Skin

[scizz]

Name: Skin.
Age: Six years.
Breed: Icelandic Pony.
Lineage: Nada (Dam) x Osilon (Sire).
Height: 14.2hh.
Sex: Male.
Children: None.
Place Of Birth: Latchthroat Island.
Physical Characteristics: Skin is the typical Icelandic Pony, standing at 14.1hh, and looking very much like a shetland, but of course being taller, and slightly thinner. When considering his physical build, he is a handsome stallion, with a small head, fluted ears, and a high crest. His back is considerably short, his shoulders slope neatly towards his deep chest, and his hindquarters are well-built, echoing his strength. His limbs are heavily-built, and feathered towards the lower area of his legs, but several white scars show that he is not as sound as one would desire.

As to his pelt, Skin is a dark greyish-black, although this colour lightens considerably around his underbelly and muzzle, making him look as though he has been wrapped in a storm cloud. He has a snow white face, and a single white sock on his front left leg. His eyes are a dark brown, seeming oddly unreadable, and often lowered away from the gazes of others. Skin is on the thin side for a stallion of his bloodlines, hence his name, although it is not known whether this is through malnutrition, or just a general hereditary thing. Skin bears several scars; testaments to the battles he has won and lost in the past, and this give him a sinister, 'tough guy' appearance, although this is hardly what he himself desires.

Overall, Skin looks like the kind of guy whom you would not wish to meet in a dark alley, although in truth this is merely a mask, and gives away little of his true self. As is typical of the Icelandic, he posseses not three gait, but five - the normal walk, trot, and canter, but also the tölt, or rack, and the skeið, also known as pace. Native to Iceland, he has an understanding of both English and Icelandic, and for this reason will sometimes struggle to find the correct word to finish his sentences, although this is a rare occurence, and generally few people even note that English is not his mother tongue.

Personality: Many people get the wrong impression of Skin from his appearance. From the fact that he looks like an evil, satanic brute, most believe that he acts like one too. However, he is very much a calm, intelligent male who choses to keep out of the public eye, hating the attention that high-ranking officials recieve. Skin suffers from what could be said is a split personality, rather like the infamous Dr.Jeckyll and Mr.Hyde. Not that the two sides of his personality are as defined as that, of course. Normally, he is the quiet, invisible sort who seem to blend into their surroundings, and go unnoticed by the majority of people. He is sharp-witted, and uses this to his advantage in fights, but can also be very fiery tempered, and can be easily angered.

The darker side of Skin is one that few would wish to meet, for it thrusts him into a state of sheer violence, which, coupled with the insanity that will sometimes corrupt his mind, makes his personality not the most constant. He hates his angrier side, and rapidly apologises to any who bare witness to it, but there is little he can do to prevent it from happening. These violent bursts often make him moody, and force him into solitude while he calms down. Skin has caused bodily harm to several other equines in his lifetime, although never fatally, and has felt so bad afterwards that he has been forced to abandon his herd. His personality is, overall, like a yin and yang symbol. Light, dark, and damn unpredictable.

Sample Post:

AM I DEMENTED,
OR AM I DISTURBED?

Day had long since passed, and the sun had already rolled casually across the sky to bring light to another land. The moon was perched high in the heavens, partially wrapped in oyster gray clouds, and bathing the world below in a pale, milky glow. The sky was mostly clear; handfuls of gleaming silver stars twinkled from their lofty seats in the heavens, broken only by a thin layer of cloud that had stretched itself across the air. Closer to earth, the forest was cloaked in darkness, for the entwined branches of ancient trees blocked out almost all light that would otherwise stroke the land. In the shadows, the trees became long-fingered beasts of nightmares, snatching at the air, as though waiting for the day to come when they would be able to walk the earth once more. The foliage wrapped around these tree-creatures became chains, holding the trees hostage, and never allowing them to stray from their earthly prison. The forest was still, but not silent, for the possible silence was broken by the rustling of leaves as they tossed and turned on the ground, the gentle murmurs of birds as they settled down to sleep, and an odd, rhythmic pulsing beat that echoed throughout the land. The beat grew louder, increasing in pace until it was no longer a rhythm, but a constant sound, the very earth vibrating with the strength of the noise. The sound reached its climax as the culprit approached, before slowing back to a four-beat pulse, and then into silence.

A ghostly white stallion detatched himself from the shadows, his lean frame giving him the appearance of a skeleton, one that has risen from the dead to stalk the realms of the living once more. From a distance, the horse might have been labelled magnificent, for the blood of the Lippizan flowed through his veins, and his conformation was as good as that of any show horse. But at a closer glance, an onlooker would have taken in the crimson stains on his sides, the red liquid that soiled his muzzle, and the blood dripping from half a dozen self-inflicted wounds on his left shoulder. The male announced his appearance with a half-hearted snort, his dark eyes seeming more like endless caverns in the gloom. He stepped forward, a hint of a swagger clear in his long stride, his thin chest rising and falling with each rattling breath he took. The pale animal moved slowly away from the forest and into the open, groaning as the light kissed his emaciated body. He was clearly still young, five years old at the most, but his body seemed far older, as though his mind was encased in a demon's flesh. The tall, bright green grass that sprouted from the ground around him would have attracted most equines, but the stallion refused to allow the food to tempt him, forcing his front right leg down on a tuft of the grass, and grinding it into a pulp with the heel of his hoof. He was not one to be ruled by the powers of temptation.

After a moment or so of examining his surroundings, the male approached the small, dark pool before him, lowering his head and submerging his muzzle in the icy liquid. He allowed the water to cleanse his face of the blood, before standing upright, and watching the small droplets of water drip from his muzzle back into the pond, sending out small ripples as they touched the surface. The stallion dipped his head once more, taking a mouthful of the clear fluid, and letting it roll down his parched throat. He gagged, choking on the cold liquid, a feeling of nausea attacking him from within. If he had been human, he would probably have been sick, but the boundaries of his race prohbited him from doing so, and instead he simply closed his eyes, waiting for the feeling to pass. The stallion had gone by many names in the past, some good, some bad. In fact, it had reached the point that at times he wasn't sure what his name was, who he was, why he was on the earth in the first place. Memories of past names came flooding back, filling his mind entirely. Zephyr, who he had once been; son, lover, darling, all things that echoed love; brother, father, sibling; friend, leader, murderer. He had been all of the names once, or perhaps all of the names had been him. But the stallion was no longer any of those; things had changed, and so had he. He had a name now, a worthy one. Scorpius.

THE SPACE THAT'S INBETWEEN INSANE AND INSECURE...

Other:

[Crow'sia]

Very lovely application! It is wonderful.
Skin is most certainly accepted.