09-14-2010, 09:35 AM
o Character Name: Synder Flare
o Character Birthdate (including year): June 16th, 2008
o Whether s/he is a regular wolf or a Luperci: Luperci
o Species: Timber Wolf
o Gender: Male
o A secondary form of contact (AIM, MSN, Y!M). : doublinpop@yahoo.com
o Currently played characters: Only character.
o How you found 'Souls: googled an active roleplay forum and BAM – souls.
o Initial post: (I dont have a table, sorry!)
There was something about the brightness of this particular night that brought Synder from his hiding place. It was not something he had intended to do, leaving the safety of the trees in which he had bedded down, but the stars were too taunting. Synder had padded down the beaten dirt path that led from his spot, along the basin of a hill until it took a sudden bend around an old fanning oak. It took him up a rise and into a sprawling meadow. Swaying grasses lapped his at coal stockings, moonlight cascading down to bathe his mottled soot and ivory hide. It seemed to embrace him and he it, tipping black muzzle to the sky. Gentle drifts of wind buffeted against him, ruffling the ruff that plushed out around his neck and down along his chest. Black banded tail hung lowly between his hocks. Synder inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with fireflies and fantasies.
It was on nights like these that dreams came true – or was it that trouble ensued? Ah, superstitions. There was naught in life but life and death. He shook his neck, licking his lips, ears roving. Owls hooting, bats chittering, coyotes and wolves yippity yip yipping. He had come to the edges of Dahlia de Mai twice, only to turn back with uncertainty. What if his presence wasn’t wanted, wasn’t needed, and he was chased off with fang and claw? He could have stayed in his makeshift den in no-mans land, chasing rabbits and singing his lonesome song to the September moon. It was a quiet, peaceful place, albeit solitary. He couldn’t deny what his heart wanted; to run with a pack, hunt in cooperation, raise his voice in tune with the rest. He wanted a family to call his own, to defend with his life, to lend his abilities to. Synder Flare had drunk his fill of the constellations and found that he could not bring herself to retreat back down that lonely path that snuck through the meadow. He would press on to the out-lands of Dahlia De Mai and seek acceptance.
The scent of wolves, wild and earthy, was on the air. Males, females and pups galore. His hide shivered in anticipation. Paws were on autopilot, guiding him restlessly across the grass. He was silent, picking his way with great care beneath the glare of the bloated white moon. He could see it then, in the distance, on this gloriously luminous evening. A tree line where the pungent odor of obedience and control permeated every inch of the soil and bark. He had the overwhelming urge to add his calling card to the nearest thicket of bramble, but restrained himself. It would be tantamount to mocking the alpha if he added his scent without permission. This was not yet his home, may never be. The loam he trod upon grew softer, more pliable, with dead leaf litter cloaking the ground. Synder sent a golden eyed glance over his shoulder and down either edge of the tree line, seeking signs of danger. Ears turned and twisted, straining for the ragged, haunting pants of lurking aggressors. All was well. So he raised his crown in a eerie, sad song. Come, please come, he thought.
o Character Birthdate (including year): June 16th, 2008
o Whether s/he is a regular wolf or a Luperci: Luperci
o Species: Timber Wolf
o Gender: Male
o A secondary form of contact (AIM, MSN, Y!M). : doublinpop@yahoo.com
o Currently played characters: Only character.
o How you found 'Souls: googled an active roleplay forum and BAM – souls.
o Initial post: (I dont have a table, sorry!)
There was something about the brightness of this particular night that brought Synder from his hiding place. It was not something he had intended to do, leaving the safety of the trees in which he had bedded down, but the stars were too taunting. Synder had padded down the beaten dirt path that led from his spot, along the basin of a hill until it took a sudden bend around an old fanning oak. It took him up a rise and into a sprawling meadow. Swaying grasses lapped his at coal stockings, moonlight cascading down to bathe his mottled soot and ivory hide. It seemed to embrace him and he it, tipping black muzzle to the sky. Gentle drifts of wind buffeted against him, ruffling the ruff that plushed out around his neck and down along his chest. Black banded tail hung lowly between his hocks. Synder inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with fireflies and fantasies.
It was on nights like these that dreams came true – or was it that trouble ensued? Ah, superstitions. There was naught in life but life and death. He shook his neck, licking his lips, ears roving. Owls hooting, bats chittering, coyotes and wolves yippity yip yipping. He had come to the edges of Dahlia de Mai twice, only to turn back with uncertainty. What if his presence wasn’t wanted, wasn’t needed, and he was chased off with fang and claw? He could have stayed in his makeshift den in no-mans land, chasing rabbits and singing his lonesome song to the September moon. It was a quiet, peaceful place, albeit solitary. He couldn’t deny what his heart wanted; to run with a pack, hunt in cooperation, raise his voice in tune with the rest. He wanted a family to call his own, to defend with his life, to lend his abilities to. Synder Flare had drunk his fill of the constellations and found that he could not bring herself to retreat back down that lonely path that snuck through the meadow. He would press on to the out-lands of Dahlia De Mai and seek acceptance.
The scent of wolves, wild and earthy, was on the air. Males, females and pups galore. His hide shivered in anticipation. Paws were on autopilot, guiding him restlessly across the grass. He was silent, picking his way with great care beneath the glare of the bloated white moon. He could see it then, in the distance, on this gloriously luminous evening. A tree line where the pungent odor of obedience and control permeated every inch of the soil and bark. He had the overwhelming urge to add his calling card to the nearest thicket of bramble, but restrained himself. It would be tantamount to mocking the alpha if he added his scent without permission. This was not yet his home, may never be. The loam he trod upon grew softer, more pliable, with dead leaf litter cloaking the ground. Synder sent a golden eyed glance over his shoulder and down either edge of the tree line, seeking signs of danger. Ears turned and twisted, straining for the ragged, haunting pants of lurking aggressors. All was well. So he raised his crown in a eerie, sad song. Come, please come, he thought.