Registration Date: 07-19-2013
Last Visit: 07-19-2013 11:22 PM
Total Posts 2
Played By: Formie

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225

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Age 7	Gender Male
Species Changeling	Sexuality Mostly anything.
Mate	Pack
Rank	Alignment Balanced.

Relations:

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Other Info:

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Reference

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We're painted red to fit right in

Violent, electric, brilliant: the abyssal depths of his endless cerulean eyes, where the world is seen, and the world is judged. Heavy black liner saturates the edges of his vibrant eyes, casting a dramatic shadow about his sanguine face, as though the expressions themselves would not do such already. Cascading like liquid fire from the heavens themselves, his fur glistens with the enigmatic iridescence of living flame, white-hot along head and back, though darkening into volcanic black by his chin, paws and tail-end. Warm to the touch, it seems, just to look at him, though he is not graced by the element in its true form and so is no more gifted with warmth than the next wolf.

A simple form adorned with no growths, no horns, no baubles nor trinkets to be put on display against his gilded fur; bland, some would say, to be so devoid of excess. To hoard nothing but who he is. Yet his fur speaks for itself. So perfectly silken the texture is almost perverse, his fur grows longer than average, with a great curtain of a tail draping along the earth behind him as he saunters through the world. The strands reach far longer towards the extremities, such as the chin, paws and tail.

Low, yes, low but proud. A sunken dignity, a quiet pride. He walks with a certain swing to his step, a casual sway that would denote a snobbish sort of countenance, though this 'swagger' is simply a manner of walking. He carries himself as much as he drags himself, a man of balance, the epitome of contrast in stance, in colour.

I feel it in my bones, enough to make my system blow
Reclusive. Impartial. Deadpan. Blunt. Scholarly. Avoidant. Fraud. Manipulative. Underhanded. Denial. Selfish. Covetous. Possessive. Disloyal. Survivalist. Caustic.

A saturnine male capable of projecting an unfriendly, even unapproachable aura towards those he seeks not to mingle with. This, naturally, is almost any and everyone. Though far from a directly malicious spirit, he often puts off as much of a solitary, standoffish air as he can to save him the theatrics of having to interact with others. As with all beasts of burden, he has valid reasons for his antisocial behaviour, though he has no interest in speaking about himself and so likely will never divulge exactly why he is who he is. Alternately, he does his best to keep out 'strays' from his life because of his willingness to manipulate- a trait he does not pride in himself, but will use, time and place.

Secretive for selfish and possibly immoral reasons, he covets what he knows, what others do not, more than any creature should. A possessive streak haunts him, one that he can scarcely control- the idea of having power over others without their awareness being a savoury delight. As a natural listener and watcher, he relishes the gleaning of prized information and hoarding it for later use. This is the con man who will sit obediently by your side until your time is up, at which point he will turn around and list every wrong move you have made. And toss you into the gutter with the rest of the lot, to boot. Mordryd's loyalty is forever his own, and dare anyone try to take it from him, he will uproot their lineage with hard-found truths (and plentiful lies).

Again, in spite of these foul traits, he does not find himself to be overtly black or white; he dwells alone in the grey area, and so blames his company for his swings to the extremes. Choices need not be made when he walks his own paths. Yet the moment another steps along with his stride, he drifts off course. Blameless, selfishly so, and this is what allows him to sleep at night with nary a regret; he is not the sinner, but everyone else is.

At the end of the night, when the words are spoken and the job is done, he vanishes into the nothingness as though it never occurred.

straight from inside

"My life story is the same as any other miserable fuck's life story. A simple life in the beginning, born to a pack of many colours, faces, beliefs, beings. Anything and everything, a place of balance. Very few feuds over the petty bullshit so many seem to get caught up in these days. Very few. The setting blurs, the individual memories collide into a mishmash of puke-tasting reminisce, but I remember enough to know it is not something I need to look back upon.

Raised in balance, yes. That's about damned well it. Sol and Luna turned their backs upon us long ago, yet still we worshiped them- still I worshiped them. Years go by, faces change, new faces arrive from distances we'd never fathomed. Spoke of a land of precious pale flowers that are blessed by the Gods. I wouldn't have believed it if the words hadn't come from the mouth of such a beauty. Pale as moonlight, brilliant as sunshine.

... All you need know is that the Gods have a cruel stage set for their pathetic little puppet show, and they had a round with my life in particular. This life is bent up some, now. A little damaged, like the rest of you. And it carries on, because there is nothing to look back upon. Forward, forward, forward.

Survive. And prosper. At any cost."