Post by Siris on Jul 22, 2011 17:27:05 GMT -5
Name: Siris
Alias: –
Gender: Male.
Age: 3 years young.
Birthdate: December 31st, 2128.
Species: Dog.
Breed: ½ american pitbull (gatorxblue nose) ¼ pakistani mastiff ¼ staffordshire terrier
Purebred: No.
Pack: Loner.
Height: 26"
Weight: 88lbs.
Build: Shotgun build. Lean, long, and toned in virile muscle, Siris is bred from a line of harsh pedigree; a long-winded bout of voracious canines created for a sole purpose – greed. Money put down on the toughest brew of rigid-jaw competitors, thick skulled and hefty, was heavily attained by his bloodline of pit-trained battalions. The litters who carried over after the spread of the deadly virus retained this husky form, though the descendants are more sinuous and tall. He is a prime example of his ancestry: a rough and hardy individual well established by means of power and prowess, a being born into the mastiff's grace and self disciplined in the cannibalistic world with respect for strategy. His movements are swift and fluid, his paramount presence succeeding the route of sovereign essence. His limbs are long in comparison to staffordshire trait, though are well defined in brazen muscle and audacious contours. He is well fed from previous domestication, though is beginning to show signs of poor feeding. The tail is of valid length for a traditional pitbull, and is seldom curled.
Coat: His coat is short and smooth, a silvery shade of blue that is interrupted by an occasional strip of cream hue. It is not perfectly groomed, but the fur is coarse enough that it hides the few cuts and scabs on his skin. The texture is rough against the grain but almost plush as it is close to the body. Cow licks are spare, kept along both sides of his neck and a bit behind his cheekbone.
Head: Broad and shaped similar to a rectangle from ears to nose, his forehead is wide but his eyes are set in symmetry on his face, his muzzle a medium length and jaws thick. His ears are without cropping; when alert one may stand erect while the other flops forward.
Eyes: His eyes are tear-drop shaped and bright hazel, flecked in gold and amber, though at times will take on a dull, muted tint of the same hues. They seem to hold some sense of wit and vigor, their depths chilling and calculating all that they fall upon, as if he is always in deep thought. His gaze is piercing, jaded, constantly void of emotion which makes him an unpredictable force, observing quietly. Patience is stead in his metallic leer, instilling in him an intimidating aura of restraint.
Scars: - clean cut diagonally across muzzle on right side of face.
- puncture scars at peak of left shoulder, hind right leg.
- cut across the nape.
- small, hardly noticeable cuts all over muzzle and chest.
Accessories: reversed prong collar; bike chain [necklace] with attached sterling silver U.S. Marine dog tags reading, "McGinnis, Jack. A Neg, 506906166. USMC M. Lutheran."
Pictures: N/A.
Speed: Average.
Stamina: Average.
Strength: Above average.
Fighting: High.
Strengths: Ambitious, selfless, partially moral, chivalrous, hero-complex, sturdy, savvy, calculative.
Weaknesses: Anxious, confrontational, short tempered, tunnel vision, fixed, vindictive, not a great swimmer, cold-blooded temperament and hard to read.
Personality: At first his demeanor seems dexterous and cold-hearted, a devil ranged from wrath and contempt to the bloom of pessimism and distraught madness, as if one prick would be enough to challenge his ego at a match of fighting fire. He is reclusive and distrusting, studying every flex of the world before him, every detail of life inch by inch until there is nothing more to dissect, nothing more to consume. He treads about the boundaries of socialization, as if quietly musing to himself the idea of culture, but biding by his shores at a comfortable distance. There is no approach unless he feels fully suited in his own pace, and will remain vindictive, defensive, until given a reason to (slowly, tenderly, crawling on his ribs with fangs bared and claws spread) submit to a situation. If he is crossed however, all nine hells are brought with one single warning, one solitary click of a threat. He understands all too well the workings of the savage world earth has become, and has adapted accordingly.
If tempted by patient nurturing to what slim affection he can bear, he can be generous and adoring, a workaholic at best. Only when he is provided full respect and love can he return it in the same abundance, and even then it is a trembling faction of passion – he finds it easier to take away what is given, as a highly independent and vengeful creature that he is. A brooding monster challenged by his own inner demons, and supporting no more room for provocative nature. What is started with him will quickly end without remorse, if by life or reason made. He is persistent and obsessive, sly and persevering to achieve whatever goals he makes, whatever paths he travels. Headstrong, bull-headed as ever, the capricorn masque of haughty behavior can easily disguise the truth behind it: the refusal of being abused, used, or pushed aside. He is like metal, cold and unbending to cruel force, to which he can be just as vicious and stalwart.
Fears: ... plastic bags.
Family: Unnamed; brother. potentially alive.
History: Birthed in a junkyard, one of four pups to be born. Only two made it out alive, he and his brother. The mother and two other pups were killed and eaten by feral dogs when Siris was eight months old. He and his brother ran and loitered the outskirts of human camps, feeding off scraps and depending on the proximity to protect them until they were a little over a year old. His brother disappeared soon after, and Siris was befriended and named by a U.S. Veteran named Jack who lured him with scraps of steak and saltine crackers. Since then Siris's favorite treat is the T-bone in steak. For a year and a half he was kept as a loyal guard dog and on many occasions fended off feral canines from his newfound owner. He was adorned with a pronged collar that was put on him inside-out, as a defensive means against being bitten in the neck. Months later Jack's health began failing due to the Moscow Downing virus, and on his deathbed was constantly kept watch by over-protective Siris. He became overly paranoid and aggressive during Jack's decline, killing or maiming anything and anyone who came within a ten foot radius, with the exception of a command to “leave be”. In a sign of affection during Jack's final minutes of his life, the man endowed Siris with his bike chain necklace, which held his military grade dog tags. Siris has seemed to have adapted to a certain fondness over the piece of jewelry, and is extremely protective over it. After his human's death he left the grounds and lived life alone and independent.
Played by: batt.
Role Play Sample: She moved then in rebuttal of submission, the militant persuasion of her heady stance the powerful enigma, a ferocious testament to coin the brevity of fear in a being. The stiletto savvy of her clever symmetry was coaxed on fine terms, a marvelous gambit of effeminate curves, a ploy of maleficent artistry vengefully slid from the serpent's cold, bloodless coils. The sinuous length of her voracious body carved into the woodland brinks, the delicate sweep of her gracious features carnally delivered in the tempt of sinful indulgence handed in the guise of archangelic patron. She slithered coyly through, her translucent gaze wavered viciously over the wolves who quarreled amongst themselves, the quiet murmurs that seized the neglect of the two feral creatures who watched from above. Quietly her demure steps took in fleeting careen to the boy that looked on, scolded by those who surrounded him. A hum drifted from her lips as she stepped behind him, her nose lowered to trace his quivering auds. Her eyes softened, their shattering oceans convinced to a soothing calm that enveloped him whole, lovingly, embracingly, as her voice swarmed his ears with the sense of maternal ardor. “You are young, love. Find haven and keep from a fray.[/i]” Her whisper drew a soft lullaby over the harsh environment he had succumbed to, soothed the rough air by the slender of her silver-tongued seduction. She pressed a tender, brief kiss to his soft head and pressed forward, the welcome of her eyes depleted as she pulled her gliding form amongst her pack. “We would be reprimanded for doing nothing in the heat of the moment. But of course...if you need assistance taking them down, please, simply ask.” His voice assailed the moment in the infernal rise of heated motive, smoothly situated in plotting the clash of resilient titans. Her eyes did not rise to his but cast to a female that joined, a fresh specimen of spirit and stimulation. As the girl turned to Sivicus, Evangeline drew behind them, her glance a penetrating gnarl of blistering grudge. "I will be of service." A bold mesh of vindictive disquiet assaulted the detached mutterings of her berating core as she eyed the femme as an admiral in detailed inspection, before the courteous curl of her dark lips inspired an empty grin to her beautiful features. Relaxed, fluid, the eternal grace of her buxom movements the ephemeral stance that stuns madness in its waltz, and flows with her the wicked leagues of an icy death. Frigid she is, cold and bereft of sweet compassion, as she passes her comrades. Her sensual curves curled slyly past the bristling babes, shrugging past the vicious torment of bleeding hearts in a voracious charade of wintry passive antipathy. Her lengthened limbs poised some contest to feline elegance, her lustrous bod driven vicariously through the gathered brethren, cruelly deceived the path that bowed the handsome carriage of Sivicus, relaying no words or curious glance. "What are you doing here, you flea-bitten mutts? Get away now or I'll eat your hearts while they're still beating." She licked her lips slyly, a haunting laugh resonating coolly from her slender neck, the enchanting curve of shadowing mascara lilting her bewitching gaze over the gawking felines. She extended her body before her fellows, fearless, pitiless and merciless, and pursued the derogatory aerial assault of flightless words hurriedly pushed from fuss and fluster. Her own voice drew from her frigid lungs, cutting back the cat's scoff with venomous persuasion, the provocation of her slow, cruel syllables slipping fluently into the high noon. “These are inhabited lands, dear cousins. I assure you, there are better dens to be had.”
Alias: –
Gender: Male.
Age: 3 years young.
Birthdate: December 31st, 2128.
Species: Dog.
Breed: ½ american pitbull (gatorxblue nose) ¼ pakistani mastiff ¼ staffordshire terrier
Purebred: No.
Pack: Loner.
Height: 26"
Weight: 88lbs.
Build: Shotgun build. Lean, long, and toned in virile muscle, Siris is bred from a line of harsh pedigree; a long-winded bout of voracious canines created for a sole purpose – greed. Money put down on the toughest brew of rigid-jaw competitors, thick skulled and hefty, was heavily attained by his bloodline of pit-trained battalions. The litters who carried over after the spread of the deadly virus retained this husky form, though the descendants are more sinuous and tall. He is a prime example of his ancestry: a rough and hardy individual well established by means of power and prowess, a being born into the mastiff's grace and self disciplined in the cannibalistic world with respect for strategy. His movements are swift and fluid, his paramount presence succeeding the route of sovereign essence. His limbs are long in comparison to staffordshire trait, though are well defined in brazen muscle and audacious contours. He is well fed from previous domestication, though is beginning to show signs of poor feeding. The tail is of valid length for a traditional pitbull, and is seldom curled.
Coat: His coat is short and smooth, a silvery shade of blue that is interrupted by an occasional strip of cream hue. It is not perfectly groomed, but the fur is coarse enough that it hides the few cuts and scabs on his skin. The texture is rough against the grain but almost plush as it is close to the body. Cow licks are spare, kept along both sides of his neck and a bit behind his cheekbone.
Head: Broad and shaped similar to a rectangle from ears to nose, his forehead is wide but his eyes are set in symmetry on his face, his muzzle a medium length and jaws thick. His ears are without cropping; when alert one may stand erect while the other flops forward.
Eyes: His eyes are tear-drop shaped and bright hazel, flecked in gold and amber, though at times will take on a dull, muted tint of the same hues. They seem to hold some sense of wit and vigor, their depths chilling and calculating all that they fall upon, as if he is always in deep thought. His gaze is piercing, jaded, constantly void of emotion which makes him an unpredictable force, observing quietly. Patience is stead in his metallic leer, instilling in him an intimidating aura of restraint.
Scars: - clean cut diagonally across muzzle on right side of face.
- puncture scars at peak of left shoulder, hind right leg.
- cut across the nape.
- small, hardly noticeable cuts all over muzzle and chest.
Accessories: reversed prong collar; bike chain [necklace] with attached sterling silver U.S. Marine dog tags reading, "McGinnis, Jack. A Neg, 506906166. USMC M. Lutheran."
Pictures: N/A.
Speed: Average.
Stamina: Average.
Strength: Above average.
Fighting: High.
Strengths: Ambitious, selfless, partially moral, chivalrous, hero-complex, sturdy, savvy, calculative.
Weaknesses: Anxious, confrontational, short tempered, tunnel vision, fixed, vindictive, not a great swimmer, cold-blooded temperament and hard to read.
Personality: At first his demeanor seems dexterous and cold-hearted, a devil ranged from wrath and contempt to the bloom of pessimism and distraught madness, as if one prick would be enough to challenge his ego at a match of fighting fire. He is reclusive and distrusting, studying every flex of the world before him, every detail of life inch by inch until there is nothing more to dissect, nothing more to consume. He treads about the boundaries of socialization, as if quietly musing to himself the idea of culture, but biding by his shores at a comfortable distance. There is no approach unless he feels fully suited in his own pace, and will remain vindictive, defensive, until given a reason to (slowly, tenderly, crawling on his ribs with fangs bared and claws spread) submit to a situation. If he is crossed however, all nine hells are brought with one single warning, one solitary click of a threat. He understands all too well the workings of the savage world earth has become, and has adapted accordingly.
If tempted by patient nurturing to what slim affection he can bear, he can be generous and adoring, a workaholic at best. Only when he is provided full respect and love can he return it in the same abundance, and even then it is a trembling faction of passion – he finds it easier to take away what is given, as a highly independent and vengeful creature that he is. A brooding monster challenged by his own inner demons, and supporting no more room for provocative nature. What is started with him will quickly end without remorse, if by life or reason made. He is persistent and obsessive, sly and persevering to achieve whatever goals he makes, whatever paths he travels. Headstrong, bull-headed as ever, the capricorn masque of haughty behavior can easily disguise the truth behind it: the refusal of being abused, used, or pushed aside. He is like metal, cold and unbending to cruel force, to which he can be just as vicious and stalwart.
Fears: ... plastic bags.
Family: Unnamed; brother. potentially alive.
History: Birthed in a junkyard, one of four pups to be born. Only two made it out alive, he and his brother. The mother and two other pups were killed and eaten by feral dogs when Siris was eight months old. He and his brother ran and loitered the outskirts of human camps, feeding off scraps and depending on the proximity to protect them until they were a little over a year old. His brother disappeared soon after, and Siris was befriended and named by a U.S. Veteran named Jack who lured him with scraps of steak and saltine crackers. Since then Siris's favorite treat is the T-bone in steak. For a year and a half he was kept as a loyal guard dog and on many occasions fended off feral canines from his newfound owner. He was adorned with a pronged collar that was put on him inside-out, as a defensive means against being bitten in the neck. Months later Jack's health began failing due to the Moscow Downing virus, and on his deathbed was constantly kept watch by over-protective Siris. He became overly paranoid and aggressive during Jack's decline, killing or maiming anything and anyone who came within a ten foot radius, with the exception of a command to “leave be”. In a sign of affection during Jack's final minutes of his life, the man endowed Siris with his bike chain necklace, which held his military grade dog tags. Siris has seemed to have adapted to a certain fondness over the piece of jewelry, and is extremely protective over it. After his human's death he left the grounds and lived life alone and independent.
Played by: batt.
Role Play Sample: She moved then in rebuttal of submission, the militant persuasion of her heady stance the powerful enigma, a ferocious testament to coin the brevity of fear in a being. The stiletto savvy of her clever symmetry was coaxed on fine terms, a marvelous gambit of effeminate curves, a ploy of maleficent artistry vengefully slid from the serpent's cold, bloodless coils. The sinuous length of her voracious body carved into the woodland brinks, the delicate sweep of her gracious features carnally delivered in the tempt of sinful indulgence handed in the guise of archangelic patron. She slithered coyly through, her translucent gaze wavered viciously over the wolves who quarreled amongst themselves, the quiet murmurs that seized the neglect of the two feral creatures who watched from above. Quietly her demure steps took in fleeting careen to the boy that looked on, scolded by those who surrounded him. A hum drifted from her lips as she stepped behind him, her nose lowered to trace his quivering auds. Her eyes softened, their shattering oceans convinced to a soothing calm that enveloped him whole, lovingly, embracingly, as her voice swarmed his ears with the sense of maternal ardor. “You are young, love. Find haven and keep from a fray.[/i]” Her whisper drew a soft lullaby over the harsh environment he had succumbed to, soothed the rough air by the slender of her silver-tongued seduction. She pressed a tender, brief kiss to his soft head and pressed forward, the welcome of her eyes depleted as she pulled her gliding form amongst her pack. “We would be reprimanded for doing nothing in the heat of the moment. But of course...if you need assistance taking them down, please, simply ask.” His voice assailed the moment in the infernal rise of heated motive, smoothly situated in plotting the clash of resilient titans. Her eyes did not rise to his but cast to a female that joined, a fresh specimen of spirit and stimulation. As the girl turned to Sivicus, Evangeline drew behind them, her glance a penetrating gnarl of blistering grudge. "I will be of service." A bold mesh of vindictive disquiet assaulted the detached mutterings of her berating core as she eyed the femme as an admiral in detailed inspection, before the courteous curl of her dark lips inspired an empty grin to her beautiful features. Relaxed, fluid, the eternal grace of her buxom movements the ephemeral stance that stuns madness in its waltz, and flows with her the wicked leagues of an icy death. Frigid she is, cold and bereft of sweet compassion, as she passes her comrades. Her sensual curves curled slyly past the bristling babes, shrugging past the vicious torment of bleeding hearts in a voracious charade of wintry passive antipathy. Her lengthened limbs poised some contest to feline elegance, her lustrous bod driven vicariously through the gathered brethren, cruelly deceived the path that bowed the handsome carriage of Sivicus, relaying no words or curious glance. "What are you doing here, you flea-bitten mutts? Get away now or I'll eat your hearts while they're still beating." She licked her lips slyly, a haunting laugh resonating coolly from her slender neck, the enchanting curve of shadowing mascara lilting her bewitching gaze over the gawking felines. She extended her body before her fellows, fearless, pitiless and merciless, and pursued the derogatory aerial assault of flightless words hurriedly pushed from fuss and fluster. Her own voice drew from her frigid lungs, cutting back the cat's scoff with venomous persuasion, the provocation of her slow, cruel syllables slipping fluently into the high noon. “These are inhabited lands, dear cousins. I assure you, there are better dens to be had.”