Post by SilverBullet on Dec 13, 2005 20:33:08 GMT -5
I wasn't sure where this should go... I put it here since there could quite possibly be violence and stuff. So if it's in the wrong place just move it.
The year is 3021. The earth is dying. Animals are no longer found wild, but locked in captivity. Many are now extinct altogether. You are a horse, a stranger in the cities of fire and metal. Your home? A small enclosure in one of the poorer districts. They use you to pull carts full of necessary parts to the factories and bring them to work. You are the backbone of this poor society; or you were, before you decided to break away.
Rules
Don't powerplay and don't godmode. Easy enough?
Info
Name
Nickname
Age
Gender
Breed
Appearance
Personality
My Info
Name~ Misty
Nickname~ Misty
Age~ 10
Gender~ Mare
Breed~ Percheron
Appearance~ Tall, big boned, powerful, short mane and tail; pearly grey in color
Personality~ Tough, caring, protective...
The intelligent mocha visionaries of the large grey mare carried in them a vision of the world's end: Flames licked towards the sky, climbing over charred ruins, while humans stood by with grim faces. The inferno scorched away all traces of life and roared at that which stood solemnly around it. A frightened horse whinnied and twisted in her harness until her humans quited her enough to be led away. She would never return again... If this was not the end, then surely someone somewhere was mistaken. Misty jiggled the bit in her mouth as she was led away from the flames, her great solid hooves clopping against hard pavement rhtyhmically. Sights like that were common now, as was the death of her own kind. Those who could not tolerate the new order would be subdued, that was the way things were.
Misty was alive becuase she did not object; not even when she'd given up her pasture for the small stall she now lived inside did she object. Her nature was not to rebel, but to adapt. It showed in her kind brown eyes, large and intelligent under a curtain of squared grey forelock. Harks flicked forward as the barn came into sight, more like a prison than a home. Many tiny stalls all in a row, each walled and floored with concrete. The humans no longer cared... Head held at its natural height, which was high compared to the man leading her, she entered the aisleway calmly, opticals flicking about for any sign of a kind eye or a trace of sanity.
The year is 3021. The earth is dying. Animals are no longer found wild, but locked in captivity. Many are now extinct altogether. You are a horse, a stranger in the cities of fire and metal. Your home? A small enclosure in one of the poorer districts. They use you to pull carts full of necessary parts to the factories and bring them to work. You are the backbone of this poor society; or you were, before you decided to break away.
Rules
Don't powerplay and don't godmode. Easy enough?
Info
Name
Nickname
Age
Gender
Breed
Appearance
Personality
My Info
Name~ Misty
Nickname~ Misty
Age~ 10
Gender~ Mare
Breed~ Percheron
Appearance~ Tall, big boned, powerful, short mane and tail; pearly grey in color
Personality~ Tough, caring, protective...
The intelligent mocha visionaries of the large grey mare carried in them a vision of the world's end: Flames licked towards the sky, climbing over charred ruins, while humans stood by with grim faces. The inferno scorched away all traces of life and roared at that which stood solemnly around it. A frightened horse whinnied and twisted in her harness until her humans quited her enough to be led away. She would never return again... If this was not the end, then surely someone somewhere was mistaken. Misty jiggled the bit in her mouth as she was led away from the flames, her great solid hooves clopping against hard pavement rhtyhmically. Sights like that were common now, as was the death of her own kind. Those who could not tolerate the new order would be subdued, that was the way things were.
Misty was alive becuase she did not object; not even when she'd given up her pasture for the small stall she now lived inside did she object. Her nature was not to rebel, but to adapt. It showed in her kind brown eyes, large and intelligent under a curtain of squared grey forelock. Harks flicked forward as the barn came into sight, more like a prison than a home. Many tiny stalls all in a row, each walled and floored with concrete. The humans no longer cared... Head held at its natural height, which was high compared to the man leading her, she entered the aisleway calmly, opticals flicking about for any sign of a kind eye or a trace of sanity.
