↠Velos is the name they whisper as I pass.
↠These eyes have witnessed 8 full winters.
↠Look below and know I am a brute.
↠This world is filtered through golden orbs, glinting like melted metal and viscous as honey from the comb.
↠I stand 30 inches closer to heaven.
↠157 lbs hangs on my skeleton.
↠My painter speaks: Velos is a fine specimen, although somewhat average in appearance. The base of his coat is a hearty cream color, the fur itself rather thick and dense. As if he was an artist’s sketch, random patches of charcoal and soft ochre adorn his shoulders, neck, tail, and flanks. Despite the presence of some light tan and sandy colors, Velos’ pelt holds an overall cool tone. Typical black skin can be seen on his nose and lips, within the hollows of his ears, and on the pads of his feet.
↠My sculptor speaks: Velos runs true to his gender’s typical aesthetic, possessing slightly more height and bulk than the typical Canis lupus. He is a creature built of tailored muscle, and his limbs are built more for endurance than speed. The strong bulk he carries on his shoulders and haunches gives Velos a rather large, intimidating appearance, although he prefers to hold himself in a stature of calm confidence. He may not be the largest member of his genus, but he still carries enough mass to be considered dangerous and possessed the skills to use it quite effectively.
↠My psyche speaks: In most simple terms, Velos can be considered emotionless yet entirely capable of expression. He is a purely logical creature, ruled by laws of the mind and the confines of his reality. This does not mean Velos is incapable of such things as sarcasm or humor; quite the opposite. Nor does he, on account of his rampant rationality, possess much vibrant imagination. He is, however, a calm, witty companion who knows well the limits of loyalty. He may come off a rough around the edges or crude to strangers, but find his unique sense of humor and you’ll acquire a dear confidant.
↠My memoir reads: Originally born and brought up far north of Moladion, Velos is a creature well-travelled. Perhaps the exact particularities of his upbringing would hold special importance to some, but Velos prefers to keep his past quietly vague in conversation. He travelled south on a whim, no stranger to wandering and with few permanent ties to his birth home. On account of his foreign origin, Velos talks with a thick accent and often lapses into his native tongue, an old language used for centuries in the area of his naissance.
↠An imprint is my wish.
↠Please know my master as Hym.
↠A taste of my style: Cool, cloudy breath rose from ebony nostrils as the pastel boy stood overlooking the estranged land. Twilight was beginning to settle around him like a soft blanket of snow on the mountain tops, ushering in the silence of night. Velos – a name to the ochre eyes that now traced the rocky crests that appeared so foreign and yet so familiar, as if he could pick out faces in the angular shadows and hear voices on the wind. And yet so quiet, the rushing in his throat like thunder as he swallowed a heavy breath. He looked out with a pallid expression, both in demeanor and complexion, the faint veil of sweat falling on his brows and neck. Velos was no stranger to travel, to long nights spent running from the shadows and long days spent running to them, as to relieve his back from the burning touch of the sun. Yet here he was, pausing of his own accord to simply look and breathe and feel the fluid settle in his joints as his journey south was coming to a close. He swiveled his cranium to look to his rear, piercing eyes focusing on lands far off where he learned to speak with heavy tongue, and gave them silent regard; he was, after all, a warrior of much honor, if only a bit rusted about his iron bones.
“Va fail,” he spoke with finality, his accent coating both syllables in a thick shell of molasses as they fell from his lips in an ancient tongue. One more second passed, the air held tightly around the canine as if it were bound by a string, and the next second it was diffused as ink in water as Velos pivoted on his hind limbs. He set off at a strong trot, a gait that challenged the control of his bulky musculature while still allowing the mobility necessary to traverse such mountainous terrain. Like a vagabond he came and like a ghost he left, seeking fate in every stride, leaving nothing but the clack of dull nails against stone as if they were small bells ringing in the thin air.
↠The rules are known to me.
↠The words required number 200.
↠I have seen this place for many years, between advertising and the comments of friends.
↠My email is: falldorf.a@gmail.com
↠My Chatango is: ChozoGhost
↠You may also find me at: Grizzled-Hymn (DeviantArt)