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 Posted: Sun Jun 04, 2006 12:07 am
CHARACTER DESIGN CONTEST Your timezone: Pacific What times are you usually online?: Often, varies widely Name of Character: Kenny Mac Gabhann Country of orgin: Ireland What is their purpose for coming to the New World?: Blacksmithing runs in the family, but there weren't many opportunities for one with four brothers also running smithies in their home area. Coming to the new world and taking the risks involved meant a guarenteed market for his skills. As the settlement's resident blacksmith, he would be well-respected and a leader in the community. Being a leader may not have been a priority, but the idea of being important to the success of the settlement did go to his ego a bit. What is their description?: Kenny is a stocky, middle-aged man, somewhat short in stature. Due to the constant working with flames and heat, facial hair became more of a danger than it merited, so off it came. His hair is a dark brown, thinning but not gone entirely. He has a round face that is often red or pink from exposure to the heat of the forge. His upper body is well muscled, though his hands and arms bear scars from his trade. He is a widower, having sired two sons and a daughter. He hopes the son he brought with him will continue the family business in the new world once he himself passes on. For now, his son will remain his apprentice, ensuring he has help with the many tasks he will be expected to perform for the colonists. As for his personality, Kenny is a fair man with a soft spot for animals. As the younger of five sons of a blacksmith, he often was given the grimy or distasteful chores. Thus he spent much time mucking out the stalls they had for the local horses to stay in while they were fitted for shoes. Kenny learned much in those early years, and as a grown man now harbored a great love for equines. Men he gets along with fairly well, though he had gotten a bit gruff and brief since the untimely death of his beloved wife. He certainly wouldn't be considered anti-social, but most knew that when a black mood took him, he would disappear into his smithy for several days and not set foot outside nor talk to a soul that wasn't related to him. Would life in the new world change him? Could this new start be just what this man needs? Only time can tell. Here you can see him on the left, with an apprentice who was not of his family and was soon after dismissed. The man actually seemed relieved when Kenny sent him on his way. It seems a blacksmith's life is not for everyone.  What does their horse look like?: Outlaw is a Spanish Barb, white with stormy grey paint markings. His eyes are an odd pale blue that often show the whites. He has a scar across the bridge of his nose, halfway up, from a grown-in halter. (Please pardon the truck, this is purely for coloring refrence!) Write a short story about this character and their horse: The other men scattered from the lashing hooves. Furious screams of the enraged stallion rent the air around the small spring. The sailors, unused to dealing with such things, outright ran for our ship. Sand sprayed up from thrashing hooves, spattering me. But I stood still. Before me stood a heaving, sweating, magnificent spanish horse. A short piece of rope still dangled from aheadstall he wore. It had clearly been put on him when he was much younger. Now it cut cruelly into his flesh, which showed raw and weeping around the imbedded leather. Blood crusted the top of his nose, where it bit deepest. He eyes glared at me in a fiery rage. "I have been wronged!" his demeanor screamed. "They promised to care for me, to feed and water me! And now look at the state I am in!" Another furious squeal was accompanied by a drumming of forehooves on the ground. "See what your kind has done to me?!" he demanded wordlessly. "This is your fault, and the fault of all like you!"I knew he wished to kill me. The desire to strike out, to harm as he had been harmed, burned in his eyes. But something about him pulled at my heart. Thorugh the anger and pain and outrage this stallion showed, I could also see he was deeply lonely. He sought the company of those of his own kind, but also ached for the bond of one who would resume care of him. Lulled by the thought, I took a step forward. Infuriated at my approach, he snapped at me with his large teeth, and struck the ground by my foot with his hoof. I froze, realizing I had challenged him without meaning to. So instead, I turned slightly to the side, averting my gaze. I nudged at the ground with one foot and did not look at him, but kept my attention on his reactions. Would he take my bait? Eventually, snorting and rolling his eyes distrustfully, came to a standstill. I continued to stand there, all around me forgotten but this castaway and his plight. He regarded me warily, and began pacing, back and forth, at a light trot, kicking up more sand as he moved. I know not how long I stood there waiting, though I know it grew dark. Some time in the night, I woke from a light doze to heavy hooffalls nearing. I held as still as I could. He huffed through his nostrils in my face, then ran his muzzle down my chest, pausing to nibble at my bare arm with his astonishingly soft lips. Still I did not move, not wanting to communicate the wish to chase him away or confine him. Instead, beneath the starry night sky, I spoke to him, low and soft, telling him of the horses I'd known. I shared with him my wish to look after him and befriend him. After a time of being allowed to explore me and learn about me through touch and scent and sound, he finally gave a great, groaning sigh and leaned his head against my chest, nearly knocking me over. It was then he made his choice, apparently wholeheartedly. From that point on, hee never laid an ear back at my presence, nor resisted any way I touched or moved him. He submitted himself meekly to my careful minstrations to his poor wounded face, even as painful as it was. Because of this, the terrible weals cut into his face healed without infection, and his trust in me deepend. Even before we reached our final destination, he allowed me to drape myself over his back without a single protest, and accepted bit, bridle, and saddle willingly. Our bond was forever sealed. It didn't take long however to realize he would tolerate no other man. A sailor that arrogantly siezed the leadrope to the imbedded halter lost a finger to my stallion's teeth when I brought him to the ship. Another man walking too close behind him was kicked entirely overboard. It was these superstitious sailors who named him Outlaw. He may not have been so once, long ago. But now he considered no law but his own. There is no telling what he might have once been, but outlaw he was made, and Outlaw he became. (As a side-note, their meeting can be explained more in full if it is so desired. Some details of this story may not make sense without knowledge of the setting at the time of this narrative.)
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Posted: Sun Jun 04, 2006 9:28 am
CHARACTER DESIGN CONTEST
Your timezone: Pacific Standard time
What times are you usually online?:Usually between 7:30 PM to12 AM and sporadically on though 6 AM to noon
Name of Character: Lucas De Marcao Country of orgin: Spain What is their purpose for coming to the New World?: The youngest of four sons, Lucas is unmotivated to learn anything of politics from his father, a duke of small but not unnoticable standing within The court of King Phillip the Third . In an attempt to make his son worldly, Lucas's father is forcing him to head out, for while he isn't incapable, He is on the threshold of true adulthood, which his father hopes to not so gently push him into. After all, Provincial living is said to change a man. How, however cannot be certain.
What is their description?(pictures help): ((Picturecurrently pending)) A tall slender youth of nineteen, Lucas often seems more at home practicing swordplay or riding horses than learning politics as his father would have him. Lucas appears as what might be considered a tragic figure, pale skin and dark loose curls that fall to the middle of his back, often tied back simply, loose tendrils curling gently about defined features. High cheek bones meet with slightly sunken and darkened eyes, and a thin nose, a slight lump where it was broken across the bridge of it. His lips are slightly feminine, the bottom tier more full than most men of his family,and he wears his chin and mouth clean shaven. Lucas is a thoughtful sort of man, prone to quiet moods and playing the part of a philosopher, much to the chagrin of his father,and often those around him. While not thoughtful to the point of inaction, Lucas is a good mediator and is an idealist, feeling that concepts like loyalty, justice and fairness are morals to live by. His sensitivity may make him seem at times like quite the useless fop, but when his anger is roused, he is firey and full of passion, often feeling that he must fight alone for the upholding of his ideals. What does their horse look like? (pictures help): Octavius is headstrong and surprisingly large for an Arabian. Standing nearly 16 and a half hands tall, Octavius was a gift forLucas onhis sixteenth birthday. Octavius is of the deepest jet, his eyes are deep amber and add a strangely soft quality to his otherwise very serious features. Write a short story about this character and their horse:Noontime was apparent, and the sun hung in the sky like a bright beacon of Spring, caressing all below with her warm touch. Lucas walked solemnly to the stables, arms folded across his chest, frowning with thought. Footsteps retraced a well known path,one that lead from the stables to a small hill where an old and withered oak tree stood, the only monument in the span of empty acres before him. Octavius stood, waiting expectantly for his human, as this was daily ritual, and it was held in sacred standing by both parties. Octavius raised his head and nickered at the young man, trotting over to greet him, nudging him in the chest with his nose, lipping at the interesting feeling fabric of his vest. Lucas grinned and laughed softly, for it was a sad sort of sound with no real joy to it, and stroked the neck of his companion befor gently moving to press himself into thewithers of his friend. Breathing deeply, Lucas sighed. The smell of his horse was something he found pleasant and relaxing, a sweet smell, earthy and strong, but not foul to him. He continued to softly stroke Octavius's neck, for the horse was somehow more patient than usual, as though,and he knew it to be true, he sensed his master's dysphoria. Finally Lucas broke the silence, speaking aloud, "We're going away. The boat leaves in three days time..." He paused, a well of regret threatening at the tightening of his throat, and although Lucas rarely had the urge to cry, he frowned and forced himself to breathe before continuing, " I don't want to leave. I don't want to leave these feilds, Idont want to leave our country.." Words ceased, as he thought. The ladies of court did not intrigue him, and he would not miss his brothers, but there were a few that he would miss. He would miss the look of this place, the smells and the sounds. So many other young men would jump for an opportunity like this one, and yet, all he could feel was remorse. Octavius nudged him again,for the boy wasclinging, and he pawed at the dirt expectantly. Lucas cleared his throat almost embarassedly and gave a thin sounding laugh, "You're right. you're right... time to go." And with that, without bridle or saddle, mounted up, Octavius leading the way for their afternoon.
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Posted: Tue Jun 06, 2006 12:08 pm
CHARACTER DESIGN CONTEST Your timezone: Eastern (EST) What times are you usually online?: On/Off all day, then after 7PM until whenever. 5+ Hours Daily Name of Character: Rourke Mac Gabhann, Son of Kenny Mac Gabhann (see Talencia's Entry)Country of orgin: Ireland What is their purpose for coming to the New World?:Son of a Blacksmith, Rourke wishes only to partake in the adventure of a lifetime. Although an apprentice to his hard-headed father in the smithie business, he has his own vision to be a cartographer in the new world. What is their description?:At the ripe age of nineteen, Rouke has developed a ruggishly handsome appearance. Hard field labor and grueling hours in the sun and near the forge have whiped the lad into shape, though he is far from being brawny. He prefers to shave only when his father is expecting the company of women folk, then, and only then, sparingly. This does not effect his appearence much, however, since he had very few whiskers to begin with. His beard at best was a patchy, whispy acorn color. His little sister Anne said he reminded her of a milking goat. Rourke, like his father, his temper is always bubbling just under the surface. He has great pride for what his aspirations are in life and will not let anyone tell him otherwise. Hard working, loyal and trustworthy, this lad makes the perfect traveling companion on the voyage to the new land. His youth and virtue gives him great value as the settlement begins to establish on foreign turf.  (Rourke is photoed at right) Nigel is a middle-aged, mixed-blood stallion with an aptitude for wandering off. His dusty charcoal coloring makes him a sure-shot to disappear in the fields of Ireland This is especially true during the rainy-season when the terrain is nothing more than mud and rocks, rocks and mud. His eyes are the eerie grey-blue of the mysts that cross the lands. His right haunch bears faint remnants of a whipping, for his inability to pull the till. Write a short story about this character and their horse:Still Whilst in Ireland Rourke tugged the lead of the stormy brute. The horse sniggered in response, irate as it was after the shodding by The Great Smithie, Kenny Mac Gabhann. There was sarcasm to accompany that thought. Rourke had long been on ill terms with his father and disdained the order to return the Finn's their beast. The territory was littered with stones and both he and the charcoal stallion groped their way along the hillside. Although it was late in the crop season, the Finn's had yet to pay their debt to the blacksmith shoppe. The tab had been steadily growing over the harvest and Kenny was destined to lay down the law. Pay or be defamed at the house of god. Rourke cringed at his grandfather's trademark blackmail, a tactic that was still used by the shoppe in extreme cases. The horse stalled and Rourke jerked to a hault. "Blast ye' beast!" He scolded. "I have'n the time for this." His temper flashed for a moment. Why me? He thought. Tis' not my bloody job to collect dues. The horse sniggered again. "What now?" He followed the animals flanks and gripped his snout lightly before following up with a half-hearted pat. Gazing around, it occured to him that the Finn's were in worse debt that he thought. The fields were baren and frothy, a sure sign of famine. The little shack build on the property was desolate looking and with a frown he feared the worse. "Finn!" He shouted upon their approach. "Matthew Finn!" He released the horse who was busy stomping on some creepy crawlie or another in the mud. "Rourke Mac Gabhann with ye' horse." He fumbled to remember the name. There were so many horses that came through the shoppe daily and it was a chore to remember them all firsthand. Slowly the door opened and a wrinkled old man wobbled out. He eyed Rourke a moment then nodded thoughtfully. "Aye, that ye' are boy." He reached out to stroke the horse's black mane, speaking in a low tone. "I fear I have bad news. I canna afford' to pay for ye' services at this time." The old man hung his head in shame. "The potato famine has wiped out me crops and I hafta pack up me family." A woman cried softly in the background. Just great."I'm sorry Mr. Finn, but my father canna' continue to mind ye' horses then. You're tab with us has run well over its limit." "I know boy. I know." The man lowered his tone even further. "I dun know what to do anymore. My girls are wearing me old shirts and the wife is ill in bed. Last week our goats stopped givin' milk and the chickens have been stolen overnight. The crop was our last hope." The horse nudged him towards Rourke playfully. The old man tottled in place before stumbling forth. "Nigel here is a bit fond of pushing me around." Finn offered a weak, toothy grin. Rourke, for the first time, didn't know what else to do. He knew that the people in the settlement here were poor and often kept their tabs with the smithie until harvest. But what happens when there is no crop? There were times he really hated being his father's apprentice. He thrust his hands in his trouser band and shuffled his feet uncomfortably. Rourke had been saving up for a horse of his own for a long time, eyeing one at the stable across the way. She was a pretty chestnut filly with almond colored hair and white stockings. It had been a shame to watch her grow up without him. A grumbled sigh later, retrieving his mind from her image, he held out his hand to Matthew Finn. "Boy?" The old man looked confussed. "No money, no horse?" The boy arched his brow questioningly and offered a lopsided grin. There were ways to beat this system.Matthew Finn remained gauffing at him. It took a few churns of the brain for him to understand and with a nod, he extended his hand in business-like fashion. "Ye have yerself a deal Rourke Mac Gabhann. Nigel is all yers now." With a pat to the horses snout, the old man turned his back on them both, hand clutching the doorframe. "I'll take good care of him Mr. Finn. You'll see." Almost in awe of himself, Rourke looked the beast in the eyes. So? You're my trusty steed now, eh? The horse winnied and bounced his head as if silent agreement. I know nothing about you and you nothing of me. This is sure to be an interesting friendship.
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Posted: Tue Jun 06, 2006 7:13 pm
CHARACTER DESIGN CONTESTYour timezone: Mountain What times are you usually online?: 7pm MTN - 10:30pm MTN, but on weekends: Friday: 7-opm - 4am, Saturday: 7pm - 2am, Sunday: 7pm-10:30pm Name of Character: Thomas McManardin Country of orgin: Scotland What is their purpose for coming to the New World?: Realising that he was sick of being confined in a small life, Reese hightails it to the other lands, hoping for somthing more he could place his energy and hopes into. What is their description? (pictures help): Thomas is a tall (about 6"3 or so) stocky built man, with dark red hair, and brilliant green eyes, he is an amazing mountaineer, with his handlig of horses and wildlfe exquisite and wanted by many, it seems as if he could speak to the animals at some times. His skin is a very pale color, and he wears heavy black pants tucken into black boots, and a white settlers shirt, slightly open. His kilt is always in his bag by his bagpipes. He is roundabouts 30 years old, with a very shadowed beard. Scars litter his arms and legs from being in the wild and a soldier so much, but it does not matter to him. ((Picture can come soon..dunno) What does their horse look like? (pictures help): http://www.ansi.okstate.edu/breeds/horses/lipizzan/mac.jpgWrite a short story about this character and their horse: Thomas led Draghan down the ramp from the ship. The horse was edgy, as if he could smell somthing that Thomas couldn't. Well then again, he probably could, thought Thomas. Draghan hated being around strangers, especially strangers who had funnier sounding accents than Thomas did. "Whoah boy." Thomas murmured to the horse, leading him towards the forest. "I am just gonna take 'im for a walk." he called over in his strong scottish accent. The horse eagerly followed his master knowing that Thomas would not let those evil men behind them do anything horrible to Draghan ever again. Draghan had been abused when he was younger, but Thomas had found him and cared for the horse, and now the man and horse were nearly one. The dark grey horse didn't see the hole, and neither did Thomas. With an angry grunt, the Scotsman tripped over the hole, swearing. "Ahh, I sprained my ankle." He said through gritted teeth. Draghan hurried forwards to aid his master. The horse allowed him to clamber on behind, and soon he and Thomas were rejoining the camp. "What the?" asked a man when they returned. Thomas shook his head and gestured to his ankle. Draghan snorted anxiously. The other man shot the horse a look. "I think this boy cares 'bout yer health." he said, smelling faintly of alchohol. Thomas nodded and managed to get off Draghan, and when he was down, he patted the horse's neck and whispered "Good thing I had you with meh, mighta died back there." he said to Draghan. A life for a life, the horse thought.
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Posted: Tue Jun 06, 2006 9:33 pm
[ Message temporarily off-line ]
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Posted: Wed Jun 07, 2006 12:07 pm
[ Message temporarily off-line ]
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Posted: Wed Jun 07, 2006 6:33 pm
CHARACTER DESIGN CONTEST Your timezone: central What times are you usually online?: in the evening normally Name of Character: Cecilee Garret & her horse, Amethyst Country of orgin: Britain What is their purpose for coming to the New World?: She had been sent with her mother to the new world, to help aid the men. She also was following a man she loved, and could never have. She was forced into going, but not as much as one might think. What is their description? (pictures help): x <-- She is blonde. Around the age of 17, but she's soon to be 18. She is very thin. She is a lovable person, and loves too hard. She has a fair complexion, bright green eyes. What does their horse look like? (pictures help): xWrite a short story about this character and their horse: Dear Diary Cecilee again.Today was a sad day. I heard of the news that would lead me somewhere no one would ever go willingly. Tomorrow, Amethyst and I set out to the new world. Everyone speaks of how scary it will be, but mother says it's my duty to go along. I am sure, almost as much as certain that Amethyst is angry about this as well. Today, why, she wouldnt even let me pat her nose. That mare, the most spiteful of sorts when she wants to be. I don't want to go diary. That daring person my mother twas, it was never my choice. Meek little me. Out in the big ol' world. My phavorite thing to do is sew.. Sew and see Amethyst. But diary, is this a destiny for me? Is someone leading me t'were I never thought I'd be? Mother says destiny is poppycock and hogwash. I don't think so. I have done a little reading. Most by authors no one knows of. Little men who are so great!..But they never went anywhere. I sometimes wonder why that is.. Anyhow, This new world is an adventure, and Amethyst and me shall tackle it head on. I hope it isnt too late for me.. Gods be with me.. Always, Cecilee (I hope a diary entry is okay.. sweatdrop )
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Posted: Thu Jun 08, 2006 3:25 pm
CHARACTER DESIGN CONTESTYour timezone: Eastern Standard Time
What times are you usually online?: Sporadically through the day. Usually available during the day, between noon and 3pm for sure, then 9pm till midnight, but I do get on between those times with regularity.
Name of Character: James Christopher Boyd
Country of orgin: Ireland/England
What is their purpose for coming to the New World?: James Boyd was originally from England, but migrated to Ireland in his early 20's to get away from the hustle and bustle of many of the english cities he'd lived in. Though Ireland provided a bit of comfort and solace from the busy streets, there still didn't seem to be enough space for the young man's dreams to blossom. He wanted to prove himself to be every bit the man his father was. To show everyone out there just who's son he really was. So when rumors of a new land, vast and free, unpopulated by the 'civilized' man, Boyd found himself chomping at the bit, yearning to be out in the untamed wilderness. He hadn't much to his name, a single equine companion, the clothes upon his back, and a few coin in his pocket. Hardly anything to keep him tied down, and so when, around his 25th birthday, he heard of a ship that was headed to this New World, he knew this was his one chance to get out of there. If he didn't take it right then, he never would.
Now, to understand James Boyd, you had to understand him from birth, till the point of the shipride to the New World. Born to a moderately poor family in England, Boyd was the middle child of 3 children, and yet the only boy. His father, a former polish cavalryman, knew instantly he'd be a trouble maker, the moment he was delivered from the womb, having had a full head of hair already, and curly hair at that. Not to mention that his older sister was a complete angel, and therefore giving way to a mischievous child next in line. Once in his 5th year, James had been caught wandering off. In the bravest voice he could muster, he'd told his father that he was off to make a life for himself, because he wanted no part of the two "sissy girls" he lived with. It was always frills and lace with them, and he didn't want anything to do with that. It was then, perhaps, that started his trend of running away from what he didn't like. At age 10, the youngster was often in school fights, but somehow never caught. A calculating look in his eyes, and the way he paused, sizing up his opponent before he laid the first punch usually managed to keep the fight short and sweet, before the adults could catch him. But it wasn't to say that James liked fighting. That wasn't the case at all. He disliked it, but sometimes, he knew, that you just had to defend what you knew was right, no matter the cost. The children in his grade learned to stay away from him, and treated him with a distant respect, in fear that they would, at some point, meet that fist one day.
At age 17, Boyd made the decision that England was not for him, and informed his father that he would be moving somewhere quieter. This displeased the elder Boyd greatly, and threw his mother into distress. You see, his father was old, getting almost too old to be working, and wanted James around to take over for him when he was able to retire, and his son was able to take over. His mother's health was failing fast, her body frail against the elements, and she'd been bedridden for a few years already. Their eldest daughter had been married off, the youngest not ready to take on the responsibilities of home and hearth, so they looked to their son to take care of things. With his wild ideas of leaving, it was safe to say it scared them, to know they wouldn't be looked after, as they had expected. Reluctantly, James stayed home for the duration of his mother's life, and when his father finally saw the unbroken will to be anywhere but there in his son's eyes, he gave his approval, moving into the eldest daughter's home to live out his final years. It wasn't for a year or two more than James finally left, sure that his father would be fine, and that his sisters were both married off and happy. At the age of 22, as James fled to Ireland, his father passed on from the world, leaving him feeling incredibly guilty over the whole ordeal.
James would only be in Ireland a couple years before beginning to hear of the rumors of the New World. By then, he'd traveled around his new homeland, gotten a feel for the area, and was beginning to be saddened by the fact that, like England, there were many people there. And much of the things he disliked from England, were also prominent in Ireland. Known for his ability to judge horseflesh, James made rounds at several horse sales, keeping his eye out for a distinct creature that would take his breath away. Something that he HAD to have, a horse that matched him up perfectly. Several people tried bartering with him for their "magnificent" stallions, telling him he'd find nothing better in the land, but each time he'd decline. A particular image was set into his mind as to what he wanted and he wouldn't stop until he found that one horse.
Upon turning 24, in fact the day after he turned 24, the horse of his dreams walked out of nowhere. A grulla filly, aged 3 years, was being shown around. Primitive markings adorned her silken smokey grey body, almost ice blue eyes were a startling contrast to the rest of her. A spanish barb, she was of sound stock, seemingly good breeding as well. It was a good thing James had been working odd jobs and saving his money, for the filly had gained the eyes of several other buyers around. But, in the end, as fate would have it, he managed to get in the final bid, and won his prize. Previously named Taryn, James found this name to be unsuitable for his new beauty, and renamed her Manovia. Often he was questioned as to why he bought a filly, instead of a proven, well built stallion, but James never offered more than a shrug and silence in answer. Some speculated that, while he wasn't entirely fond of the fairer sex, after having lived with two very feminine sisters who liked shopping, dressing up and the link, he'd needed SOME kind of female companionship, and so chose a creature whom he could admire, yet wouldn't empty his pockets instantly in a single shopping trip in the city.
Together they headed back to England, upon heading the call of adventurers and strong, able bodied men to make the trip to the New World. Some part of James wanted to prove to himself, the world, and his deceased father that he wasn't just some layabout, waiting for his day to die. To prove that he could, and would take risks, for the greater good. Besides, a little part of him had his father's war spirit coursing through him. And if he was ever to prove himself as a worthy part of any army, militia, etc, now was as good a time as any.
What is their description? (pictures help): James isn't a remarkable man; he's not tall or short, skinny as a bean pole or wide as a bear. He's just simply... well, James. Reddish blond hair, about shoulder length, slightly wavy adorns his head. Storm grey eyes keep his view on the world grounded. Medium build, about 5'9" in height, roughly 150-175lbs. James' facial features are kinda chiseled, more so than his father's it seemed. The only thing strange about him, if it could be called strange at all, is the fact that he's double jointed. How on earth anyone else would know this, or find this out, is beyond him though. Reference 1, Reference 2
What does their horse look like? (pictures help): Manovia is a silver grulla spanish barb mare, with the dun factor, or primitive markings. Her eyes are a deep brown, flecked with slight bluish white flecks. Reference 1, Reference 2, Reference 3 <-- gorgeous smokey color @_@, Dun factor/primitive marking reference
Saddle - James' father was part of the polish cavalry, from the time he was a young lad. Upon serving his country, and becoming wounded in the process, he settled down for a more peaceful life, heading to England for the slightly "finer" things in life. While his faithful mount had been killed as he'd been wounded, the veteran kept his saddle and bridle, threadbare and worn, to give to his firstborn son when he could. It was these objects that James still carries with him. The saddle is worn, the actual saddle part looking more like the first reference picture than the red saddle it really is. The saddle pad in the second reference picture has lost some fringe and is a bit more worn than this one, but still retains it's color. The breast collar retains some shine, though it is far from the shiny new color it once was. Reference 1, Reference 2
(Saddles in those days were similar to the australian saddle of modern days. cited from Research Site 1, Research Site 2)
Bridle - Reference 1, fitting similar to this one: Reference 2. Instead of gold the metal would be a more tarnished or worn silver, to match the saddle and breast collar.
Write a short story about this character and their horse:
What was supposed to be one of their last quiet moments spent in a meadow clearing overlooking the rolling hills of Ireland, didn't quite end up as planned. Boyd and his mount had traveled far and light, sauntering at a neat pace towards what others would call their destiny. They were close to leaving Ireland, about to wave goodbye, possibly forever, to the lush valleys and quite...quirky people they'd spent the past year together with. But the silence of the moment in this tranquil setting was broken in an instant, by the sharp drunken whistle of another weary traveller. This one, however traveled neither light, nor straight. It was questionable whether he even traveled at all, sitting upon his pack mule rather lopsidedly. The stench of the man was nauseating, he'd quite obviously soiled himself along the way. To say that standing near him, even in a meadow of wildflowers, was like smelling roses, would have been a complete and utter lie. However, much to the dismay of everyone involved, except the foul smelling man of course, James and Manovia found themselves having to leap up to catch the man, just as he began to topple off his ride's back. It didn't seem that the mule himself was entirely pleased with the demeanor or smell of his companion, and very literally stepped away, kicking out a hind leg in disdain, from the drunken man.
Upon setting the older and very rotund man upon the ground, propping him up against a tree, James could not help but chuckle as both equines backed away, Manovia placing her nose under her foreleg in a rather amusing fashion. "Aww come now. He can't be all that bad, can he?" Of course, neither of the mounts would step a single foot closer than where they stood right then in that moment. Shaking his head, the young man turned back to the older traveler to tend to his apparent needs, which consisted of a bottle of hard alcohol, and something in the line of munchies. While the younger pair hadn't been travelling with much on them at all, James did happen to have a bit of bread and cheese, and while reluctant he decided sharing was better than nothing at all. Besides, who was he to begrudge the sole thing that might sober this poor soul up? He did make sure though, to exchange he bottle of booze, for a probably more appreciated cup of water, telling the tale of how he had clear liquor that tasted like water, but was literally dripping of spirits. And thankfully, the older man was drunk enough to believe James was a woman, at this point, and therefore quite readily believed the water was pure alcohol.
Of course....that was until the guy began to sober up slightly, and saw the silverish mare and his pack mule drinking quite readily of the same clear liquid. The bellow that pierced the air pinned the ears of both animals flat against their head, and earned a head-toss and an eyeroll from Manovia. James had to run and duck behind the pack mule, to avoid such things as his hat and other such objects that'd been left close at hand, as they were flung in his direction. The grulla mare inched her way back, and away from the mule, trailing her tie down behind her as she snuck up behind the old man. Yellowish teeth bared as her head sunk closer and closer to the object of her desire - the man's floppy hat. If ever a half drunk man could move, that one could sure hold his own. Trotting ahead of the older man, whom James had begun to think of as "Pappy" as he reminded him of someone's crotchety old grandfather though not as old, Manovia made it a point to stop and pause to let him stagger and catch up. Once she seemed sure he was a close enough distance, she'd toss her head, waving the hat around in the air and take off again. Round and round the meadow they went, at least the equivalent of two times around the entire thing. James and the mule seemed to be laughing it up, one flat on his back, giggling an awful lot like a kid, the other giving a horsey equivalent of a laugh in his own right.
It took till 'Pappy' was panting, sweating, and visibly exhausted, and James' pause in giggle fits, to end the suffering of the weak. Catching up to his mare, James' snatched the hat out of the slobbery lips, brushing it off before jogging to the well lagged man, who seemed rather sober by now. "I'm sorry about that. She normally only snatches my hat, but I seem to have lost that a while back. I apologize for her playfulness, sir." To this, he recieved a rather disconcerted glower, and the hat was snatched out of his hands.
"Ye keep yar dirteh hands offa ma hat ya here? I cannae believe I got bested by a beastie!" And it seemed much to everyone's surprise, that the older man burst out in fits of laughter as well, thankfully able to laugh at his situation as much as they had. "Again, sir, I am quite sorry for her actions. She's quite the playful friend, I'm afraid." James chuckled softly, rubbing his hand against the velvety tip of the nose that extended over his shoulder. A few chattery words were exchanged, explainations of where each were headed and why, before they both packed up to go their separate ways. James and Manovia were thanked for their entertainment and hospitality, the old man thanked for his forgiving nature once he was sober. A quick wave between the two-leggers, and they were all off again, ready for that which was to come. 'Pappy' had paused, however, as he watched James and his mare ride off into the horizon, shaking his head at the boldness of the two of them. "If I were just a bit younger, that'd be us ye know, Tracker." Shaking his head, the old man patted the mule on the neck and headed them towards home. "I wish them good luck, I do."
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Posted: Thu Jun 08, 2006 6:33 pm
[ Message temporarily off-line ]
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Posted: Fri Jun 09, 2006 2:41 pm
Edited!! CHARACTER DESIGN CONTEST Your timezone: eastern What times are you usually online?: after school, most days around 5-8 pm Name of Character: Anna Barley Country of origin: Britain What is their purpose for coming to the New World?: family needed to find a better life, their country was busy with war and they nees to escape before her father was sent to war What is their description? (pictures help): Anna has light red hair, blue green eyes and is about 5 feet tall. She is very kind, and looks up to her horse more than any human. She always puts Rhoda first, and Rhoda responds with a awe-filled kindness. What does their horse look like? (pictures help): Rhoda is a lovely red clydesdale, with an understanding grace and winning smile. She would never let anything happen to Anna. Write a short story about this character and their horse: Anna moaned as the boat lurched throught the icy waters. She was scared of the ocean, though she did not want to admit this to the handsome young men on deck. She glanced nervously at the stall which contained her mare, Rhoda. How was she doing in there? Was she afraid, too? "Anna, dear!" her mother's voice rose over the sound of the waves against the ship. "Where has your brother gone?" Anna turned to her parents, who were sitting by the starboard side. "I believe he has gone below deck with those dreadful Rugsby boys, mother." As soon as her mother walked away, Anna carefully made her way to the stalls. "Rhoda? Are you alright in there?" A reassuring snort came from inside. Satisfied, Anna sat back into her chair. Suddenly, a man shouted, "Land is in sight!" Anna gazed into the distance, and truth be told, a green haze was in view. With a last glance at Rhoda's stall, Anna fell asleep. ------------------------------------------------------------------ A large bump awoke Anna. She climbed to her feet and looked around. The boat had pulled into shore, and a gorgeous forest awaited the settlers. She cried out in disbelief, having lived in a town for her entire life. What new adventures were on the horizon for Anna and Rhoda? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Yes, the story is not long, but hey!! I haven't time!!
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Posted: Sat Jun 10, 2006 12:06 pm
((I hope its not to late fell asleep while writing it last night, and Im really bad at spelling forgive me)) CHARACTER DESIGN CONTEST Your timezone: EST What times are you usually online?: After I get home from work around 5:00 till 3 or 4 in the morning Name of Character:Jacob Thomas Brooks, but most call him Thomas Country of orgin: England What is their purpose for coming to the New World?: Jacob's purpose was to find fame and richs, which he could not claim in England. What is their description? (pictures help): His way of walking is arogant his hand moments leads one to beleave he is of a higher stature. His voice is deeper and one would not think to hear this voice comming out of such a small young man. http://www.fantasykat.com/ch/Images/t/thomas4.jpgWith black hair instead of red. This young man is both evil and greedy and his Horse is just as much so or more. What does their horse look like? (pictures help): name:Ryker http://i11.photobucket.com/albums/a179/sexylemur/f.jpghttp://i11.photobucket.com/albums/a179/sexylemur/FriesianHorse.jpgThis breed was one of the more used for the time stated. This horse walks proud and almost always seems to be smiling about something. Write a short story about this character and their horse: Jacob Thomas Brooks rode atop Ryker through the busy trade streets. Fish mongers shouted their daily catch while merchants of another trade were busy at work. Jacob did not care for theses things though his mind was on another matter and most asuredly so was Ryker's. A ship was too leave in a few days in search of a new world. Jacob knew he must simply find away on the boat. For how could he claim the fame and fortune of the new world if he had no way there. Ryker grined happly at the thought of the savage horses he may lay claim to bossing around. ~Pitiful souls they are. In need teaching they are. Savage beast that most likly run round breeding with the first mare they see, no class or care for breeding, I will solve that.~ Ryker chuckled in thought. Jacob directed Ryker to the sea port at which the ship meant to leave was docked. It was on its third day's checking and its stock was being deleavered soon to be loaded that day or the next. Stray animals tried to get to the food as well as wild rats. Stoaways of all sorts seeked their chance to board the ship. This gave Jacob an idea seeing a young popper girl and her brother hidding behind some barrels in hopes of sneaking on to find a better life. Jacob had already out in good favors with nobles in order of getting chance on this boat catching Stoaways would be an added affert. Jacob directed Ryker near the boat, Ryker sneered a smile in understanding of what they were doing. Jacob peered the captain making sure the stock was being checked well. He turned back again just in time to see the young girl and boy take a break for the ship. Clicking his heels lightly, Ryker understood to take off after the childern. Ryker ran between them and the boat and smiled a horse's smile at them. They screamed as Jacob jumped from the horse and grabbed them by the collar of their rags. Without saying anything he strode over to the already on looking captain. Whom had turned at the sounds of the screams. "What's all this now, Brooks?" he asked seeming alarmed by the childerns screams. "Attemped Stoaways ,sir. Though Ive not yet been given permission by, King nor the you yourself, I wish for this voyage to be a succesful as possible and with Stoaways steals your rations it would hender the voyage even in a small way." Jacob said pushing the kids towards the Captain. "Well I thank you Jacob. Get these poppers out of my sight." The Captain barked and a few men lead the childern away. "Jacob I have heard of how you wish to partake on this voyage, but boy you have no sea legs." The Captain said staring. "A bird cant fly less let loose from its nest, are my dreams to be trampled, because the family I was born to.Is it not my right as an English man to to serve my King and country by helping to find new richs and lands. I may not have sea legs but I can work hard once in the new land." Jacob said trying not to laugh for he wanted the richs only to himself. "Jacob boy your passionate. Just take this coin and be own your way the sea is no place for a boy your size." Captain said taking a gold coin from his pocket. "Keep your coin what is the point of gold if one cant serve his King." Jacob shouted. The Captain sighed rubbing his temples. "Fine come on the voyage, but if you die at sea, may you nor god have it on my head." The Captain said returning his work with a new headache. Jacob rushed to Ryker to pet him. "You hear that, we've got our chance.".
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Posted: Sat Jun 10, 2006 4:48 pm
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Posted: Sat Jun 10, 2006 6:14 pm
[ Message temporarily off-line ]
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