Post by Nerys on Nov 6, 2009 7:12:17 GMT
Name:: Nerys
Species:: Gewyn
Gender:: Female
Age:: 36
Appearance::
face claim::jessica biel[/b]
lupine
Most of the time, Nerys prefers to keep the form of a tall and slender she wolf with a marathoner’s gait and graceful limbs. With a pelt that ranges from points of russet and deep mahogany to ebony along her paws, tail tip, ears and muzzle, she is ideally suited to travelling long distances quickly and under the cover of night. Her features are rather refined for that of a wolf: her muzzle is long and elegant and her ears are beautifully pointed and fox-like. She has striking jade green eyes, which she retains in her human form.
human
Nerys is tall in human shape, even for a female Gewin, at the above average height of 6’1”. She is endowed with more voluptuousness in her human form than in her lupine one, a fact she quietly and secretly relishes. As in her canine body, her legs are long and toned with running muscle. Even as a biped she can cover a startling amount of ground at great speeds. Her long, dark sienna hued hair reaches almost to her buttocks and her skin is a pale peachy cream in color. She has high aristocratic cheekbones, a strong jawline and pouting coral-pink lips. The same entrancing verdant eyes she possesses in her wolf body are present here, beneath pencil thin dark brows and fringed with short but abundant dark, curling eyelashes.
Personality:: If there was a time when she was more frivolous and carefree, when she enjoyed or even desired the company of others, it is little more than a haze in the memory the she-wolf Nerys. As a girl-pup and a young woman she was always the sweet, even tempered loyal one. She used to laugh often, but she has had little to even smile about for so long. Unlike many Gewin in the forest, her kills do not bring her joy. She kills out of a dual necessity: to keep the intoxication of Gareth Cleaver from her mind and to sate her hunger. Perhaps it used to be a rush for her, but she cannot remember that either. Her chance first encounter with her secret lover almost seventeen years ago turned her into a solitary, evasive and secretive Gewyn. Puzzled and troubled by her own emotions and well aware that she now had a secret of the worst kind to keep, Nerys became the recluse she is today. While at heart she is still the fiercely protective and nurturing soul she was in her youth, these tendencies are bestowed upon very few…in fact there is so far only one who receives them; her beloved hunter. Since she left her pack for wandering and met Gareth she has journeyed across Branwen’s Cauldron in its entirety. In these travels she inevitably crossed paths with other beings and learned quickly to monitor her behavior and actions scrupulously to circumvent any untoward questioning or other such unpleasantries. Open displays of emotion or opinion make her uncomfortable: she rarely speaks and when she does it is often in a vague or lyrical manner in order to divulge as little as possible. This makes her by no means a pushover: Nerys has simply always possessed a slow burn temper, only snapping when under extreme pressure. All else she handles with a quiet, almost unsettling surety. She prefers to avoid encounters with any sentient creature and is extremely wary of placing trust in the few she does meet for fear of revealing anything that might jeopardize herself or her paramour. Though she avoids company, Nerys was never meant to be a lone wolf. Deep in her heart and mind she longs for contact but can rarely overcome her mistrust in others or her need to keep her secrets safe. For her the solitude is a necessary evil she has become accustomed to.
Biography:: Nerys was born to a very large and well-off pack, with many sisters and brothers. She lived a normal life, staying with her parents and sisters as her brothers wandered off on their own. When she came of age to find a mate and leave her pack, she began to wander out on her own. At nineteen, she found herself following the intoxicating scent of human, only to come upon a young hunter who had wandered where he shouldn't have. She was addicted, and he made no move to escape as she locked her lips to his and fed from him, but as she tasted his life and felt his very personality filling her, something odd happened. She fell in love. Frightened and hardly able to spare his life, but unable to take it, she turned to flee. He followed, as weak as he was, and she gave in. They became lovers, though after he fell into a dreamless sleep she shifted and sought to protect him as the night wore on. When dawn came, she was a wolf and had to leave him as he lay. For years afterward she watched him with her mind, leaving her pack even as she was mateless and choosing a life of danger in favour of the solitude she craved. As all Gewin who feed on a human and allow them to live, his taste never left her and it haunted her with a furious longing. Still, for the sake of an emotion she couldn't fully comprehend, she stayed away, satiating her thirst on the odd merchant passing through in an effort to purge Gareth Cleaver from her thoughts.
Sample::
Species:: Gewyn
Gender:: Female
Age:: 36
Appearance::
face claim::jessica biel[/b]
lupine
Most of the time, Nerys prefers to keep the form of a tall and slender she wolf with a marathoner’s gait and graceful limbs. With a pelt that ranges from points of russet and deep mahogany to ebony along her paws, tail tip, ears and muzzle, she is ideally suited to travelling long distances quickly and under the cover of night. Her features are rather refined for that of a wolf: her muzzle is long and elegant and her ears are beautifully pointed and fox-like. She has striking jade green eyes, which she retains in her human form.
human
Nerys is tall in human shape, even for a female Gewin, at the above average height of 6’1”. She is endowed with more voluptuousness in her human form than in her lupine one, a fact she quietly and secretly relishes. As in her canine body, her legs are long and toned with running muscle. Even as a biped she can cover a startling amount of ground at great speeds. Her long, dark sienna hued hair reaches almost to her buttocks and her skin is a pale peachy cream in color. She has high aristocratic cheekbones, a strong jawline and pouting coral-pink lips. The same entrancing verdant eyes she possesses in her wolf body are present here, beneath pencil thin dark brows and fringed with short but abundant dark, curling eyelashes.
Personality:: If there was a time when she was more frivolous and carefree, when she enjoyed or even desired the company of others, it is little more than a haze in the memory the she-wolf Nerys. As a girl-pup and a young woman she was always the sweet, even tempered loyal one. She used to laugh often, but she has had little to even smile about for so long. Unlike many Gewin in the forest, her kills do not bring her joy. She kills out of a dual necessity: to keep the intoxication of Gareth Cleaver from her mind and to sate her hunger. Perhaps it used to be a rush for her, but she cannot remember that either. Her chance first encounter with her secret lover almost seventeen years ago turned her into a solitary, evasive and secretive Gewyn. Puzzled and troubled by her own emotions and well aware that she now had a secret of the worst kind to keep, Nerys became the recluse she is today. While at heart she is still the fiercely protective and nurturing soul she was in her youth, these tendencies are bestowed upon very few…in fact there is so far only one who receives them; her beloved hunter. Since she left her pack for wandering and met Gareth she has journeyed across Branwen’s Cauldron in its entirety. In these travels she inevitably crossed paths with other beings and learned quickly to monitor her behavior and actions scrupulously to circumvent any untoward questioning or other such unpleasantries. Open displays of emotion or opinion make her uncomfortable: she rarely speaks and when she does it is often in a vague or lyrical manner in order to divulge as little as possible. This makes her by no means a pushover: Nerys has simply always possessed a slow burn temper, only snapping when under extreme pressure. All else she handles with a quiet, almost unsettling surety. She prefers to avoid encounters with any sentient creature and is extremely wary of placing trust in the few she does meet for fear of revealing anything that might jeopardize herself or her paramour. Though she avoids company, Nerys was never meant to be a lone wolf. Deep in her heart and mind she longs for contact but can rarely overcome her mistrust in others or her need to keep her secrets safe. For her the solitude is a necessary evil she has become accustomed to.
Biography:: Nerys was born to a very large and well-off pack, with many sisters and brothers. She lived a normal life, staying with her parents and sisters as her brothers wandered off on their own. When she came of age to find a mate and leave her pack, she began to wander out on her own. At nineteen, she found herself following the intoxicating scent of human, only to come upon a young hunter who had wandered where he shouldn't have. She was addicted, and he made no move to escape as she locked her lips to his and fed from him, but as she tasted his life and felt his very personality filling her, something odd happened. She fell in love. Frightened and hardly able to spare his life, but unable to take it, she turned to flee. He followed, as weak as he was, and she gave in. They became lovers, though after he fell into a dreamless sleep she shifted and sought to protect him as the night wore on. When dawn came, she was a wolf and had to leave him as he lay. For years afterward she watched him with her mind, leaving her pack even as she was mateless and choosing a life of danger in favour of the solitude she craved. As all Gewin who feed on a human and allow them to live, his taste never left her and it haunted her with a furious longing. Still, for the sake of an emotion she couldn't fully comprehend, she stayed away, satiating her thirst on the odd merchant passing through in an effort to purge Gareth Cleaver from her thoughts.
Sample::
::Nerys::
The wind whipped about her in chilling coils, hissing and biting like an angry serpent. There was no light in the sky. It might have been day or it might have been night; it was impossible to tell by the sky, so obscured by black bellied clouds was it. But she knew the time; she felt the moon singing white fire through her blood, despite the heavenly dome's nebulous cloak. It was the witching hour. White fire. Crimson life. Her sweet intoxication. Forbidden.
It was all cold, all spare and lonely, her life. But she didn't mind, not really. It was better than the ravaging guilt that would steal in at satisfaction's heels. She did not know how she knew this, only that she knew and that it was fact immutable.
A foot of snow lay on the ground, though there was none left in the sky and the only voice in the clearing was the screaming of the dry, cold wind in her ears. It battered at her thick fur, numbed her paws, stung her sensitive nose. She should be curled about herself in a snow den somewhere, kept warm by her own body heat, her thick tail over her nose to keep it thawed. But this night's raw intensity drew her out and so there she stood, an inkspot marring the flawless white snow. She had seen no one for days, a fact that comforted her. There were thoughts this night that would not leave her mind, they tumbled about in her brain, rendering sleep impossible. Many confused her.
A man. Steel blue eyes. The thirst.
The thirst she knew, even now in her lupine form.
Shadows amongst the trees and the moon above her. The hunt, the passion. Shifting. Bones shattering and melting. Reforming. Her skin, naked to the cold. Slender fingers, reaching out for him. His warmth, the heady pleasure. The guilt.
Her ears twitched back, lying a little flatter against her skull and her tail dipped for a moment between her legs. Whenever her thoughts returned to this man guilt and desire inexplicably pooled deep in the pit of her stomach. It troubled her and she stared, green eyes glazed into the marbled shadows of the deep woods. His name fluttering at the edges of her mind. Why did she think of him? Why did he plague her thoughts constantly? She wanted him so, could almost feel his life flowing rich and warm down her throat. The warmth in her chest, the happiness none of her kills ever brought. Why would she not let herself be near him? Why if he brought such pleasure? She could not remember, only knew that she should not be too near.
Remember, remember. Why could she not remember?
She closed her brilliant eyes, let the moon claim her blood and felt it begin. The sensations were ones she had not felt in so long. It was easier to forget, in wolf time, she knew. Still she could not remember the last time she had let her bones twist and her muscle melt and shape itself into something alien. Something beautiful and almost human. With the grinding pain came a shocking clarity, her memory sharpening: the shift burning away the fog like sun on a spring morning. The sharp script of scent and sound dampened ever so slightly with her change and there was no more fur to protect her from the wind.
Presently the pain subsided. She pressed slender white fingers into the cold dirt beneath the snow, and raised herself from frost numbed bare knees to standing naked in the frigid winter air. Her cheeks and nose flushed a rose pink to match her full lipped mouth and she instinctively crossed her goose-pimpled arms across her round breasts to shield them from the cold, nails digging into the skin of her arms. The long brown head of hair she possessed as a woman cloaked her slightly, the tresses tickling her skin as they danced in the wind. The muscle in her thighs quivered from the cold, but it did not shake the tiny bits of muddied snow from her knees. By now her toes were numb. But she did not care, for she remembered the man and how she loved him and why she could not be by his side. She remembered why she chose to be so alone and why she shifted so rarely. And the Gewyn woman Nerys stood and shivered in the cold andclosed her emerald eyes, tears squeezing out between her short dark lashes where they were caught and turned to diamond frost.
The wind whipped about her in chilling coils, hissing and biting like an angry serpent. There was no light in the sky. It might have been day or it might have been night; it was impossible to tell by the sky, so obscured by black bellied clouds was it. But she knew the time; she felt the moon singing white fire through her blood, despite the heavenly dome's nebulous cloak. It was the witching hour. White fire. Crimson life. Her sweet intoxication. Forbidden.
It was all cold, all spare and lonely, her life. But she didn't mind, not really. It was better than the ravaging guilt that would steal in at satisfaction's heels. She did not know how she knew this, only that she knew and that it was fact immutable.
A foot of snow lay on the ground, though there was none left in the sky and the only voice in the clearing was the screaming of the dry, cold wind in her ears. It battered at her thick fur, numbed her paws, stung her sensitive nose. She should be curled about herself in a snow den somewhere, kept warm by her own body heat, her thick tail over her nose to keep it thawed. But this night's raw intensity drew her out and so there she stood, an inkspot marring the flawless white snow. She had seen no one for days, a fact that comforted her. There were thoughts this night that would not leave her mind, they tumbled about in her brain, rendering sleep impossible. Many confused her.
A man. Steel blue eyes. The thirst.
The thirst she knew, even now in her lupine form.
Shadows amongst the trees and the moon above her. The hunt, the passion. Shifting. Bones shattering and melting. Reforming. Her skin, naked to the cold. Slender fingers, reaching out for him. His warmth, the heady pleasure. The guilt.
Her ears twitched back, lying a little flatter against her skull and her tail dipped for a moment between her legs. Whenever her thoughts returned to this man guilt and desire inexplicably pooled deep in the pit of her stomach. It troubled her and she stared, green eyes glazed into the marbled shadows of the deep woods. His name fluttering at the edges of her mind. Why did she think of him? Why did he plague her thoughts constantly? She wanted him so, could almost feel his life flowing rich and warm down her throat. The warmth in her chest, the happiness none of her kills ever brought. Why would she not let herself be near him? Why if he brought such pleasure? She could not remember, only knew that she should not be too near.
Remember, remember. Why could she not remember?
She closed her brilliant eyes, let the moon claim her blood and felt it begin. The sensations were ones she had not felt in so long. It was easier to forget, in wolf time, she knew. Still she could not remember the last time she had let her bones twist and her muscle melt and shape itself into something alien. Something beautiful and almost human. With the grinding pain came a shocking clarity, her memory sharpening: the shift burning away the fog like sun on a spring morning. The sharp script of scent and sound dampened ever so slightly with her change and there was no more fur to protect her from the wind.
Presently the pain subsided. She pressed slender white fingers into the cold dirt beneath the snow, and raised herself from frost numbed bare knees to standing naked in the frigid winter air. Her cheeks and nose flushed a rose pink to match her full lipped mouth and she instinctively crossed her goose-pimpled arms across her round breasts to shield them from the cold, nails digging into the skin of her arms. The long brown head of hair she possessed as a woman cloaked her slightly, the tresses tickling her skin as they danced in the wind. The muscle in her thighs quivered from the cold, but it did not shake the tiny bits of muddied snow from her knees. By now her toes were numb. But she did not care, for she remembered the man and how she loved him and why she could not be by his side. She remembered why she chose to be so alone and why she shifted so rarely. And the Gewyn woman Nerys stood and shivered in the cold andclosed her emerald eyes, tears squeezing out between her short dark lashes where they were caught and turned to diamond frost.
ADMIN NOTE:
OMG PERFECT.
OMG PERFECT.
