Post by Loki on Jan 23, 2011 0:16:25 GMT -5
Loki
image
" There is nothing left of you
I can see it in your eyes
Sing the anthem of the angels
And say the last goodbye"
the basics,
»»character full name: Loki Eugine Calithorpe
»»age: 21
»»sexual orientation: Abstinent
»»alignment: Neutral
»»position: Teacher and Scholar.
»»gender: Male
»»power: Earth Element:
Displacement; Loki can make earthen constructs such as pillars and walls by placing his hands on the ground beneath him. The average size and thickness of the object varies on the emotions used in it's creation however the constraints of the power mean that as soon as his hands leave the ground the construct will crumble instantly and that he can only use this power within a distance of 5 meters from his body.
Stigma; Loki's body is slowly turning into stone, after using his powers his body detiorates a little further, often leaving him bed-bound for days on end. His body has now reached the point that seven minutes is the longest amount of time he can control his powers. His agility dissipates and the simplest movements become highly painful for him.
the appearance,
»»eyes: Grey
»»markings: Three puncture wounds on his rib cage with two on his neck and a small curved scar at the crown of his skull. The stigma that adorns his body covers all his extremities, his flesh a thick carbon substance as hard as diamonds and a dark black color like skin ridden with frostbite, thick scratches and cracks in them have been stained a deep ruby red from the coagulated blood. This stigma also appears across the upper parts of his back, across his shoulder blades and his nape.
»»height: 5ft10
»»weight: Varies with the Stigma.
»»general appearance: Loki has a somewhat gaunt appearance, his facial structure is long and generally his expressions are that of depression, deep frowns and empty eyes that don't appear to really notice anything. He could be described as something of a ghost, his movements are often short paced and aimless, his arms drifting behind him when running as they are heavily weighed down. He hasn't got much of a muscular physique either, his strength coming from the durability of his ligaments. His hair is a dark ebon hue, his fringe falling just short of his noses tip and the sides coming to a halt at the edge of his jawline. His body appears to be highly malnourished as his digestive system often rejects food, his skin tone shows this as he is abhorrently pale, with a slightly yellow tinge where his liver has begun to pack up for the disease that has ran his organs ragged.
Loki is incapable of wearing shoes or gloves as the stigma adorns his extremities but what he does wear is mostly simplistic. Usually some form of white shirt and jacket ensemble, with very baggy trousers as his body's condition might worsen or improve at any time. He also has a stammer, quite a bad one infact. There are some words he is completely unable to say and others that take him so long to get out that the reciprocant of his conversation has left before he manages to express what he means to say. Loki also refers to himself in the 3rd person, it often comes across as though he was talking about someone else completely.
the personality,
»»likes: Reading scriptures, Citrus fruits, The corners of a room, Dust
»»dislikes: Crowds, Physical contact, Ambitious people
»»strengths: Durability; the most useful thing about his generally frail body is that it can take a complete beating without him really noticing it. This makes him very efficient at fighting. Loner; not depending on people is a blessing in disguise. Because he expects nothing of anyone he is never let down by them, the lack of emotion towards others makes him act in a more calculated manner and subsequently his actions tend to have a higher success rate than those who emote.
»»weaknesses: Frail; His body is often incapable of strenuous actions, and the very hint of using his powers only serves to shorten his lifespan, therefore he is often seen as a weaker person when compared to others, even his personality is somewhat frail in that he is so deeply paranoid that he abstains from interaction with most people. Dying; simple enough really. He's doomed to die slowly and painfully as his own body gives up on itself....if that's not a weakness what is?
»»secrets: He believes that he can see his dead sister.
»»general personality: Loki is a loner in the strongest sense of the word, unforgiving towards himself and incapable of approaching others he goes about his days in a nonchalant manner that would make most people pity his very existence. In order to remain a part of society within the village he acts as a teacher to the younger children, after all he was one of the eldest when the adults vanished and subsequently was one of the higher educated people. He enjoys this position somewhat, imparting knowledge onto other even though he does so in a very tentative and solitary manner soothes him slightly, and the interaction isn't too strenuous on his fragile personality. Loki is terrified of failing anymore than he already has, the fear making it so that he tries very little to achieve anything for himself.
Loki is an obsessive person, his mannerisms are plentiful in obscenity and randomness. The most prolifent of his OCD's, three of which are worth mentioning as the others vary from day to day, is a counting syndrome, trees, books, marking on walls, anything that has a numerical value to it will often be recorded somewhere within his many notebooks that he keeps in his room.
Loki's second main OCD is a skinship problem, though he is the type to avoid all physical contact when possible there do arise situations where he becomes a very touchy person. When meeting Loki people tend to avoid him, his awkward way of speaking and his body language are all things that make you want to avoid him most of the time, though once some people get to know him, more through pity acceptably, and he in turn begins to trust them, the mere sight of flesh tends to make him reach out to it. This wouldn't usually be too much of a problem except Loki doesn't use his hands to gain skinship, as he can't feel anything in them there's no point. Instead Loki likes to rub his face against people, usually using something similar to the motion a cat makes when you stroke it's chin, with his cheek pressed up against you.
Thirdly, though probably the least worrying of his issues, is a sleep disorder in which Loki must always have a source of light near him in order to sleep. He's not afraid of the dark, it is simply that when surrounded by pure darkness he is unable to see the ghost of his dead sister, though such a thing isn't actually there he believes it so. This manifestation has been with him since the day he found her, unable to let go he instead created a wall within his mind to keep her alive to him. Often he has conversations with her, or arguements as it often tends to go, though most people dismiss it as him talking to himself.
the history,
»»mother: Alma Calithorpe, Deceased.
»»father: Simon Calithorpe, Deceased.
»»siblings: A younger sister, Agrias, Deceased.
»»others:
»»background: The light padding sound of a wolves paws as it strolls through the greenery of the mid spring forest. The scent of forest flowers blooming only a hairs breadth away. The feeling of raindrops hitting flesh, running down the goose-pimpled skin until it forms itself as a droplet again at the end of a frozen fingertip. All these are feeling that should have coursed through Loki's body, instead they were all replaced with one single sense. Fear. Born and raised inside the village along with everyone else, Loki had an admirable life to begin with. A normal life to some extent. Brought up with his sister two years his younger by loving parents. Then it all changed. Loki had turned 12 and undergone something of a test of manhood within his family, alone in a small clearing beside a lake he awakened powers within his body, he placed his forehead to the cold earth beneath him, willing the ground to tremble beneath him under the watchful eye of his father. Several other children had also undergone the same test, though the specifics were apparently always different, for Loki it was a step in his fathers footsteps. A few feet away from him appeared a small crevice in the ground, clods of dirt and rock rumbled within it until eventually a small triangular shape emerged, sharp and smooth edged like a spear head it erupted from the ground and raised a few yards before crumbling. Two days later the adults disappeared, what he remembers of it has been clouded by a child's imagination and the shocking scenes he witnessed over the next few years.
As one of the eldest left, Loki, among others, took charge and looked after several youngsters within the village. As years passed diplomacy within the village restored itself somewhat, though he had no hand in that. At the age of 17 Loki witnessed what happens when you stray too far from your predetermined path. With his younger sister he set off into the woods, arrogant and self righteous that he could find out what happened to the adults without the aid of his friends. As he strolled through a small flattened walkway within the trees undergrowth he was approached by a wild wolf. It's form was mutated hideously. Loki immediately took to battling the creature, unaware that his sister too thought to slay the beast. Loki strafed to his left, a small wooden spear in his hand jabbing outward to keep the creature at bay, though the jabs were shallow they were certain to pierce the beasts flesh if they connected. He believed that the motion was safe enough to warm up, using his powers was too draining and he couldn't afford to let his journey end due to fatigue. The wolf however seemed hell bent on stopping him and plunged itself straight onto the spearhead, snapping the shaft in two. As he felt himself flattened by the wolf the heavens opened, small droplets of water fell heavy upon the woods. He tried hard to breath, claws scraping at him from above as his own hands sought to throw the creature off from him. After what seemed like an eternity he felt it needed to use some power, his fingers dug into the soft, wet earth. First there was a small rumble, then a larger one, he managed to form a small hole with which he could roll out from under the assailant, it worked too, to some degree. A sudden piercing pain entered his shoulder, then his neck, eventually he found himself falling to the earth, two puncture wounds in his neck apparent as the blood seeped through them. The beasts serrated fangs laden in the crimson fluid. How he survived he was unsure, but survive he did, waking up a week later in his village. His sister however was missing.
Without waiting for his wounds to fully heal he set off to save her from whatever danger he presumed her to be in, leaving not a trace of himself at the village in doing so. He found her the next day, though he wished he hadn't. Her skin was as white as the first snow and as cold as the first sip of water from a stream upon a winters morn. He cradled her naked form, screaming as his rage racked over his body. Her body had been dismembered so badly that it took him hours to find all of it, a finger here, a leg there, everything was in tatters. Everything was a blur to him, time seemingly stood still as he traced over what might have happened. Repeatedly searing the images of her dying moments into his memory. Thousand of possibilities flew through him, all of them a little more grotesque than the last.
Upon returning to the village he immediately locked himself within the villages library, painstakingly searching for a way to return her to him. Days passed before he emerged. The exact method he used for the magic have since been forgotten by him, but it was an unholy art requiring many an animal sacrifice. Though he knew it to be forbidden he simply stopped caring, to him seeing his sisters smile was all he lived for. With each motion he heard her voice calling to him, over and over the cries for her brother to protect her. To save her. However, Loki was not a strong person, his limits had been surpassed by the magic he tried to use, and with it came a price. Before he could finish the ritual he felt a sharp pain within his side, as he looked down to check what it was he saw a pitchfork lying in his abdomen. The other children had caught him, had seen the contortions and the heard the wails as his body was riddled with pain from having his own life force stripped from him.
Again he had failed to save his sister. It left him a shell of a human being, desiring only to die as soon as possible. With every minute he absolved himself of guilt for the sins he had committed, focusing only on his sisters face in his memory, only on the light-less glint in her eyes as he buried her. Years had then passed, and death didn't come for Loki. Though he believed it might as well have. His lacking knowledge of the dark magic he used had backfired and left his form weakened, he was dying in the slowest way possible. Kept under a strict watch Loki lived, if his existence could be called living at all, he saw the other children grow around him. Constantly haunted by the fact that his own sister would too be there if not for his recklessness. Why he had been kept alive was beyond him but it wasn't something he really cared about either, living on with the thoughts and the pain inside him seemed to be his punishment for failing as a brother and he was only too willing to take the suffering if it meant that he might be forgiven when he died and had to face her again.
the player,
»»alias: Sam/Grgur
»»age: 19
»»contact: PM
»»rp sample:
Password: ~Admin Edit~
How did you find us?: Andee...
Read more: villageofbones.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=pendingapps&action=display&thread=5#ixzz1BoJUxNmV
image
" There is nothing left of you
I can see it in your eyes
Sing the anthem of the angels
And say the last goodbye"
the basics,
»»character full name: Loki Eugine Calithorpe
»»age: 21
»»sexual orientation: Abstinent
»»alignment: Neutral
»»position: Teacher and Scholar.
»»gender: Male
»»power: Earth Element:
Displacement; Loki can make earthen constructs such as pillars and walls by placing his hands on the ground beneath him. The average size and thickness of the object varies on the emotions used in it's creation however the constraints of the power mean that as soon as his hands leave the ground the construct will crumble instantly and that he can only use this power within a distance of 5 meters from his body.
Stigma; Loki's body is slowly turning into stone, after using his powers his body detiorates a little further, often leaving him bed-bound for days on end. His body has now reached the point that seven minutes is the longest amount of time he can control his powers. His agility dissipates and the simplest movements become highly painful for him.
the appearance,
»»eyes: Grey
»»markings: Three puncture wounds on his rib cage with two on his neck and a small curved scar at the crown of his skull. The stigma that adorns his body covers all his extremities, his flesh a thick carbon substance as hard as diamonds and a dark black color like skin ridden with frostbite, thick scratches and cracks in them have been stained a deep ruby red from the coagulated blood. This stigma also appears across the upper parts of his back, across his shoulder blades and his nape.
»»height: 5ft10
»»weight: Varies with the Stigma.
»»general appearance: Loki has a somewhat gaunt appearance, his facial structure is long and generally his expressions are that of depression, deep frowns and empty eyes that don't appear to really notice anything. He could be described as something of a ghost, his movements are often short paced and aimless, his arms drifting behind him when running as they are heavily weighed down. He hasn't got much of a muscular physique either, his strength coming from the durability of his ligaments. His hair is a dark ebon hue, his fringe falling just short of his noses tip and the sides coming to a halt at the edge of his jawline. His body appears to be highly malnourished as his digestive system often rejects food, his skin tone shows this as he is abhorrently pale, with a slightly yellow tinge where his liver has begun to pack up for the disease that has ran his organs ragged.
Loki is incapable of wearing shoes or gloves as the stigma adorns his extremities but what he does wear is mostly simplistic. Usually some form of white shirt and jacket ensemble, with very baggy trousers as his body's condition might worsen or improve at any time. He also has a stammer, quite a bad one infact. There are some words he is completely unable to say and others that take him so long to get out that the reciprocant of his conversation has left before he manages to express what he means to say. Loki also refers to himself in the 3rd person, it often comes across as though he was talking about someone else completely.
the personality,
»»likes: Reading scriptures, Citrus fruits, The corners of a room, Dust
»»dislikes: Crowds, Physical contact, Ambitious people
»»strengths: Durability; the most useful thing about his generally frail body is that it can take a complete beating without him really noticing it. This makes him very efficient at fighting. Loner; not depending on people is a blessing in disguise. Because he expects nothing of anyone he is never let down by them, the lack of emotion towards others makes him act in a more calculated manner and subsequently his actions tend to have a higher success rate than those who emote.
»»weaknesses: Frail; His body is often incapable of strenuous actions, and the very hint of using his powers only serves to shorten his lifespan, therefore he is often seen as a weaker person when compared to others, even his personality is somewhat frail in that he is so deeply paranoid that he abstains from interaction with most people. Dying; simple enough really. He's doomed to die slowly and painfully as his own body gives up on itself....if that's not a weakness what is?
»»secrets: He believes that he can see his dead sister.
»»general personality: Loki is a loner in the strongest sense of the word, unforgiving towards himself and incapable of approaching others he goes about his days in a nonchalant manner that would make most people pity his very existence. In order to remain a part of society within the village he acts as a teacher to the younger children, after all he was one of the eldest when the adults vanished and subsequently was one of the higher educated people. He enjoys this position somewhat, imparting knowledge onto other even though he does so in a very tentative and solitary manner soothes him slightly, and the interaction isn't too strenuous on his fragile personality. Loki is terrified of failing anymore than he already has, the fear making it so that he tries very little to achieve anything for himself.
Loki is an obsessive person, his mannerisms are plentiful in obscenity and randomness. The most prolifent of his OCD's, three of which are worth mentioning as the others vary from day to day, is a counting syndrome, trees, books, marking on walls, anything that has a numerical value to it will often be recorded somewhere within his many notebooks that he keeps in his room.
Loki's second main OCD is a skinship problem, though he is the type to avoid all physical contact when possible there do arise situations where he becomes a very touchy person. When meeting Loki people tend to avoid him, his awkward way of speaking and his body language are all things that make you want to avoid him most of the time, though once some people get to know him, more through pity acceptably, and he in turn begins to trust them, the mere sight of flesh tends to make him reach out to it. This wouldn't usually be too much of a problem except Loki doesn't use his hands to gain skinship, as he can't feel anything in them there's no point. Instead Loki likes to rub his face against people, usually using something similar to the motion a cat makes when you stroke it's chin, with his cheek pressed up against you.
Thirdly, though probably the least worrying of his issues, is a sleep disorder in which Loki must always have a source of light near him in order to sleep. He's not afraid of the dark, it is simply that when surrounded by pure darkness he is unable to see the ghost of his dead sister, though such a thing isn't actually there he believes it so. This manifestation has been with him since the day he found her, unable to let go he instead created a wall within his mind to keep her alive to him. Often he has conversations with her, or arguements as it often tends to go, though most people dismiss it as him talking to himself.
the history,
»»mother: Alma Calithorpe, Deceased.
»»father: Simon Calithorpe, Deceased.
»»siblings: A younger sister, Agrias, Deceased.
»»others:
»»background: The light padding sound of a wolves paws as it strolls through the greenery of the mid spring forest. The scent of forest flowers blooming only a hairs breadth away. The feeling of raindrops hitting flesh, running down the goose-pimpled skin until it forms itself as a droplet again at the end of a frozen fingertip. All these are feeling that should have coursed through Loki's body, instead they were all replaced with one single sense. Fear. Born and raised inside the village along with everyone else, Loki had an admirable life to begin with. A normal life to some extent. Brought up with his sister two years his younger by loving parents. Then it all changed. Loki had turned 12 and undergone something of a test of manhood within his family, alone in a small clearing beside a lake he awakened powers within his body, he placed his forehead to the cold earth beneath him, willing the ground to tremble beneath him under the watchful eye of his father. Several other children had also undergone the same test, though the specifics were apparently always different, for Loki it was a step in his fathers footsteps. A few feet away from him appeared a small crevice in the ground, clods of dirt and rock rumbled within it until eventually a small triangular shape emerged, sharp and smooth edged like a spear head it erupted from the ground and raised a few yards before crumbling. Two days later the adults disappeared, what he remembers of it has been clouded by a child's imagination and the shocking scenes he witnessed over the next few years.
As one of the eldest left, Loki, among others, took charge and looked after several youngsters within the village. As years passed diplomacy within the village restored itself somewhat, though he had no hand in that. At the age of 17 Loki witnessed what happens when you stray too far from your predetermined path. With his younger sister he set off into the woods, arrogant and self righteous that he could find out what happened to the adults without the aid of his friends. As he strolled through a small flattened walkway within the trees undergrowth he was approached by a wild wolf. It's form was mutated hideously. Loki immediately took to battling the creature, unaware that his sister too thought to slay the beast. Loki strafed to his left, a small wooden spear in his hand jabbing outward to keep the creature at bay, though the jabs were shallow they were certain to pierce the beasts flesh if they connected. He believed that the motion was safe enough to warm up, using his powers was too draining and he couldn't afford to let his journey end due to fatigue. The wolf however seemed hell bent on stopping him and plunged itself straight onto the spearhead, snapping the shaft in two. As he felt himself flattened by the wolf the heavens opened, small droplets of water fell heavy upon the woods. He tried hard to breath, claws scraping at him from above as his own hands sought to throw the creature off from him. After what seemed like an eternity he felt it needed to use some power, his fingers dug into the soft, wet earth. First there was a small rumble, then a larger one, he managed to form a small hole with which he could roll out from under the assailant, it worked too, to some degree. A sudden piercing pain entered his shoulder, then his neck, eventually he found himself falling to the earth, two puncture wounds in his neck apparent as the blood seeped through them. The beasts serrated fangs laden in the crimson fluid. How he survived he was unsure, but survive he did, waking up a week later in his village. His sister however was missing.
Without waiting for his wounds to fully heal he set off to save her from whatever danger he presumed her to be in, leaving not a trace of himself at the village in doing so. He found her the next day, though he wished he hadn't. Her skin was as white as the first snow and as cold as the first sip of water from a stream upon a winters morn. He cradled her naked form, screaming as his rage racked over his body. Her body had been dismembered so badly that it took him hours to find all of it, a finger here, a leg there, everything was in tatters. Everything was a blur to him, time seemingly stood still as he traced over what might have happened. Repeatedly searing the images of her dying moments into his memory. Thousand of possibilities flew through him, all of them a little more grotesque than the last.
Upon returning to the village he immediately locked himself within the villages library, painstakingly searching for a way to return her to him. Days passed before he emerged. The exact method he used for the magic have since been forgotten by him, but it was an unholy art requiring many an animal sacrifice. Though he knew it to be forbidden he simply stopped caring, to him seeing his sisters smile was all he lived for. With each motion he heard her voice calling to him, over and over the cries for her brother to protect her. To save her. However, Loki was not a strong person, his limits had been surpassed by the magic he tried to use, and with it came a price. Before he could finish the ritual he felt a sharp pain within his side, as he looked down to check what it was he saw a pitchfork lying in his abdomen. The other children had caught him, had seen the contortions and the heard the wails as his body was riddled with pain from having his own life force stripped from him.
Again he had failed to save his sister. It left him a shell of a human being, desiring only to die as soon as possible. With every minute he absolved himself of guilt for the sins he had committed, focusing only on his sisters face in his memory, only on the light-less glint in her eyes as he buried her. Years had then passed, and death didn't come for Loki. Though he believed it might as well have. His lacking knowledge of the dark magic he used had backfired and left his form weakened, he was dying in the slowest way possible. Kept under a strict watch Loki lived, if his existence could be called living at all, he saw the other children grow around him. Constantly haunted by the fact that his own sister would too be there if not for his recklessness. Why he had been kept alive was beyond him but it wasn't something he really cared about either, living on with the thoughts and the pain inside him seemed to be his punishment for failing as a brother and he was only too willing to take the suffering if it meant that he might be forgiven when he died and had to face her again.
the player,
»»alias: Sam/Grgur
»»age: 19
»»contact: PM
»»rp sample:
The midday sun loomed silently over the coliseums battleground, it's heat boiling the blood of those under it, sending them into a blood-lust like state that would not be satiated until it witnessed pure destruction. The scent of the sweat and dust from the field of combat could be smelt at the top of the stands, the groans of pain and exasperation as their energy failed them under the blazing sun daunted by the jeers and shouting of the audience. Creekrunner, in his human form, stood over the misshapen heap that he had only ten minutes before been laughing with in the training room, his fingers wrapped around a large rock that was now laden in scrapings of flesh and smeared with the other competitors blood. Their friendship had been short, the battle had ended at an even faster pace. And now, for all that it was worth, Creek had won.
He placed his foot onto the Weres abdomen, pushing his heel into the ribcage of the man beneath him to force out a groan, proof that he was at least still alive. Creekrunners small stature was not the most intimidating thing to witness, though in battle he presented an aura of sorts that made him much scarier. His head hung low to his shoulders, protecting the neck from surprise attacks, his body was lithe and agile and he didn't need to rely on strength to win, and this was what made him a fan favorite in the coliseum. His jacket had been torn and discarded during the early moments of the fight and now Creek's torso was bare, grains of sand clinging to his chest and moving with the contortions of his body as he tried to gather air into him and regenerate his strength. He spat to the side of him, the globule of saliva landing on the barren ground and forming a pool by his victims arm. His nostrils flared as he held in the screams of rage at both his enemy and the humans who cheered at such things. Their applause sickened him, the sound of their fleshy paws coming together merely served to make his desire to kill in that arena all the more potent.
He leaned down, his jeans hemming had been torn and was a trip hazard so he desired to tear the bottoms off and convert them into a long pair of shorts. Yet as he did so he heard a small gasp from below, the man had regained consciousness, though his eyes were shut. He had black hair, thick and as long as his chin though it was now stuck to his forehead by the swear and blood. Across the bridge of his nose was a deep gash, Creek had caught him nicely with his claws and subsequently half blinded him in doing so. He was in terrible shape, his body almost lifeless as he passed out and regained his senses repeatedly over the course of the few minutes they stood there. "Stay still you idiot!" Creek shouted in what was the quietest tone his anger would allow, knowing that his owner had a tendency to order him to kill if the enemy wouldn't submit.
A few moments passed until they moved again, Creek merely stood and listened as his own kin lay beneath his foot, his eyes unblinking as he contemplated what he could of the slurred speech. His enemy had taken a blow to the throat from the jagged edged stone that dealt the final blow and blood was now seeping into his wind pipe from the damage, whether he died there or lost his ability to speak due to the surgery needed wouldn't matter, these would be his last words either way. After he finished speaking Creek shot a glance over to his owner, the frail mans smirk compelling him to finish the job. He lifted the rock above his head with his right hand, lining it up to fall square upon the face of his opponent, the crowd became entranced, almost silent as he swung with full force, putting every last inch of power he had into his wrist to make sure that his very brain matter would be broken up from the impact.
After the crowd calmed Creek was led back to the preparation rooms for the fight, his body was hosed down by the guards to remove the blood and dirt. As the icy water flowed over his aching muscles he thought to himself long and hard about why they bothered living, about his promise to his adoptive father and the betrayal of his own pack. A towel was hung over his shoulders as he strode through the hallway to the changing room, his naked form irradiated by the sunlight that reflected off the water droplets that adorned his skin.
He placed his foot onto the Weres abdomen, pushing his heel into the ribcage of the man beneath him to force out a groan, proof that he was at least still alive. Creekrunners small stature was not the most intimidating thing to witness, though in battle he presented an aura of sorts that made him much scarier. His head hung low to his shoulders, protecting the neck from surprise attacks, his body was lithe and agile and he didn't need to rely on strength to win, and this was what made him a fan favorite in the coliseum. His jacket had been torn and discarded during the early moments of the fight and now Creek's torso was bare, grains of sand clinging to his chest and moving with the contortions of his body as he tried to gather air into him and regenerate his strength. He spat to the side of him, the globule of saliva landing on the barren ground and forming a pool by his victims arm. His nostrils flared as he held in the screams of rage at both his enemy and the humans who cheered at such things. Their applause sickened him, the sound of their fleshy paws coming together merely served to make his desire to kill in that arena all the more potent.
He leaned down, his jeans hemming had been torn and was a trip hazard so he desired to tear the bottoms off and convert them into a long pair of shorts. Yet as he did so he heard a small gasp from below, the man had regained consciousness, though his eyes were shut. He had black hair, thick and as long as his chin though it was now stuck to his forehead by the swear and blood. Across the bridge of his nose was a deep gash, Creek had caught him nicely with his claws and subsequently half blinded him in doing so. He was in terrible shape, his body almost lifeless as he passed out and regained his senses repeatedly over the course of the few minutes they stood there. "Stay still you idiot!" Creek shouted in what was the quietest tone his anger would allow, knowing that his owner had a tendency to order him to kill if the enemy wouldn't submit.
A few moments passed until they moved again, Creek merely stood and listened as his own kin lay beneath his foot, his eyes unblinking as he contemplated what he could of the slurred speech. His enemy had taken a blow to the throat from the jagged edged stone that dealt the final blow and blood was now seeping into his wind pipe from the damage, whether he died there or lost his ability to speak due to the surgery needed wouldn't matter, these would be his last words either way. After he finished speaking Creek shot a glance over to his owner, the frail mans smirk compelling him to finish the job. He lifted the rock above his head with his right hand, lining it up to fall square upon the face of his opponent, the crowd became entranced, almost silent as he swung with full force, putting every last inch of power he had into his wrist to make sure that his very brain matter would be broken up from the impact.
After the crowd calmed Creek was led back to the preparation rooms for the fight, his body was hosed down by the guards to remove the blood and dirt. As the icy water flowed over his aching muscles he thought to himself long and hard about why they bothered living, about his promise to his adoptive father and the betrayal of his own pack. A towel was hung over his shoulders as he strode through the hallway to the changing room, his naked form irradiated by the sunlight that reflected off the water droplets that adorned his skin.
Password: ~Admin Edit~
How did you find us?: Andee...
Read more: villageofbones.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=pendingapps&action=display&thread=5#ixzz1BoJUxNmV
