Post by zen on Nov 6, 2009 14:10:06 GMT -5
Character Name: Zenobia
Pronounced: Zen oh bee uh
Gender: Mare
Age: Four
Rank: Warmare
Appearance: Pale palomino, with white on her belly and across her face. Though her maw is of a charcoal tint, she has partial pink upper-lip in which the color extends around her cheek just a bit. She is of a lean frame, not skinny but not plump. Having wall eyes, her eyes are colored both onyx and black. With locks of a lighter cream, her tail is long and billows while her mane is somewhat short.
Standing at 16 hand high even, with a well muscled, though slim form, she is the evidence of selective breeding.
Travelling along her underbelly and wrapping around her hind-left leg, a jagged scar reminds her of the trial's of her past. Along with that scar, a slight dent of flesh mars the inside of the same hind leg, remnants of rent flesh and the untold story that stands behind it.
Due to the arch in her hind limbs, the female lacks the ability to buck, her hind limbs often refusing to stretch backward. This also seems to cause her turns to be more of a wide arch, than the quick, sharp elegance that would allow her to change course with haste.
Personality: Zenobia is quiet and loyal. While some see her as an innocent, she has seen the dark side and experienced more turmoil in her four years than she hopes to ever experience again. She is withdrawn and constantly alert. She uses her mind in all things, and is constantly seen as a source of advice and compassion. Some may point out that there is something lacking within her, but this tight-lipped ess will not reveal a thing. Her past has shown her that life is not exactly beautiful and that happiness is sometimes just a scam.
She knows that wars shall come and go. Death is something that cannot be ended. But her mind is more the cool, calculated fighter than the strength and bulk type. Though she has not seen battle, raised around it and in it's midst, she has learned to study a fight and gleam what information one can from it.
She is very cautious of others, as her past is filled with betrayal and calculated deception. She would sooner live her life alone than live among those who would betray their own mother for a crown and rent apart lands for their power-hungry bellies.
Rp Sample:It's a joke. Don't worry about it. When he says he loves you, he might mean it at the time. But don't trust it to last forever. Don't trust him not to turn his head when another prances by. Don't trust the masked emotions on his facade. When he says that he loves and adds a 'but', turn around. Do not look him in the eyes. Do not give him your soul on a silver platter. You know death. You have survived it. You have seen the ashes of life. The ruins that lay where mighty kingdoms once prospered. You are better than this. Aren't you?
The weight of her thoughts pierced her silent sorrow, weakening her resolve for calm words, casting away the repressive hold she had on her decomposing emotions. The palomino lass danced backward, as if hoping some pit would open wide and swallow her whole. Wishing something would deprive her of this experience. Time was her enemy, as she looked her fate in the eyes, regretting already the feelings he had wrought within her. The passion. The joy. How she had denied, at first his coaxing; being a gentle, inexperienced filly. Finding the attentions of a strong stallion flattering, Zenobia had ignored the warning bells going off in her head. Those voices warning her that he was up to no good. That she was going to end up falling from her perch and he would be the one to push her. And the ache that accompanied her acknowledgment of that reality, albeit a bit late, threatened to cut off her windpipe, as silence rang on. Her parents were dead. Her herd was dead. Her life was in ruins, as though she had lost some mighty war. And while her brain tried to put her back together, her fragmented emotions went haywire. Banyon had been her life. Her love. Her happiness. The one person left from her past. Now he was a fading form in the distance, his memory making her a masochist, as she played it over and over again in her mind.
Petite hooves stumbled forward, as the female numbly moved forward, reaching out for the ghostly being who was no longer there. Reaching out for her happiness, in a sad attempt to keep herself together when she was already broken. Memories flashed before her blue visuals, taunting her with all that she had been through. Looking down upon the rotting flesh that was her mother. The broken bones of her father. The fallen trees and wind-strewn branches that marked her own home as ruined. Her stumbling footfalls halted, as she gazed blindly ahead, more focused on the memories, than she was on the new land before her. Lips compressed, as she held in her sobs, not realizing that she was sobbing, even as she ignored the reflex. Her neck arched, soft nose dipping, as if she was reaching down to touch her mother. As if she believed she good simply nudge her mother awake. And yet, her mother was a distant memory. Dead for years and left to rot in the ruins of her cherished homeland. Ears flickered upon her skull, twisting to the side, flattening against her skull. Her flesh trembled over her muscles, painted pelt twitching and jumping in her tenseness.
"I taught you to love and I now relinquish my hold on your heart for another to claim."
How dare he? How dare he pretend that his goal had been to teach her to love! Damn him and his false nobility! That ability he had to twist situations to make him look all the tender knight shining, and leave her to feel as though used goods being tossed aside for better brands. Nostrils flared to life, breathing in their mixed scents, glancing upon his painted form with mixed emotions as well. There was hate. Yes, it seemed to roll through her as though it were a steroid, making her stronger even as it bred the next emotion. Loathing. She loathed him, for she knew, in her heart of hearts, that he would move on just as soon as her pale visage was no longer in sight. Fragmented. She wasn't whole without him. He completed her. Even though he had made her her own mare, he had taken her innocence, and by doing so, had taken a part of her soul. And now there would be a gaping hole. Something that none of her insignificant attempts would be able to fill, she knew. And she was here, alone, in lands unknown, waiting for someone to creep along and snatch away what little dignity was left. Waiting for someone to degrade her even deeper, by marring her pelt as he had marred her mind and emotions. Why not? Hmm? Why not add to her emotional scars by giving her a few physical scars? For a moment she longed to feel physical pain. Physical pain to take away from the emotional and mental pain. But then, she was swiftly becoming a masochist, so she knew she would enjoy the pain to some extent. After all, if it took away from the emotional pain, anything would be more enjoyable.
The scent that caught her attention was masculine. Blue eyes widened, as she glanced up to the sky, gaze pleading as she muttered. "Oh, God no! I didn't mean it! I don't want to be hurt!" Her heartbeat quickened in her chest, keeping pace with the quick heaving her sides were doing, as her gaze flickered to the horizon to await the approach of the male. She had no experience with other equine. Much less males. Banyon had been her only companion since the demise of their homelands. They'd stumbled across a mare or two on their journey, and Banyon had always been accommodating. But the scent of a stallion had long been only Banyon's. Were the God's laughing at her, because she had thought of becoming a masochist? She hadn't meant it! It had simply been that dark, brooding mood that had held her, when she'd felt no hope. Choking back a sob, she stepped backward, petite limbs shaking as the male came into view, his words breaking through her silent reverie.
Taking a deep breath, Zenobia placed a smile on her lips, not quite the flirtatious charade most mares went for, but a calm, gentle charade that masked her uncertainties. Pawing the earth with a fore-hoof, she lowered her skull, soft nose dipping, and bowed deeply before this new stallion. So, was she about to deal with a Devil in disguise, or was this stallion all the courtly gentleman he was introducing himself as? Ears flickered forward, tuning in to him, as she mulled over his appearance. He was unique. Different. But then, she came from a land where paint dominated, so his appearance was simply new. He was blue! By the-- How in the world was he blue? She simply couldn't remember ever seeing someone who matched his color. But then again, the whole paint issue had insured that. Leveling her gaze, she let it travel from his hooves, to his larger, stallion's chest and up his column to his face. Despite his apparent breeding, he was all stallion, she had to admit. Her rump twitched at the thought, reminding her that she had an attraction to the gender. But then, she was still mourning her old life. Her Banyon. Her traitor and betrayer. Sad, really.
Parting her lips, her voice was soft and smooth, though low and quiet. She had, after all, been mourning and screaming her hatred to the world.
"Quite the charmer from the get-go, hmm, Sir Sultan?" Chuckling lightly, she dipped her skull once more. "I won't be bitchy sir, for I'm often not. So I'll give you my name without asking for anything in return. I am called Zenobia as her high-" Her highness? Her mother was dead and even so, no one would have heard of her this far from home. "As my mother, Zenefria, dubbed me." Her limbs arched with her dainty bow, as she remembered that it was quite polite to actually bow, instead of simply dipped one's head as she had at first. She was slowly coming out of her broody stage, despite the fact that she would probably never again be an innocent, bubbly young lass as she had once been.
Other: Hmm. I might be able to put her entire history together, but not right this second.
Let me know if I need to change or add anything. ^_^
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