The Imperials « Thread Started on Nov 20, 2007, 5:45pm »
-If you wish to play an imperial, please post an exmaple post as them here. Make sure that I know who you're trying for and that that Imperial is still open.-
Large in build, and the color of the night, he appears to be of Hanoverian descent. It takes a great deal of annoyance to strike his temper into flaring up, but it is still possible. He chooses no side, and is like the peace keeper between the other Imperials.
Light grey in color, she is a a bit smaller than the rest, standing at approximately 14.2hh. She adores babies, and acts a bit like your eccentric grandmother, always squealing about how cute something-or-other is. Thus, why she prefers not to have the wars. She hates the site of blood, and some say she has absolutely no temper at all. She simply responds with 'Care to test that, deary?'
Known as the psychotic Imperial, this flaming-red chestnut Arab is a pyromaniac to the extreme. Fire, blood and gore make him oh-so-happy. In fact, he died because he was doing a dance at how pretty the fire was, forgetting that the gods had taken away his power to stop him from setting fire to every single thing in Dia Noche, and he therefore wasn't resilient to burns anymore. He claims he never even felt the pain, though everyone thinks he just wants to appear as 'all that' to the ladies.
Fey stands proud, knowing she's a pretty mare, all decked out in her shining black coat, with a few white accents to it, standing at around 15.2hh and flaunting her Andalusian cross blood. There are rumors spread that she took the bachelor stallion's lands over because she wanted to fawn over all the cute stallions. She denies it, but all the imperials know it's true. She hates Brine the most, out of everyone, ever since she found out he had a crush on her, claiming it, "Disgusting! He's SO old!"
The only mare who prefers battle, she is also known as the angel of death. Polar displays a snow-white coat, average build, and mustang frame. She isn't the prettiest mare, but she doesn't care. She's a warrior, and her eyes light up when she see equines fighting, just as they did in the face of danger while she was alive.
Possibly one of the most sane, though that could definitely be argued, due to the fact he sometimes appears to have ADHD(Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder), he is a 15.3hh quarter horse, dun in color. He visits the mortal realm more often than most, and enjoys going on joyrides on puffs of wind. Of course, there's more to him than there seems.
Seemingly cold and distant, this 16hh bay stud is actually quite nice to those he likes, though he prefers to be a bit more silent, and thus chooses more silent horses to bear his gift out of personal preference. No one is quite sure what breed he is descended from, and he doesn't bother to tell them. He is secretive, and schemes about ways to get another war in action. Despite being mysterious, everyone can tell he has a crush on Fey, though she doesn't return his affections.
Re: The Imperials « Reply #1 on Nov 22, 2007, 5:09pm »
APPLYING FOR STRIFE, GOD OF FIRE.
Fire. Fire. Fire. Fire.
He dreams of fire. Roaring blazes, flames licking hungrily at trees and vegetation. Life is destroyed, fresh colours of red and orange and furious yellow leaping and crackling up into the sky. Smoke - so much smoke, thick and billowing in spirals and puffs towards the stars - and screams all around him, but he does not care.
He is transfixed by the fire, eyes glossy and wide with an expression of glee upon his dished features. Coat sweaty with the heat, slick and wet with exertion and sheer happiness at what is going on, Strife does not stop to think about anything but what he is doing and what he has done.
There is the smell of burning, rotting flesh, something that makes him feel oddly at home and he inhales deeply, as if to bring the scent closer to him. The wind stirs up ashes and flames flicker and crackle towards him as he prances around, entranced in the heat of the moment. This is victory: this is glory.
The fire spreads, trees becoming charred. Dead, black skeletons that formerly represented life now litter the terrain and still, the Arabian prances, tossing his head with perspiration lining him. He is excited, content with the new dawn that approaches, whilst all around him, animals flee.
But he does not care, because fire is his mistress.
Cold air nipped at the horse as he stirred, eyes opening to see stormy grey skies and the remnants of stars as dawn brushed against the horizon, stretching its lazy fingers and banishing shadows to the nether world. Hard around met his muscles as he tensed slightly, confused as to why there was no fire.
A dream. Disappointment welled up inside of Strife and he lumbered to his feet in movements that were lined with grace, proceeding to toss his head and breathe in and out. He noticed that his coat was somewhat wet, probably from the vision he had just experienced (although it was a dream, he knew that, but he liked to call such things visions) and it dawned upon him he was imagining the sensation.
He was dead, after all.
Dead, dead, dead, because his mistress had killed him but he had his own back on her now. He controlled her, tamed her, gave her to the worthy: she was his and the power he had made him tremble. Nostrils flaring for a moment, the Imperial shifted slightly and moved into a slow walk, tossing his head again as the day met his dark eyes and he pondered over what to do.
He could stir up trouble between Brine and Fey: that always gave him a sense of enjoyment and amusement. The rejection that the God of Water suffered repeatedly made Strife sneer and sblack person; he was above such trivial emotions and the drama between the two other Imperials only gave the God of Fire a good old dose of entertainment. Things were boring when you were dead.
Pondering over this, the Arabian proceeded to lengthen his stride. He would first travel to somewhere interesting and if that place of apparent interest served as something that was not actually interesting, he would toy with Brine and Fey for a while.
If those two options did not serve him well, Strife concluded that he would have to go off and look for mortals to socialise with as a last resort. It was always a last resort, he mused, face darkening slightly at the thought. Always a last resort… why had nothing interesting happened lately?
Perhaps he needed to be the one to make something of interest happen.
Mulling over the possibilities, the God of Fire’s speed increased slightly as he entered a reasonable form of movement and headed towards Fate’s Lands to see what mares needed a home and to wind them up about the fact that they were all alone.
Sometimes he did quite enjoy being dead.
ooc, argh, this post is a bit iffy but i did try to get into strife's mindset. hope it's alright.
Joined: Nov 2007 Gender: Female Posts: 1 Location: In My Chair Karma: 0
Re: The Imperials « Reply #3 on Nov 23, 2007, 12:13pm »
TRYING FOR FEY, GODDESS OF TELEPATHY
{ of all things black and blue you're heart will feel the worst bruised }
Of all things tempting to do on a dreary day like this, was to flirt and reject. A game in which one fae in particular is famous for. She would tease him, get onto that edge, then crush him. Mixing with a stag's emotion's was all too easy for the Telepathy Imperial, Fey. Why was it so easy? Most would struggle, specially the un-talented and under practiced. Well, only because she knew how and had the looks to make the guy's go wild. Yes, Fey was a teaser, a player and tricker of the mind. Mind games is all too easy, specially if your bored.
The day's sky had been swallowed up as the late afternoon rain clouds began to hover above. The air was cold and bitter but yet braising. The sun had gone, but the light was still there. A strange day in one's eyes. Dancing accross the sod in a two-beat rythm was Fey. Boredom now fed her curiosity. She weaved in and out between the tree's, her skull tucked beautifully in, pretending to be that almost perfect Arab. Fey's ebony locks danced upon her nape, her almost curly whipchord flicking and bouncing along as she stepped also.
{ devil-like and charming love is just a game for her }
All was quiet and calm in this large forestry. The bird's whistled a song, a song of danger that was trotting upon the soft evergreen sod. The wind rustled the leaves above the ebony fae, making a beautiful and soothing noise. But, Fey wasn't here to relax!? The lands were tempting her to relax, to calm down and not play wicked games with a stag's heart. Signals which failed to tempt Fey not even a little bit.
"Nature.. is all around me. Ha. I won't be tricked by you."
She said quietly to herself, a smirk appearing pon her velvets. Fey's orbs glanced around the forestry surrounding her. The fae then threw her skull back, her maw pointing towards the heaven's. Her lips parted wide and a shrill cry echoed throughout the land. The bird's instantly fled their safe high perches, the sound of their wings clapping soon followed suite. Fey then threw her skull back down, her pace instantly picking up as she almost jump-started into a high gallop. A call to male's was let rip, any brute willing enough to come forward. Bound to bring somebody.
{ worshiped and adored yet true love would never pass her way }
Her banner flew widley behind her, as to did her whipchord. Fey's muscles rippled as every inch of energy was sent down to her legs. The ground was determined to hold itself together, but her dagger's were no match for it. The soft sod was destroyed, mud and clumps of grass was sent flying everywhere - but Fey didn't care. Except from making a fool out of the stag's who were foolish enough to believe her, Fey loved to gallop as fast as she could to get the good ol' adrenaline pumping. Then, suddenly, a loud whinny came from infront of her. A low one, a stag. Perfect. Fey whinned back, high pitched and prissy sounding.
Unfortunatly for her, that meant her little speeding spree had to end. But, it was all for the good. Fey slowed down, and the figure of a thin and young stag began to form infront. Fey smirked, another game. She slowed her pace down to a graceful trot, arching her nape and pulling her broad shoulders back slightly. Games are all too easy to play in Fey's case. And any way of making them harder, more challenging or even more heart breakingly good would be all the more reason to play. Even when love is involved. A game of fighting, sure. A game of hiding, bring it on. A game of happy-families... ... please don't make her sick.
{ the meaning of life means nothing no more }
ooc; phew! I enjoyed that xD I hadn't done propper full-length roleplaying like that in aaages. ^^ Sorry I didn't add much to do with her powers.. I tried getting as much of her personality in though.
« Last Edit: Nov 23, 2007, 12:15pm by Freaken..?! »
Re: The Imperials « Reply #4 on Nov 23, 2007, 4:31pm »
You didn't have to add powers in if you didn't want to. It's just sort of whatever you want to, following their personality and such. Beautiful, by the way. You've got her.
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