Vasili

[Vasili]

VASILI

I'm gonna make you bend and break;
the basics. the basics. the basics. the basics. the basics. the basics.

BIRTH NAME: Vasili
NICKNAMES: Vas, Vasi
GENDER: Male
MILESTONE: Two years
SPECIES: Caribou
BREED: Woodland Caribou
LOYALTY: Beast
SEXUALITY: Heterosexual
POWER: Ice

say a prayer but let the good times roll;
the looks. the looks. the looks. the looks. the looks. the looks.

HEIGHT: 4'11 at the shoulder
WEIGHT: Five hundred pounds
COAT COLOUR: In the summer Vas' body is a dark brown that borders on back. His neck, head, and spine are a lighter, tawnier brown. The colors have abrupt edges and do not mix. At the base of his throat he has a large white oval. His head is darker than his neck and he has a dark mask the same color as his body. During the winter his fur grows thicker, lighter and mottled with white in order to allow him to blend in better with the snow.
EYE COLOUR: Pale, ice blue
DISTINGUISHING MARKS: While he does have scars as all creatures do, the majority of them are hidden beneath his thick fur leaving only the multitude of small scars on his knees visible.
OVERALL APPEARANCE: Vasili is large, slightly larger than the majority of bull reindeer by a couple of inches, and much larger than females. His fur is thick and varies in color only slightly. The main bulk of his body is a dark liver color, with some tints of red in the direct sunlight. This dark colors transforms into the light tan shade of a mountain lion along his spine and thick, ungraceful neck. Like all male caribou, the bottom of his throat is shaggy with extra skin hanging down in order to protect his jugular from predators. However, his real protection comes from the large antlers on his head that last from early fall until late may and his sharp, cloven hooves. Vas' face a color somewhere between his body and his neck and lined with a darker streak that, while it starts in the middle, jags sharply to the left to fall off his nose. When Vasili is standing still he appears rather stately and regal, but when he starts to move it is apparent that he is rather clumsy, resulting in the scars on his knees. However, he can still book it when he needs to.

in case god doesn't show, let the good times roll;
the mind. the mind. the mind. the mind. the mind. the mind. the mind.

LIKES: Forests, Others of his Kind, Flowers, Cold Weather, Swimming, Lily Pads, Calves, Songbirds
DISLIKES: Heat, Steep Slopes, Being Alone, Cruel Creatures, Complete Silence, Sarcasm
STRENGTHS: Completely Honest, Incredibly Strong, Very Sweet and Caring
WEAKNESSES: Not Very Intelligent, Oblivious to Plotting, Clumsy as a Newborn Calf
DESIRES: Someone to love and a calf of his own.
SECRETS: His fault in the death of his little brother.
PHOBIAS: Being Alone, Rabbits
OVERALL PERSONALITY: Like most prey animals, Vasili feels safest when he is among others of his own kind, preferably a couple hundred or so. At least, that's what he's used to, but his type are rather few and far between in this strange land. So he makes do with the songbirds for now. Speaking of songbirds, the young bull likes nothing more than to stand in the forest still as a tree, luring the pretty, twittering birds onto his antlers. He envies them for their bright colors and grace and loves them for their beautiful songs. There is however, another reason he loathes being alone, and that is because every time he is he is unable to ignore the little voice in his mind blaming him for his brother's death. Guilt over powers him and he declines into a foggy depression that leaves him hardly able to eat, let alone interact with others when he encounters them. This makes a vicious cycle of loneliness that has convinced him its really just better if he's never alone. When he is surrounded by others Vas is a wonderfully light-hearted kind of guy. He doesn't worry about the scheming of others and just focuses on being kind and honest to others. There is nothing he likes more than a warm conversation, especially with a female, and a rollicking play with a young calf. In many ways Vasili acts very young for his age, although it is true he is still a rather young adult. At times he can be stray over the border from care-free into carelessness, though he strives to catch himself at this because it is h ow he lost his brother.

and I want these words to make things right;
the history. the history. the history. the history.

BIRTHPLACE: Far away in a much colder place.
SIRE: Evgeny, Unknown
DAME: Katya, Unknown
SIBLINGS: Pasha, Younger Brother, Deceased
LOVERS: None
OFFSPRING: None
OTHER: None
HISTORY:
One cool, bright spring day a cow caribou lowed in a field studded with snowdrops, the first flowers of the year. Her sides were streaked with sweat as she heaved to produce the calf that was making her muscles ache. At last the creature slid forth with joy, eager to enter the new world of sights and smells that awaited him. The new calf opened his pale blue eyes with difficulty and blinked. Right before his rather large, round nose was a small, white flower. Carefully he reached out to sniff it, only to let out a massive sneeze. And so Vasili came into the world. He was always a playful youngster, driving his many elders in his large herd to distraction. many of his peers loved him, but even they were irritated as he often played tricks on those he considered his dearest friends. Even from a young age it was obvious that he would never be the most graceful of creatures, but few caribou were after all. Even more obvious was that he would never be a leader like his father. The calf preferred the simpler things in life, prancing among the rocky highland meadows of his youth with gleeful joy.

When he was a yearling the happiest day in his young life came. His baby brother was born. When his mother came back to the herd leading the damp newborn Vasili pranced about him, coming dangerously close to knocking the poor thing over. He vowed to care for the young male like there was nothing else to do in life. Other caribou wished his little brother well and thanked the gods they weren't related to the yearling bull. Mindless of dangers Vas lead his little brother, Pasha, everywhere he went, not thinking that maybe the younger reindeer wouldn't be able to keep up. Still, Pasha strove to be just like his big brother and tried to stay with him as much as he could. Alas, one day that would be his downfall. Vasili was trying to show Pasha his favorite snack - a water lily pad. In he waded into the deep, dark water of the still and silent pond, his little brother following behind. Vas didn't even notice when the water reached over the younger caribou's head and he had to paddle instead of walk, but just kept on going. He took his time eating his treat, chiding Pasha for not trying the delicious food. The young creature tired quickly and soon succumbed to the waters grasp, thrashing as he fell beneath the surface. For a few moments the still surface was transformed into a roiling mess of waves and bubbles. Horrified, Vasili ran to seek out his parents, arriving back with them in tow. It was too late. The pond was once again still. The bull ran off, unable to hear his parents' bellows of pain. He never returned. Vas traveled for one long year before coming to these lands.

but it's the wrongs that make the truth come to life;
about me. about me. about me. about me. about me. about me. about me.

NAME:18
GENDER: She
OTHER CHARACTERS: Nope
ROLEPLAY SAMPLE:

Darkness. It surrounded her, wet and moist as it had for so many long, long years. It was not an endless dark, its sides clearly defined, pressing against her sides, pushing her convex head deep in between her legs, curved as she was into an almost fetal position. Her back followed the curve of the pumpkin, vertebrae grinding against the immovable barriers of her prison. This is not what death was supposed to be. What had happened to fiery depths and cloudy heights? Not that she had altogether expected to be among those highly praised angels, but surely she would have at least joined Soviet and Holocaust in their bloody ends? What a disappointment it had been to find herself here, among stringy pulp and hard seeds. Life had been hell, but Hell was just boredom. Endless expanses of boredom during which she had time only to think back across the lonely life she had lead. There was the first three years of her life, boring, only, in their repetitiveness. Times such as though must be forgotten, left behind so we may all move on to more interesting times. It was in her first weeks on Cimoron Island, among the many desperate females of the Fae Meadows that she had met Soviet. The wind had told her he would come, a noble beast who's soul would be perfect. Ah yes, the wind, her faithful friend. How she had missed that delicate caress! Whatever would she do if she had to stay within this prison for eternity? Die once again, that's what she would do. Die in Death for Death was nothing with out the wind. But anyway, back to the story. Soviet had come and beat away some other stallion so unmemorable she could no longer remember his name. It had been so long. But there he had been! His palomino paint coat glowing in the sun, his dark soul glowing forth behind the healthy shine of gold. How dark he had been! And so powerful. So many plans, so many dreams. She had born his twins in the great floods that year; even as he challenged the dark king, Synster Gates, for his throne. She had ignored the whispers of the other mares, disregarding their proclamations that she was a whore, that her beautiful, beautiful sons were bastards. Oh, her sons! Holocaust and Poltergeist. One still lived in his old years, banished from the Dark lands and resigned to the Loner. Geist. His soul had been so obscured by clouds and cobwebs after the death of his brother that the mare worried for him. It was no natural death, the King had won and killed Golden Soviet and Holocaust, who had surely been fated for great things. It was odd, really, that she remembered so much. The one thing she could not remember, no matter how hard she tried, was her name.

A sudden sensation ran through her curled up body, awakening every tendril of her nervous system. It was familiar, but not to her directly. This is what her foals had felt like as they rested in the womb, mere minutes before the tidal wave of her pain had initiated and they thundered forth into the world in a spew of blood and placenta. Perhaps it was a sign? Surely she could not have been given leave to escape her prison? Tentatively she flexed the muscles of her neck, grazing her blocky forehead against the pulpy expanse of curved wall. And it gave. With a sense of new determination the mare banged her thankfully sturdy icelandic pony head against the wall that had imprisoned her for more than a decade. Pain darted through her, shooting down the bones of her neck as they ground against their joints, making her cry out in astonished pain. A small crack appeared, allowing the scent of still, fresh air to enter her prison. She was almost there. With one, final bang her head burst from the prison, shedding absurdly pieces of large pumpkin grind around the ground. Bracing her hind haunches against the opposite wall she burst free in a dramatic explosion, showering pulp about her. For the first time in decades Corvlana felt wind on her skin. Stringy orange matter draped across her thick, curly blue and white mane. For a moment she stood, allowing the wind to drape itself across her tingling skin, maroon eyes shut for a long moment against the painful light of noon. 'Mistress, you have returned!' Wind, Wind, glorious wind! Amazing, wonderful, fabulous wind! It was gorgeous, and she had missed it so very much. After a few moments of absurd bliss, however, she allowed her self to spare a couple of thoughts to her rather atrocious appearance. Slimy goop draped across her whole body, and a particularly large shell of pumpkin rested on top of her head, forming a clownish cap that she shed immediately with a shake of her bony cranium. The glop was gotten rid of with that shake that all horses who have been rained upon can perfect, much like that of a similarly wet dog. With all of the orange mess gone her true coloring and build was revealed. Blue roan, with large patches of white that spread over exactly half of her body. Muscles lined her strong bones, building a foundation as sturdy as any draft, but in far smaller scale, and perhaps a titch more graceful.

The chill in the air drew her attention to her more immediate surroundings, at least those farther away from her than herself. It was winter that much was obvious, a soft sprinkling of snow covering the treacherously muddy ground that was already pulling at her beige hooves. Grotesquely large pumpkins covered the grounds, their vines tangling about each other like chaotic serpents trying to eat each other. Behind her rested yet another pumpkin, a whole wall collapsed and guts and seeds spread across the mucky ground. For a fleeting moment Corvlana wondered what would spring from those seeds. Pumpkins containing the souls of the newly dead? Alas, it was no use wondering, so she drew her mind on to, yet again, other things. it was completely useless to her to wonder such things. However, it was rather useful to wonder who resided in the remaining pumpkins. Her parents? Her children? Perhaps even darling Soviet? What would happen if she tore open every single pumpkin, releasing their occupants? Would she find her heart or would she release demons into the world? Indecision froze her muscles and she paused for a good long moment, staring intently at the nearest pumpkin, her small ears pricked, listening for the wind. Alas, her faithful servant had no advice for her tempestuous soul and Corvlana sighed, releasing the pent up tension that had momentarily filled her muscles. Soviet would not appreciate it if a mare released such a mighty creature into the world. He would have to do it himself.

[Castaway]