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 Posted: Wed Dec 13, 2006 1:51 pm
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Posted: Wed Dec 13, 2006 1:55 pm
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W h o m...w e...h a v e...m e t
Alona: I love her to the ends of the Earth, she is my mate and my love and if you mess with her you will cease to exist.
Zephy: He is like my little brother and I have known him since he was a foal, and I a much...younger stallion.
Cynara: What a little pistol, my youngest. She is adorable and she has been hurt in the past so I have to watch out for her.
Cyrus: He is very noble, and logical. I respect him greatly, especially for taking me in at such a horrible time in my life.
Jailbait: I loved her, and I feel horrible for not being their for her when I could but their were occassions where I had looked for her. I wished it could have ended better.
Ares: My son, I have wronged him so early yet he is learning to forgive me and I know he is far better than me at sometimes even though he has a horrid temper.
Sekhmet: ...
Cyrus: My daddy, I love him a lot. Though he can be a bit over protective I completely understand why...but their are sometimes when I wish he'd lay back.
Alona: My mother, she is the greatest. She has always been their for me and always caring. I don't think i could ever give back to what she has given to me.
Erik: He abandoned me as a foal and I hated him for the longest time until he asked me for forgivness and I believe he meant it....we'll work on it.
Gaiacenta: She adopted me when Erik wasn't around, though she was a bit out of her mind she was their for me and I accept that from her.
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Posted: Wed Dec 13, 2006 1:56 pm
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 N a m e:
Cyrus
A g e:
Stallion
V o i c e:
Vincent [Red Cloak Guy]
T h e m e...S o n g:
Remember: Josh Groban
E y e...C o l o r:
Emerald Green
M a n e..&..T a i l...C o l o r s:
Black
C o a t..C o l o r s:
Black with white hooves, also has a white
L i k e s:
Making friends, races, leading others, Alona.
D i s l i k e s:
Fighting, Anyone hurting the ones he cares for, liars and predators
M a t e:
Alona <3
C h i l d r e n: Moki, Maeve, Cynara
P e r s o n a l i t y:
Cyrus is one SERIOUS Stallion, as it says on his cert he's very SERIOUS. However there is Alona who makes him very playful as well as all of ther foals. He's usually a very calm, gentle giant. But at times he can get aggresive when someone is in danger. If ever he gets mad he really gets mad. But you have to do something really bad to do that and I mean really bad. He loves the water aswell. He doesn't warm-up to strangers easily. To other Soquili he acts like a big brother at times. He protects what is his and protects those who cannot protect themself.
B a c k g r o u n d :
The beginning of one was the beginning of another. The birth of a little Indian girl led to the life of her true life companion that in the form of a soquili. The girl born on the night of butterflies, it is said that she had pools of black eyes. Empty voids, until an electric azure butterfly landed upon her nose and as it flexed its magnificent wings over her eyes they changed to the same color of blue. The girl was named after a goddess of the southern Indians called the Aztecs, ‘Itzpapalotl’ they called her which meant ‘Obsidian Butterfly.” The girl grew up kind, gentle and silent. She never spoke a word as her mother had died during child birth and her father had never returned from a hunt far before she was born. She was an orphan, her relatives lived in the same village but they deemed her a curse. She became a friend of herbs and began mixing them, later to find out she had the potential to become a shaman. The village shaman wanted badly to take her in as an apprentice for she had an extraordinary gift, but the others did not see it. The villagers went to their chief and gave her a task that she could not fulfill. The shaman cursed them all and she was summoned. A fellow warrior tattooed her back with a pair of butterfly wings, the same that were have said to landed on him. He also gave her marking below her eye, said for wisdom. She also had one on her leg, for speed and one on her stomach for agility. He did not give her any for strength for he said she was so strong willed she needed no help in that area. She was ordered to make blue smoke with only herbs to make black and if she made black she failed, if she made blue she was considered a dark shaman of black magic. She declined to do any of their tasks and cursed them as well. She was shunned; she left to be captured by the white men. She was taken on horse back to an area that was enclosed by a medium sized wooden fence. She had attracted the eyes of one of the generals whom soon took her in and she did his house work and anything they asked him to. She did not speak their language and if she did something out of question she was beat. She was the only Indian in there, little did she know her freedom would soon come.
A soquili herd roamed not far from the village that Itzpapalotl was conceived in the meadows full of fresh cloves. It was large full of natural colored soquili, blacks, browns, golden, whites, beiges and tans. The alpha of the herd and his mate gave birth to two soquili. A colt and a small filly that was barely surviving. The colt was ebony with a white stripe and hooves, his eyes like sparkling emeralds. The female a dark brown with white flecks on her rump and golden eyes. The herd stayed in the meadow until the little filly was strong enough to move, as the herd waited on more day to move. Invaders came, these were not Indians, they were pale. The soquili were confused and as soon as the fire sticks sounded they were all off. The ebony colt, larger than most of his age took off into the forest losing his mother, his father and his family. The colt was pursued and ropes flung on his back legs dragging him to the ground, his neck was suddenly reigned back with another rope. His eyes looked in fear as they put ropes around him and dragged him off. There were much larger horses that they rode, with metal and ropes entangled on them as the white men road on them. He asked them why, and they just glared or snorted flinging their muzzles in the air.
He was dragged off to the same area as Itzpapalotl, she was sitting on the porch listening to her master read and try to teach her how. “Soquili.” She said pointing to the little colt. The man with the odd facial hair shook his head, “Horse, Itzpapalotl.” He pronounced her name wrong as usual. “We should rename you so you fit in more, maybe Elizabeth or something.” She shook her head looking back towards the colt. She spoke fluently in her own language cursing the men putting the small thing in the stalls. The colt was big enough to be almost a teen but he was young, off of milk she could tell. She had been here long enough to learn about horses, their birthing process and such. This was a horrid place, they made the horses breed. It was not and it was controlled by a sociopath white woman with golden locks, her lips as red as ripe apples. Itzpapalotl hated her and wished to slit her throat in her sleep but she did not. She would be hung on the gallows as they called them. Yes, she was learning their ‘civil’ ways. Out in the lot where they put the colt tied to a pole a group of the white children gathered. They watched the frightened foal and started to throw stones at him. As they came up to him, the foal nipped at them and they threw more blooding him. Itzpapalotl watched in horror and struck one of them who went crying to his mother. The mother cursed at her and her husband came and struck Itzpapalotl to the ground and then kicked her bloody. Itzpapalotl looked to the foal who seemed to be in as much horror as herself. He nickered and she smiled at the sound. This was only the beginning.
The colt grew quickly and it wasn’t long they were trying to get the horse to ride. Secretly, the girl was going to him reading him stories and such, feeding him extra sugar cubes and carrots when she could. She named him Cyrus after a character in one of the books she was reading. It meant ‘Lord of the Sun’ and he was her sun. This would be interesting; Itzpapalotl went to the fence to watch. They first tried to shove the bit into his mouth. He spat it out quickly but they shoved it back in. The stallion hissed at the cold metal, he tasted his own metallic blood. Itzpapalotl looked at the stallion and clicked her tongue, they had created a language together and knew most of what each of each other meant. Cyrus made it clear he would not be contained by their chains and bucked. As he was in the small container, they saddled him tightly. He rammed himself up inside the cage knocking the human trying to get the saddle on knocking the wind out of him. This put a smile on Cyrus’ face, his very short mane ruffled in the slight wind. It stunk, the humans had but chemicals that burned on it to try and make it grow. He grew very harsh to these pale two leggers. As they extra weight went on his eyes widened, he did not like this. Other horses were watching from their stalls eating their hay. How Cyrus longed for that sweet luscious grass. The gate opened and Cyrus sprung out the man lasted no more than point o one seconds. He was flung off, as they tried to gather Cyrus he reared at them kicking and bucking all of them. They tried whips, spurs and anything they could try to make him ride. He would not, he was bloodied and in strips until they shoved him in a box. A trailer of a top and it baked under the sun, they gave him no food nor water for four days. He heard from the outside his Indian friend trying to get him and getting caught. They were both abused and he realized this. They soon let him out into the chorale and as soon as he was fed they led him to the ring to be bred, he was free spirited but he was large, mostly one color and had the most beautiful eyes any white man had seen in a horse. They wanted their own, they brought in their ‘best’ mares to breed with him. He bit at them if they came near him and he was whipped but he didn’t care. He kicked one mare hard in the leg and it fractured her, she was coming on way to fast and she was not so nice and he hated her with a passion. Her owner wanted Cyrus shot for he was an endangerment. The ‘chief’ of the white men agreed and he was to be killed by the next moon. When Itzpapalotl heard of this she decided to get out with Cyrus. That night she snuck out of the bathroom window and went to the stalls. Cyrus was caged under padlock but she had learned how to pick them quickly. She clicked her tongue and he came to her. His hoofs were adorned with the silver things they nailed into their hooves called shoes. She petted him and kissed his nose, “Let us go Cyrus.”
She led him out and he bowed his head and raised it looking to his back, she rose her brow. He wanted her to ride him? She had never had a soquili, she smiled. They were mean to be she decided. She hopped on top though it was a fairly difficult task for such a tall horse. She saw the light flicker on, in her house. Cyrus took off and jumped the fence with ease. Itzpapalotl held onto his mane for dear life, it was so short and greased with those damned chemicals again. The chemicals were turning his skin raw and they expected it to grow. They left and she heard growing voices turn to whispers as they grew farther and farther away. She smiled, “We are free.”
Cyrus flew with the earth it seemed, he was fast and he knew it. He used his power, his strength and muscle to go faster and farther away from the hell they had lived in for so long. As dawn grew near, he tired. They were near her old village, she rode in the teepees were half burned. Perhaps they were found by another tribe. Other peered from their homes and came out bowing their heads. They seen a female they had abandoned mounted on a great soquili. This was an honor to them for they had no soquili. They tried to welcome her back and adorn her soquili but she snapped. She snapped at them, gave them curses as her tears fell. Cyrus did the same biting any who came close to his beloved. They soon left, to new lands to a new life. He didn’t know what became of his family and no one seemed to have heard of his herd. He remained with his two legger companion and they built a teepee outside of a new village. This place was full of soquili, they were in the village’s lands however. The princess of the lands came and greeted her, she was smiling and so happy. Itzpapalotl was hurt. Pain and horror shone in her eyes as well as Cyrus. The two looked to Princess soquili in wonder, she asked her name and Itzpapalotl looked at her they spoke the same language and in it she replied. “Lily.”
 
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Posted: Wed Dec 13, 2006 1:57 pm
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N a m e :
Erik
A g e:
Stallion
V o i c e:
The Phantom!
T h e m e...S o n g:
Phantom of the Opera
E y e...C o l o r:
Silver
M a n e.. &.. T a i l... C o l o r s:
Black
C o a t...C o l o r s:
Ebony with front white hooves. With a rose winding up his back leg
W i n g... c o l o r :
Black with crimson tips
L i k e s:
Singing, Flying, Building, Magic, Understanding the undescribable, puzzles, his childeren, Sekhmet, roses
D i s l i k e s:
Himself, liars, betrayers, his mask
M a t e:
Sekhmet! <3
C h i l d e r e n:
Ares [Jailbait]
Rascal [Jailbait]
P e r s o n a l i t y: He is usually secluded and keeps to himself. But now with his new mate Sekhmet his personality changes around her. Instead of his cold, distant and secluded self he becomes more gentle and open to her. He also tries to open himself to Ares, but he doesn't always want to hear it from Erik. He is desperatly trying to patch things up with his son and loves him to no end.
B a c k g r o u n d:
The sound of clanking rivets of a carousel, and the song that carried over it that tried to carry a musical tone. Spoiled children laughing, and soon shouting in joy in the next stall to see the muscled man or the lady with a beard, the small foal flickered his tail. A tweed bag covered his head and let his little ears stick out at the top. He nosed at a small monkey in the cage that he was imprisoned in. The little symbols in its hands clinked together, he smiled softly in the bag. And then the children and teenager’s filed into the tent. He sighed softly as the burly man came into his cage and slammed it shut. His curled his wings around his body, but the man pulled them apart from him showing them to the audience and the cheered and clapped. He held the whip in his hand, and started whipping the small foal. Each crack of the whip made him flinch, but he was trying to get used to it. After all he was shone once or twice a week. Beating him to bloody ribbons, he whimpered softly as he took the bag off and gripped his mane that had been butchered off. He watched them frightened and they stood in horror. The man threw the ebony foal back down as the children through coins and other small items of value at the cage floor.
His mother’s voice rang out in his head Demon! You are no son of mine! She had rejected him at such a young age, his mother! “Mama,” he cried out walking towards he r shuffling though glistening wings. No one in all of Paris had heard of a horse with wings but his face so hideous and the rest perfection. Gargoyle, from hell go back from where you came.” She snorted, glaring at her blood son but not emotionally or physically. His eyes flared in hatred recalling the memory, she had thrown him out like a piece of rubbish. His face tainted in tears then and now they tainted them as well. If she had not disposed of him perhaps he would not have been here. He was beaten physically, but what was worse. He had been beaten emotionally. He watched as the man collected the coins in haste, licking his lips. His pain was this man’s enjoyment. Erik snorted, and with a swift kick to his head and it clashed with the metal bars. He gathered some of the loose rope as he was only unconscious and looped it around his neck, intertwining it with a few bars so he could kill more easily. The man’s face turned bluish and finally the minimal movement of his chest ceased.
Erik relaxed ruffling those feathers, one of the mares that had been working with the opera house came in that moment, she had watched. He had seen her but she had kicked the cage in and told him to come with her. She was not frightened? Did not call him names? Wanted to…help him? He followed her willing and the shouts of men and guns shrieked. She led him to the opera house cellar. He had slipped the bag back on his face. She opened the door and whispered to him softly in French. She could be no older than a teenager. How he would thank her, but he could not speak. He spoke to no one, he didn’t have the heart. But he knew fluent French and spoke in a natural accent. He stumbled down ally ways and found a secret entrance to the catacombs. They were so oddly shaped, turns and soon he knew all. He had made himself very comfortable in his new home.
He went around the opera house at night plummeting objects and such to collect for it. As he passed the lake each time, the items grew heavier and heavier. He soon had a bed that looked like a large bird, he had carved it himself out of wood. He grew handy with knives and his teeth, he was amazing. Madame Giry, the female whom saved him called him a genius. And this was his playground she had only been in his home once. She loved it though, he soon painted his bird black and gathered crimson blankets and such from one of the plays that was performed. His managers ordered more and he took them as well. This was how he paid him, they knew he was there but if he went searching for him. Tragic events occurred if he did. Candles lit his room, a large organ decorated one of his platforms. See through black curtains came before each different room. He had hung them all. Soon he was proud of it. All of it and its entirety. Nothing could change those bright eyes of his as he looked at it with the largest, and first grin upon his face. Brows rose, his mane growing to the floor he was beautiful but to him. As his mother had said, he was a gargoyle from hell.
The next day, he gathered wax and over a flame he made it hot. He then let the half of his face, the one destroyed since birth a defect fall into the hot liquid. He did not flinch however, the process worked but it had went over his eye lid. He soon perfected the process by putting a large cork in his eye while squinting. He just had to use a deeper bowl of wax. The mask fit perfectly and was as comfortable as it could get. He then dipped it in a white paint so it contrasted with his pelt, he wanted black but the black seemed to seep through the mask and was transparent. White worked the best without ruining it. He coated it with another mixture of a substance that he had made of a variety of things so the paint or wax wouldn’t melt under too horrible conditions. Though since he lived in the catacombs there was no worry of it getting to hot, his tail flickered as he walked to his bed and climbed atop the crimson cushions. Falling fast asleep at such hard work, his cold silver eyes turning a bit warmer to his own seclusion.
However in the later days a female arrived, Madam Giry turned to Erik. She had told him he needed a name and since he insisted that she give it to him she picked Erik. There was no particular reason, or so she said. She said specifically if he didn’t like it he could pick a new one and she ran off. She turned to him expressing talent in this female. Singing talent, dancing talent and musical talent. She told Erik she knew of his singing and music that he created and told him that this Mademoiselle Christine Daaé was for him. Now he being sympathetic and usually taking the wise advice of Madam Giry took Christine in and became her teacher. Over the years he fell in love with her and she him. It seemed perfect except she had never seen him. Erik had one of the catacomb doors lead to a stall and he made a door lead to his house. It was for when he was ready to show himself to her, because he soon made her a star. She became the prima donna of The Paris Opera House, she was used in every play in some way. But his plans soon became foiled as the patron of the two new fools that became managers hired new stallions in performance. One happened to be a child hood friend of Christine’s. His name, he didn’t care to mention ever. But in the beginning it was just a friendship. When Erik had tried to take Christine to his layer, she had betrayed him by stripping of him of his mask. His comfort and protection she took from him in a split second. He cursed her in rage, turning into the gargoyle his mother had called him. He had apologized but god, he had taught her, sang to her, loved her. Gave up everything for her and she betrayed him by taking the one think he had for himself without feeling like such a, such a…freak. And then she did the worse thing possible, she went to her stallion from her child hood. Loving him, and leaving Erik in the past like garbage like his mother had. His love had turned into his greatest hate.
He would take her he thought, he planned and plotted. Soon he had them both where he wanted them, Raoul in the choke hold he had on his first kill. He made her chose him over Raoul, if she chose Raoul he would simply kill him. She insisted to be with Erik, but it was false love. She put on a good show though. He wept out of sorrow and a broken heart. He let Raoul go, go with Christine. He let them go off with their false love. He spat in hatred towards the two, others had wondered what had happened and the owners of the two had found the entrance to the catacombs. He fled through the many other hidden entries and for the first time spread those great wings and flew. Flew until he was out of Paris and at the borders of the ocean. He looked to the horizon and hoped their was land afterwards. He took off with great speed, muscle and talent for flying. The angel from hell was going to find a new home.
He flew into a storm, thunders crashed and it rang in his ears like a high pitched shrill. He fell into the waters, the cold waters ran over him and he struggled to the surface. He couldn’t lift back up, the waters cooled his feathers. He tried to stay above the waters, and the waves fought him crashed against him. They made him fight for his life, flash backs of his past flashed through his mind quick and white lights. He had to stay awake, hours had passed. Amazingly his mask had stayed on and he was grateful for it. He then looked to the clear skies and over to his left. Land! He blessed whomever was in the skies and seas, whomever plotted this desolate place. He looked at the shores and used his wings to propel himself through the water. He came ashore flickering his tail shaking the salty water off. He looked at tall trees and open plains, forest lands. No buildings, smoke, people smelling of soiled cottons. Had he died, was he in some better place. He looked in the trees and some female was watching him, she had long ebony hair and tan skin. Unlike any he had seen before. She had black markings on her as well like some of the performers had at the freak circus he remembered. He snorted at the two legger, She was sitting on something, and he realized it was a horse, he was laying and as he stood he realized how large the stallion was. The black male was…huge. Emerald orbs, feathers, and earrings adorning him. He smiled and introduced himself as Cyrus, Erik quickly learned their language and lived with the two legger known as Lily a.k.a Itzpapalotl as well as Cyrus, his daughter and later his own son Ares.
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Posted: Wed Dec 13, 2006 1:59 pm
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N a m e:
Ares
A g e :
Stallion
V o i c e:
Lead of Breaking Benjamin
T h e m e...S o n g:
Animal I Have Become: Three Days Grace
E y e...C o l o r:
Azure
M a n e...&...T a i l...C o l o r s:
Black
C o a t...C o l o r s :
White, with an ebony mask upon half of his face, an ebony skull on his rump and black and white stockings
L i k e s:
Fighting, Training for fighting, singing, French
D i s l i k e s:
Talking, socializing, others belittling him or the friends he has
F a m i l y:
Sire: Erik
Dam: Jailbait
Sister: Rascal
M a t e :
None
C h i l d r e n:
[None]
P e r s o n a l i t y:
He is quite cold hearted from his past. He is silent when around others and anti social around most, stallions more than mares. Perhaps because of the lack of a father and he had never met his mother or sister. Under that hard shell of his there is a semi warm hearted stallion...hopefully.
B a c k g r o u n d:
He was born of Erik and Jailbait, he doesn't know all the details that happened but apparently his father was in love with his mother and he had tried to find her but with no luck. He too has searched for her but feels as if he is chasing a ghost. He and Erik have not gotten along since he was little, for Erik wasn't ready to be a father than without his mother's companionship childish but true. So he was raised by a psychotic unikalona and she taught him most of everything he knows and was the one whom formed that dark, dark mind of his.
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Posted: Wed Dec 13, 2006 2:04 pm
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Posted: Wed Dec 13, 2006 2:06 pm
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Posted: Wed Dec 13, 2006 2:14 pm
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Posted: Wed Dec 13, 2006 2:22 pm
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Posted: Wed Dec 13, 2006 2:25 pm
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Posted: Wed Dec 13, 2006 2:36 pm
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E r i k...a n d...A r e s
Erik lay next to one of the sitting logs, gazing into the fire that lit the pit. He watched as the red flamed grazed along the wood. Itzpapalotl was sleeping, Cyrus and Cynara both out visiting friends and Ares...he did not know. God, what had he done? He never seen Jailbait after that night. It wasn't fair, Ares looked so much like his mother and he was tortured with it every day. Though it wasn't the boy's fault. He loved her though, Erik did love Jailbait other wise he wouldn't have shared himself with her. But it seemed fate did not want them to be or perhaps it was his own stubborness that made him stay still rather than going to her. Still afraid of love, how he wanted to go and sometimes tried but no one seemed to know of his dark beauty. He looked up at the crunch of snow coming closer. His eyes searched the darkness looking for the perpatraitor. He found it. A large, pale and very muscular stallion appeared. Ares. He moved his own legs to get up, watching Ares.
"Don't bother," he replied watching Erik through his ebony braids. He spoke in such a cold tone it rose the hairs on Erik's pelt. Ares headed straight for the teepee, giving him no look of compassion. He wanted sleep in his warm teepee and nothing to do with Erik.
Erik got to his hooves anyway looking at his son, his wings shifting uncomfertably. Ares was the same size as ahimself but he seemed to still be growing. Tears glittered his eyes as he gazed at Ares now. "Please Ares," he was pleading. Erik was reserved and quiet. Now he was pleading, even begging his son. Perhaps for his son's forgivness, self guilt or reassurance, sorrow..."I'm...sorry."
"Sorry for what?" Ares watched him in hatred as he spoke his demanding words. "Sorry you haven't been a father? Sorry you never took me to see the rest of my family? My sister. My mother! Sorry for not being there when I needed you most?" he glared in haste as his tones grew and muscles tensed. "I'm sorry too." he spat.
"Yes, Ares. I am. You have no idea."
"No, I don't and probably never will." he growled looking through his long braids at Erik. Even looking at his father made his heart beat faster and his limbs tingle in anticipation. His white pelt shifted with his muscles as they tensed. Why was he doing this now? Here and now, why? This made Ares question Erik's tactics. Perhaps he wanted something more from Ares besides his child hood.
"Ares if I could go back to when you were but a babe in your basket I would. I wouldn't have left your side. I would have been there when you took your first steps. I would have took you back to Jailbait and your sister. Perhaps we could have been a family, but I did screw it up. I don't even know what your sister looks like nor her name! I wish I could go back and fix things cause god knows I love Jailbait and you and your sister though I haven't showed it. I would go back, but I can't...I don't know where she is...I never did." his lips trembled as he spoke, his eyes glistening at the brink. His own son hated him and probably his past love and daughter. He could take it if they hated him, but not their hate for life. He wanted to fix things, hopefully he could heal him and his son to a level one...perhaps meet with Jailbait and his daughter.
Ares watched his own rage and hate boil down to sorrow and saddness. He had only cared what he felt and not his father. But to be rejected by the only family he had was even worse. He looked speechless or perhaps holding his toungue for something he might regret saying later which was always a possibility.
"I know I have done you wrong in so many ways Ares perhaps you will never forgive me but I will try and do right by you these coming days. You may look like your mother but by god you are as stubborn as I." Erik looked to him hopefully, not knowing what to expect.
Ares breathed heavily, speaking in the same french tone. "We shall see." Ordinarilly, he wouldn't even acknowledged Erik but this little show. He entered the teepee to see Itzpapalotl staring at him with those bright blue eyes of hers. She whispered to him in her own language, but it was soothing. He went to her and lay by her side, tears falling as she stroked him and braiding his ebony mane until he fell asleep. |
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