thread title missing - Printable Version +- 'Souls IPB Archive (November 2007–October 2012) (https://soulsrpg.com/ipb) +-- Forum: Dead IC (https://soulsrpg.com/ipb/forumdisplay.php?fid=110) +--- Forum: Dead Topics (https://soulsrpg.com/ipb/forumdisplay.php?fid=21) +--- Thread: thread title missing (/showthread.php?tid=5712) |
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- Ghita Marino - 04-16-2009 [html]
- Moose the Wild - 04-16-2009 Only a little over an hour had passed since the sun burst onto the scene, breathing life into the world as it warmed it in a bright embrace. Moose had been unable to sleep most of the night with dreams... nightmares... running amuck in his mind. Finally they had fled leaving him in a dreamless sleep. It was in this sleep that he had heard a voice--the voice, calling him. It was uncanny that he felt drawn to it; the song itself was beautiful, as was the voice singing it, but the words and the voice were foreign. He knew neither. Struggling from the cramped den he called home, Moose began trotting towards the mansion, unable to get there fast enough. Soon he found himself flat out running, trying to discover the source of the melody. Sadly, it stopped before he could break into the clearing around the house. His steps slowed, as if fading with the last echo of the sound across the lake. His heart felt heavy, and with the absence of the song he felt the return of his nightmarish thoughts. Recounting tales and times of his troubles, recalling to his worried mind how bad things in his life were his fault. Everything... was his fault... Everything is my fault.... Mottled grey fur stood still upon his frame as his entire body halted, as if waitting for a signal to move. As if waitting for everything to be okay again. It was as if Moose were a veteran of some secret war and these memories were his form of flashbacks; his own mind was his own enemy. Most days he felt he couldn't even share his mind with the pack he had grown to love so easily. He wasn't like them. Moose wasn't "gifted" as they were... he was normal. He was condemned to a life on four paws rather than two. He would never hold an object in his paws and be able to manipulate it. He would never be able to stand erect. Honestly, what could he do? Everything they can do with two paws, I can do just as easily with four. I can patrol. I can fight. I can hunt. I can hate and I can love. I can do it all. A bark rang in his ears before he realized it was his own. The noise broke his concentration (or lack of) and brought him back to reality. Shaking the plague from his mind, he walked on into the clearing. He had already come this far, why should he turn back? It's not like he would be able to return to sleep. The warmth of the sun shone upon his coat, easing the ache he felt in his joints from the coolness that had laid upon the earth over night. Once into the clearing, he stretched, yawning slightly, before heading closer towards the very building Ghita sat upon, unbeknownst to Moose. - Ghita Marino - 04-29-2009 [html]
- Moose the Wild - 04-30-2009 Mottled ears turned to the sound, followed by his grey head and frame. The voice was unfamiliar, but the body seemed reminese of another. The fey (from voice) looked similar to Ehno and Savina, yet was neither. Perhaps they were related? Moose was unsure, having not been around long enough to know everyone's familial extensions. Tail wagging, he trotted closer to the building and sat down looking up towards her. Her accent and words were unfamiliar to him, and Moose cocked his head slightly, unsure of if she could understand English. Surely so. Of course, whether or not she would be able to understand him would be another question. This had great potential for a tremendous language barrier. 'ullo on tha roof. He decided to keep it simple. Words he knew weren't too skewed by his accent. - Ghita Marino - 05-16-2009 [html]
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