Post by Wren on Jul 20, 2010 15:02:10 GMT -8
[/color]
Full Name;; Cyra Lightfoot
Preferred Name;; Cyra, or Cy
Title;; "The Shadowdancer", Eyrie Pack Betess
Age;; 3.5
Gender;; female
Preferred Name;; Cyra, or Cy
Title;; "The Shadowdancer", Eyrie Pack Betess
Age;; 3.5
Gender;; female
Part of the puzzle...
Pack;; Eyrie
Rank;; Betess (not the mate of Silmarillion)
Mate;; none, as of yet
Offspring;; none
Rank;; Betess (not the mate of Silmarillion)
Mate;; none, as of yet
Offspring;; none
Reflections
Breed;; Gray Wolf--subspecies British Columbian Wolf
Appearance;; She is rather small and slim, with long legs and relatively short, soft fur. Her short fur is dense, however, keeping her warm in the frigid winters. Her fur, however, isn't completely black-- it is patched with a gray-brown color on her hackles and behind her forearms, riddling her fur with sparse lines. The lighter color is also sprinkled over her brow and below her nose, on her muzzle.
Cyra has light gold-green eyes, bright against her black fur.
Despite her slim frame, she has very large paws, webbed between the toes for increased water mobility. Cyra also possesses rather large claws on her paws, to remain proportional.
Picture;;
Wear your heart on your sleeve...
Personality;; Cyra is fairly quiet, preferring to wag her tail or smile at other wolves than talk. She's known as the Shadowdancer for her quick and silent feet, her dark fur color, and softened demeanor. She is, quite frankly, a stalker of the night. Cyra can disappear is she so wishes, blending in with her second home--the shadows. Sometimes, she prefers the shadows to the lighthearted aura of her pack, deferring to a less pragmatic way of life within the quiet darkness.
However, Cyra can also be social, when she prefers to be so. Although not talkative and preferring to listen, she loves to be around the younger generations, listening to their broken speech and the stories spun by their creative minds. Since Cyra is a higher-ranking member of the Eyrie Pack, she tolerates the older generations, putting them in line with few, but stern words.
Cyra does not have a speech impediment, per say, but she has issues communicating herself if not prompted correctly. If lashed at subtly, she will quicken her tongue and rip apart the opponent with witty banter. However, under direct attack she prefers to stay silent, attacking with her eyes. She has the ability to speak, and with great candor, but Cyra prefers to listen rather than exasperate her voice box.
Traits;; Stubborn, cheerful, patient, strong leader, big-hearted, childlike, quiet, intelligent, impish
Strengths;; Stealthy, strong night vision, good listening skills, strong-minded
Weaknesses;; Physically frail, communication issues (difficulty creating her thoughts into sentences)
Fears;; Being alone in open spaces, losing her pack, loud noises admist complete silence, bears
History;; Cyra was born the runt of a litter of 4, to a previous set of alphas of the Eyrie Pack. However, instead of growing larger like her siblings, she remained small, despite the supposed body standard of her pack.
She continued her stunted growth, her paws the only thing abnormally large, remaining lean and lanky. She took to the shadows at an early age, preferring the comfort and silence of the darkness to the jests and jabs of her pup companions. Cyra learned to walk in silence, despite her large paws, and became a companion to stealth.
She quickly climbed the ranks from basic scout to Betess, but preferred to keep her lower rank as an add-on, since she enjoys her solitude as well as her social standing. Her quiet demeanor and patience make her a wonderful second-in-command and temporary leader.
However, Cyra can also be social, when she prefers to be so. Although not talkative and preferring to listen, she loves to be around the younger generations, listening to their broken speech and the stories spun by their creative minds. Since Cyra is a higher-ranking member of the Eyrie Pack, she tolerates the older generations, putting them in line with few, but stern words.
Cyra does not have a speech impediment, per say, but she has issues communicating herself if not prompted correctly. If lashed at subtly, she will quicken her tongue and rip apart the opponent with witty banter. However, under direct attack she prefers to stay silent, attacking with her eyes. She has the ability to speak, and with great candor, but Cyra prefers to listen rather than exasperate her voice box.
Traits;; Stubborn, cheerful, patient, strong leader, big-hearted, childlike, quiet, intelligent, impish
Strengths;; Stealthy, strong night vision, good listening skills, strong-minded
Weaknesses;; Physically frail, communication issues (difficulty creating her thoughts into sentences)
Fears;; Being alone in open spaces, losing her pack, loud noises admist complete silence, bears
History;; Cyra was born the runt of a litter of 4, to a previous set of alphas of the Eyrie Pack. However, instead of growing larger like her siblings, she remained small, despite the supposed body standard of her pack.
She continued her stunted growth, her paws the only thing abnormally large, remaining lean and lanky. She took to the shadows at an early age, preferring the comfort and silence of the darkness to the jests and jabs of her pup companions. Cyra learned to walk in silence, despite her large paws, and became a companion to stealth.
She quickly climbed the ranks from basic scout to Betess, but preferred to keep her lower rank as an add-on, since she enjoys her solitude as well as her social standing. Her quiet demeanor and patience make her a wonderful second-in-command and temporary leader.
Survey time!
How did you find us?;; I was on UNS, and got an email from Bassie to come here :B
Roleplay Example;;
Trivia;; Cyra loves listening to fantastic tales of wolves who defied the odds of their packs, just as she plans to do eventually, despite her frail frame. Her favorite stories are the ones about the Gods; she's not quite sure what to believe just yet, and is quite torn between love and hatred for the deities.
PS;; I'm totally Wren. :D
[/blockquote][/blockquote]Roleplay Example;;
tossed her long brown hair over her shoulder, stretching her neck sideways. She had a slight kink in it that wouldn't go away, probably from craning her head over her book all night. That had been her fault, of course, but she was more akin to blaming the book, which had held an interesting plot. At least, interesting enough to make her want to stay up all night reading, rather than obtaining a good night's sleep before the first day of classes.
Checking the weather through a stained glass window, Emily sighed, her green eyes closing briefly. Rain, only a slight drizzle, but rain nonetheless. Grabbing her scarf and wand from a pocket of her black robe, her prefect badge (with Head Girl recognition stitched in, of course) firmly in place at her breast. She tied her scarf quickly about her neck, Ravenclaw colors bright against her dark black robe and light brown hair.
Flicking her wand swiftly about her head; "Impervius," she stated simply, casting the spell over her body to protect her from the drizzle outside. It was wonderful, to be able to use magic on herself, as the power and control needed she'd studied for nearly all summer, and finally attained it. Emily liked to think there was little she could do now, other than the higher level magics, and for this reason she was named Head Girl. Prideful, yes, but rightfully so, as she was nearly the smartest girl in the school.
She opened the door and let herself outside, smiling as her spell worked (but had she truly doubted it?) and she remained dry as the water beat off her, bouncing off her hair, clothes and skin like rubber dots. Turning, she made her way to cover the grounds, watching for stray children awake before they should be. Emily wasn't required to patrol, but it was just once of those things she was awake to do, and felt necessary considering some of the school's...inhabitants.
She cast a wary look towards the forest's edge, where a small corral kept Blast-Ended Skrewts, sleeping soundly in their pen. Nearby was a section for some Unicorn foals, which was open to the Forbidden Forest's edge, as they were not to be kept completely locked up (for wildlife protection issues, Emily could only infer, she wasn't too keen on animal lawls). Bypassing all of this from a safe distance, she turned towards the Quidditch pitch. Above the field, the Head Girl saw a fuzzy shape in the autumn drizzle, zipping around with ease. She smiled, but with a sour air. Yes, she enjoyed watching others fly, but there were specific times as to when flying for pleasure was allowed, and the dangerous, early morning air was not an allotted slot of flytime.
She came upon the edge of the pitch, not noticing the silver chair winking in the morning light, sitting in a slowly forming mud pit. She placed her hands on her hips, huffing. Time to use her outside voice, then.
"You there!" She called up, as loud as she could muster. She was a bit hoarse, but nothing too noticeable. "I said, you!" She called again, this time bringing a hand to her mouth to amplify her call. "Come down this instant!"
She wasn't trying to be rude, per say, but she was a prefect, and more so like Percy Weasley had been, rather than his younger brother Ronald. She tried to bend the rules sometimes, but more often than not she stuck to the rules and punished those who disobeyed, even those of her own house. And this blurry figure, flying rather well, she would later admit, was at heights not allowed at this time of morning. And especially not during this weather.
Checking the weather through a stained glass window, Emily sighed, her green eyes closing briefly. Rain, only a slight drizzle, but rain nonetheless. Grabbing her scarf and wand from a pocket of her black robe, her prefect badge (with Head Girl recognition stitched in, of course) firmly in place at her breast. She tied her scarf quickly about her neck, Ravenclaw colors bright against her dark black robe and light brown hair.
Flicking her wand swiftly about her head; "Impervius," she stated simply, casting the spell over her body to protect her from the drizzle outside. It was wonderful, to be able to use magic on herself, as the power and control needed she'd studied for nearly all summer, and finally attained it. Emily liked to think there was little she could do now, other than the higher level magics, and for this reason she was named Head Girl. Prideful, yes, but rightfully so, as she was nearly the smartest girl in the school.
She opened the door and let herself outside, smiling as her spell worked (but had she truly doubted it?) and she remained dry as the water beat off her, bouncing off her hair, clothes and skin like rubber dots. Turning, she made her way to cover the grounds, watching for stray children awake before they should be. Emily wasn't required to patrol, but it was just once of those things she was awake to do, and felt necessary considering some of the school's...inhabitants.
She cast a wary look towards the forest's edge, where a small corral kept Blast-Ended Skrewts, sleeping soundly in their pen. Nearby was a section for some Unicorn foals, which was open to the Forbidden Forest's edge, as they were not to be kept completely locked up (for wildlife protection issues, Emily could only infer, she wasn't too keen on animal lawls). Bypassing all of this from a safe distance, she turned towards the Quidditch pitch. Above the field, the Head Girl saw a fuzzy shape in the autumn drizzle, zipping around with ease. She smiled, but with a sour air. Yes, she enjoyed watching others fly, but there were specific times as to when flying for pleasure was allowed, and the dangerous, early morning air was not an allotted slot of flytime.
She came upon the edge of the pitch, not noticing the silver chair winking in the morning light, sitting in a slowly forming mud pit. She placed her hands on her hips, huffing. Time to use her outside voice, then.
"You there!" She called up, as loud as she could muster. She was a bit hoarse, but nothing too noticeable. "I said, you!" She called again, this time bringing a hand to her mouth to amplify her call. "Come down this instant!"
She wasn't trying to be rude, per say, but she was a prefect, and more so like Percy Weasley had been, rather than his younger brother Ronald. She tried to bend the rules sometimes, but more often than not she stuck to the rules and punished those who disobeyed, even those of her own house. And this blurry figure, flying rather well, she would later admit, was at heights not allowed at this time of morning. And especially not during this weather.
Trivia;; Cyra loves listening to fantastic tales of wolves who defied the odds of their packs, just as she plans to do eventually, despite her frail frame. Her favorite stories are the ones about the Gods; she's not quite sure what to believe just yet, and is quite torn between love and hatred for the deities.
PS;; I'm totally Wren. :D
[/left][/font][/size]
