name: Strife.
age: One year.
gender: Female.
eye color: Silver with flecks of yellow-gold and green.
appearance: Strife is black with a very light white 'frosting.' She stands roughly 39inches at the shoulder and weighs around 112 pounds. She likes to think she has an 'average' build, being neither too small nor freakishly large and gets upset when someone says something contrary to her own opinion; tall, lean, sort of plain but kind of pretty. You get the gist.
imprintability: Sure.

ooc name: Venge.
did i read the things: Yes.
what is the minimum of the things: 200.
how did i find you: Ads, eons ago. I think I joined once but vanished.
email: viperhythmia@hotmail.com.
chatango: I have a lot, because jokes. :| I'm on VenGogh usually.
aim: AsQuietAsAShadowXI.
birthday: January 11th.

sample post:
(Tarnished, Beqanna - December 8th, 2014).
He is an old soul marching along to the steady beat of War—a soldier, lost and miserable at best in its absence—who hums the hymns of Gods so old that none so much as remember their names, except his mother; he would've been lost without Quark, truly, his Momma Sol didn't have to be so kind as to take him in and claim him as her own. But she did. She finished what her dark lover had started, picked up on his training and what holes she left, Drow was there to fill and Gendry was there to patch him up afterwords; he was beaten to a pulp again and again, but still kept coming back, still kept bleeding—until he started getting it right. Drow didn't want to rest until Tarnished could properly defend himself. Tarnished lost interest when the pain stopped helping him forget and started making him remember.

The frequent flicker of memories that don't belong have practically forced him in to isolation, he wonders if this is what she intended—his Other Mother, who forced violent and unwanted knowledge inside his head and then left him so she could die. Tarnished scoffs, kicking at the sand before moving on, farther out of his father's kingdom; he only came home for the ocean, really, he was of no other use to anyone here and he liked to stay out of everyone else's way. He cannot even remember the last thing he said to his father, if anything; their relationship was practically nonexistent compared to the one Vanquish shared with his other sons and, deep down, Tarnished realizes he is saddened that he has never really gotten to know the man. Of course, there is still time.

He slinks across the shore around midnight, led along by his shadow—a full moon at his back—and weighed down by his thoughts. Miserable, miserable, as the soldier without orders often is. He hasn't even been so much as tested in battle yet. His own fault to be sure. There is nothing stopping him from going out and challenging someone from another kingdom, making his father proud... unless he failed and was defeated. He isn't sure which is more shameful. Nocturnal would have been utterly embarrassed and a bitter bark of a laugh escapes his lips the second he even thinks about her again.

“Other Mother,” he mutters to himself. 'Momma Luna,' his brothers and sisters called her—which he supposes is very accurate.

Nocturnal had been cool and indifferent, just like the moon.
Quark was—and still is—warm and nurturing, just like the sun.

Tarnished, focused on his own short-comings, as always, almost doesn't notice the horse that comes crawling out of the ocean; he might have missed it entirely if he didn't trip over his own feet and then quickly look around to see if there was anyone around to notice. There shouldn't have been. But, oh! Of course it's just his luck that he has happened across the only living soul for hundreds of miles. Splendid. The roan stallion pins his ears, expecting some kind of snark to be shot at him through the dark—but nothing comes. In fact, the stranger doesn't even seem to notice him at all.

Snorting, he dissolves in to little more than molecules and floats around the peculiar horse; it's a girl, he soon comes to realize, skin and bones and soaking wet. Poor thing. He follows her for a while, curious, because it isn't everyday that some outsider washes up on Beqanna's shores—not anymore. Although he has heard stories just like all the other children, stories of a time when the flow of bodies coming in didn't seem like it would ever end; the 'flow' had slowed down over the years, then eventually became little more than a trickle until The Field had all but dried up.

Shame, really.

“Oh god, I didn't die, did I?”

He chuckles out loud, a feat he didn't think he was capable of without, you know, actual vocal cords; if she didn't really think she was dead, she was certainly going to think she was being haunted if he didn't show himself now. Sighing, the shape-shifter pulls himself together until all of him is back in one piece—all wretched and scarred and brilliance and blasphemy. “Welcome to Beqanna, I suppose,” Tarnished tells her, cocking his head to the side. He tries not to grin, he really does, but he cannot seem to help himself; it never occurs to him that his fangs might frighten her. As a matter of fact, this could very well be normal to her for all he knows. It's certainly normal to him. “Hungry?” He asks, creeping around her carefully. He doesn't know her, she doesn't know him.

What if she's a magician coyly luring him in to some sick trap?
The risk far outweighs whatever good he might do if she isn't.

But he sticks around anyways.

Self-destruction runs in his blood.

“I bet you're thirsty,” he says, moving away from her and further up the... well, The Beach. Just how far had he wandered away from The Deserts exactly? He ponders this for a moment, then seems to shrug. There were more important things going on right now. Helping a total stranger, for instance (hadn't he done that before?) and getting her to some fresh water. “Unless you have a taste for days' old blood—which, might I add, is incredibly nasty stuff—I suggest you follow me. Nothing around here 'cept dead bodies.” Tarnished motions around with his head while he walks, as if the corpse-stink didn't make it obvious enough. He hadn't been here since... since, well, Else. Naturally, he was pretty eager to leave.

(PS, physical descriptions on join posts aren't my strong suit. :| Forgive me!)

Strife