Post by Tealah on Jan 8, 2009 23:29:57 GMT -5
Status being applied for: Controversial Past (and unusual dragon personality)
Reason for status: Because otherwise he'd have a pretty boring past (and it'll spice things up a bit)
RP Example: P'neil slowed from his dead sprint, leaning heavily on the stone wall of Artoneth's weyr. His breath sobbed in his throat, less from the run as from what he was escaping. The scene came back to him - those subtle insults that became slowly less subtle as the man became more and more drunk... the rage that built in his chest and in that part of his soul where he could even now sense Artoneth. Everything after that was something of a blur, but P'neil could still feel the grating of his knife on the man's ribs, feel the hot blood soaking his hands and arms.
A deep triumph bubbled in his mind - Artoneth's dark head snaked around to regard him with glowing eyes and a satisfied rumble. P'neil cried out, hiding his face in his arms. The rough material of his sleeve rubbed painfully across the wound on his face, but P'neil didn't even notice. Why do you fret so, my P'neil? Artoneth whispered silkily in his mind. That man needed to be taught a lesson for insulting us.
"Artoneth, I killed the man," P'neil cried allowed. "That's not a lesson, that's murder!" His horror filled eyes stared through the dark at his dragon.
But Artoneth disagreed. You never meant to kill him, Mine. That was only an accident. His mental voice took on a soothing croon. His heavy tail slipped around behind P'neil, offering a warm "shoulder" to cry on. Everything will be all right, P'neil, you'll see.
Reason for status: Because otherwise he'd have a pretty boring past (and it'll spice things up a bit)
RP Example: P'neil slowed from his dead sprint, leaning heavily on the stone wall of Artoneth's weyr. His breath sobbed in his throat, less from the run as from what he was escaping. The scene came back to him - those subtle insults that became slowly less subtle as the man became more and more drunk... the rage that built in his chest and in that part of his soul where he could even now sense Artoneth. Everything after that was something of a blur, but P'neil could still feel the grating of his knife on the man's ribs, feel the hot blood soaking his hands and arms.
A deep triumph bubbled in his mind - Artoneth's dark head snaked around to regard him with glowing eyes and a satisfied rumble. P'neil cried out, hiding his face in his arms. The rough material of his sleeve rubbed painfully across the wound on his face, but P'neil didn't even notice. Why do you fret so, my P'neil? Artoneth whispered silkily in his mind. That man needed to be taught a lesson for insulting us.
"Artoneth, I killed the man," P'neil cried allowed. "That's not a lesson, that's murder!" His horror filled eyes stared through the dark at his dragon.
But Artoneth disagreed. You never meant to kill him, Mine. That was only an accident. His mental voice took on a soothing croon. His heavy tail slipped around behind P'neil, offering a warm "shoulder" to cry on. Everything will be all right, P'neil, you'll see.
