Little Help Deciding.
May 18, 2014 19:09:49 GMT -6
Post by General SigmaButt σ on May 18, 2014 19:09:49 GMT -6
So, I got a picture for a new character, but I'm stuck between who I want to use for it. I'm gonna write a little snippet from each guy and I was wondering what you guys thought, like who fits the picture better. :3
Guy One: Vagabond - The Mad King.
The stallion, unassuming in stature and nonthreatening in aura, strode through the forest with a small smile lifting his lips. Every so often, honey hued oculars would flick to the chattering companion to his left. He'd let loose a low hum, acknowledging the other male's words and give a light nod. Truthfully, he wasn't paying much attention to the brute, but it would be rude to simply tell him to 'shut up.' Vagabond was not rude by any means. Mad, they said. A monster, they cried. But rude? No. Never rude.
Warm, falsely affable eyes drifted over the terrain, finally landing on the object of his interest. It made the grin rise up his velvets further. Everything about him screamed 'cordial'. He never did seem particularly fearsome. Vagabond was always courteous, always pleasant, and never angry. He was of a mild temperment, and that put those around him at ease. With some gentle, non-articulated prompting, he steered their path toward the area he had eyed from afar. Still, the male chattered on happily. It wasn't displeasing, as Vagabond was a social creature by nature. He merely had quite a bit on his mind, which distracted him from the conversation at hand.
Finally, they halted before a gaping pit. Both males peered over the edge. It wasn't terribly deep, but just enough where one would find escaping impossible. At the bottom of the dank chasm was a frantic mare. At the sight of the two figures, she let loose a panicked sound and begged for help. Even from here, it was obvious she was wounded. She could hardly stand on her own. It made Vagabond grin gently at her. The male looked from the mare to Vagabond and had to double take at the almost tender expression on his facade. "You can't leave, Tauri. You know this." The male looked astonished that this mild-mannered brute he had been befriending seemed to have a hand in this mare's entrapment. The mare cried out once more. "For the last time, I'm not Tauri! LET ME OUT!" Vagabond simply chuckled, like she was a child who had said something ridiculous. "Of course you are. You're in the hole!"
The male took a step back from the hole and away from Vagabond, looking more and more pertrubed as time passed. "What...what's going on? Why's she down there?" Vagabond's attention drifted from the mare to the brute. He gave the male the same gentle smile, and, for the first time, the czar could finally see the depth of Vagabond's instability gleaming in his misleading eyes. His friendliness, so appealing before, now left his skin crawling with unease. "Tauri is down there for your safety. For everyone's safety. Tauri is a monster, after all." He was utterly baffled at the explanation and the mare just wailed protests once more. "I'm NOT TAURI. I'M NOT A MONSTER!" Vagabond just sighed and shook his head, before grinning at the male and shrugging, as if to say 'what can ya do?'.
The male was quiet for a moment before speaking quietly, trying to defuse the situation."But, she doesn't seem like a monster, and she said she's not Tauri..." At this, a dark chuckle escaped Vagabond and a truly menacing look took place on his usually genteel visage. "No, you don't understand. Tauri is the one in the hole." The male didn't know what to say. Fear cleanched his heart at the understanding of just how crazy this brute was. "Tauri, you cannot leave this hole, ever. It's for the good of everyone. My apologies." It was a moment too late that the male realized that Vagabond was no longer talking to the mare, but to him. Faster than he thought possible, Vagabond struck and knocked the shocked male down into the pit.
--So, essentially. He has a pit that he tosses people into. Every one of them he calls Tauri, and he is deadset on the fact that Tauri is a monster that he's keeping trapped. He's also a mischievous bastard and a chronic backstabber. Nobody should ever, ever trust him. Like, ever. Seriously, never do it. Also, never give him power. Ever. He'd turn into a raging tyrranical megalomaniac, without a doubt. There's a reason he's called 'The Mad King'. It'd be in his history.
Guy Two: Thane - The Spiritual Assassin.
The slender figure slipped through the shadows with ghost-like grace. It was uneering just how graceful the brute was. Cool eyes flipped over the terrain at a rapid pace before landing on the intended target. The hessian paused his stride. Piercing visionaries watched the mark for a moment before he closed his eyes and bowed his head. Rasping tones whispered quietly to the sky. "Amonkira. Lord of Hunters. Grant that my steps be steady, my aim be true, and my feet swift. And should the worst come to pass, grant me forgiveness" Then, his eyes snapped open, and with one calm breath, he struck.
The fight was swift. He had a set method for each breed and gender. This was a larger brute, well muscled and volatile. His mind went over the method quickly. 'Increased mass makes for harder strikes though slower steps. Swift, precise strike to trachea to stun foe. Then, a strike to the cannons to impede movements. If possible, break front legs with the blow, then when the mark is incapacitated, make the killing maneuver.' It wasn't perfect, but he went in for quick hits. His build was slim, meant for speed and agility, not so much strength, and he utilized that.
He did not enjoy long fights, not any more. Even now, he had to pause for breath after the mark was exterminated. His chest rattled with each intake and a numbing, pricking sensation flit through his brain. For now, his illness was...manageable. However, he knew that as he aged, it'd only grow worse. His time was running short. At the thought, he bowed his head once more as he stood over the body of his victim and prayed. A rustling sound caught his aud, but he paid it no mind until his prayer was finished.
Finally, his eyes opened and he looked at the young foal who was watching him with wide eyes. It was Mouse, a drala'fa in his people's language; a forgotten. The child had no one and no one seemed to ever notice the hungry foal. The foal peered at him questioningly. "Why'd ya pray for him? Isn't he bad?" Thane gave him a small smile. His voice was naturally raspy, but his illness only made it more so. "It was a prayer for the wicked, yes, but it was not for him. It was for me." The colt stared at him with a puzzled expression. "But why do ya pray if you go around killin' people all the time? Isn't that, uh, hipocritic?" Thane let loose a low chuckle. "Hypocritical, Mouse. It is a prayer for my soul, not my body. It is not I who does the killing, it is those who contract me. My body is merely the weapon, they're the ones pulling the trigger." Mouse looked even more puzzled than before. "I don't get it." Thane just smiled serenely. "Not yet, but you will one day."
--In short, Thane is an assassin who is also spiritual. He prays before each mission and after each kill. He believes that his body is separate from his soul, and that he is just the weapon used to kill, not the killer itself. He has cystic fibrosis and is slowly dying. He's very calm and kind, though he's been an assassin from the day he could actively take down a mark. He has an eidetic memory and can recall everything with perfect clarity. It's to such an extent that he can be sent into an episode where the entire event is replayed so clearly that it's as if it's happening again. He'll feel every wound and touch as if was real.
