YOU'LL NEVER MAKE ME BOW
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Her coat, which becomes distinctly shaggy in the fall before smoothing out again in late spring, is grulla in color. She is mainly blueish-grey, fading to a much darker shade on her head, below her knees, and in a dorsal line running from mane to tail. Above her knees are brindled stripes of the same color, another indicator of a primitive bloodline. A white blaze runs from her velvety nose, between bright blue-black eyes, and disappears under her fluffy forelock. Four white socks are present as well, just above her hooves.
Due to her mixed lineage, her mane, the same shade as her wings, grows in messy, irregular lengths with a bristly, brushy texture to it. To avoid this hassle, she has cropped it short--her alula-claws and a sharp stone suffice--leaving it bristly and upright. The exceptions to this are her forelock, which hangs impishly in her eyes, and a length at the very base of her mane, which is braided and tied with two hawk feathers. Her tail is left long, and shares the same coarse, weatherproof texture.
She wears armor, though not very much of it. A broad "collar" of stiff leather plates, with a satchel at either shoulder, hangs around her neck, and her lower legs are protected by leather bracers. This equipment provides her with some blunt-force protection to her most vital areas without making her too heavy to fly.
The girl is currently free of scars or other marks, but given her pugnacious nature, this may change in time.
The girl is an adrenaline junkie to her core, always looking for the next big thrill, whether it be in the form of a situation or another horse. While she loves to banter, she will also leap into a fight with gusto, whether it be a friendly spar or a full-on brawl. She often goes looking for trouble, and though this has blown up in her face more than once, she never seems to learn. She thrives on action and conflict, and will get it however she can. To dance with death, in her mind, is to be truly alive.
She is vivacious, idealistic, and outgoing, always ready to make a new friend or share in a bout of storytelling. However, her sheer intensity can be off-putting to some, and more sensible horses maybe find it exasperating to be around her for an extended period of time. It could also be inferred that her readiness to fight stems from a sense of deep insecurity and a desire to prove herself worthy of survival. She is, after all, one very small horse in a very large world.
Despite her cantankerous nature, she does display a softer side at times. She is easygoing with children and can be surprisingly compassionate, always willing to provide a shoulder to cry on or a wing to shelter under. In matters of the heart, she is a ready flirt, but is apprehensive about allowing herself to be tied down in one place to one man.
The result was a scrawny child born of two worlds, inheriting her mother's wings and fire magic and her father's prehistoric appearance. She grew up fighting to prove herself among her father's other children, steppe horses through and through, and established herself as a fiery girl, fiercely determined despite her different heritage. She might have spent her days in the quiet anonymity of the far north if her mother had not received word that the situation back home had changed. It was safe for her return, and so she did, taking her daughter without so much as a goodbye to her mate.
The transition to a “civilized” life was a jarring and painful one for the young girl. Though possessing a noble bloodline, she didn’t look or act as such, and certainly wasn’t treated like it. Civilized children didn’t solve their disputes or establish their “pecking order” with spars and races. Her mother’s attempts to get her to act more like a proper filly were fruitless, and she grew up into a lonely, combative young lady with few friends her own age. Ariessa’s final measure, betrothing her daughter to a stern man who would hopefully keep Aryel from getting into even more trouble, was the final straw. Before they could be paired off, she ran away, determined to return to her father’s chiefdom in the north.
However, fate would dictate another path for her. Inexperienced at cross-continental navigation, she became lost and was eventually blown far off-course by a storm, carried away by the winds to a distant island. It was there she met Java, a princeling fruit bat. Having no interest in inheriting his father’s mantle, and fearful of the unrest and intrigue currently plaguing the chiropterian court, he too had run away, intending to start a new life as a nomad. The two quickly became friends, and Aryel decided to wander with him rather than return to the north. When she was healed enough to fly again, they left the jungle with the intent of returning to the mainland, but fate would dictate another path for them. Another storm came out of nowhere while they were soaring above the ocean, this one brewing with what could almost be called a malevolence. The two were pulled from the sky and sent hurtling to the waves as a yawning whirlpool opened up beneath them, a hellish glow at its center. She remembers Java crying out for her, then a flash of crunching pain, then nothing. When she awoke, she found herself in unfamiliar territory, every muscle aching with pain, but what was infinitely more frightening to her was that her companion was gone without a trace.
Hawk feathers - Joined with.
Threadlog 3 threads |
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Active Threads | |||
Subject | Location | Participants | Last Post [ Order By ] |
This character does not have any active threads. | |||
Archived Threads | |||
Subject | Location | Participants | Last Post |
The Sparrow and the Dragon | Rainforest Cliffs | Aryel, Roscorro |
01-14-2018 by Roscorro |
You should have turned back. | Green Labyrinth | Taivas, Aryel |
01-20-2018 by Taivas |
She Ran Calling Wildfire | The Portal | Aryel, Otem, Rift Presence |
01-15-2018 by Otem |
- Glowing palm-sized Piece of Hope marking.