Personality: Calm, bright, and very alert. She is typically the leader of a group, but she's also very competitive and doesn't like to be out-done. She is cynical and very wary of others, not liking to get close to people. She's very blunt, saying the exact truth no matter how inappropriate the situation. She HATES liars and doesn't tolerate it at all. She's very confident and gets along with people well as long as they don't step on her toes. She does like to tease people that fall for her, but she's never had a real relationship.
Appearance:
Human: Long, wavy dark brown hair that reaches her waist and big brown eyes the color of hazelnuts. Her skin is pale and she's about 5'5" (without heels on) and curvy. She usually wears a red tank top, dark blue skinny jeans, a black leather jacket, black high heeled boots, and red and black fingerless gloves. Usually wear light pink lipstick.
Elf: Light blonde hair that's straight and goes down to her butt. Her eyes are a light blue-green. Paler than before, with a few freckles on her nose and cheeks. She's thinner and stands about 6'0". Usually wear long, flowy dresses in blues and purples.
Bobcat: Dark green eyes, heavily spotted. Usually in a leather collar.
History: Her parents were wealthy and high up on the social ladder, which Amethyst loved, as she was an only child and very spoiled. She enjoyed the parties and gatherings and she learned to sing, play piano, and to fence. But on her sixteenth birthday, her parents suddenly kicked her out without any warning of the sort. They simply told her they were tired of having a child and wanted to do things on their own. They promised to send her money as long as she left, and she did. She was very hurt when they did that, but she always pretends she isn't. They do send in money for her, but other than that they don't speak.
Theme song: Hollywood's Not America by Ferras
Up for love: Yes. Bi
Other: Skilled in hand-to-hand combat as well, because she took Judo. Speaks Spanish, French, Italian, and German.
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Personality: Angry most of the time. Hates and fears Rakals (“damned shifters”) and despises Palshans (“wishy washy cowards”). Thinks even most Dreanics are idiots. Plays the harmonica when he feels calmer. Likes his kitchen knife because it’s easy to use. Is good at wrestling or fighting with his hands, but bad with weapons; if he can’t get at his knife he’ll look for something heavy with which to hit you over the head. Can’t read or write much; is pretty smart in a streetwise way. Was modified so that any less-than-fatal skin abrasion would heal within seconds; however, he is vulnerable for those seconds. Also vulnerable to poisons, and hence very good with poisons and antidotes. For a Dreanic, he is very bad with other medicines. Doesn’t form close relationships with others; cares about and protects his parents and younger sister as extensions of himself.
Appearance: Large boned but fairly fit, with strong arms and back. Lots of bright red hair; wears a knit cap most of the time. Tall, with large hands and feet. Brown eyes, medium-fair skin. Tends to favour sensible, hardwearing clothing such as jeans, hiking boots, and ski jackets; a-shirts for warm weather. Has a crooked smile.
History: Hat was born to a poor middle-class couple who taught him his letters and numbers. From an early age, he worked in a restaurant and whatever else he could do, which meant not a lot of time under a roof or protected by anyone. Learned how to protect himself emotionally and physically. An insane Rakal tried to kill Hat’s mother when he was twelve; he picked up a kitchen knife and tried to stab the Rakal. He changed into his animal form (a snake) at the last second and escaped. Once made a friend with an old Dreanic who gave him a harmonica and taught him how to use it. She was taken away by Rakal police, and he never saw her again.
Up for love?: He’s pretty prickly, but sure. Eventually.
Theme song: Sound of Silence on the harmonica.
Other: Racial item in knapsack: bottle of vitriol.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a large fortune must be in want of a wife.
Pride and Prejudice, Chapter 1
enjoyinginsanity. I deeply apologise for this. If I have offended you by starting this before your consent was given, I will edit this post into nonexistence. I understand that there are four unclaimed spots. However, if necessary I will force my little brother to join, and I believe PixieStix and aqua1213, for instance, having waited three months, are entitled to begin if they wish.
I take full blame. I also have a storybook with specific starting rules open now. Take revenge as you see fit.
Hat John Rogers opened his eyes to complete darkness. He wondered briefly where he was; clearly one of the few places in Trasc where there weren’t any streetlamps. He ran over them in his mind as he sat up. Trees—not any back alley. No river sounds—not the waterfront. Cold and windy—nowhere near the smithy, the bakery, or the stables.
Shaking himself, he stood and looked around cautiously. It didn’t look like anything in Trasc. It looked more like a Palshan habitat (he would always think of them as a kind of lower animal); a silent pool of water with the moon shining on it and a long flight of stone steps leading into some kind of forest. Perfect. Just what he needed: to be kidnapped by a bunch of those cowardly beasts.
Hat felt for his knife—but it wasn’t there. He looked himself over quickly. He wore a green jacket and heavy jeans, although he didn’t remember putting them on. Black work gloves. Steel-toed boots. And yes, he had his toque pulled down low over his eyebrows. And...some kind of backpack? He pulled it off, noticed the large canteen in the side pocket, and unzipped the main compartment.
A piece of torn paper with part of a map and some writing came first, then two plastic bags with pieces of something he couldn’t identify. Some kind of heavy, folded fabric next—canvas, probably; a lot of it. There! At the bottom! A vial of clear liquid, and right next to it, his knife!
It was his knife. The same long, curved blade; the same nocks and scars; the same slight discoloration at the tip. He gripped it lovingly. The same light, comfortable balance. Chopping meat or killing a shifter; it was all the same to this knife...
Hat secured the knife in his belt and turned his attention to the clear bottle. He picked it up carefully, unscrewed the lid, held it away from him, and dripped a portion of a drop onto the stone. It ate it away like paper; it acted like vitriol. Vitriol and his knife! For the first time, the young man grinned in satisfaction.
He examined the backpack further. It had one more pocket; a little one on the front, which produced his harmonica, on the long leather cord. It made him feel a bit strange. Like the knife, it was undoubtedly his harmonica. There, that deep score where it had saved his life...apart from the ordinary, everyday way it saved his life, of course. They let me keep my harmonica...
The young man slung it around his neck with a grunt. With his knife securely in his belt, his toque on his head, and his harmonica on its cord, he felt complete. Safe. Protected. He could protect himself, and prove himself. Prove himself...
You are here to prove your people are worthy of this land.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a large fortune must be in want of a wife.
Pride and Prejudice, Chapter 1
As I woke, I sprang to my feet, reaching for the axe that's always by my side as I slumber. But my hand clasped air. I took a deep breath, to remind myself I'm alive and free from the plaguing nightmare, then start to take in the setting, my mind already buzzing. Heavily wooded, but I slight breeze still escaped through the branches. The sky overhead was gray churning; a bad storm on the horizon. A pack and my violin were leaned against a nearby tree. There was something around my neck. Pulling it away, I saw a small vile swaying back and forth on its chain of white gold. I uncorked it and recorked it in the same motion; the smell of poison escaping in the shortest of time. Of course, what was so very unique about this particular poison (I could never remember its name) is when mixed with water, the odor completely disappeared. A very tricky elixir; quite fatal. Then I remembered why I was there. To prove myself, but not myself as a person, but myself as a race. They chose the wrong Dreanic. I despised many members of my race and felt no loyalty towards it, still, for the few Dreanics I cared about, I'd give it my all. I opened my case to make sure my violin was still in shape. My axe, still in the homemade leather holster I'd made for it, fell out of the case's pocket. I put it on so my weapon would be easily accessible. A piece of paper was rolled up and stuck in my bridge. I pulled it out and unrolled it. I stared down at the babble for awhile, then stuck it back in my case. It meant nothing to me; I couldn't read, but it'd probably help get a fire going. My E string was out of tune but I didn't have time to worry about it. I had to get going. And so, picking a direction at random, I got moving.
When I was young, I admired clever people. Now that I am old, I admire kind people. -Abraham Joshua Heschel
I woke up with a start to find myself lying on the ground in the middle of a forest. It was cold and windy, nothing like my home in warm, sunny Nim. Squinting in the darkness, I felt a twinge of panic as I saw that I didn't have my sword strapped to my shoulder like usual. Instead, there were two canvas straps around my shoulders. What?
I shook off the straps and realised that it was a backpack. Feeling around, I felt most of my sword, still in its leather sheath, sticking out of the backpack. I took it out and placed it on my lap lovingly. My most prized possession. Unzipping the backpack further, I noticed more goodies inside. I pulled out a small blue bottle, a tin water bottle, rope, some form of map, one of my Elvin dresses and a rain coat. The person that packed this knew that I'm a Rakal; moreover, they knew that I was taller and thinner in my elf form.
I decided to wait until later to open the rest of the pockets, but I focused on the blue bottle. Screwing off the cap, I saw the distinct purple color of Miocin. Miocin was a powerful sleep agent that could know out a bear with two drops. It would probably be useful. I tucked it into my pants pocket and slung my backpack over my free shoulder. I sprinted off into the woods, looking for some form of shelter. I was going to prove my race worthy if it killed me.
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OOC: Should I make a DT? I've never made one before, but if there isn't one, I could try. (And if there is one, could someone please post a link because I'm having trouble finding it.)
When I was young, I admired clever people. Now that I am old, I admire kind people. -Abraham Joshua Heschel
I first became aware of my throbbing headache, and then, as I cracked my eyes open and my left eye quickly adjusted to ‘night vision,’ I stared up at the leaves above me. That ran through my head a few times. Leaves... above me...
I sat up suddenly with a few choice words and slowly took in my surroundings. Trees. A lot of trees. My hand floated toward my ocarina, and my throat constricted when it closed around nothing. I squeezed my eyes closed as I felt my pulse pound painfully, dangerously close to panic, and slowly opened them again. What the crap had happened? I tried to remember and couldn’t, not even flashes of memories.
Slowly I stood and turned in a tight circle, studying all of my surroundings. I frowned at the backpack sitting a few feet away and slowly approached it. In the main compartment was a net with two bags, each containing food of some sort, and a canteen. My mouth went dry when I found a set of five small knives which I had no idea how to use. In the smaller pouch was my ocarina which steadied my pulse, a piece of paper that could be a map, and a small vial. I opened it cautiously and sniffed it. I laughed. It was Condrial. Three drops of it, and you could go for leagues on any empty stomach and no sleep.
Prove yourself, your race.
I blinked at the uncharacteristic thought and shook my head. I wanted nothing to do with proving my race. I just needed to make sure I would be alive at the end of whatever madness this was.
I zipped everything up, putting the ocarina around my neck, and started off in a random direction that I figured could only be as good as the other three.
Clarity- Dreanic, Lower There's a rustling in the trees. I duck so low my fingers touch the ground and my heels don't. Probably just a bird. But do birds make their nests so low? I don't know. I'm not a Rakal. I don't like not knowing. Dangers come from not knowing. I didn't know where Ma and Pa were That Day. (They were killed That Day. The screams. In my nightmares, I can still hear the screams.) I drape my fingers over the axe's handle. The slightest flutter of leaves; I might've just imagined it. I snap my axe out and back so it's almost touching my shoulder. i just have to extend my arm now, and it'll all be out of my hands. A figure steps forward.
(OOC: Whoever wants to jump in here may. If no one does, I'll have to edit/delete it so please don't leave me hanging. Clarity won't kill your character; kneeling messes up her aiming, and she's not a Palshan so it would probably miss.)
When I was young, I admired clever people. Now that I am old, I admire kind people. -Abraham Joshua Heschel
It was dark in the trees, but Hat thought he saw just the slightest light up ahead. If it was the sunrise, that would make the direction South. He shrugged the backpack into a more comfortable position on his shoulders. It had been an hour, and almost four miles, and he hadn't met anyone yet. But how could he prove his race against trees, plants, and dirt? Although he had collected some interesting herbs to make up a sort of medicine kit. He was pretty sure about most of them, and absolutely certain about the antidotes, but the little reddish tri-cornered leaf was a bit puzzling...
There was a lot of underbrush coming up, thickly entwined. Hat drew his knife, unsure of what exactly to do. He'd been brought up in city streets. He knew the massive machine of Trasc better than any person alive, but he'd only had six summers practical experience in any kind of forest.
Still, his sharp eyes saw that they connected at a few key points. Two or three simple cuts would make a lot of noise, but it would practically clear the path. He paused and listened. Faint birdsong--an owl. A chirping insect of some kind. Breeze. Water, somewhere far, far distant, back in the direction he'd come. But no breathing, or voices, or footsteps. He took the chance and slashed down on the twigs.
He grinned at the practically clear path, about three feet high, but it cleared up entirely to head height in a few feet. He went down on his belly, squirmed through, stood up, and came face to face with a squatting, black haired figure. He just had time to duck; an axe spun past his ear. He drew his knife the instant he saw the bright metal, and then he leaped to his feet with a roar...
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a large fortune must be in want of a wife.
Pride and Prejudice, Chapter 1
I walked for what must have been forever, but in these dratted woods there seemed no end to the dark. I rested every few minutes after the first long stint. I haven't done much of this 'outdoors' thing before.
During one of my breaks, I retrieved the set of knives and studied each. The blade was an oval with a pointed top, and a straight hilt. The one a slowly withdrew from the leather case felt perfect as if it had been made exactly for my hand. I was going to test the edge when a gust of wind blew my way, bringing the sharp scent of citrus with it. I froze, sniffing again. Where was it coming from? I looked around slowly, closing my right eye as my left picked out the tiny details in the dark. I dropped my gaze to my hands and the weapon clutched in it. I brought it to my nose and inhaled. I burst into a fit of coughs as citrus assaulted my nostrils and almost dropped the forsaken thing out of repulsion.
The blade was covered in Lairdyn. It was a rare poison. There was no reason to use it now with different concoctions being made to kill faster and cleaner. Lairdyn hardly ever killed on the spot unless it was introduced to blood very close to the heart. Otherwise, it drifted along your bloodstream as your wound healed until it met the heart or brain, whichever came first. There were plenty of warning signs. Paleness, lethargy, vomiting. But the beauty, I suppose, of Lairdyn was that it always killed because there was no antidote.
I stared at the evil weapon and glanced at a tree, squinting my right eye. I felt my left change gears and threw the knife. It was short... by a lot, but on the correct path. It seemed my eye modification had another use.
It took many, many tries before my wrist would cooperate with my eye enough for the knife to hit the trunk of the tree, though it refused it bite into the bark. I scoffed in disgust and jogged toward the blade lying on the ground. I picked it up as my shadow fell across it and studied the discoloration on the ground before turning to look at the rising sun.
I had wasted too much time playing.
Putting my knives in my bag, I returned to the 'trail' which was apparently North if I remembered which was the sun rose correctly and soon came across a stream. I rested again, my weakness, undiscovered until this time, disgusting me, and it soon became apparent that nature called.
I jogged into the woods, away from the stream. I had that much sense at least. I had just dropped my pants, not at all worried about meeting someone out here in the wilderness. Just as I had my fingers around the waistband of my undies, I heard, "Another move, and I'll kill you here."
I had been wandering around aimlessly when I heard the sound of rushing water. Good, if I was going to survive then I definitely needed water. I ran towards the noise, running on the balls of my feet so as not to make noise. Just as I seemed to be getting close, I heard a rustle. I ducked instinctively and unsheathed my sword, slowly creeping forward. Almost directly in front of me was a boy about my age with his back turned. I watched as he dropped trow and reached to remove his underwear.
"Another move and I'll kill you here," I murmured, stopping him from pullin down his shorts.
Startled, the boy looked around for me, but I stayed low, hidden by the tall grass. I crept towards him until I was about five feet away and a little off to the left. I silently lunged at him, tackling him onto his back. He struggled, but I sat on his stomach and pinned both of his hands to the ground.
"Who are you and why shouldn't I kill you right now?" I hissed.
His eyes widened and he began to thrash much harder. "Let me go!"
"Who are you?"
He stopped struggling, but his eyes glared at me with contempt. "Noah Avril. I'm Dreanic."
"Finally we're getting somewhere," I sighed.
"Who are you?" he asked.
I hesitated. "Amethyst. Rakal."
He raised his eyebrows.
"What?" I asked indignantly.
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The boy leapt at me with a roar. I snapped my violin and bow out and played a quick trill, stopping the boy in his tracks. "Dreanic?" he asked through the confusing melody. "Duh," I responded, tucking the violin under my arm. "Same. You tried to kill me," he accused. "You leaped out at me!" I gave the Dreanic a once-over. He was wearing a stupid knit cap and was more than a foot taller than me, but then, who wasn't? We were both quiet then. I knew it would be safer if we traveled together, but I already didn't like him.
When I was young, I admired clever people. Now that I am old, I admire kind people. -Abraham Joshua Heschel
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