10-03-2010, 12:51 AM
OOC
Character Name: Pixie Frost
Character Birthdate (including year): June 15, 2009
Whether s/he is a regular wolf or a Luperci: Luperci Ortus
Species: Eastern Timber Wolf
Gender: Female
A secondary form of contact (AIM, MSN, Y!M): wildlark@sbcglobal.net (MSN)
Currently played characters: None, this is my first
How you found 'Souls: Advertised on another RP site
IC
"Here we are, Magic," sighed Pixie Frost. "Keep your paws on this side of the border, or all hell will break loose."
The luscious valley stretched out before the wolf (who, at the moment, was in her werewolf form) and the horse, two travelers whose only companionship was each other. The arrival of autumn, coupled with chilly temperatures and a partly cloudy sky, appeared to have made little impact on the grassy meadows reaching out as far as the eye could see. It was the type of place where Pixie always imagined herself relaxing and living her life in peace without her parents and older siblings harassing her.
But alas, this valley, and several miles of territory beyond it, were already taken. Pixie and her horse knew this well; they had been roaming around the borders of this particular pack and the surrounding ones for about a month. Pixie had thought carefully about what little she saw of these packs from outside their borders, and she had finally come to the decision that this was the right one for her and Magic.
As her name suggested, Pixie was a smaller-than-average wolf, often finding herself having to look up when speaking to others in her optime form. But what she lacked in height, she made up for with muscle; underneath all that blue-gray fur was a bundle of strength and sinew that was especially evident while Pixie was in her halfling form. Not usually a heavy dresser, she wore only a tattered black cloak with the hood down, exposing her red-dyed spiky fur she had styled on the top of her head. Her purple eyes had a rare serious look to them as she surveyed the landscape that she had already looked over many times.
The horse beside her was muscular as well, with a tall height to match. He was a young stallion, only recently leaving behind the days of being a colt. At the moment, he was far from the glorious stallion told in tales as old as time; on his broad back he carried various bags and satchets carrying food and supplies, as well as an old, worn-out guitar. His face, covered in the chesnut fur a shade darker than the rest of his body, wore no halter or bridle, and his companion held him by no rope, having earned his trust long ago. His dark brown mane whipped in the breeze as he nervously pawed the ground, his nostrils flaring at the smell of unfamiliar predators.
Pixie, as always, was quick to notice her friend's anxiety.
"Relax, Maj," she assured him, lightening his load (literally and figuratively) as she untied the guitar from the worn rope holding it onto his back and plucked a few strings with her claws. "How about I play something for you while we wait? That always cheers you up."
The guitar was ancient and had obviously been meant for someone with actual hands, not paws with opposable thumbs, but Pixie's love for challenges and self-teaching, as well as her stubborness, had led her to be able to play the instrument fairly well for someone who had never seen, let alone read, sheet music in her life.
Character Name: Pixie Frost
Character Birthdate (including year): June 15, 2009
Whether s/he is a regular wolf or a Luperci: Luperci Ortus
Species: Eastern Timber Wolf
Gender: Female
A secondary form of contact (AIM, MSN, Y!M): wildlark@sbcglobal.net (MSN)
Currently played characters: None, this is my first
How you found 'Souls: Advertised on another RP site
IC
"Here we are, Magic," sighed Pixie Frost. "Keep your paws on this side of the border, or all hell will break loose."
The luscious valley stretched out before the wolf (who, at the moment, was in her werewolf form) and the horse, two travelers whose only companionship was each other. The arrival of autumn, coupled with chilly temperatures and a partly cloudy sky, appeared to have made little impact on the grassy meadows reaching out as far as the eye could see. It was the type of place where Pixie always imagined herself relaxing and living her life in peace without her parents and older siblings harassing her.
But alas, this valley, and several miles of territory beyond it, were already taken. Pixie and her horse knew this well; they had been roaming around the borders of this particular pack and the surrounding ones for about a month. Pixie had thought carefully about what little she saw of these packs from outside their borders, and she had finally come to the decision that this was the right one for her and Magic.
As her name suggested, Pixie was a smaller-than-average wolf, often finding herself having to look up when speaking to others in her optime form. But what she lacked in height, she made up for with muscle; underneath all that blue-gray fur was a bundle of strength and sinew that was especially evident while Pixie was in her halfling form. Not usually a heavy dresser, she wore only a tattered black cloak with the hood down, exposing her red-dyed spiky fur she had styled on the top of her head. Her purple eyes had a rare serious look to them as she surveyed the landscape that she had already looked over many times.
The horse beside her was muscular as well, with a tall height to match. He was a young stallion, only recently leaving behind the days of being a colt. At the moment, he was far from the glorious stallion told in tales as old as time; on his broad back he carried various bags and satchets carrying food and supplies, as well as an old, worn-out guitar. His face, covered in the chesnut fur a shade darker than the rest of his body, wore no halter or bridle, and his companion held him by no rope, having earned his trust long ago. His dark brown mane whipped in the breeze as he nervously pawed the ground, his nostrils flaring at the smell of unfamiliar predators.
Pixie, as always, was quick to notice her friend's anxiety.
"Relax, Maj," she assured him, lightening his load (literally and figuratively) as she untied the guitar from the worn rope holding it onto his back and plucked a few strings with her claws. "How about I play something for you while we wait? That always cheers you up."
The guitar was ancient and had obviously been meant for someone with actual hands, not paws with opposable thumbs, but Pixie's love for challenges and self-teaching, as well as her stubborness, had led her to be able to play the instrument fairly well for someone who had never seen, let alone read, sheet music in her life.