Post by Raowolf on Aug 27, 2010 16:35:55 GMT -5
Name: Clanth
Species: Striated caracara
Gender: Male
Age: 5 years{species lives for 20 years}
Personality: Clanth's breed is not a Hunting Bird, unless you count the odd unfortunate Penguin Chick, although the breed is very capable of it. He in particular prefers hunting, and he often feels ashamed about having to Scavenge dead livestock. He is generally quite friendly to all he meets and enjoys the Company of others, although he is very proud, and finds insults even where they are not meant, primarily due to years of persecution. Like most of his breed he is bold and daring, and finds competition like a Bloodhound finds the Scent! He longs to go and looks for his Mate(see history) elsewhere, but something holds him back and keeps him in Diamond Ridge. A silly hunch, or a true calling of Destiny?
Appearance: Clanth looks as his personality in terms that he is a proud bird, standing roughly 70cm tall, with a Wingspan of about a Metre and a Half! Plumage is almost black in colour, while his legs and lores are orange and the neck flecked with dark grey. Luminous yellow feet with enormous, sharp black talons and a deadly curved beak, also yellow, with a black pattern on its top. Eyes are black and the Feathers around them are sparce, revealing grey-pink skin. He is missing a few feathers from his tail.
History: Like all others of his species, Clanth was born in the Falkland Islands, on the edge of a Cliff, with Penguin Chicks a plenty for him to devour. He was happy there, and did not feel the need for adventure, being contented where he was, and looking forward to a future with a mate(whom he had already chosen). But his hopes were dashed when a Conservation plan, aiming to extend the Breeding Ranges of the 'Near Threatened' breed, took away his Mate-to-be and several others of the Colony, to repopulate them in the Americas. He gathered himself and tried to follow, flying for hundreds of miles beyond the natural limits of his Species, over seas and round mountains, through fire and water, steam and ice. For 3 years he travelled constantly, seeing many great things; volcanoes erupting, and whole species being born. but he never stopped. Never slowed. Always on, always, always onwards, and calling out his True Love's Name.
He never found her.
At the age if 5, with a quarter of his life gone(about 20 for a human), he was forced to pause in his frantic searchings or else perish of sheer tire. He meant only to stay for a short while, but overdid it a little, instead remaining in Diamond Ridge. Why, he knows not. But he does know that he surely must, and something calls to him, keeping him in DRC, telling him she will find him, if only he can wait.
Picture: www.oceanlight.com/lr/tran/24125.jpg
RP Sample:
Whitefire raised her long nose to the wind and took a deep breath, scenting the chill air. A harsh wind cut through her and the greyhound winced, wrapping her tail around her in some vain attempt at keeping herself warm. But the tail was thin and scraggly, as her breed was made to be, so it did little good. Her eyes closed a little against the white light that surrounded her thin figure, half hidden in swirling snow.
With a shiver she turned back to her companion, eyes glittering like ice. She had been facing into the wind, but had been able to see nothing; this was hopeless. No-one could operate in this weather, surely... But that Sabora would do anything, anytime... It seemed that she had no limits. Now that she was facing out of the icy wind, Whitefire could see a little clearer. The long-legged runner towered over Kane, her companion, as he looked toothily up at her and she sighed, raising her voice above the noise of the ever-raging storm as it swirled and stabbed around them, she called: "It's no good. We can't track them out here." Then her voice dropped; this part was not to be intercepted. "You head back. I will stay a little longer."
Then she stood once more, turned into the filthy whiteness of the earth - the sky - it was impossible to tell - and, scarce resisting a worried shiver, headed out again into the blank cold once more. It would be over soon. Then, perhaps, she could return to warm camp...
or...
Grinning, Aaron sat just inside the treeline, concentrating on the thoughts of this... What was his name? Searching, he found it to be called 'Rumbo'. His eyes sparkled dangerously yet playfully as he looked into his plans of the afternoon. Very dull. Maybe they should... Spice things up a little... His back against the tree, the mindreader winked at his almost identical companion.
Arron winked back at his brother from the vantage point of his on one of the rock piles a little way off. From Aaron's expression, there was fun to be had with this one. Whitefire didn't mind them getting into(or more likely causing) a little trouble now and then. It couldn't hurt. Smiling, he tried to see the future of this otherwise quite dull day, and perhaps the outcome, but could see nothing relevant. He shrugged apologetically at Aaron, although there was no point. The latter could see straight into his thoughts anyway. Then he slid silently off the boulder, and carefully selected a small rock from one of the many scattered around him and slipped over to his brother.
With the stone securely in Arron's mouth, Aaron adjusted his brother's head so that it was facing the dog relaxing in the water. He was concentrating hard, but as soon as the target was in place, the Spaniel could not resist a little giggle as he bit his companion hard on the tail. With a little jerk, the holder spat the small grey stone out at high speed and it launched straight at the victim, bopping it on the nose with a painful sounding--THWACK! Both the two troublemakers erupted into silent giggles and fell to the floor, biting their paws in order to stop the laughter from coming to the other's attention.
Others came here to relax and get away from the harsh city life. But relaxing calmly was not something AA was either keen to do nor very good at.
not good enough for you...?
This was it. This was what he so loved to do. And he was doing it. The Runt let out a high, sharp screech of pleasure that tore open the Whooshing air as he free-fell through it. And just as he neared the rocky ground, out went the Long Feathered-wings again, and h was caught barely half-a-metre of it, exhilarated by the Rush of Adrenaline the Risk had given him.[/size]
Species: Striated caracara
Gender: Male
Age: 5 years{species lives for 20 years}
Personality: Clanth's breed is not a Hunting Bird, unless you count the odd unfortunate Penguin Chick, although the breed is very capable of it. He in particular prefers hunting, and he often feels ashamed about having to Scavenge dead livestock. He is generally quite friendly to all he meets and enjoys the Company of others, although he is very proud, and finds insults even where they are not meant, primarily due to years of persecution. Like most of his breed he is bold and daring, and finds competition like a Bloodhound finds the Scent! He longs to go and looks for his Mate(see history) elsewhere, but something holds him back and keeps him in Diamond Ridge. A silly hunch, or a true calling of Destiny?
Appearance: Clanth looks as his personality in terms that he is a proud bird, standing roughly 70cm tall, with a Wingspan of about a Metre and a Half! Plumage is almost black in colour, while his legs and lores are orange and the neck flecked with dark grey. Luminous yellow feet with enormous, sharp black talons and a deadly curved beak, also yellow, with a black pattern on its top. Eyes are black and the Feathers around them are sparce, revealing grey-pink skin. He is missing a few feathers from his tail.
History: Like all others of his species, Clanth was born in the Falkland Islands, on the edge of a Cliff, with Penguin Chicks a plenty for him to devour. He was happy there, and did not feel the need for adventure, being contented where he was, and looking forward to a future with a mate(whom he had already chosen). But his hopes were dashed when a Conservation plan, aiming to extend the Breeding Ranges of the 'Near Threatened' breed, took away his Mate-to-be and several others of the Colony, to repopulate them in the Americas. He gathered himself and tried to follow, flying for hundreds of miles beyond the natural limits of his Species, over seas and round mountains, through fire and water, steam and ice. For 3 years he travelled constantly, seeing many great things; volcanoes erupting, and whole species being born. but he never stopped. Never slowed. Always on, always, always onwards, and calling out his True Love's Name.
He never found her.
At the age if 5, with a quarter of his life gone(about 20 for a human), he was forced to pause in his frantic searchings or else perish of sheer tire. He meant only to stay for a short while, but overdid it a little, instead remaining in Diamond Ridge. Why, he knows not. But he does know that he surely must, and something calls to him, keeping him in DRC, telling him she will find him, if only he can wait.
Picture: www.oceanlight.com/lr/tran/24125.jpg
RP Sample:
With a shiver she turned back to her companion, eyes glittering like ice. She had been facing into the wind, but had been able to see nothing; this was hopeless. No-one could operate in this weather, surely... But that Sabora would do anything, anytime... It seemed that she had no limits. Now that she was facing out of the icy wind, Whitefire could see a little clearer. The long-legged runner towered over Kane, her companion, as he looked toothily up at her and she sighed, raising her voice above the noise of the ever-raging storm as it swirled and stabbed around them, she called: "It's no good. We can't track them out here." Then her voice dropped; this part was not to be intercepted. "You head back. I will stay a little longer."
Then she stood once more, turned into the filthy whiteness of the earth - the sky - it was impossible to tell - and, scarce resisting a worried shiver, headed out again into the blank cold once more. It would be over soon. Then, perhaps, she could return to warm camp...
or...
Arron winked back at his brother from the vantage point of his on one of the rock piles a little way off. From Aaron's expression, there was fun to be had with this one. Whitefire didn't mind them getting into(or more likely causing) a little trouble now and then. It couldn't hurt. Smiling, he tried to see the future of this otherwise quite dull day, and perhaps the outcome, but could see nothing relevant. He shrugged apologetically at Aaron, although there was no point. The latter could see straight into his thoughts anyway. Then he slid silently off the boulder, and carefully selected a small rock from one of the many scattered around him and slipped over to his brother.
With the stone securely in Arron's mouth, Aaron adjusted his brother's head so that it was facing the dog relaxing in the water. He was concentrating hard, but as soon as the target was in place, the Spaniel could not resist a little giggle as he bit his companion hard on the tail. With a little jerk, the holder spat the small grey stone out at high speed and it launched straight at the victim, bopping it on the nose with a painful sounding--THWACK! Both the two troublemakers erupted into silent giggles and fell to the floor, biting their paws in order to stop the laughter from coming to the other's attention.
Others came here to relax and get away from the harsh city life. But relaxing calmly was not something AA was either keen to do nor very good at.
not good enough for you...?
Aug 24, 2010 20:17:02 GMT -5 @clanth said:
If there was one thing Jalgan loved it was flying. Of course, being a bird, it was a common thing for him, but he still enjoyed it more than anything else. After all, what could go wrong when you were soaring miles above the Ground, unbothered by anyone, free as, well, a Bird! The Dark and Light Brown Harris Hawk swooped on, twisting his wings with the currents of air and soaring up, up, UP! He was so high it was freezing, and his eyes watered with the pressure, but he kept going until he could no longer bare it, before folding in his great wings and diving.This was it. This was what he so loved to do. And he was doing it. The Runt let out a high, sharp screech of pleasure that tore open the Whooshing air as he free-fell through it. And just as he neared the rocky ground, out went the Long Feathered-wings again, and h was caught barely half-a-metre of it, exhilarated by the Rush of Adrenaline the Risk had given him.
