Post by Lady Whimsy on Aug 21, 2009 23:28:19 GMT -5
Name: Tali Age: Young adult Race: Wolf Gender: Male Size: approx 100 lbs
RP Colour: CornflowerBlue The eldest son of Tayo and Vora, leaders of the Forest Sentinels, Tali has chosen to take leave of his pack and accompany the Guardians. He wishes to discover the Isle for himself, which he has only yet experience through song, and better understand how all the creatures of Kalidore are connected within it.
Physical Appearance: Tali is grey wolf with a distinctive dark face and ears; his eyes are pale amber. He is about the size of a King Shepherd, weighing in at a hundred pounds, with room to fill out.
Personality & Abilities: As a wolf, Tali has a very direct and honest way of dealing with things, though pack mentality ensures he tries his best to conform to the social norms of his new family group. A few points of human social decorum are a little lost on him, and to these he simply shakes head. While he may appear a little aloof, Tali is nonetheless approachable, although you really wouldn’t want to snoogle him unless he’s gotten to know first. He doesn’t bite, unless given good reason.
Tali is a lot like his father and could make a great pack leader himself someday, should such an opportunity be presented; living with the companions however serves as a suitable distraction while no such position exists. He is also like his mother in that he is a talented singer in his own right, and makes note of all he experiences on his various adventures so that he might bring them back to share with his pack in song.
Character History/Backstory: Tali joined the group in RP2, after a horrible disruption in the Kaledon referred to thereafter as A’ganae’s Flight.
The Wolves’ Tales speak of two mythic beasts, Aiya (AY-ah) and Ag’anae (a-GAH-nay); they are fierce rivals who will one day destroy each other and the world will end. Yet they are also described as valued equals, consorts, and gave birth to all existence. These myths speak to the harsh reality of a predator’s existence, a tenuous balance, but also to the sublime understanding that everything – good and evil, life and death, all – are parts of one great whole.
Post by Lady Whimsy on Aug 22, 2009 0:00:18 GMT -5
Name: Kaus Phaeo-Mio Age: undetermined, but probably younger then he lets on Race: Royal Kalidorian Flytrap Gender: Male Height: 12 inches
RP Colour: LimeGreen
With the approximate size of a potted geranium but a sense of self enough to stifle even the mightiest of oaks, Kaus Phaeo-Mio (son of Pharon, son of Udun the Fierce, son of Kaiso, who ate Parthor, son of Hon etc) is perhaps Kalidore’s most unusual creature. Self-indulgent and vain, it should be considered a good thing he is only 12 inches tall…
Physical Appearance: A mottled-green plant with rather fibrous leaves that crinkle and twitch at will, Mio bares more then a passing resemblance to the infamous Audrey II. His leaves are feather-edged and fringy, brighter towards the core and fading to a deep forest green. The pod-heads – of which there are four, the dominant one being twice the size – are ovular and hinged at one end; the tops are bright green with darker specks and veining, and inside, the “mouth” is pale yellow deepening to orange at the core.
Personality & Abilities: Unless professing the greatness of his being and lineage can be considered a skill, Mio has very little to offer, besides entertainment (just don’t let him know that, he would be crushed – crushed!). Ego-centric and horrendously narcissistic, it would be easy to hate the plant if he wasn’t so darn sincere in his obliviousness. He’s also always quick to mention that he would eat every last one of us if given the chance (no hard feelings, it’s only because he’s the superior life form you know) but I have my suspicions that, despite all, he might be just a teensy bit fond of his new Kalidorian friends…
Character History/Backstory: Mio was introduced in RP2, when he was found in the Skylands by the young Lyonee and Fiera, who subsequently brought him back with them to the others. He resides with Gwyneira, who’s delight of collecting things extends to interesting plants, and she take good care of him.
Botanist’s Notes: The Royal Kalidorian Flytrap is unique in that it is the Isle’s only cognitive species of flora; while there are several plants that may be referred to as sentient, the Kalidorian flytrap is surely the only one which will talk back, at length!
The species is very different from other plant life in that its vascular system is far more fauna-like then your typical garden-variety weed. A multitude of “capillary pumps” are staged throughout the plant’s system, acting the way a small heart does to efficiently carry fuel and fluid throughout the veins. This allows for dramatically acute reflexes and speed of movement - this plant does not move at a fern’s pace!
Leaves and tendrils are lined with soft, sensitive hairs that help to sense movement in his environment, and chemical sensors allow him to extremely accurately identify the creature(s) in range. The dominant pod-head also contains air vestibules which are used for voice, and he is good quite at mimicking a variety of animal sounds; in the wild, these are used for luring prey. Specialized fibers in the stem chamber below work to receive noise vibrations in return, which is how he efficiently analyses sound. Thus it’s easy at times to forget that these plants cannot see or hear in the same capacity as standard fauna – for they can certainly carry on a conversation with the best of them!
They are also great singers (or at least, in their minds they are!) The males of the species are also rather talkative, and highly opinionated; all trace their origin back to the Great Seed, and thus consider themselves royalty among plants. There is some dispute as to whether they are actually a native Kalidorian species, or were introduced from elsewhere (possibly, elven).
The male of the speices is small, about the size of a potted geranium, and grow up to five "heads", though only one is dominant. The dominant head is capable of audible speech, while smaller heads simply hiss. They chiefly feast upon insects, but won't pass up a good steak tartare! The female on the other hand can grow into an impressive piece of shrubbery with up to twenty heads, with the dominant head reaching epic proportions - up to eight feet across. Yes, they are man-eaters XD or anything else that wanders near that giant maw... The females don't verbalize, but they kind of hum, a hypnotic melody used to lure the larger prey towards them. Possibly the greater females may possess some telepathic abilities, but so little is known about them that this theory has never been explored fully.
Kalidorian Flytraps tend to live in family clusters, called pods, which consist of several males surrounding an epic female; they prefer a sub-tropical climate and need plenty of water. The fact that Mio was found alone, and on an arid hilltop tends to suggest the story of a very way-ward seed indeed!.
Brig - as he is affectionately known - was Tyden's horse while he resided as a youth in Ardenburough. Currently an RP is in the works to bring ol' Brigadier back to Kalidore for a very pampered retirement!
Brigadier is a rotund sorrel gelding with a fondness for cookies, and never met an apple he didn't like. He taught many young pages to ride, and likes nothing better then to be prancing before the crowds in a tournament or parade. A true showman, he definitely knows how to play the crowd - if for the only reason it usually pays out very well in more cookies!
Backstory ~ An excerpt, from Tyden's youth, approx age 16:
Brigadier gave his head a final toss, objecting to the bit on principal, not because he had anything personally against it. Tyden often rode him bitless, and he didn’t see the point of its use for any occasion, even if it did complete the fancy new bridle Geraint had just surprised them with for the occasion. It was on that note he conceded; Brig did like pretty things. More so, he liked the attention he got when he was wearing them, which usually translated into lots of petting from small children who smelt like cookies, and possible apples. Brig loved apples. He was also true sportsman, and loved the games; nothing warmed his blood like a cheering crowd, and as the crowds gathered he pranced, eager to be strutting about in front of them.
“Hold, Brig!” Tyden scolded, as the bucket-sized hooves came uncomfortably close to his boots. He slipped in the bit and fastened the buckles while the sorrel gelding worked it over with his tongue. “You can have it off again as soon as we’re done. And contrary to belief, it’s never interfered with your eating yet,” he glanced at the girth belt, which was a full notch longer then it had been this time last year. It never failed – when he was away, Brig had the entire stable wrapped around his shiny copper neck, slipping him goodies whenever they passed. But it wasn’t that he was exactly fat, rather, Brig was build much like Sir Geraint – round as a barrel and stout. Built like a warhorse should, except that Brig had never been to war, and if Tyden had any say in the matter, he never would. Instead he lived an easy life in the principal stables, teaching the young squires how to ride, partaking in the occasional fox hunt or hack here and there, and prancing merrily in each and every holiday parade, which he enjoyed a lot. When there was a competition at hand – Brig was rearing to go. At eighteen he had lost none of the spark in his eyes, and still managed to clean up the rounds against younger, hotter horses, with the aid of a clever rider on board. Usually that rider was Tyden; the two were pretty much inseparable. They understood each other, and more often then not, their minds were on the same thing.
Tyden reached over to clip on the reins, looping them back across the saddle. Now Brig was looking the way a classic warhorse should – trailing pennants and positively gleaming in polished light amour. Most of it was for show, but also to protect the horse from an ill-aimed joust or careless sword during the games. There was still the mask, but Tyden didn’t see the need to have him sweat in it before it was time. Plus he still had to get ready himself.
“Oh, isn’t he handsome!” came a squeal from behind. Brig’s ears moved forward and lolled his head over Tyden’s shoulder, assuming the position to petted. Tyden had to shove it away with some effort before he could come all the way out of the stall. There was a group of girls in their teens, local girls but well dressed, and the youngest was peering at Brig with that dreamy look in her eyes. Her elder sister he recognized, Katherine, if memory served; he’d seen her and her friends about town, and when she saw him she leaned to her friend and said loudly enough to be overheard, “Now, was she talking about the horse, or the rider?”
Tyden lolled his arm over Brig’s neck, assuming a similar position. “Good afternoon, ladies… come to see the games, have you?”
“Is he going to be in the competition?” the youngest one had come right up to them, her hands clasped together fiercely as she admired Brig’s new head collar. Brig nibbled at a tassel on his breastplate as if it intrigued him, or maybe it was just an excuse to arch his lovely neck. The girl squealed. “Oh, I hope he wins! I will be cheering him, for sure!”
“Brethelle darling, usually you are expected to cheer on the knight,” her sister corrected primly, coming forward to claim her wayward sibling. She planted herself beside the horse but her gaze was forward. “Isn’t that so,” she addressed Tyden directly.
Tyden stretched as if to shrug, but it did casually flex his forearms in the movement. “I think Brig would do well to hear people cheering for him; though it might go to his head and he’ll decide to do the whole course himself, win the games single-handed and even take the roses… could put me out of job in that case,” he grinned.
“And what about you?” she inquired pleasantly, “Would the cheering go to your head, too?”
“Wellll,” he drew out his contemplation into several syllables, “I suppose it might depend somewhat on who was doing the cheering.”
Her eyes danced, and her nose gave a tiny wrinkle as she pretended not to grin. “And who will you have cheering for you today?” she asked.
“If I’m lucky,” he began skillfully, catching a glimpse of Adrik headed across the yard towards them, “perhaps I’ll find...” his gaze was drawn back up to the courtyard, because it had just registered that Adrik wasn’t alone. He was talking to, and had on arm, a young woman, someone whom Tyden had never seen before. His head turned, following their movement without realizing he was doing so until Brigadier dipped his head and blocked them from view. He swung under the horse’s neck, unable to place the odd fluttering that compensated his balance as he sought for them again on the other side. Adrik had spotted him at this point and waved in greeting, but his own gaze was drawn completely and wholly by the girl....