Post by blackbird on Dec 8, 2011 1:50:00 GMT -5
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[/color]OSIRIS![/i][/color][/color][/font]it was the wicked and the wild wind
blew the doors down to let me in
My tablet is rather broke'd, but I'll get this up as soon as I can. ;-; I put up a rather detailed physical description, so hopefully that counts for something![/CENTER]
shadowed windows and the sound of drums;
people couldn't believe what i'd become
what i'd become
FULL WORKING TITLE: Osiris Sextus (The Sixth)
ALLIANCE: Immortal.
BREED: Morlock.
AGE: Seems to have died in young adulthood, has lived at least three and a half decades.
SEX: Male, but of no consequence.
ELEMENT: Osiris used to be of Earth element, but his powers have grown steadily fainter as his years on this earth drag on.
APPEARANCE: An unremarkable off-black coat tacked to skinny, elongated limbs and a curved, supple spine. His facial structure is harsh, his cheekbones biting into the skin from beneath. The pattern of his ribs is revealed when he shifts his weight just so. He is, of course, not particularly strong. His mane and tail have not gone to ruin, persay, but they have formed into skinny dreadlocks and cords that make a shhhing noise when he walks. The feathers on his fetlocks remain pristine. He used to have a horn, he thinks, but now only the base remains, jagged, slightly raw and very sharp.
His only real "markings" are the lighter silver areas on his back and shoulders, giving him the appearance of being duster with flour.
Obviously, Osiris carries a dark green crystal around his neck. It glows a hazy, sickly green-yellow and has a length-wise crack. He does not remember recieving it. The cord on which it hangs, over time, has become part of him- slithered beneath the skin, and melded to his very bones. It occasionally chafes, but causes no extreme discomfort.
HISTORY & PERSONALITY: Who can remember that far back? Osiris' lifetime should have lasted nine years, and every year he continues his unnatural lifespan brings the distant past even farther out of focus. But he remembers basics: A mother who was not particularly kind nor evil. An uncompromisingly harsh father figure who nevertheless had a sweet spot for his mare and colt-son. He knows he grew up quickly, as the result of some havoc... or maybe that was just the way he was made? At any rate, the time once he left his parents is much more clear. He was young, foolish and, true to his breed, believed himself the devil's own colt and filled with vicious spite and wit. He taunted, teased and made himself a small but persistant antagonist... it was only when he turned to murder that things had gone down that ugly route.
But in order for great power to be achieved, one must make sacrifices, his younger self assured. He had thought he knew everything back then- cocky and full of himself, and "ready" to live with his actions, he had taken a foal and put it to the ancient stone without a moment's hesitation.
The pain had been unbearable. Wrenched from his skin, his exposed musculature and skeleton burning and freezing and tearing to pieces all at once... his eyes, plucked out and fed to ravens... his hooves sawed off with slow, blunt teeth...
But all of that had been a dream, he knew. His eyes sat in his skinny skull, dead but untouched. He had been left with hardly anything, stripped of the particulars of his memories, the vicious temper of his youth, the honey-sweet voice he had once called upon to weedle sweet mares out past their bedtimes... his body remained. His mind? Well, that remains to be seen.
Osiris Sextus calls himself "an observer". He is fascinated by death and life in it's most difficult forms, and he is rarely bored. His senses, it seems, such as smell and sight, have grown strangely acute in liue of other abilities he has lost- his magic, his voice, the air that used to fill his lungs. Generally, he is a wanderer and not a threatening one. He is drawn to beauty, particularly that of females, and knows how to spin a pretty yarn into pretty ears, but as an immortal, he lacks the capacity and urge to procreate.
He does not view himself as ordinary anymore, nor does he see himself as above other horses. He is simply not on the same plain as them at all... too different, perhaps, for them to understand his eccentricities.
Perhaps he does not wish them to understand.
Blackbird[/font]
18 | N/A|
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Kick it in, impulse urged.
Osiris' eyes narrowed. "I do not destroy. I only... observe." His words came out faint, his cracked vocal chords wheezing.
He continued his study, his hungry eyes taking in every inch of the sad display before him. The ribbs jutted angrily from the rendt meat, curling into the empty air, bold as sin, the throat made awful by a smiling red gouge. Once, the horse before him- if it had, indeed, been a "horse"- had observed with his own eyes the black of night and the glorious appeal of dawn... the laughter of mares, the territorial rise in his blood as he faces off against a rival. Perhaps, Osiris mused, he had even been given the chance to meet a foal with his own, particular genetic sonata carried within the baby's skin. Ashes to ashes, Osiris thought. The glazed white eyes stared back at him, wanting an answer, but for the life of him he could not recall the question.
Dust to dust.
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THIS APPLICATION WAS MADE BY SLOW AGAINST
THE RAIN! OF CAUTION 2.0. KEEP THE CREDIT ON.