Post by TOD on Aug 23, 2015 5:13:28 GMT
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[attr="class","ur_appdiv"]
[attr="class","ur_appava"]
[attr="class","ur_apptitle"]TOD
[attr="class","ur_appsubtitle"]DEMOGRAPHICS
[attr="class","ur_appcont"]
✚ NICK : fox, pest, vermin.
[break]
✚ AGE : appears twenty-nine, actual age is around three and a half.
[break]
✚ GENDER : male
[break]
✚ LOCATION : montreal, canada
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✚ SPECIES : red fox
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✚ SEXUALITY : heterosexual
[break]
✚ OCCUPATION : rehabilitation patient
[break]
✚ ROLEPLAYER NAME : blanc
[break]
✚ NICK : fox, pest, vermin.
[break]
✚ AGE : appears twenty-nine, actual age is around three and a half.
[break]
✚ GENDER : male
[break]
✚ LOCATION : montreal, canada
[break]
✚ SPECIES : red fox
[break]
✚ SEXUALITY : heterosexual
[break]
✚ OCCUPATION : rehabilitation patient
[break]
✚ ROLEPLAYER NAME : blanc
[break]
[attr="class","ur_appsubtitle"]FACE CLAIM
[attr="class","ur_appcont"]TOUKEN RANBU, KOGITSUNEMARU[break]
FOX FORM
FOX FORM
[attr="class","ur_appsubtitle"]PERSONALITY
[attr="class","ur_appcont"]
[attr="class","ur_appconttd"]
POSITIVE TRAITS[break]
✚ sociable
[break]
✚ curious
[break]
✚ observant
[break]
✚ hardworking
[break]
✚ resourceful
[break]
POSITIVE TRAITS[break]
✚ sociable
[break]
✚ curious
[break]
✚ observant
[break]
✚ hardworking
[break]
✚ resourceful
[break]
[attr="class","ur_appconttd"]
NEGATIVE TRAITS[break]
✚ cautious/ slightly paranoid
[break]
✚ physical
[break]
✚ territorial
[break]
✚ ignorant/ socially inept
[break]
✚ unknowingly insensitive
[break]
NEGATIVE TRAITS[break]
✚ cautious/ slightly paranoid
[break]
✚ physical
[break]
✚ territorial
[break]
✚ ignorant/ socially inept
[break]
✚ unknowingly insensitive
[break]
[attr="class","ur_appsubtitle"]TOD'S STARTING DREAM WORLD
[attr="class","ur_appcont"]
GENERAL DESCRIPTION[break]
before the incident that left him still on the ground, warmer on the side that seeped the liquid that burned his senses -- before a presence lay over him, shadowing him from the pathetic sun in the sky that gave no heat against the cold winter -- he was here; through all its seasons. the ones that gave small rodents newly born, of eggs and birds who couldn’t fly fast; to when the animals hid and blended into shades of grey and made the hunt even more of a game. he dreams of the world he remembers in faded pictures and smells, of the rusty musk of autumn and the brittle winter that cut right to his bones -- of spring and all its blossoming aromas to summer where he felt too lazy to move under its sun. it’s what he remembers from when he was young, all divided and faded into one enclosure. every time he wakes it’s in spring, a way to taunt him out of his slumber and from his nest -- than, clockwise, the seasons change the farther he travels. first spring, summer, autumn than winter. there’s no real name for this please besides home, or rather, his second -- first -- home; the one that promised him nothing but gave him everything. while he could never understand their humors over the joke many have called his dreamworld the four seasons, albeit their comments are always followed by quick laughter or curved lips.
[break][break]
APPEARANCE[break]
it’s a forest to anyone who enters his dream. when one first arrives the sun is just right -- warmth against skin with just a subtle hint of seasons past -- that could get even the laziest of creatures moving. traveling clockwise through the greenery will fade the surrounding to a hotter summer, a bluer sky with a cloudless view -- where the shade of trees and bushes cool off the body and leave you sluggish. from there the leaves begin to turn, hues of yellow to red, and soon the branches grow bare. the ground no longer flourishes with green blades but dying grass under layers of crunching leaves. than last is where the world turns barren, snow covered and frigged, of trees mere silhouettes and bones of their former selves.
[break][break]
at its center is a large tree, it’s base wide enough to hide the seasons just behind its mass. it’s under its trunk, besides the large moss covered rocks and exposed roots that the travelers (and himself) first emerge into his domain -- a small fox hole, the other side of a portal, that lay hidden under the shade. where winter slowly fades and the snow has melted to reveal blades of green, where the only signs of the season prior are the blurred shapes in the distance is when spring begins to rain, heavy to light as one continues to move forward. snow falls on and off as one passes through winter, its heaviest being at its core before coming to a stop the closer spring/ autumn approaches.
[break][break]
POINTS OF ENTRY[break]
have you ever noticed the over-sized plum tree that grows at the local park -- the one that stands alone in a radius of grass; the tree that bears fruit no matter the season? it’s the one whose plums are too big, too pink to be real -- the ones that hold the sweetest taste when you eat them. have you ever stood at the tree, touched its trunk and pushed forward? you should. the entry to his dream world isn’t a hole in the ground nor a fruit on its branches but the whole tree itself; or rather, the trunk. one doesn’t necessarily need to push -- you can simply keep walking with suppressed fear of ramming into a hard surface -- but many need that comfort of two hands in front of them the first few times they venture.
[break][break]
from there it’s darkness. strange warmth, a feeling of ones body not being completely theirs -- as though their whole identity had been placed into a vessel that just wasn’t right. but then comes the light of spring, a circle ahead whose light doesn’t illuminate the impenetrable darkness you’re in. some take their time to head towards it -- the closer they get the more their senses seem to heighten -- while others rush to outside world.
[break][break]
NOTABLE FIGURES (OPTIONAL)[break]
animals, prey? animals; prey. they’re all around, flourishing even in the most barren of seasons. it’s comforting to know there will always be food, of play before hunger sets in; it’s what reminds him that this isn’t reality. his first home wouldn’t be this giving; it’d make him work -- work hard; painstakingly so -- just to survive for a night. besides that there’s always something, always in the corner of your periphery; a shadowed figure that disappears in the shade or blackened bark of trees. occasionally there’s clicks, pops that signal the surrounding wildlife to flee and return once the quiet sets in. a sort of call he doesn’t understand. hes been asked who it might be -- what it might be -- with the fear that the unknown presence might be a shade; and for tod he doesn’t know, but shade or not it lights a scare in him. a dull aching pain through his body. he calls him the farmer.
[break][break]
OTHER DETAILS (OPTIONAL)[break]
animal transformation • he dreams of beasts. everyone who enters his dreamland has changed into an animal from canadas wildlife, albeit those who dwell in the sea. human dreamers have found themselves creatures of the land, and those who originally are beasts themselves come only as their true self. the only exception of this rule are those dreaming animals that call home to water. there are no “people” aloud in his world -- except for the farmer who stalks his presence from afar -- and only when plagued with nightmares does this rule falter. shades take the form of animals as well, however noticeably different in all ways (appearance, smell, etc) than others; some can even plague his dreams, allowing them to traverse through the seasons as a human rather than beast. visitors in the form of animals normally gone during certain seasons can still thrive, though slightly bothered by the weather their bodies aren’t born to handle.
[break][break]
GENERAL DESCRIPTION[break]
before the incident that left him still on the ground, warmer on the side that seeped the liquid that burned his senses -- before a presence lay over him, shadowing him from the pathetic sun in the sky that gave no heat against the cold winter -- he was here; through all its seasons. the ones that gave small rodents newly born, of eggs and birds who couldn’t fly fast; to when the animals hid and blended into shades of grey and made the hunt even more of a game. he dreams of the world he remembers in faded pictures and smells, of the rusty musk of autumn and the brittle winter that cut right to his bones -- of spring and all its blossoming aromas to summer where he felt too lazy to move under its sun. it’s what he remembers from when he was young, all divided and faded into one enclosure. every time he wakes it’s in spring, a way to taunt him out of his slumber and from his nest -- than, clockwise, the seasons change the farther he travels. first spring, summer, autumn than winter. there’s no real name for this please besides home, or rather, his second -- first -- home; the one that promised him nothing but gave him everything. while he could never understand their humors over the joke many have called his dreamworld the four seasons, albeit their comments are always followed by quick laughter or curved lips.
[break][break]
APPEARANCE[break]
it’s a forest to anyone who enters his dream. when one first arrives the sun is just right -- warmth against skin with just a subtle hint of seasons past -- that could get even the laziest of creatures moving. traveling clockwise through the greenery will fade the surrounding to a hotter summer, a bluer sky with a cloudless view -- where the shade of trees and bushes cool off the body and leave you sluggish. from there the leaves begin to turn, hues of yellow to red, and soon the branches grow bare. the ground no longer flourishes with green blades but dying grass under layers of crunching leaves. than last is where the world turns barren, snow covered and frigged, of trees mere silhouettes and bones of their former selves.
[break][break]
at its center is a large tree, it’s base wide enough to hide the seasons just behind its mass. it’s under its trunk, besides the large moss covered rocks and exposed roots that the travelers (and himself) first emerge into his domain -- a small fox hole, the other side of a portal, that lay hidden under the shade. where winter slowly fades and the snow has melted to reveal blades of green, where the only signs of the season prior are the blurred shapes in the distance is when spring begins to rain, heavy to light as one continues to move forward. snow falls on and off as one passes through winter, its heaviest being at its core before coming to a stop the closer spring/ autumn approaches.
[break][break]
POINTS OF ENTRY[break]
have you ever noticed the over-sized plum tree that grows at the local park -- the one that stands alone in a radius of grass; the tree that bears fruit no matter the season? it’s the one whose plums are too big, too pink to be real -- the ones that hold the sweetest taste when you eat them. have you ever stood at the tree, touched its trunk and pushed forward? you should. the entry to his dream world isn’t a hole in the ground nor a fruit on its branches but the whole tree itself; or rather, the trunk. one doesn’t necessarily need to push -- you can simply keep walking with suppressed fear of ramming into a hard surface -- but many need that comfort of two hands in front of them the first few times they venture.
[break][break]
from there it’s darkness. strange warmth, a feeling of ones body not being completely theirs -- as though their whole identity had been placed into a vessel that just wasn’t right. but then comes the light of spring, a circle ahead whose light doesn’t illuminate the impenetrable darkness you’re in. some take their time to head towards it -- the closer they get the more their senses seem to heighten -- while others rush to outside world.
[break][break]
NOTABLE FIGURES (OPTIONAL)[break]
animals, prey? animals; prey. they’re all around, flourishing even in the most barren of seasons. it’s comforting to know there will always be food, of play before hunger sets in; it’s what reminds him that this isn’t reality. his first home wouldn’t be this giving; it’d make him work -- work hard; painstakingly so -- just to survive for a night. besides that there’s always something, always in the corner of your periphery; a shadowed figure that disappears in the shade or blackened bark of trees. occasionally there’s clicks, pops that signal the surrounding wildlife to flee and return once the quiet sets in. a sort of call he doesn’t understand. hes been asked who it might be -- what it might be -- with the fear that the unknown presence might be a shade; and for tod he doesn’t know, but shade or not it lights a scare in him. a dull aching pain through his body. he calls him the farmer.
[break][break]
OTHER DETAILS (OPTIONAL)[break]
animal transformation • he dreams of beasts. everyone who enters his dreamland has changed into an animal from canadas wildlife, albeit those who dwell in the sea. human dreamers have found themselves creatures of the land, and those who originally are beasts themselves come only as their true self. the only exception of this rule are those dreaming animals that call home to water. there are no “people” aloud in his world -- except for the farmer who stalks his presence from afar -- and only when plagued with nightmares does this rule falter. shades take the form of animals as well, however noticeably different in all ways (appearance, smell, etc) than others; some can even plague his dreams, allowing them to traverse through the seasons as a human rather than beast. visitors in the form of animals normally gone during certain seasons can still thrive, though slightly bothered by the weather their bodies aren’t born to handle.
[break][break]
[attr="class","ur_appsubtitle"]CHARACTER HISTORY (OPTIONAL)
[attr="class","ur_appcont"]
“tod” was never his name. he had none. born in the wild where such things were too trivial, too human, for his kind. he had been born in the spring with his siblings, dashing past his mother the moment his joints felt his own. he hunted, aged -- became an adult faster than any could imagine -- one who still thought too much like a young kit. it had been a horrid winter, one that hung in the air for far too long; that kept his prey from returning and angered the clawing hunger in his stomach. he had ventured past his border, through the lining of trees into a farmers chicken coop -- as though he was playing a role in some childhood fable he’d never know -- and when his presence was sensed one bird was dead; its blood dripping from his maw. a clear indicators of his crime.
[break][break]
he was caught red handed -- ran for his life back to the trees where he could hide, barely able to begin the digestion of his half eaten meal . he was so close before he fell. a pop; pain -- liquid crimson sticking to his pelt -- and a light thud, buried within an inch of snow where he fell. in this world there were only hunters and their prey, and more often he was the former; proud and quick to snatch a meal. but now he’d been taken down with a single bullet of a riffle. the rest is a sedated blur. smells that made no sense, blurry figures that weren’t his kin. the farmer had some heart; or rather a daughter who whined and screamed until the fox was taken to a family vet. from there he was exchanged to others. ones who removed the bullet and stopped the bleeding; one who stitched him up and kept him warm within a cage. than to another who let him sleep near her home with others who were too injured to leave.
“tod” was never his name. he had none. born in the wild where such things were too trivial, too human, for his kind. he had been born in the spring with his siblings, dashing past his mother the moment his joints felt his own. he hunted, aged -- became an adult faster than any could imagine -- one who still thought too much like a young kit. it had been a horrid winter, one that hung in the air for far too long; that kept his prey from returning and angered the clawing hunger in his stomach. he had ventured past his border, through the lining of trees into a farmers chicken coop -- as though he was playing a role in some childhood fable he’d never know -- and when his presence was sensed one bird was dead; its blood dripping from his maw. a clear indicators of his crime.
[break][break]
he was caught red handed -- ran for his life back to the trees where he could hide, barely able to begin the digestion of his half eaten meal . he was so close before he fell. a pop; pain -- liquid crimson sticking to his pelt -- and a light thud, buried within an inch of snow where he fell. in this world there were only hunters and their prey, and more often he was the former; proud and quick to snatch a meal. but now he’d been taken down with a single bullet of a riffle. the rest is a sedated blur. smells that made no sense, blurry figures that weren’t his kin. the farmer had some heart; or rather a daughter who whined and screamed until the fox was taken to a family vet. from there he was exchanged to others. ones who removed the bullet and stopped the bleeding; one who stitched him up and kept him warm within a cage. than to another who let him sleep near her home with others who were too injured to leave.
