Marmalade
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Joined: Apr 2007
Gender: Female 
Posts: 1
Karma: 0 |  | Desiree [ not finished ]
« Thread Started on Apr 26, 2007, 6:53pm » | |
Name
Desiree
Age
Three
Gender
Mare
Colour
Desiree's coat holds the gleam of a deep red, chestnut, as some would call it. She
Breed:
Height
fifteen.two hands
Personality
She is a rather stuck up and confident femme. Desiree dosen't have any problem with voicing her thoughts and opinions, expecially when her opinion deals with something she is against. Desiree does not take many comments to mind, and a malice spurred insult will simply fly over her head. The mare enjoys showing off every once in a while, and she indeed put others down in the process, weather such an act is intentional or not.
Aside from displaying her looks and flaunting, she is a fierce fighter. She will not show weakness, though that is not to say that she holds none. She chooses not to 'air her dirty laundry' and keeps her issues to herself. On a rare occasion, though, Desiree displays a great deal of affection for whom she has birthed, and to whom she idolizes.
Alliance: Neutral
Sample Role-Play
(Two short-ish posts from another site. I normally will post from 3-4 paragraphs...)
Beneath the shelter of a timber, though it's limbs were stripped bare, the maiden lay her chassis to rest. Her attenuate legs were folded systematically beneath her, and a placid express cross her aristocratic face. The expansive land that stretched parched beyond where she lay seemed to enchant her, and the lull of the soft breeze puffed gently at her mane, soothing her wild soul. Imperturbable moments such as these were a rarity among Flicka, as the fire raging within her needed constant refueling, and constant performance. Shoving her nostrils into the soft loam, the dirt around her muzzle seeming velveteen against her flocculate pink skin. Not a soul seemed to be in her line of vision, and her dark oculus let lids drown them in ebony shadows for a moment, before lids were drawn back once more.
Idly, she scratched her nails against the absinthe earth, tattooing it with the 'u' shaped symbol of her hoof. Peering around the realm once more, thoughts of her king traipsed into mind, and the wondering of his whereabouts cascaded across her conscience. She snorted softly, pulling her embouchement off of the benumbed earth, though her body stayed compressed to the loam. She was alone, it seemed.
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The femme's mass was uneasily shifted between the four columns upon which her form was raised. Her pelt was cascaded with small shavings of the loam, declaring that she had used her time to rest her fatigue ridden form. Delicate harks perked forward in their eternal grave spots, searching for signs of life among the barren frondescence that graced the earth. The timbers' limbs lifted toward their amore, the sun, as if begging for the rays to set their chassis' aglow. The maiden chose to rest beneath the timber's shadows, her swollen midsection pressed lightly against the dust below. Her aristocratic dial titled toward the soil. A regal look set about her features.
Thoughts shrouded through her conscience, some provided the female with contentment, though others stabbed at her security. Though the majority held upon the topic of the life blooming inside of her. Would the small foal have the maturity to heir to the throne of the darks, if masculine? If the equine was a banshee, would she live to produce other sinister lives? Would they abandon their true blood and cross over their alliances? A grimace hardened her features as the small foal slashed at her insides with a powerful blow. Flicka was sure that the new foal would be strong, though such a premonition could have the tendency to be false. A snort escaped her flared nostrils. Such little was known about the life inside her. Would the birth go over smoothly, or would a dilemma weave it's way into her delivery? Would the foal meet, or even, exceed Constance's standards? She attempted to push away the negative thoughts, and rested her head against the soil softly.
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