macabre

[macabre]

Name: macabreGender: Mare

Side: Dark

Physical Description: macabre loves to use the art of trickery to fool others. her palomino coat is a perfect example of how she proves to be opposite of what she leads on.

she only reaches a height of 15.3 hands, quite short. however, don't let her height fool you - she's one hell of a spitfire.

being that she's a quarter horse, macabre is extremely stout and sinewy. she's pretty damn tough, believe it or not.

though she's usually got a matted mane and scared canvas, macabre is actually a fairly beautiful maiden. she looks gruff but that's simply on the outside.



Example Post:

A banshee wandered upon the land, brisk movements made as she dared the wind to taunt her. Coming to a halt, the ebonite painted femmora lifted her head, nasal caverns flaring wildly as she settled herself uneasily upon a bluff. Her small, coal occuli snagged upon the few bantles who dared to frolic over the land, visage tossed ‘bout wildly. Her pelt was caked with that of mud and whatnot though ‘neath it lay a belt of unwanted scars, each licking her pelt with their own tale to tell. She was often quite gruff, not caring to particularly speak of what each scar meant, not needing to boast. A few lines had been traced at the corners of her mug, wearing the hair around her maw thin. They too had their own story behind her, one which she was growing tired of telling. And yet, she needed not to for every one in these lands knew it well.

Feeling a twitching at the corners of her maw, the demoness grew uneasy, her bones creaking slightly with age. Tracing the edges of the land with her gaze, the vix easily pictured what belonged to her past. Blowing rather agitatedly at the thought, bulk swung around, nipping roughly at the dead herbage for something to do.

Today, the banshee was finding it much to difficult to settle herself, longing for her memories to leave her for the moment. A flint struck out at the unworthy sod, emitting a blow which echoed slightly in the desolate land.

Glancing down at the sod which had long since been dug up, she brought herself off the ground, pillars cutting through the air as she balanced himself on muscular haunches. The fae was typically quite in her ways though it was with little patience in which she was finding herself. For only have seen five winters pass by, she had been in lands such as these far too many times. It disgusted her how vix, especially one of her nature, could remain her to be claimed like a piece of useless flesh. And yet, the ways of the wanderer were growing displeasing to her. Thus, she waited.