-the-edges, he is not at all polished or smooth, but it is not a bad thing. ....to most. Perhaps, however, to him, he is little more than some dirty beggar with too much muscle on his bones and too many scars to have retained his beauty. Still, he snorts, lifting his chin slightly to gaze upon him with burning ember eyes,"What deems you more worthy than I? You appear to have never batted an eye for the safety and protection of others, nor even yourself."






Einheria



[ Reply ]






Posted 06-03-2018, 04:14 PM |
Einheria
Rogue
Male, 2.00
Ectomorph
42inch in, 100lbs lbs
0 ep
© Belethi

EINHERIA

He's seem to sauve about the matter, tracing over words with his smooth, jointed responses that seemed to collapse after the first hurdle. “mine superiority is he'e-“ as if the most he processed the rest of what had been said, the less the preliminary question mattered. “thee believe I appearth as though I can’t protecte myself?” the fae would exclaim quietly, tight crossed paws and a sour expression upon his overtly vulpine visage. He’d bat his eyelashes, as pale and as illustrious as they deemed to be- a few times just to further instigate how absolutely astonished he was that someone would dare to criticise him. “am i- am I fucking hearing, that right?” he’d squint, drawing a paw to his face in a fluent motion as if to channel the disjointed and clearly distressed manner of tone. Did he seem like some voyouresque and oppugent freelancer who seemed to drift from place to place unwarranted and unwashed and irreplaceably ratty. God no.

He’d throw himself from the rocks, a graceful swan dive unto the ground below where he would square himself out, head raised, tall and thin and from the sharp superiority that was blatant in his indignant expression he would state in a tone as black as inkwater. “doth thee knowe who is't i am!?” he’d chide vivaciously, the ilk in his dusty green eyes as hot and as bright as any flame although he’d seem to maintain a more complicity composure, he just seemed pugnacious and flighty and mildly insulted. “nay?” he’d not give the other a chance to reply, he lost that right the second he opened his disgusting war marred trap against him. Incompetent he called him, Worthless, utterly incapable. Einheria heard those exact words and he’d take no other alternative. Slowly he’d blink before hissing in a poisonous manner “then sitteth thine ass down and learn, bitch.”


Ares



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