Post by acaria ;; on Jan 20, 2010 20:27:26 GMT -5
Name of Character(s): Lyria
Text: Lyria
Quote: 'i'm just one of those ghosts, traveling endlessly.'
Species: A ghost; their goddess, actually.
Age: Infinite.
Gender: Mare
Breed: Andalusian x Morgan
Colour: Dapple Grey
Physical Appearance: Well, ghostly, first off. The ghosts are very misty, smoky in appearance, and their eyes are white - no pupil or iris, just a plain white. They do look very eerie. She herself is majestic, and, being a goddess, is known for her ethereal beauty. She is tall and muscular, with a thick, flowing mane and tail, though this (and her bone structure) is mostly thanks to the andalusian in her veins.
Personality: She is very regal and elegant, a lady if there ever was one. An orator would be an understatement, she has a way of wrapping situations around her finger, and when things don't go according to plan she can have quite a vicious temper. She hides it well, though; she's a true wolf in sheep's clothing. On the outside, she is the picture of calm, cool, and collected, and exceedingly warm and polite. It's difficult to detect when Lyria is lying...Though that is largely on account of those expressionless white eyes.
Images or References: HER COLOR; HER BUILD. (:
Image Ideas: Very, very eerie. Mist/fog would be a nice touch, especially since ghosts look misty in appearance. I would think a very dull color scheme would work best, too. But creative freedom, really!
Example post with requested character:
This was not her home; it was not where she was meant to reside. It showed in how she moved; not in an earthly manner, but in a swiftly flowing, easing, drifting type gait. In fact, if one looked closely enough, the tendrils of mist that revolved around her heavenly form could not cloud the fact that, in truth, the dainty scythes did not touch the turf at all. She was eerie to behold, but some would call her beautiful and majestic. The limbs that carried - or didn't - her were strong and graceful, elegant and finely-musculed; her rump was well-proportioned, with a long trailing whipcord of dark tassels that hung high and proud; the arch of her nape also portrayed her confidence. It all stopped when you reached her eyes. True, her face was quite lovely. Not too wide or too narrow; with thin nares and pouty lips, she would have been something to behold. But where there should have been the deep, dark entities of her eyes; brown, perhaps, black pupils, mysterious and curious; there was white. A milky achromatic, like a newly-shined pearl, with nothing. No iris, no pupil. No color. Just white. It was the mark of her race, the ghosts. It betrayed them; no living soul could have such pure, disturbing white eyes, even if blindness had overtaken them. This, of course, as well as their simple presence. The mist that slunk close to them, how they seemed to shimmer; very there, but never quite tangible. The ghosts were...mysterious. Something to behold. But Lyria knew with acute despair that they would be shunned, much like Thanatos' children had been. Naturally all the races despised each other, but they all despised the Cadient just a bit more, did they not? And now, their enemy would be her children.
And this is what she hoped to prevent.
Now, no one would have ever dared to call Lyria unintelligent; all of the heavenly (or hellish, in Thantos' case) beings were beyond brilliant. It was both a case of natural order and of experience. They had all lived for thousands of years; she herself had lost track. They had created their races, watched them blossom and turn into something both beautiful and wretched. Lyria's children came from the other races; Nymh brought the dead to her, and if they did not carry on straight to hell, she transformed them, shaping them in her form. Before, they had lived with her, in the realm of the sky - a wholly different realm than Coeus', mind you. But she'd grown tired of being so secluded; it hardly seemed fair. So she had released them, as she thought was their right. They could never live a full life again, they'd had their chance for that, but they were free to wander the world of Arquelle as they wished. They could speak to others, be seen, but never touch, except for each other, the ghosts. It was a curse, but preferable to spending eternity in the pits of hell, was it not? Now, of course, some had chosen to stay in the heavens, to remain there and look down upon the rest. She didn't blame them; they were probably wiser than those who had scurried as quickly as they could down to the mortal world, most likely in search of loved ones lost, or perhaps just a taste of the life that had been taken from them. Whatever their reason, Lyria believed that they deserved a choice. But don't believe she is as innocent as she seems.
Selfish? Oh, she didn't think so. Greedy? Most certainly not. But ambitious...She'd never claimed she wasn't. Gods and goddesses were powerful, that much was true. And none were more powerful than the rest, this was also true. But there was a natural bias; stallions over the ladies. Men above the women. And this, this made the dappled maiden's blood boil. There should have never been such a prejudice; but since there was, she planned to sway the power toward the ladies' side of things. Herself, Thalissa, even Nymh. They were just as powerful as Thanatos, Coeus, Anaklusmos, and Eros, and perhaps even more intelligent, though that was a matter of opinion. And now? This was phase one, she thought with an inward chuckle, the beginning of it all. The ghosts had been living in the world for several nights now, and it was time to make her peace with the other races of Arquelle. She moved fluidly, if you could call it moving at all, her steps geared towards Crimson Vale. She'd told her children to make word spread of the meeting; that every single equine from every single race, even the loners, were invited to attend, to listen and discuss, and most importantly, to socialize. Uniting the races was another part of Lyria's plan, but that was for another day.
There was a little knoll here, a little part of the mossy land that rose just a bit above the rest. To her right was the weeping willows, with their drooping branches framing the small pond that they outlined. She strode up the rise, nape arched in utter self-confidence (but not enough to portray arrogance, mind you, though some might have seen it as that anyway), whipcord swishing contentedly, though no pests attempted to feast from her flesh. As if they could hope to touch it, anyway. Her children came first, appearing like dim rays of light between the branches, appearing with their features expectant; most trusting, the occasional few wary. And she watched as Crimson Vale filled to its limit; heads of equines, horns protruding like spikes, wings curled delicately upon spines, the occasional piece of rotting flesh. And intermingled, the ghosts. All very different, but very much the same if you could look close enough. The smile that curled upon her countenance was warm, as if the group was her old, long-lost friends - if any could see into her blank eyes, read any expression or soul there, you would have said they were calculating. But there was nothing within them, only expressionless ivory. Her voice came suddenly, splitting with utmost clarity through the quiet murmurs and restless shuffles. "Welcome, comrades," She murmured, though somehow her soft voice still carried, while the smile was held firmly in place. "I'm sure you've noticed my children; they've been among you for several nights now. And we have asked you to join us here today for one simple reason - acceptance." Her eerie occuli passed nimbly from one equine to the next, appraising them. "You see, dear Arquellians, the ghosts are quite the same as yourselves. They are pegasi, unicorns, horses, immortals. But they have not come to intrude upon you; and so we ask for your approval, but we do not force our hand. If you ask for us to leave, we will do so." Could they hear the lie in her words? She doubted as much; Lyria had thousands of years for lying practice, as had the other heavenlies. An actress she was, and not some second-rate damsel who believed herself to be quite the performer, either. But some of what she spoke of was true; they did yearn for acceptance. And she hoped that they would grant it. Everything would go so much more smoothly if she had their support. The smile faded, replaced by an expression of hopefulness.
"So I ask, brothers and sisters, what are your thoughts?"
Let the games begin.
Comments: Yay? xD
Signature?: No thank you, but a smaller image (around 500px or smaller) that fades at the bottom for a table would be lovely! ;D
Which site(s) will you be using the image to? Here. (:
Specific Artist?: !nfer, if you would like (I love your work! ^^) but if you don't want to, just say so and anyone can do this. ^^
Text: Lyria
Quote: 'i'm just one of those ghosts, traveling endlessly.'
Species: A ghost; their goddess, actually.
Age: Infinite.
Gender: Mare
Breed: Andalusian x Morgan
Colour: Dapple Grey
Physical Appearance: Well, ghostly, first off. The ghosts are very misty, smoky in appearance, and their eyes are white - no pupil or iris, just a plain white. They do look very eerie. She herself is majestic, and, being a goddess, is known for her ethereal beauty. She is tall and muscular, with a thick, flowing mane and tail, though this (and her bone structure) is mostly thanks to the andalusian in her veins.
Personality: She is very regal and elegant, a lady if there ever was one. An orator would be an understatement, she has a way of wrapping situations around her finger, and when things don't go according to plan she can have quite a vicious temper. She hides it well, though; she's a true wolf in sheep's clothing. On the outside, she is the picture of calm, cool, and collected, and exceedingly warm and polite. It's difficult to detect when Lyria is lying...Though that is largely on account of those expressionless white eyes.
Images or References: HER COLOR; HER BUILD. (:
Image Ideas: Very, very eerie. Mist/fog would be a nice touch, especially since ghosts look misty in appearance. I would think a very dull color scheme would work best, too. But creative freedom, really!
Example post with requested character:
This was not her home; it was not where she was meant to reside. It showed in how she moved; not in an earthly manner, but in a swiftly flowing, easing, drifting type gait. In fact, if one looked closely enough, the tendrils of mist that revolved around her heavenly form could not cloud the fact that, in truth, the dainty scythes did not touch the turf at all. She was eerie to behold, but some would call her beautiful and majestic. The limbs that carried - or didn't - her were strong and graceful, elegant and finely-musculed; her rump was well-proportioned, with a long trailing whipcord of dark tassels that hung high and proud; the arch of her nape also portrayed her confidence. It all stopped when you reached her eyes. True, her face was quite lovely. Not too wide or too narrow; with thin nares and pouty lips, she would have been something to behold. But where there should have been the deep, dark entities of her eyes; brown, perhaps, black pupils, mysterious and curious; there was white. A milky achromatic, like a newly-shined pearl, with nothing. No iris, no pupil. No color. Just white. It was the mark of her race, the ghosts. It betrayed them; no living soul could have such pure, disturbing white eyes, even if blindness had overtaken them. This, of course, as well as their simple presence. The mist that slunk close to them, how they seemed to shimmer; very there, but never quite tangible. The ghosts were...mysterious. Something to behold. But Lyria knew with acute despair that they would be shunned, much like Thanatos' children had been. Naturally all the races despised each other, but they all despised the Cadient just a bit more, did they not? And now, their enemy would be her children.
And this is what she hoped to prevent.
Now, no one would have ever dared to call Lyria unintelligent; all of the heavenly (or hellish, in Thantos' case) beings were beyond brilliant. It was both a case of natural order and of experience. They had all lived for thousands of years; she herself had lost track. They had created their races, watched them blossom and turn into something both beautiful and wretched. Lyria's children came from the other races; Nymh brought the dead to her, and if they did not carry on straight to hell, she transformed them, shaping them in her form. Before, they had lived with her, in the realm of the sky - a wholly different realm than Coeus', mind you. But she'd grown tired of being so secluded; it hardly seemed fair. So she had released them, as she thought was their right. They could never live a full life again, they'd had their chance for that, but they were free to wander the world of Arquelle as they wished. They could speak to others, be seen, but never touch, except for each other, the ghosts. It was a curse, but preferable to spending eternity in the pits of hell, was it not? Now, of course, some had chosen to stay in the heavens, to remain there and look down upon the rest. She didn't blame them; they were probably wiser than those who had scurried as quickly as they could down to the mortal world, most likely in search of loved ones lost, or perhaps just a taste of the life that had been taken from them. Whatever their reason, Lyria believed that they deserved a choice. But don't believe she is as innocent as she seems.
Selfish? Oh, she didn't think so. Greedy? Most certainly not. But ambitious...She'd never claimed she wasn't. Gods and goddesses were powerful, that much was true. And none were more powerful than the rest, this was also true. But there was a natural bias; stallions over the ladies. Men above the women. And this, this made the dappled maiden's blood boil. There should have never been such a prejudice; but since there was, she planned to sway the power toward the ladies' side of things. Herself, Thalissa, even Nymh. They were just as powerful as Thanatos, Coeus, Anaklusmos, and Eros, and perhaps even more intelligent, though that was a matter of opinion. And now? This was phase one, she thought with an inward chuckle, the beginning of it all. The ghosts had been living in the world for several nights now, and it was time to make her peace with the other races of Arquelle. She moved fluidly, if you could call it moving at all, her steps geared towards Crimson Vale. She'd told her children to make word spread of the meeting; that every single equine from every single race, even the loners, were invited to attend, to listen and discuss, and most importantly, to socialize. Uniting the races was another part of Lyria's plan, but that was for another day.
There was a little knoll here, a little part of the mossy land that rose just a bit above the rest. To her right was the weeping willows, with their drooping branches framing the small pond that they outlined. She strode up the rise, nape arched in utter self-confidence (but not enough to portray arrogance, mind you, though some might have seen it as that anyway), whipcord swishing contentedly, though no pests attempted to feast from her flesh. As if they could hope to touch it, anyway. Her children came first, appearing like dim rays of light between the branches, appearing with their features expectant; most trusting, the occasional few wary. And she watched as Crimson Vale filled to its limit; heads of equines, horns protruding like spikes, wings curled delicately upon spines, the occasional piece of rotting flesh. And intermingled, the ghosts. All very different, but very much the same if you could look close enough. The smile that curled upon her countenance was warm, as if the group was her old, long-lost friends - if any could see into her blank eyes, read any expression or soul there, you would have said they were calculating. But there was nothing within them, only expressionless ivory. Her voice came suddenly, splitting with utmost clarity through the quiet murmurs and restless shuffles. "Welcome, comrades," She murmured, though somehow her soft voice still carried, while the smile was held firmly in place. "I'm sure you've noticed my children; they've been among you for several nights now. And we have asked you to join us here today for one simple reason - acceptance." Her eerie occuli passed nimbly from one equine to the next, appraising them. "You see, dear Arquellians, the ghosts are quite the same as yourselves. They are pegasi, unicorns, horses, immortals. But they have not come to intrude upon you; and so we ask for your approval, but we do not force our hand. If you ask for us to leave, we will do so." Could they hear the lie in her words? She doubted as much; Lyria had thousands of years for lying practice, as had the other heavenlies. An actress she was, and not some second-rate damsel who believed herself to be quite the performer, either. But some of what she spoke of was true; they did yearn for acceptance. And she hoped that they would grant it. Everything would go so much more smoothly if she had their support. The smile faded, replaced by an expression of hopefulness.
"So I ask, brothers and sisters, what are your thoughts?"
Let the games begin.
Comments: Yay? xD
Signature?: No thank you, but a smaller image (around 500px or smaller) that fades at the bottom for a table would be lovely! ;D
Which site(s) will you be using the image to? Here. (:
Specific Artist?: !nfer, if you would like (I love your work! ^^) but if you don't want to, just say so and anyone can do this. ^^
you're awesome. <3