What a Lovely Wednesday...

Name: Rhage

Age: Centuries Old.... he stopped counting around 50. ^^

Gender: A Badass Bastard.

Species: Fire Elemental

Breed/Body Type: Zorse. Andalusian/Zebra cross. Sleek and streamlined but flexing with layers of compact, honed muscle.

Horn/Wings/Other? Serpentine scaling along front of fore and rear legs like armor, and scaling along his whip-like tasseled tail. Cloven hooves, a forked tongue and viper-like fangs. His body's inner core has the capacity to reach temperatures equivelent to that of molten lava. Generally this happens when he is angry, excited, or defending himself. His base coat glows bright from within like a forge or hot magma, making colors ranging from indigo to gold and hot crimson and he can render 3rd degree burns to the touch.His mane and tasseled tail flame, along with his fetlocks. He is impervious to heat but weak towards large bodies of water and excess ice or extreme cold. Like magma his body will harden to nearly rock-like substance making him immobile and if not returned to a warm dry place could cause him to harden to stone and die, or if say... in a lake, his weight will cause him to drown.

Color: Black on Black stripes, though his base coat turns a deep crimson gold when his temperture rises. His eyes are a venomous reptilian yellow with vertical pupils

Height: 16 hh

Personality: Rhage is a crass smart ass, he can be laid back and surprisingly cool when he's around those he finds some semblence of trust in, but for the most part is more like a rumbling volcano waiting for just the right moment to erupt. He isnt afraid to say what is on his mind either. Opinionated as he is, he'll tell you what he thinks whether you like it or not and He'll be a jerk simply for the sake of getting a rise out of someone. It's easy to find a weakness in somebody when they are pissed and flying off the handle. Crafty, cunning, and waaaaay too intelligent for his own good. His got the brains the brawn and the attitude. He's also a notorious womanizer and a shameless flirt but wont hold his heart on his sleeve.

History(optional): Rhage was a king in his youth. The leader of a bachelor herd in a far away kingdom, where he mentored and disciplined a legion of stallions in the art of combat. He held the status for many years and through a long and wearisome war. Perhaps the only mare he would dare to claim to even possibly love died as a prisoner of that war, and in the aftermath Rhage refused to uphold the burden and responsibility of innocent lives in his care. He passed the crown along to his chosen heir and right-hand man and left the lands and shattered memories for a life anew in lands abroad. Now a rogue, the fire elemental finds himself here in Nocturne... a place oddly befitting for a blood-stained soul such as his.

List two random facts about your character:
1.) Rhage has a tribal dragon tattoo on his shoulder (not shown in the picture sadly)
2.) He has a rich gravelly voice like Vin Diesel.

Sample Post* (from Liridon)

Fetlocks of feathery flames lick across the soil with each meticulously placed step. Powerful chassis slide across the topography with the stealth of a wraith, leaving naught but a trail of scorched earth and wilted fauna in my wake. And an almost preternatural silence.

Vertical, raptor-like slits scrutinize the perimeter of Kushtims with an almost primordial, almost reptilian rawness in them. The oxygen around my frame sizzled into little plumes of vapor that rose in small serpentine tendrils and rolled off the line of my spine. At the moment, my virile armor was a shining obsidian tinted in the tiniest shimmer of carmine. Like when you turn on the burners of your old stove and watch the coils beginning to heat.

tenacious expression drew a thin, emotionless line across my lips, sharp canines grinding together behind the lips as I lashed the whip of my tail until the long white plume at the end cracked the air behind me. I felt the brush of awareness from the dragon, ever alert and watching from behind the pools of my eyes. My skin where the dragon's face was embellished like a tribal tattoo tingled and I could feel it's interest rising.

Radar tilts atop it's turret and I paw the ground restlessly before chassis inert motion and I infiltrate the borders. If someone was here, it wouldn't take them long to find me. That or they're all a bunch of idiots. If you set up shop, you can't go neglecting your borders.

Ever the predator, I'd scope out the domain long before ever making the decision to join it. The male's numbers were small. And at this stage, I could detect no scent of a hierarchy. With so few and no one to lead them, these guys had better be watching their step. They were vulnerable in this state, and open to any number of attacks. If they were anything like they ought to be...they would have already mobilized into some sort of unit prepared for defense or offense.

But then, the borders created were so fresh I doubted if they'd even run across the whole of one another. But I'd hate to be disappointed. I wasn't in the character to be taking orders from anybody. And if I do, he Damn well better be somebody WORTH taking orders from. Like somebody capable of beating the tar out of me, and the intelligence to do it with class.

Tossing the elegant arch of my neck and lurking through the timbers like some great black jungle cat I ingressed towards the epicenter of the masculine herd's territory. I have lived too many centuries to recall. Nor do I much care. But I am aware that my overall character tends to change with the passage of time, in it's own cycle of metamorphosis. Sometimes, I'd spend decades as the rogue. Casting aside the tethers of the current trends of society and losing myself to the intimate embrace of the Wilds. Where I can bare her in whatever carnal way I so desire at the time. Decades later, I would grow bored and leave the wilderness a lucid lover to return to the cusp of civilization and integrate into whatever role seems entertaining at the time. I could do classy businessman. Tyrannical asshole. Wise but wicked joker.

But no matter the time, place or role, I always retained that underlying sense of preternatural grace and ferocity. I was the dragon, after all. And no matter how deeply I shackle him down to my core, he's always there. Waiting. Watching. Biding his time until those shackles eventually crumble and he can posess my body once again. Perhaps my greatest strength. But forever my Curse.

Come out. Come out, where ever you are.

If you like to play with Fire, I'm here to Burn You Down.

OOC/Player Name: Ezzy
Contacts: Ezzikins on Chatango ^^