- Invitation Status
- Not accepting invites at this time
- Posting Speed
- One post per week
- Slow As Molasses
- Online Availability
- Online availability depends entirely on what is going on in life. I have a kindergartener, a baby on the way, and I'm the spouse to an officer, meaning without me, the house becomes a fallout warzone. On top of all of that, I write for work as well as for fun...so work tends to come first.
- Writing Levels
- Intermediate
- Adept
- Advanced
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Female
- Primarily Prefer Female
- Genres
- Fantasy and Sci-Fi are my two major favorites. However, I tend to be quite the picky player. I prefer an RP with a great deal of development...the world, the lore, everything. And for those GMs looking for help with lore, I love to world build!
Wulfric
Loup Garou
Ulfric
Corsair of the wood
discard your skin
your pallid, wormlike,
vulnerability.
Corsair of the wood
exchange your skin
for a pelt of dun
and brindle luxury.
Pirate of the flesh
throw back your head
and part your jowls
to sing a lunar song.
The forest paths are dark
and the night is long...
The darkness of the night fills the Bois en Courer as all within the Loup Garou pack begin their nightly rituals. Some are just beginning to rise and take their true shapes, and the howls of wolves are filling the night air as they do every night. Some are just beginning to go on home into their great trees and rest with their mates and pups. But the mellodies of the pack seem to be sad tonight as the glowing blue-amber eyes of their Ulfric look out into the shadows of the forest, his long hair falling in tangles across his bare shoulders. The wolf inside him whines in wanting to comfort his pack. He does not like the sounds of sorrow.
But Wulfric knows that the sadness of the night is needed, for the great loss of their three most precious Guardians has been known, as the spy report has let the old Alpha know that the vampires' actions have begun to shift. Restlessness sends a shiver through his body at the thought. The brutal murder of his beloved pack members is unforgiveable. And to think the only reason he knows about it is the damn bird he had to send over.
The girl he thinks about now touches his shoulder, her body, also bare, completely vulnerable to the wolf. But he does not wish to kill the messenger, and as his gaze meets hers, he knows it would never be her fault. Her white blue eyes fill with tears, and she lets out a small sigh, her long black hair falling to curtain her frail face. "I am going to leave and head back for my clan, my king. You know how to get a hold to me..."
But before she shifts, he reaches out and grabs her arm, eyes glowering briefly as thoughts begin to process through his mind and as the music of his wolves fill the night sky. "Tell your clan," he says, voice deep and husky from not being used in hours, "it is time to come once again to the Bois en Couer. I will make the call this time tomorrow night...and those who hear it are to come immediately." With that, he let the young woman go.
She nods with a sad smile before leaping into a run, her body beginning to take the glowing form he knows all too well. Within that second, her body shifts midstride into the fluttering wings of a small Mockingbird. The bird begins to sing with a chirping version of the wolf's howl, and Wulfric's face slowly takes the shape of a slight smile as he remembers just how useful her ability to mimic almost anything is. But where he can pick her out, he much prefers the songs of his own people.
Wulfric knows all too well that it is past the time to call those that are to assist him in this new war. With growing activity in both the small zone filled with Aristocrats and South America filled with humans, the Western Hemisphere is on the brink of war. It is only a matter of time, and he'd rather be ready and waiting than risk the lives of his creations by doing nothing. They are strong, but they are not invulnerable.
Just as this thought makes its way through his head, a beam of silver light from the rising Full Moon makes its way through the branches of the great tree to rest on him, making his slightly tanned skin glow with the light of the night. He feels the howl of his wolf struggle to his throat, and the amber eyes of the beast inside begin to glow through the human blue. He loves the feel of being on the brink of the shift. He loves the wild feeling, and confidence of being a beautiful loup garou. But more than that...he feels the need of his people.
Tomorrow will be a hard day...but tonight, he must moarn. And so, as he feels the presence of his mate, he thinks about his wolf and lets it take over, his body shrinking, melting, into the shape covered with a russet coat. And just as he does, the wolf lets out a howl that silences all the others, creating a music like no other.
It is a song of moarning, and a song of war....
In a sea of Blood;
I am the Master,
I control the Flood...
Stand against Me,
Feel my Power;
I'll make you Pay;
I'll make you Cower...
Stand beside Me,
Feel Compassion
Of a Clan Cursed,
All feeling what you Feel...
The forest in South Eastern North America always seems to glow when darkness takes over. It is foreign and frightening, and it is beautiful.
Dragon remembers how it was. When darkness took over, that's all there was. It was shadows dancing in the silvery light of the Full Moon. It was a darkness that she would revel in. But that darkness she could not revel in any longer.
Tonight, as the Full Moon rises, the beast seems strangely restless. As if a tragedy has been sensed. War is coming, and she knows it. But tonight she is safe, at least for a while.
Looking around, her golden green eyes glowing with the fire of the beast, she checks for the eyes of her clan on her. Once she sees that there are no others but perhaps the twins around, she lets a smile pinch the corners of her lips as her body melts into the heavy beast.
She shakes out her coat and purrs in anticipation of her hunt. The night is cool, and with it being early November, it would only make sense. But the tiger does not care about this. She only cares about the running she is about to do. Her human has given her the night as she is supposed to have it.
A lip rises as her tongue curls from behind her sharp teeth to lick over her whiskers, preping herself as a foot rises, the claws of the other three digging into the large tree branch beneath them. Then, her eyes watching intently for any signs of movement, she launches herself towards the tree ten feet away, aiming herself feet first. With the grace of a cat, she hits the tree perfectly and bounces from it to the next, losing altitude with each leap, before she finally manages to make her way to the ground.
The moment she does, her muscles tighten and loosen as her legs take off with incredible speed. The running alone is what she lives for, and as lightning skitters from her massive paws, she gives a gleeful roar.
Tonight she is to enjoy herself, for first thing tomorrow, work will begin. So the human side of Dragon rests herself deep within the shadows of the beast, giving full control as she slips through the glowing forest without a sound.
Tonight is one of Joy. And tomorrow is one of War. Which is sweeter?
Loup Garou
Ulfric
Corsair of the wood
discard your skin
your pallid, wormlike,
vulnerability.
Corsair of the wood
exchange your skin
for a pelt of dun
and brindle luxury.
Pirate of the flesh
throw back your head
and part your jowls
to sing a lunar song.
The forest paths are dark
and the night is long...
The darkness of the night fills the Bois en Courer as all within the Loup Garou pack begin their nightly rituals. Some are just beginning to rise and take their true shapes, and the howls of wolves are filling the night air as they do every night. Some are just beginning to go on home into their great trees and rest with their mates and pups. But the mellodies of the pack seem to be sad tonight as the glowing blue-amber eyes of their Ulfric look out into the shadows of the forest, his long hair falling in tangles across his bare shoulders. The wolf inside him whines in wanting to comfort his pack. He does not like the sounds of sorrow.
But Wulfric knows that the sadness of the night is needed, for the great loss of their three most precious Guardians has been known, as the spy report has let the old Alpha know that the vampires' actions have begun to shift. Restlessness sends a shiver through his body at the thought. The brutal murder of his beloved pack members is unforgiveable. And to think the only reason he knows about it is the damn bird he had to send over.
The girl he thinks about now touches his shoulder, her body, also bare, completely vulnerable to the wolf. But he does not wish to kill the messenger, and as his gaze meets hers, he knows it would never be her fault. Her white blue eyes fill with tears, and she lets out a small sigh, her long black hair falling to curtain her frail face. "I am going to leave and head back for my clan, my king. You know how to get a hold to me..."
But before she shifts, he reaches out and grabs her arm, eyes glowering briefly as thoughts begin to process through his mind and as the music of his wolves fill the night sky. "Tell your clan," he says, voice deep and husky from not being used in hours, "it is time to come once again to the Bois en Couer. I will make the call this time tomorrow night...and those who hear it are to come immediately." With that, he let the young woman go.
She nods with a sad smile before leaping into a run, her body beginning to take the glowing form he knows all too well. Within that second, her body shifts midstride into the fluttering wings of a small Mockingbird. The bird begins to sing with a chirping version of the wolf's howl, and Wulfric's face slowly takes the shape of a slight smile as he remembers just how useful her ability to mimic almost anything is. But where he can pick her out, he much prefers the songs of his own people.
Wulfric knows all too well that it is past the time to call those that are to assist him in this new war. With growing activity in both the small zone filled with Aristocrats and South America filled with humans, the Western Hemisphere is on the brink of war. It is only a matter of time, and he'd rather be ready and waiting than risk the lives of his creations by doing nothing. They are strong, but they are not invulnerable.
Just as this thought makes its way through his head, a beam of silver light from the rising Full Moon makes its way through the branches of the great tree to rest on him, making his slightly tanned skin glow with the light of the night. He feels the howl of his wolf struggle to his throat, and the amber eyes of the beast inside begin to glow through the human blue. He loves the feel of being on the brink of the shift. He loves the wild feeling, and confidence of being a beautiful loup garou. But more than that...he feels the need of his people.
Tomorrow will be a hard day...but tonight, he must moarn. And so, as he feels the presence of his mate, he thinks about his wolf and lets it take over, his body shrinking, melting, into the shape covered with a russet coat. And just as he does, the wolf lets out a howl that silences all the others, creating a music like no other.
It is a song of moarning, and a song of war....
Dragon
Tiger ClanChang
White Snow,
In a sea of Blood;
I am the Master,
I control the Flood...
Stand against Me,
Feel my Power;
I'll make you Pay;
I'll make you Cower...
Stand beside Me,
Feel Compassion
Of a Clan Cursed,
All feeling what you Feel...
The forest in South Eastern North America always seems to glow when darkness takes over. It is foreign and frightening, and it is beautiful.
Dragon remembers how it was. When darkness took over, that's all there was. It was shadows dancing in the silvery light of the Full Moon. It was a darkness that she would revel in. But that darkness she could not revel in any longer.
Tonight, as the Full Moon rises, the beast seems strangely restless. As if a tragedy has been sensed. War is coming, and she knows it. But tonight she is safe, at least for a while.
Looking around, her golden green eyes glowing with the fire of the beast, she checks for the eyes of her clan on her. Once she sees that there are no others but perhaps the twins around, she lets a smile pinch the corners of her lips as her body melts into the heavy beast.
She shakes out her coat and purrs in anticipation of her hunt. The night is cool, and with it being early November, it would only make sense. But the tiger does not care about this. She only cares about the running she is about to do. Her human has given her the night as she is supposed to have it.
A lip rises as her tongue curls from behind her sharp teeth to lick over her whiskers, preping herself as a foot rises, the claws of the other three digging into the large tree branch beneath them. Then, her eyes watching intently for any signs of movement, she launches herself towards the tree ten feet away, aiming herself feet first. With the grace of a cat, she hits the tree perfectly and bounces from it to the next, losing altitude with each leap, before she finally manages to make her way to the ground.
The moment she does, her muscles tighten and loosen as her legs take off with incredible speed. The running alone is what she lives for, and as lightning skitters from her massive paws, she gives a gleeful roar.
Tonight she is to enjoy herself, for first thing tomorrow, work will begin. So the human side of Dragon rests herself deep within the shadows of the beast, giving full control as she slips through the glowing forest without a sound.
Tonight is one of Joy. And tomorrow is one of War. Which is sweeter?