| Author | Topic: a u d i t i o n s (Read 550 times) |
{l e n o r e;;} Administrator
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Joined: Apr 2007 Gender: Female  Posts: 6 Karma: 0 |  | a u d i t i o n s « Thread Started on Apr 20, 2007, 5:25am » | |
a u d i t i o n s
;; Dalestor is ruled by a king and a queen of each alliance. Thus, the role needs to be handed out accordingly. Listed below are the roles up for grabs;
h e a v e n;;
p u r g a t o r y;;
h e l l;;
;; The auditioning part is easy, all you have to do is follow the form below, and at a later specified date the posts will be judged. If you need more information, please PM me.
Code:[b]N A M E;;[/b] [b]B R E E D;;[/b] [b]A G E;;[/b] [b]C O L O U R;;[/b] [b]G E N D E R;;[/b] [b]R E L I G I O N;;[/b] [b]R O L E;;[/b] [b]A U D I T I O N P O S T;;[/b] Must be with the character. |
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| lenore && insomnia |
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' z y r a New Member
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![[avatar]](http://i133.photobucket.com/albums/q77/zyr_pics/zyraavvy.jpg)
she lies in a field of black roses
Joined: Apr 2007 Posts: 4 Karma: 0 |  | Re: a u d i t i o n s « Reply #1 on Apr 27, 2007, 5:40pm » | |
a p p e l a t i o n
zyra
p r o g e n y
friesian x arabian
s e n i l i t y
four
t i n c t u r e
onyx
q u i d d i t y
paramour
f i d e l i t y
hell-bound
p r o v i n c e
your hellish queen
c o n s u l t a t i o n
A faint w h i s p e r. Do you hear it? It isn't the obnoxious chatter of various beings, nor the whistle of the wind. It might be your heart, it may even be mine. But do I have one? Literally, yes. For I could not live without the muscle pumping my blood every second of every single day. But metaphorically, a heart was said to be the bearer of the soul, but what if you are so terribly wound up in something many consider to be evil? But what makes something evil? Greed? Or perhaps someone who takes the life of someone else? Perhaps. The truth, though? Someone is truly evil simply because they enjoy it. Therefore, considering this prospect, do I attain myself to be 'evil'? Yes. Does that mean I run around, slaughtering anyone in my midst, a bloodthirst savage? Ha, no. Obviously, this is redundant, highly unlikely that anyone behaves this way, unless they are a blundering idiot.
I am, not being egotistical, extremely witty, especially when I'm calm, and have a great capacity to respond quickly. Though, I must admit, I become far less sociable than I aready am when provoked. And who would ever expect me to hesitate before I attacked? My pugnacious nature is no surprise, as to how I was raised, but let us not get into that story, now shall we? I enjoy fighting, occasionally, although I admit I would grow tiresome of it were I did so too often. Would you not? As I have pointed out, many of those who called themselves 'darks' would have claimed to have slaughtered tons of individuals, simply on whim. But come now, let us be realistic, no? In all probability, they did not.
Dawn breaks overhead; crested in the notorious happenings that reconcile day to day. Earnestly, none is predictable. The ruffled fatigue of others whom have just awoken is nothing but an annoyance - move, fools. A smirk flits atop my countenance momentarily, and I cannot cease its revenue. The earth creaks and groans under my weight; no matter how terribly lithe I have become; as I shuffle lethargically onward. Veiny leaves of trees come fluttering down upon me, scattering flies and warming my lucid hide. My cochlea flicker atop a scarred cerembrum, the two shades of ebony joining to appear as if I am not as miniscule as is true. For while the friesian blood in me makes for brawn, strength, and a tenacious attitude, my arabian heritage makes me small; though versatile and hardy. A pair for perfection in a difficult lifestyle. And my past has definitely had difficulties. But that is a story for another time.
Drafted along the prospects of azure waters that sweep gaily to my hocks, hollows flare in an almost ginger manner, extricating the oxygen in exchange for a fresh supply. Soft hums of my own accord from my throttling larynx are succumbed to rhythmic rolls coerced with my fluent motions, surmising the hock to the knee to the shoulder and such. A deft sneer is displayed atop my countenance, and I never bother to hide it in the presence of others; what's the point? It is common knowledge - to myself and those I know, anyways - that I consider myself subtly superb to most others, except a very few number whom astound me with their brilliance. Ephermal brow escalates atop my beautifully carved zenith, carrying the distinct arch of the sturdy and agile arabian. At first glance one can spy the many scars lacing the fleshy exterior of my hide, concerning the many battles I have conceited myself into. I hold the prospect with much pride, for most battles I have come out victorious - but I am no fool - none can win every spite they find themselves in. I have lost my fair share.
To excern myself from wandering eyes I make sure I give the distinct aura of a malevolent paramoure, one who does not enjoy company and has many a whim to slaughter something that runs itself along my path. A wry smirk decorates my facade, soft expulsions of breath exiting me as dawn continues to settle itself into the horizon, painting it with shrill blues and violent magentas, ochres and violets and pallids decorating the canvas that is the sky. The light comes spilling over the peaks, far away in the distance and casts over my bodice with an enlightened achromatic hue, giving my physique a slightly amber colour instead of the usual atramentous.
Lengthening my lethargic strides, impressions in the side of my skull give a slight flinch as pests settle in their crevices, my limbs giving a sullen jolt as the chilled liquid touches my skin. The sand is littered with the junk carried from the liquid; bits of jagged glass and soggy seaweed, competing with the stranded creatures. It gives me amusement to see these idiotic invertebrates bushwhacking themselves, littered among the tideswept sand. It is a bit liberating, I am free in myself, sturdy in my firm capability for myself, whatever comes along or what doesn't. I am not worried about it, what is a little bit of 'loneliness' compared to pain? Pain. A simple word, though meaning so much, for so many individuals. What does such a simple, single syllable mean for me? It means everything.
The wind gives a soft whistle and ruffles my noir canvas, the two alike shades of my carcass and banter blending together in means to make me appear even more hostile than usual. The fervent whispers and rustles of various objects in the distance do nothing to exuberate my lethargic movement, the moonlight but a dappled streak along my spine. Sometimes we ask ourselves, are we made to lead, or to follow? Perhaps this is a difficult question to answer for many, though I have figured upon my answer long ago. I was meant to be at the front tide, leading others who will willingly obey. The sing song breeze dies down, only to rise up and thrash at me even more fiercely than before, as I have come upon a steep decline, a sharp drop off, if you will. The tumultuous crash of waves to coarse rock is a ravenous din, they revolt, and repeat the process in an endless, tireless pattern.
The mindless, simplicity of it all is amazing. Quite astounding is nature at times. My shoulders are rolled backwards, making me appear even more dignified. Of course, many of our darks are the 'true' darks, not so vague. They may respond with quick wit all the while holding on to their valued animosity. These are true, rueful darks. The actual prospect, the actual word, 'dark', is a frightening notion, for some, although you must ask yourself, am I afraid of the dark, or what is inside it? As it is, we are afraid of what is evil, and, perhaps even more so, what we do not know. These frivelous thoughts must be extricated from our systems, as is fear is weakness. When we are fearful, we hesitate, we think more than we need to before we strike, isn't that so? The same prospect, perhaps, to anger. Although we do not weaken ourselves because of fear in the directed, but while fury may bring strength, does it not also make us reckless? For those who do not know how to control their asperity is completely intolerable. Could we make them all perfect, responding brilliantly, fighting with strength and intellect? I believe so. But of course, none can be perfect, yet we can come close, very close, to perfection among our kind. And so here I stand, completely content in being solo, although, perhaps someone will, eventually, release me from being alone. But the more pressing matter, darlings, is that which I yearn for. My blood boils at any competition that dare oppose me.
The decision rests within your hands. Do you want Zyra as your Queen of Hell?
word count: 1,328
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fallax New Member
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Joined: Apr 2007 Posts: 2 Karma: 0 |  | Re: a u d i t i o n s « Reply #2 on Apr 27, 2007, 6:30pm » | |
N A M E;; Fallax B R E E D;; Trakehner A G E;; four C O L O U R;; Black, with three white socks, and a crooked blaze. G E N D E R;; stallion R E L I G I O N;; dark R O L E;; King of hell A U D I T I O N P O S T;;
The masculine was shrouded by the darkness, salmons flaring slightly he took in the scent of others. But he stayed stock still, letting the small herd pass by him. His night washed pelt blended into the dark of the night with ease, though the ivory imperfections that he bore on his legs and face shone in the moonlight.
save.
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parchment Guest
|  | Re: a u d i t i o n s « Reply #3 on Jun 13, 2007, 7:46pm » | |
- u n f i n i s h e d -
D U B;; Paradox B L E E D;; Arabian . Hanoverian S P U N;; Three times S P L A S H;; Ebon M A D E;; Brujo P A T H;; Demonic R O L E;; King of hell A U D I T I O N - P O S T;;
Stop bitching; the king is here. Cold, slow rise of pedestal, then down again, making a soft thump on the forest floor. Barren pools glared out of their sockets. Nostrils flared, and banner whispered in the slight breeze. Pelt twitched slightly with impatience, waiting for the others to settle down. I watched all of that with cowardice. I am the runt, the scapegoat of the herd. Of course I would watch the king with repulsion, with fear. There was nothing I could do about it. He can, and will, whip me to the ground if he wanted to. The king command total power of the entire herd. His judgement can never be questioned, can never be received with anything other than agreement. All I can do is stare out of my sockets, wishing, hoping, that this torture will be over, that I can run free. Everybody laughs at that idea, calling me a chibi vampire. They taunt and tease me, asking me why I'm so stupid, why I'm so light. The fact is, I don't know. I don't know why the hell I'm not dark like them. If I was, I wouldn't have to endure the endless hours of work collecting poisonus fungi, only to have to do it again because they accidentally told me to get the wrong specimen. I'm, as they say, impure. Go. get. a. life. The world is full of different equines, so shut up and work yourselves! Except I don't have the courage to say all that, to tell them to go away and leave me alone. If I did, I knew that death will not be the option for me. I'll be whipped, mocked, thrown out to drown, and when I wish my life was over, they'll castrate me and then kill me. The king will even have the entire herd watch as I slowly die. they're the trulky mean ones, the ones that won't even flinch at torturing, not to mention killing. They kill because they want to feel the blood running down their maw, parting their pelt like molten gold. I watch it all with repulsion. They watch it with glee. If you think that I'm stupid, if you think I'm just being a coward, I'll throw you in and make you live for a month with those equines. Then I'll see what you think. And I had to live with them for my entire life, so you can stop giving me lame advice on how to handle them. I tried, I really did. Did they work? No. Oh, so now you're asking me about my mother. Are your moms the protective ones, the equines that you can call on when you have a booboo? My mom's dead. Killed by my father, the beta. Why, I keep on asking myself, why? Weren't mates supposed to love each other for eternity? Wasn't that written on the book of golden rules!? Why did my father kill my mother? For giving birth to a runt like me? But why didn't he kill me, and not kill her? She was innocent! The world was full of questions. I knew all the questions, but my herd has the answers, and they won't give it to me. Everytime I advance a step, they back up a step, luring me towards the ultimate cliff where I will get the answers and then fall to my death. Life is all about searching, searching for a mate, a herd, freedom. But at the end, we're all battling a war that can never be won. Who can win against death? Yep, I've told them that idea too. They mocked me, and then tortured me for having a "treacherous" idea, as they call it. It doesn't fit in the herd, they mock, throwing spit at me out of the corner of their mouth. I just sit there, and stare back, hatred written all over my face. Oh yeah, they can see the hatred all right. They see the hatred, and they love it. They love brandishing around a torch and singeing my fur. They love beating me to the ground and then having me bleed. They love it all. I hate it all. But oh ho ho hey! What can I do about it? Seriously. Who has an answer to this utmost fear of mine, this utmost destruction that will one day lead to my downfall? Please, spare me the stupid comments. I need real thoughts. I'm only one horse, pretty young at that. Give me some time! Give me good ideas! I can't carry out everything alone. You've got to be real here. What can I do? Answer: nothing. I can't do anything. I can't do anything but sit around and wait for some opportunity to jump out at me, to reach out for me. Because I don't have the key out of the jail cell that keeps me imprisoned. Oh no. Only the other horses and opportunity does. I have no doubt that they are the only key to my freedom. But, seeing the path that my life is taking right now, it seems that opportunity doesn't favour me. It hates me, and like the others, spit and swear at me. Hell. Nobody, nothing likes me anymore. Here, I'll never gain a mate, a rank, nor escape this torture of mine. I'll never get respect, the one thing I wanted most. Respect. Respect like that foolish old king has. I could taste it on the tip of my tongue, but whenever I bite down to eat it, it will roll away and I will leave toothmarks on my tongue. If only I could strain my neck a little more, see a little more in the darkness. Only I can't. Ah, lookie lookie. The king has made everyone quiet down. Bloody eyes stared out of their sockets, straining for a glimpse of the majestic king. Beside him, the non-merciful queen stood, her banner flicking. She blinked slowly, and let her eyes wander around until it settled onto me. I stared back. She often liked to come to tease me, to ask how life was going - oh you know, pleasant talk, pleasant talk indeed. Behind her tone was a sort of mockery, like I could do no better. Truth was, I couldn't. I could only watch her with hatred, daring her to come closer, yet at the same time fearing it. When opportunity comes, I'll grab it and won't let go. It'll take me far from this path to another one. I can feel it in the little breeze. It'll come. I know it will. My sanity lies over the ocean.
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