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 Posted: Fri May 27, 2011 6:27 pm
1. Only one entry per person. 2 Concepts must be of Herla that were somehow involved in the Talon War. They can be soldiers, officers, medics...or maybe just support at the war camps. 3. Starting 8am PST May 28th and lasting until 9pm PST June 5th the shop colorists will occasionally choose a concept to color. This 100% colorists' choice. The colorists may choose as many as they like, but only one at a time. 4. Entries must have both a completed CYO Template and a filled out form. Please fill out the form completely! Remember, the more we know about your veteran, the more likely we are to choose them! 5. Lore is your friend! Read about the Talon War here. [b]Name[/b]:
[b]Gender[/b]:
[b]Masculine or Feminine[/b]:
[b]Type of Herla (Forest, Delta, Mountain or Mutant[/b]):
[b]Personality[/b]:
[b]Backstory[/b]:
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Posted: Sat May 28, 2011 8:00 am
Name: Malachi (MAL-a-kye)Gender: Male Masculine or Feminine: Feminine Type of Herla (Forest, Delta, Mountain or Mutant): Mountain Personality: Malachi is a very brave hart. Although this adjective may seem broad or cliché, not many would run across a battlefield unarmed except for two stubby horns. He is obedient and sneaky, and will do anything to accomplish a goal that he sees as important. Though some people think he’s gone a bit insane because of all the gore and fighting he had to sprint through undefended, Malachi himself denies it. Backstory: No one would’ve imagined that Malachi could have ended up in the army. He looked like a big, puffy shadow. He was even puffy for a mountain herla, and couldn’t hurt a fly. The only thing is, despite all this, he could run very fast in almost all terrains. Having grown up on the craggy cliffs of the mountains while having to watch his much younger siblings, if one would try to trip Malachi or beat him in a race (or win in a game of hide-and-go-seek) , he/she would most likely fail. It was because of this that Malachi was strongly encouraged to go to the army by a friend who was also enlisted. He convinced Malachi to not go as a warrior or a soldier, but a messenger. Malachi was hesitant to leave his siblings, even though they were mostly all grown up at this point, but his friend managed to convince him to go anyways. Throughout the war, Malachi would bring messages or news from the war camp to the captains or from one captain to another, and so on. This didn’t sound like a hard job, but being sliced and jabbed by the weapons of the opposition unarmed definitely made one’s blood rush. Though he was no warrior, Malachi experienced moments in which he felt his life on the line. The worst of such moments came while he was around the foothills, before the massacre of Partridge Path. The battle was roaring through Malachi’s ears, but at this point of the war Malachi was almost immune to it. He decided to sprint around a few of the hills rather than follow the path of soldiers. This was a big mistake. Yes, maybe he would’ve gotten a few cuts if he went through the battle, but he would’ve been prepared, and slightly protected by the masses of herla. But right when Malachi went around the bend of a foothill, a Talon warrior pounced out and sliced him right across the neck and shoulder, nearly crippling him on his left side. Panicked, Malachi sprinted towards his destination without looking back, blood pounding in his ears. After finding Rolan he sprinted through the battle and managed to return to the war camp by sunset. The healers managed to stop the intense bleeding on his shoulder, but the slice across his neck managed to brush his vocal cords and made his voice gruff and raspy. Luckily for him, the camp he was staying at wasn’t the one attacked at Partridge Pass. By the time he got home, he was a changed hart. He would wake up early and run around the mountains at top speed just to keep sane. To this day, if one were to be in the mountains in the early morning, he/she may still hear the hastened hoof-steps of this messenger. ((The brown stuff on the earrings and bands on his legs holding the cloth is rust, i just fail at drawing it))
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Posted: Sat May 28, 2011 12:51 pm
 Name: Naia Gender: Female Masculine or Feminine: Feminine Type of Herla (Forest, Delta, Mountain or Mutant): Mutant Personality: Always quiet and graceful, sweet to those around her and ready to comfort, but deep beneath those blue orbs is a divine sadness that seems unfixable, and she seems detached from her surroundings, ghostlike to even her family. Backstory: From birth, Naia had been treated to the best of everything, spoiled by her parents and peers for her gorgeous appearance and upbeat outlook on life. She thought herself an idol to others, and set herself to be one as best she could. The wars had been well on their way when Naia, a younger, more hopeful girl, had joined the ranks of those heading to the war camps to be of moral support. Had she only known at that time what she would see, maybe she would have turned back. She was of no use to the injured, the beaten.... but Naia was beatiful, and she thought to use her 'skills' to give hope to those in need of a spiritual uplifting. What instead she found were the dying, the morbidly grotesque battle wounds and those inches from death crying out for a release. It was not at its worst, and Naia held hope and was a calm comfort to those who needed it. But there were more of them by the day, and all who demanded her company were becoming forceful and dependant on what little service she could offer. The cries in the night, the nearly dead screaming her name through the pain they felt.... It was enough to make her crack. And it did. By sheer force of will, she continued to be there for whomever needed her, but her smiles were long gone. She was a comfort in her tender voice and touch, but other than what a few words or a shoulder could offer, her soul had been broken. Though the war has been gone, the pain of the nightmares she relives are all too real and keep her from a moment's peace. [[ Not the best at making tribal-esque markings, but I did my best. ]]
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Posted: Sat May 28, 2011 3:05 pm
Name: Jerri
Gender: Female
Masculine or Feminine: Feminine
Type of Herla : Mountain
Personality: (Unwavering) Jerri would never give up. She never did at any point in her life, and especially not during the Talon wars. Her decisions were firm and undebatable, and though she was soft and kindly to those she admired, even they could not sway her opinions.
Backstory: She was a combat medic during the Talon Wars, and fought valiantly alongside friends, family, and her lover. Jerri often fought right besides her mate, and the two would save each other from vicious attacks, in a manner nearly romantic. When she wasn't actively fighting a Talon, she would be busy patching her comrades up, quickly stitching a deep wound, bandaging legs and tails. Her medical kit was lightly packed, as there was little she could do besides keeping them alive until they could reach camp again. One fateful battle at Moss Bridge, the Talons caught them off-guard, and a wind talon sunk her claws into her mate. Jerri tried as hard as she could to keep him alive, but the wounds were too deep, and he bled to death.
Devastated, but with a newfound, and wild, determination, she continued to fight Talons, and healing her fellow harts and hinds as best as she could. She was then injured while trying to fight a Talon, and forced to return to base camp, though she insisted she was still able to fight...
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Posted: Sat May 28, 2011 3:26 pm
 Name: Hurley Gender: Female Masculine or Feminine: Masculine Type of Herla (Forest, Delta, Mountain or Mutant): Delta Personality: Rough and tough tomboy. She does what she needs to and won't rest until it's done. When times are hard she throws herself into her work, but never actually solves her problems. Backstory: Hurley was a craftsherla of sorts. She worked with her mate, Atlas (a fire wielding herla), to create weapons for the warriors. They may not have been in battle, but their efforts were still necessary. The two herla would scrounge around for old knives, swords, axes, and any usable material from the guardians time. If what they came upon was in bad shape or if weapon stocks were low, the pair would work together to make what they had into something that could be used. Atlas would control the fires and Hurley would bang out the pieces of metal with tools from a toolbox she had come across when she was a yearling. Together they'd shape crude knives or carve out spears for the cause. During the final weeks of the war, a call was sent out for strong and willing herla to join the fight in the last throes of war, and Atlas answered. The fiery buck made a foolhardy mistake and was killed by one of the talons. Ever since, Hurley has been obsessed with her now unnecessary work, struggling to get over the loss of her mate.
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Posted: Sat May 28, 2011 3:51 pm
 Name: Hedeskus Gender: Male Masculine or Feminine: Masculine Type of Herla (Forest, Delta, Mountain or Mutant): Mountain Personality: Despite his unmoving expression, his scared and beaten body and his stained and tattered war regalia, this old hart is and always will be a kind and gentle soul to those he loves and respects. He has certainly seen his better days, his hair, beard and tail still torn and tangled, a limp in his step, (or a slight hitch in his giddyup, as he would say) but that doesn't stop him from getting around. Full of war time stories for the young bucks just like many of the surviving war veterans, and often taking the role of a teacher, Hedeskus enjoys nothing more than seeing the faces of the youth light up with excitement in their playing and watching their faces as they gain knowledge in their studies. Though he doesn't just tell stories for pleasure. Each tale has a true and important moral weaved into its fabric, so that the future generation might learn from his mistakes and victories in battle should they ever find a need to fight. Backstory: One of the many rallied by King Johan, The middle aged Hart, Hedeskus was more than ready and willing to serve his King and his fellow herla. Though he was no spring buck, he had wisdom and the strength to prove himself an able body in battle. His usual gentle eyes seemed cold and distant that day, as he prepared to face the mass of rising Talon. He took solace in his King's every word and courage from his brothers and sisters of battle. One survivor of those who had been rallied before the start of the war, Hedeskus followed his fellow herla into battle, driving the Talon forces back at the Verdant Ravine so that they may never cross into his homelands. Armed with only the long blade that curved over his hoof and welded into the gauntlet which he wore over his right leg (our left when facing him) and the thick yet elongated horn atop his heavy metal face guard, Hedeskus had little actual weaponry to fend off his attackers, but used his head (quite literally), his teeth, his hooves and any other available part of his body to "escort" oncoming Talon's over the bridges that connected the two plateaus together. Over the course of what seemed like eons, countless nights and days, though wounded, tired and hungry, Hedeskus made the march to the Foothills. There he joined his fellow Herla as he lay in wait for unsuspecting Talon, and when the moment was right, ambush them. He would rear up and slash with his bladed gauntlet, or at times simply charge head on, impaling some on his horn. It was during the last few skirmishes in the Foothills, just before the battle at Partridge Pass would ensue, that the horn atop his armored head plate snapped in half, leaving only a short fractured and blood stained base which was of no use unless in close head to head combat. Then, and only then, as he gazed upon the tip of his once marvelous weapon, lodged in the chest of a Talon, that he realized the horrors around him. Many Talon bodies lay at his feet, but for every three Talon, there also lay his companions, slain, bloody. Some barley alive, others far too gone. It was an absolute massacre, and though he had expected the worst, what he saw was far beyond that. However, he had no time to weep or morn the loss of his companions, for what seemed like a dozen more Talons descended upon him, as if they fell from the very sky itself. And as he fought, it was as if darkness herself rolled in like fog, wrapping her arms around him in a cold and spine tingling embrace. Hedeskus's vision went black and his body fell lifeless to the ground. When Hedeskus awoke two days later, inside a small camp, questioning weather he lived or had gone to be with the Guardians, he was told of the horrors at Partridge Pass. How the King, his heir and most of his inner court had fallen in battle, how the Talon leader also fell in battle, and how the new Talon leader pulled his warriors from battle, retreating back to their homelands. Hedeskus and his few comrades that had been pulled out before the event happened via the medics not but a few days earlier, could not find happiness in their small victory. Many of their beloved had died next to them in battle, and would never be seen again. Both young and old had perished, and though they had won, they had lost much. As a sign of respect for his fallen brothers and sisters, a representation of his pride and loyalty, and a constant reminder of all he had somehow managed to make it through, Hedeskus still wears is tattered and blood stained war regalia and Talon trophy feathers about his neck.
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Posted: Sat May 28, 2011 8:19 pm
 Bottom Half ['Cause Menny sucks at drawing legs.]: Legs.Name: Laguna Gender: Female Masculine or Feminine: Masculine Type of Herla (Forest, Delta, Mountain or Mutant): Forest Personality: Detached. Backstory: +WARNING: This story may not be for everyone. It is a war story, so please keep an open mind.+ Laguna was born during a Spring storm. She was one in a family of five; Her mother, her father, and two elder brothers. She was a homely hind with her fair share of flaws, her own set of strengths and weaknesses. She led a fairly uneventful life. Mother and Father passed away, brothers moved on. She found herself a good-hearted buck, had a fawn. A daughter, whom she adored with everything her heart and soul had to offer. Fern was a bright, spirited soul. Her curiosity never tired, and she was tough. They were a small, but happy family. And then the messenger came. "Mama….Why does Daddy have to leave?' Fern had asked her, brown eyes big and glittering; like her Father's. The hair on her forehead was still parted from that last kiss he'd left. Fern had giggled because his nose had been so cold. They did not hear from him again. Months passed. Only days after the others from the Desert Battle had returned home, a member of Markus's Unit approached her. Fern was hiding, tangled between her hind legs. "He wanted you to have these." Laguna watched as he carefully reached into his torn and dirty pack, and with gentle teeth he lifted the glasses, shattered and bent, that Markus had always kept perched on his nose. They had been the reason of how they'd met. She still remembered his nervous stuttering, face red as a crawdad, when she helped him put them back onto his nose. She took them just as carefully, and set them aside on a tree stump inside of her thicket. Their home. She turned back to the Mountain Herla, dark as the bark on a tree and invited him inside. She welcomed him home, and made him breakfast. She washed his pack while he tucked into the berries and fresh grass shoots like he hadn't eaten in weeks. She said goodbye, and watched him leave as he set out to the home of his own. Night fell, and Fern went to sleep. The glasses remained on the stump, and weeks passed. Often, Laguna wondered how and why. All round her, more and more left, and even less came home. "Mama, look what I found!" The chipper voice had broken her thoughts, and her gaze moved from the glasses to her daughter. Right then and there, she decided it would be best if she did not know. She could not let herself fall into despair. She still had Fern. Fern, who was covered in mud with a smile that went to each ear, and a vine of grapes between her teeth. She gave Fern a bath. They ate. They cried together. They fell asleep. Laguna marveled how much Fern began to grow, and before she knew it, her little ball of fire was a Yearling. On a blindingly sunny afternoon, the war had been brought to their hooves. They evacuated their home near Moss Bridge, and joined others in a safe-house. They stood with the others in the cave, food and water passed around every twenty minutes. They had no choice but to keep quiet as horrific sounds met their ears. They lay low the rest of the night. She awoke groggily, something warm pooling around her tail. She blinked slowly, realizing Fern was awake, though her eyes looked strangely glassy. She was close enough to her daughter to realize there was no rising and falling of her chest, no puff of warm air on her face from Fern's slightly parted mouth. No blinking. No movement. Nothing. The dull thud of hooves in her ears. Someone helping her up. "Wait, my daughter-" No response from the Soldiers. Her screams still echoed in her thoughts. "Fern! Fern, Wake up! Fern!!" Darkness swiftly took her. When she came to, she was at a camp. She didn't recognize anyone. She was briefed on the attack in the cave. Talons, in the cover of the night. Quiet, and efficient, they had bludgeoned the herla in their sleep with rocks. She, and only one other survived because their rocks hadn't been heavy enough. She never did meet the other Herla. Word was she had jumped off a cliff, crazed with grief and fear. Laguna watched as the Soldiers buried her daughters body, her grave marked the same as all the others. An endless field of bare sticks pointed towards the heavens. Her home destroyed and her family gone, Laguna had nothing to lose. They offered her a position in their ranks once she was well enough and she took the offer. Her first night there, she watched a young buck cry for his mother. Silently, she cried for hers. Over time, she was put into a Unit. They became her brothers and sisters. Her family. That was pretty much all she grew to care about, because she knew they would be there with her tomorrow. Together, to fight. They were moved to the Foothills, where they continued the effort to win, and end, the war. Johan fell. The Talons retreated. It was over. She buried friends, and family. She buried higher ups, she buried Medics. She could not bury the pain and anger in her heart. She stood in line with other surviving Soldiers like Rolan, scarred and tired. Months passed, that turned into years. The war was becoming old news. Newer generations were content in their peace. She remained, like a rock against the beating of the waves. Alone. Laguna. A hind. A mate. A mother. A Soldier.
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Posted: Sun May 29, 2011 2:13 am
 Name: Zeshawn Gender: Male Masculine or Feminine: Masculine Type of Herla (Forest, Delta, Mountain or Mutant): Mountain Personality: Headstrong, Bitter, Unwavering, Strong, Cunning, Smart, Brave. Warrior, it’s the easiest way to describe this Herla. He’s strong in his beliefs and won’t waver from anyone. He’s hot tempered and can easily lose his temper, Ready at the blink of an eye to just stab someone, Zeshawn has changed so much from what he used to be. He used to be sweet and caring, That alone was the reason that he went into war, After losing his mate and his eye to the Talons he wants blood, He won’t stop until each and every Talon is dead. In his mind they’re the scum of the earth, With his eyesight in his good eye starting to fail him, he’s retired from fighting to find and slaughter the monsters. Now this aggressive (a*****e, you could say) male has decided to pass on his war stories to the others. He’ll never let this die, in his heart its still in the heart of the war. Backstory: (This is meant to be a really sad story… Or at least I hope so) “My love.” The male muttered as he looked into the deep blue eyes of his mate Satarrah, “ Stay here, As far from the battle as you can. The last thing I want is to have to worry about your safety.” He smiled at her as he closed his jade eyes and nuzzled his head into her neck for what he thought maybe the last time. He inhaled her sweet scent, something of berries mixed with the musky scent of wet wood. “ I love you.” The brown female just smiled at him, she knew that he would hate her for what she had planned in her head but she couldn’t just let him go alone. While he was headed to the foothills, she was headed to Brightscale Glade. He looked back over his camouflaged flank to steal one last glance at her. The female’s head was bowed and she seemed to be crying. He closed his eyes and forced himself to walk on, Zeshawn had to go fight, He’d heard stories from his father about the Talon and what hell they’d caused, If he ever wanted to have a happy life with Sararrah he had to go into battle, going back to comfort her now would only end in him staying home. Once he’d gotten far enough away from the girl she fled off to help the hurt troops, She had to do her part, if her mate was so passionate about something she was too, Zeshawn was her world. The male walked towards the Herla that had would be leading him into battle. bowing at the male, he was royalty it was the least that he could to to show his respect to the male. “Even if this war takes my life,” he told Prince Maro. “ It was worth it.” He just nodded at the other male, He loved the female he’d left at home, but what was more important than fighting, this battle, was winning it. Showing these ruthless, horrible creatures that they were superior would cement that his children, grandchildren and great grandchildren would be safe for decades to come. Shaking his head the prince smiled carefully at the young buck. "Thank you." He began, His eyes were soft and kind, The male was yet to be hardened by war. He was more than re-leaved that Herla were willing to join his father's army, that this young hart would step up to save others that he didn't know. He sent him a smile. " Its very noble of you to risk your life for those you don't know. There's something about you Zeshawn, I need you to take a position higher than just an officer or nothing more than a grunt fighter. I as the Prince, but more so as a high commander of this army appoint you to be a sub commander." " Thank you sir." The male said as he watched the other. " I'll do my best to be as nimble and strong as possible." With that Zeshawn stepped forward towards him shaking his head, " Its far more noble of you to fight when you don't need to. you are a prince it isn't your place to fight, let warriors like myself fight in front of you." " I need to stand as well, Show the rest of the Herla in the Heartlands that they need to as well." The prince countered. The male nodded at the other, " You speak the truth sir." He bowed again, " May the gods be with you." he said bowing again at the other before he made his way away from the prince. He wasn't sure what else he could say to the other, he was nervous. He'd never had a conversation with someone so important. Once he'd spoke with the prince he strapped a few grenades to his legs, and he carried a nice sized sword with him, It sat strapped around his chest, He'd fashioned a nice leather holster for it, lose enough that he could quickly tug it out if he needed it. He never wanted to fight, he'd been a rather peaceful Herla until he heard about these monsters. He knew the importance of population control and watching the food they had, it scared him that things were running low. The male was terrified to bring fawns into this world, when ever Satarrah would ask about it, he'd skirt around the real answer to the question. His father was wise, warned him more than once about what would happen if things got to peaceful. most would scoff at his father's theory's, They called him crazy, told him things would never happen and yet they were going to war. 'Peace never lasts' The words of his father rang out in his head. Zeshawn shook his head, He hated the words that were ringing in his head. Shaking his head hard he figured that he could shake the voice away. He didn't want to hear it. In his heart he figured that once they finished with this war he could love his mate, His heart ached for the girl he’d left, The first wave of attacks assured him that he wouldn’t be going home to her. He didn’t care, no matter how much his heart hurt he was going to fight. Wave after wave of Talon came in and he managed to stay alive, unwounded but battle weary. The male was swift,He sent commands to try and lead the Herla that were looking up to him, He had to make the right moves, He needed to show them that this was worth it. Those around him were dying, each life the Talon's took that was under his command hurt his heart. He was starting to hate these creatures, Starting to get a blood lust for them. Each Talon he killed he knew was worth it. He’d remained untouched for quite a long time, feeling very sorry for those who had been wounded, He knew how lucky he'd been. He turned his back for just a split second and a Talon lunged at him. Sinking its massive teeth and claws into his chest, ripping threw his flesh, breaking his bones and trying its damnedest to kill him. He was in luck when an unnamed soldier he'd been fighting along side saved him, Taking on the Talon as Zeshawn was carted off to the base camp, the only place the Talon had yet to attack. The buck was falling in and out of consciousness, He was sure he'd seen the face of his lover before he fell asleep. The pain to much for his body to bear it shut down, causing him to fall into a deep sleep while someone fixed him up. Hours passed and he was bandaged up, and his body was starting to come back. He finally peeled both of his jade eyes open, In his face were those deep blue eyes. " Sata?" He asked his voice horse. She had tears falling down her cheeks as she watched him, She was following Iggepa into battle when the Talon forces were to close to the safe haven. " It's not me silly" She lied to him, Her light cheeks stained chocolate as she nuzzled him. She was sure that he was dead, she didn't want to get attached anymore to him. She had to follow the Warrior Queen into battle, Not leaving with her would unsure that her already suffering mate would be dead for sure. If the Talon came close to the wounded they would surely all die. " I'm at home, Your just dreaming, Its the herbs you've been given." No matter how much she lied in his heart Zeshawn never really believed Satarrah " Go back to sleep silly." She muttered as he closed his eyes, She waited till his breathing evened out to leave him. Slipping off to follow the doe into the battle that would take her life. Hours later the herbs had worn off and Zeshawn awoke a seering pain in his side as he forced himself up off the ground, groaning with the stabbing sensation that took away his breath, " SATA!" He screamed weakly, his body hating the way that he breathed in and the way he felt, a few other medic's rushing towards him with more to put him under, The longer it took the female not to respond to him the more he knew that she had gone, he had been correct when he'd seen her earlier. The pang in his chest wasn't just worry, it was hurt and sadness all mixed with the worst fear he'd ever felt in his life. His injury from the Talon had been so sever that he still needed some sort of sedation, He was losing more and more of his strength and a medic around him managed to force more herbs into his throat. Swallowing them unwillingly, they let go of him, Zeshawn would fall into a heap of himself soon enough, he'd already caused more damage to the wound in his chest. It was months later, the battle still raged on there really hadn't been any change. The medics were slowly letting Zeshawn move more, his wound wasn't healing, there was something about the way he was attacked that, caused his wound to still ooze blood on and almost constant basis. The buck would thrash in his sleep, obviously having nightmares about the things that were happening, Invisible battles in his head. He was traumatized. The day he left from Brightscale Glade was the day that changed his entire being, The day that his mate's dead decaying body was dragged into the camp. He looked at her with huge tears falling down his cheeks. Sobs wracking his sore chest, " I'll avenge you Sata." He muttered to the dead, rotting carcase in front of him, Ripping some lavender from a bush nearby he laid it on her. " Without you, I'll be miserable at best." He muttered, his voice broken. " I told you to stay home, I knew you wouldn't be safe, I'll kill them all baby girl, I'll kill them all or die trying." It was a promise he intended to keep. " I love you." With those last three words he nuzzled the her lifeless body. Taking the large knife she had strapped to her and the dog tags she wore around her neck to identify who she was, They clanked softly against his own, Turning he began to walk away. ' Its not about life or death anymore' Zeshawn told himself as he walked off towards the foothills the place where he'd started and planned to end this war in. ' This is about running her blade threw each and every disgusting Talon I can' He told himself, His jade eyes were lifeless now. He had nothing to live for, He wanted to die in this battle, wanted his life to be taken just like hers. Yet somewhere in him he knew that the longer he lived the more disgusting creatures he could kill, ' I won't stop fighting for her until my breathing stops' He told himself. When he was back on the battle field, He rarely spoke to anyone. The last wave of Talon's before they got word that the talon troops were retreating was the one fight that would leave him scared forever, He reached for Satarrah's blade. Turning his head for a second caused him to lose sight of a smaller female talon, she managed to latch onto his face, her claws digging into his eye socket before she drug out his right eye, Popping the optical organ into her mouth she crunched down on it. She was holding onto his eye socket as she slashed at his side tearing open the already unstable flesh. She managed to rip his side open as Satarrah's blade got stuck in the leather straps that he'd fashioned for it. His knees buckled under him just as he was able to pull the sword free, Swinging his head around he threw the Talon female off of him, slicing her down the middle as she hit the ground with a thump. " THATS FOR SATA!" He yelled before rearing his bloody face back and slamming the blade into the creature's face. His body ended up crashing to the ground in another heap. Once again being hauled back to be patched up, He didn't let anyone drug him this time, Shoving himself to his feet he took feeble steps. He was not only due a large scar, he was missing two thing, His heart and his eye. It was now his personal mission to kill any and every talon he came about. He thrust the dis-guarded blade of his former mate back into the leather holster. His knees knocked together as he set off, He couldn't be around the heartlands, he had to find someplace that he could hide and take out any of the creatures possible. Never letting his side properly heal he traveled, Each time he would slay another Talon it would split open again. These days he only kept it wrapped to keep the maggots inside, His good eye slightly clouded by the blindness that was sneaking into it. He limped himself back towards the heartlands, He was old and tired. His job wasn't done yet. In fact it was far from over. The cigarette that hung from his mouth caused his lungs to rattle more than he'd ever before, All helping him lope closer to death. He hated to be breathing knowing that it had been years since his beautiful wonderful Satarrah had. His heart still hurt from her death. He didn't know if anyone in the heartlands would remember him, If anyone would even care that he still lived. The male lurked around in the shadows watching those around him, keeping himself quiet. He hated that no one remembered anything, obviously this war, the reason that his precious mate had died meant nothing to him. He sucked in another long drag of the cigarette looking at a yearling that had wandered into the clearing he was in. He picked his head up from where he was sipping water from a cool pool, " Ever heard about the battle at Partridge Pass?" He asked, The yearling shook his head 'no' as he stared at the shanty stitched hole where Zeshawn's eye once was. The old male stomped down on the burning cigarette he'd dropped. " Didn't think so." he muttered. He looked down at his legs, the grenades he had a few still from the battle years ago now, he really hadn't found any reason to use them. " Its a shame." He told the young deer that looked petrified. "Its one hell of a story." He turned and headed away from the clearing so he didn't spill his guts to the poor child, the stories he'd tell would haunt him. He needed to tell someone, Needed people to know his mission, needed help. His eye sight was failing him and he was sure that if he didn't find some help soon the maggots that resided in his chest would eat him from the inside out. He hadn't seen the wound in his chest in probably months now, he didn't know how bad it was right now. He cringed, He couldn't aimlessly kill Talon's now, he had to do something better with his life. He couldn't see them to kill them anymore, he thought as he trudged threw the forest, Rolan still had to be alive. He was on a new mission, He was going to find the male and ask for permission to spread the word of the wars. To force people to remember what happened, He blinked his clouded jade eye, forcing tears out of it. He had to be strong now, it had been to long for tears. Even if it felt like just yesterday that he'd said goodbye to Satarrah it had been a lifetime. He lit another cigarette, He'd find Rolan. His heart paned, He felt like he was failing Sata, he'd made her a promise, but now as he was aging he knew he couldn't finish what he'd started. "I'm so sorry baby girl." he muttered his voice gruff with age, " I won't let anyone forget you. I promise." He spoke to the nothingness, He'd been having visions of the female around him. He looked over his shoulder and there she was again. " I've missed you." he began as he looked at her. She was there in all her glory, yet she was see threw. She was just a figment of his imagination, the years had taken one hell of a toll on him. "You've been gone for so long time time." A crooked smile crossed his maw, teeth missing to show the years of wear and tear on him. ' you have nothing to prove to me my love.' The figment spoke to him and the war torn male spoke back. ' you've already proved enough to me. you fought valiantly for me and you've fought for the people and you helped push the talons back so that the hart and hind of the future can live happily'Tears began to fall down his greying face, " Honey." He said to the nothingness, He figured that this was his fallen lover speakign to him beyond the grave, " I promised you long ago that I would avenge you." The figure stopped shaking her head at him. ' you never had to fight for me, I broke your heart when I went against your wishes, when you said not to leave I'd already to go. I refused to let you go alone, It wasn't anything you could do.' His heart broke more, He had no idea that he himself was seeing this, that he was the one making this all happen. It was the old bucks way of coping with what he'd been threw. ' stop trying to avenge my death' "NO!" He shouted, more hot tears running over his cheek, his cheek darker than they normally to show they're soaked state. "NO! I'm going to show then that you weren't meant to die." Again the figure spoke, it was starting to fade. ' if you keep fighting like this your just going to show them that the Talon's were right.' She had to leave him. He knew it, She had to leave him because she was starting to fade so much worse not the only thing you could see was her face. He was stumbling over his words, " PLEASE!" He yelled hoping she wouldn't leave just yet. He needed her for just a few more seconds, his heart hurt so much right now. It was thumping in his chest breaking all over again. " Please don't go... I won't fight anymore!" He told her the hot tears trailing down his cheek and down his chin starting to wet the fur on his neck. " I won't fight anymore, for you Satarrah. For you I'd do anything!" If the male only knew that this was what he'd needed all along. He'd been chasing after something he couldn't catch. " I love you so much Sata! I love you so much it hurts to breathe with out you!" The figure shook her head, ' then let me go, let me go and move on. Your killing yourself like this Zeshawn.' His knees buckles and he came crashing to the ground, he didn't even try and pick himself up, his half blind Jade eye was staring up at Satarrah's image that was alogly fading. ' Love me enough to let me go, love me enough to tell everyone about what you fought for and why . Don't fight for me anymore, don't try and avenge me.' The only thing that was left was of the doe was her lips, they spoke the last words to the buck as she slipped away forever. ' Love me enough to be strong enough to make a new life' With those last words her image in his mind faded and she was nothing. The buck closed his eyes, sobbing as hard as he could. He had to move on, He had to build a new life for Satarrah. Laying on the forest floor he cried for what seemed life forever. Finally pushing himself off the ground he began to walk, He really had to find someone now, Had to find someone that had survived the war so that he could speak with them. He wasn't totally sure he still belonged in this place. Hopefully someone would have the answers for him. (one... sorry its so long 0.o and two... I forgot to put dogtags on him... I'm working on editing it Three... I asked kaiven about him being high ranking, she said it was legit.)
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Posted: Mon May 30, 2011 11:40 pm
-Claimed by Kaiven- 
Name: Jasper
Gender: Male
Masculine or Feminine: Masculine
Type of Herla (Forest, Delta, Mountain or Mutant): Forest
Personality: Distant and reclusive, Jasper is a hart that more often than not keeps to himself. It can be clearly assumed that he lives in his past, constantly recalling the events of the gruesome war day by day as if he were still there. Jasper is haunted by the thought that during the times of the war he could have done more. Each day he recalls the faces of the comrades that he lost. He revisions every little detail; the look on their face as they fell to talon claws, their pleading screams, and he goes over what he could have done to save them.
Jasper is not proud his part in the war(In fact, though he has a quiet demeanor, if one were to mention the war around him he'd become defensive. Even violent). While he fought valiantly, he doesn't believe he had done enough. To kill an enemy, he believed, was a task not worth the praise it had received. Anyone could kill; it was the saving and protecting of a friend that deserved recognition. It was saving, Jasper recalls, that he hadn't done enough of.
To this day, Jasper will not draw his sword. He is not violent in any way(it would take something extreme to press him into fighting); he isn't confrontational at all. All he wants, really, is to spend the rest of his days in quiet recollection.
Backstory: Battle is not a glamorous thing…
Jasper was not an original participant in the war. In fact, in the history of the Talon war, the hart had not entered the battlefield until much time had passed, and the body count already raised considerably. Before his joining in the war, Jasper had little to do with any of the politics of the Glen. He lived with his brother and his mate near the Verdant Ravine(specifically, near the foothills). Prior to the war, when relations with the desert were calmer, Jasper's family was known to occasionally trek there for trade reasons(Jasper himself having made the trip to the desert on occasion, his travels there giving him the nickname 'sand trader' with the locals). This, of course, stopped at the start of the war.
Without anything to do after war broke out, Jasper's family decided to take part. Using their knowledge of the area, Jasper's brother(whom Jasper called 'Wick' lovingly) became a warrior and his mate(nicknamed 'Fell'), a medic. Jasper himself, however, was reluctant to join in the war. As far as he saw it, there was nothing to gain aside from the chance of dying.
"You have always been selfish, Jasper. Stubborn. What kind of hart doesn't even fight for his people?"
"My people? They are not 'my people.' They have done nothing for us other than cause us pain."
It wasn't until after a heated argument with his mate and the death of his brother that Jasper grudgingly joined the war. The moment he did so, he realized the horrors of battle. He made many friends and comrades, and saw almost just as many fall in combat. Still, he fought on, hoping and believing that something good would come of it.
At the battle of Moss Bridge, Jasper would find his darkest days. After being injured, Jasper saw his mate fall to a Talon while coming to his aide. Despite having fallen many Talon to his sword that day, Jasper still feels a hollow emptiness. He hadn't done enough. He could have saved so many…
The last days of the war still haunt him. To this day, he will still wake with a start from dreams of war too real, or dreams of happiness not real enough. During times of consciousness, he will occasionally drift into moments where it seems as if he were still in the battlefield, though helpless to do anything other than see his comrades fall at his side.
He will not talk about his fighting in the war, today. If he were to run into another veteran, he may exchange a brief comment of the past, though rarely would it be anything more. From his point of view, it was a battle that he, personally, had lost.
If I could just go back and change it... change it all...
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Posted: Tue May 31, 2011 12:25 am
 Those are crystal wings growing from black rock...and the brown on her legs/tummy is dirt/burrs...I can't draw these things XD Name: Ariadne Gender: Female Masculine or Feminine: Feminine Type of Herla (Forest, Delta, Mountain or Mutant): Mountain Personality: Right now she has her mind broken as the failure she suffered during the war was too much for her mind. Mostly, as long as she isn't reminded about the loss of life that she feels responsible for, she's quiet and polite. When she remembers it could go many ways, violent lashing out, constant crying or eerie silence as she rocks herself. Backstory: Ariadne was King Johan's advisor long before the war started. She was a seer of unmatched accuracy, though her visions came without warning and never under her control. Originally this was used for basic but important things like weather predictions, future crop issues and saving fawns from their own idiocy. Once the Talon War started, Ariadne's visions became solely about violence and death, she began to predict only things that were touched by war, she was now invaluable. 3/4 of the way through the war, Ariadne started to notice some of her visions were no longer coming true. Still, she told the King about each one, but when she failed to predict Iggepa's death, King Johan turned away from Ariadne's gift, no longer allowing her to advise him. Once the King stopped listening, Ariadne stopped telling anyone what she saw. It became such that only 1 or 2 vision in a hundred came true. She saw the Icefall Mountains erupting and killing the world, she saw the Talons attacking en mass a hundred different ways, she even saw the Herla destroy the Talon's completely, wiping them of the planet. But none of these compared to her last vision. The vision of King Johan and his inner cirle being massacred at Partridge Pass, leaving only poor Rolan alive. After her final vision indeed came true, Ariadne disappeared. Many thought the vision overtook her and drove her into the woods, but the reality was she couldn't look at the aftermath of the war, knowing it was her fault they no longer had a King. She recently wandered back, maybe she finally forgave herself, but it is more likely she has forced herself to forget.
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Posted: Tue May 31, 2011 10:14 pm
 Name: Rio Gender: Male Masculine or Feminine: Masculine Type of Herla (Forest, Delta, Mountain or Mutant): Forest Personality: Previously a brash bunk, after his experiences in war he is reserved, doing his best to stay part of society while not breaking under the mental stress that still haunts him. Backstory: War is not glorious. That’s what Rio realized as he lay on the embankment, unable to feel his limbs or move his head. All his life he had been raised as a warrior. Every member of his family was part of the royal guard, there were no herla in his life that hadn’t been a soldier. And when the call came for assistance from volunteers Rio was one of the first to sign up, always eager for a fight. His family made it out to be the highest honor a herla could have. Naturally hot headed and with an inflated ego he marched off to war with the cheers of his loved ones at his back. When he reached his assigned station, a smaller bridge spanning the Verdant Ravine, Rio couldn’t have been more eager to start the battle and end the war. But then those creatures came, the vicious Talons that he had been warned of since he was a child. They weren’t the monsters of his fears and nightmares and he underestimated their power. By the time the group of Talons had been defeated they could see another wave coming on the other side. Rio was at a loss, staggering about with a dagger in his mouth, his armor ripped and bloody. He had never seen so much blood. Already bodies were beginning to pile up, their large platoon had been cut down drastically. But there was no time to think anymore, the Talons were in front of them again. And it went on like this for days. Until that Talon caught him off guard. It had looked dead as he passed by, his mind on the target in front of him until a searing pain went through his front leg. Panic and fear set in as he froze up from the pain, his head barely turning to register the Talon as it stood up. With one good kick to his already damaged side, Rio went sprawling across the bridge’s decaying metal surface. The guardrails that had once stood had long since been there and he fell over the edge, the battle disappearing before his eyes. The world quickly faded into black from the pain. The sound of movement woke up from his fevered daze, his pale eyes rolling about in fear as he searched for Talons. He didn’t know where he was or how far he had traveled in the river below the bridge. “S-Stay away.” He gasped as a creature loomed in the thick vegetation. When he tried to move a loud noise echoed around him until he realized it was himself shouting in pain. The world began to swim again, anxiety choking him for air until nothing. Rio woke some time later in a warm encampment, the smell of firewood and the sound of laughter bringing him to reality. With all the horror he had been through he was surely dead, there was no place for joy and merriment in war. As he tried to move he caught the attention of his watcher, definitely not herla but not Talon. “Y’re a lucky one, kiddo. But y’re safe here. We gotcha all patched up, though the girlies did most of the fussin and Nara did most of the healin.” The creature gave a grunt, as if whatever he had done had been double of the others efforts. “Ya go on and sleep summore. There’ll be plenty ‘f time for explanations when you’ve got yer senses about ya.” Days later he was told by and wise blue herla of how the bear trader had come across Rio half dead in the river. They had done the best they could for him but there was no saving his leg, it had badly been torn by the Talon’s claw and suffered from infection. It was mighty lucky for Rio to be found by Roarke who by struck of genius pulled out a hunk of metal from his pile of goods and presented it to Nara once the limb was determined useless. It would take a while to get used to, but the metal limb was a salvaged guardian invention attached to his nerves and remaining limb. Rio had no words as he stared down at the silver contraption. Not only had these creatures who he had never met saved his life but they had given him a costly possession without a thought. He had gone into battle looking for pride and heroism only to find it in another creature in a way he would have never thought of. Rio knew he could never pay Roarke back in what he thought would be a significant amount but as they parted ways the bear just laughed and gave him an off the hand figure of bottle caps and a deadline to pay his debt. Weeks later Rio made it back to the home base at Brightscale Glade. He was deemed unfit for battle but he still attempted to run messages and help with the injured. He knew he would never bet the same herla he had been when he joined, that arrogant herla who had no fears. Now all he wanted was to live and to make sure others had that chance as well.
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Posted: Thu Jun 02, 2011 1:30 am
claimed 8D  Name: Medic Gender: … male (right sarge?) Masculine or Feminine: Feminine Type of Herla (Forest, Delta, Mountain or Mutant): mountain Personality: Nervous and shaky. Medic has had one too many near death experiences to let him be anything but that. He suffers from night terrors; and medics guilt (and unbeknownst to him selective Amnesia; having VERY vague memories of his past, but still knowing all of his training; and almost everything after boot camp). Constantly going over what he did wrong; or what would have made it better if only for one thing different on any part. When he starts to think about that he’ll pull out all of the dog tags he’s collected since his first loss in the war. Going through each and every one; and making himself think of the face, name, cause of death; how old they were; where they were from; and most importantly of all, how they begged him to not let him die, and that they all just wanted to go home, they were going to live right? Please don’t leave me medic. I don’t want to die Medic. I just want to get home medic. I don’t want to die here Medic. Don’t let me die Medic. Medic. Medic. MedicMEDICMEDICMEDICMEDICMEDICMEDICMEDICMEDIC Backstory: What he doesn’t remember: Originally born a girl; Medic’s mother died shortly after she no longer had to wean, caught up in a lightning storm and struck down by a bolt of lightning. Grief stricken her father (An old army medic as well) took his daughter Dakota away from their home and to a place where he was certain a thunderstorm would never prove a danger to his family again. Out where there were caves; out in bear country. Dakota didn’t mind; still too young to understand death and dying; she viewed it as an adventure, one that her mommy couldn’t come on. When they finally made it to the place with all of the caves she was nervous; there were lots of bears and they didn’t look like they would like her. But after a week she made friends. And after a month her and her father were accepted into the community. From birth Dakota’s father wanted her to be a boy; so when her mother died; that was how he raised her. He had no real knowledge of how to raise little girls; and that was alright because the bears daughters were just as tough as what he wanted of a little boy. So her behavior was normal. He wanted her to be a soldier; so that was how he brought her up. When she was a yearling he took her out to a field with a bear or two and asked the bears to go rip something up for them. They went off and found a few nonsentient animals and he showed her how to sew them back together. She didn’t save them of course; they were her first attempts; but it helped to get her immune to the blood and the screams. Even if the first few months of that made her squirm away from it. After that; when her skills had gotten considerably better; and she could actually save the animals, he started offering her skills up during battle competitions; not as a competitor but as a healer. Here the battles weren’t life or death; though to her they were. If a bear couldn’t fight; he was in quite a bit of trouble. Eventually she became a fine medic and some trainers would often offer to bring her on as a personal medic. But she would always decline. She wanted to use her skills else where… She just wasn’t sure where. And then the Talon wars began to affect bear country. There was talks that the bears would be joining in, something her father would constantly say he never thought he’d see it happen. But when it did Dakota knew it was calling to her. So she tried to join the bear army. Only to be reminded rather viciously by a bear recruiter that she was a herla, and an immigrant at that; and she’d better stick to her own people on the battle field. Disheartened by this; and reminded yet again that despite living with the bears all of her life; she was after all just a herla. And even if she was accepted in her own little community and in the fighting rings, she still wasn’t accepted else where. But her father urged her to the war anyways. She came from a long line of warriors and healers. “Don’t let that just die off” he urged her “Go to the glens and join. Make the Harper name proud.” He told her his chest rising and fur fluffing slightly with pride. Armed with her fathers old war outfit she marched to the hartlands head held high. Though the longer she had time to herself to think the more she began to think about what it would be like to live among herla for what was essentially the first time in her life. She became excited, another adventure that she could experience! But the farther along she got in her adventure the more and more she became disheartened. She was dressed as a soldier; at least how her father dressed. But when she talked in her feminine voice she was treated as if she needed help. Some males would tell her that this war was no place for a female; at least not on the front lines. But that was where she belonged! Saving lives! That’s what she was good at! So then and there she decided to become a male; well… at least she would tell people she was male. She acted like one anyways; which was rather funny to her considering the females she grew up with were tougher then most of the males she was meeting now. Armed with a new identity she finally made it into the heart of the hartlands, and found where to enlist. What Medic remembers: Um… There was… A lot of things going on. I remember boot camp… At least I think I do… I remember being told I was fast on my feet… and a tough son-of-b***h. They asked me how I got so god damned quick and hard for such a god-damned scrawny pretty-boy herla. I remember the looks I got when I told them that I grew up with bears. And the laughs I got when they asked “WHY ARE YOU HERE SOLDIER?!” And I replied that the bear army wouldn’t take me. I vaguely remember the first time I really missed my father, and the first time I cried and passed out exhausted from training. But how proud I was that I was making it this far; and the thought of what it would be like to be a medic war hero. I don’t remember being assigned to my Commanding officer (C.O), but I remember the first time I met him. I didn’t know he was my CO… And I told him his breath smelled. I remember falling over from all the laps he made me run with a bag full of rocks because of that smart a** comment of mine. And I remember how he came over to check on me; and the concerned look on his face when he asked me what my name was and I answered back something about breakfast. I remember him making it very clear from the get go that he wouldn’t leave us behind. And that none of us were to leave any of the others behind either. We were a family and a unit and that was how we were going to survive. I remember always ALWAYS knowing that my Commanding Officer; as much as a hard a** as he was, would be there to protect his soldiers. Because he made you believe it. It wasn’t just something he shouted out to you to rally the troops; he didn’t need to rally medics. We were already told the likelihood of surviving this war. And how many deaths we were going to have to see happen. I remember the first time I ever lost a soldier. And the sickening feeling I got at the fact that I hadn’t been able to save her. That there was more I could have done. The scenario playing over and over again as I stumbled back to our base, our CO ordering us to retreat, it was our first big loss. I wasn’t prepared for this. I can still feel the big lump of emotions settling at the back of my throat and the bottom of my gut, and that I didn’t really want to move from the spot I’d fallen down at once the other soldiers were taken care of. I can still hear my CO coming over to my, a stern look on his face, and telling me I did everything I could. But that there were going to be more deaths, and more soldiers that needed that me. And I needed to take it like a hart, and accept that there is death in war. I remember each and every death. I can tell you what happened. And why. I could tell you the look on their face; what the Talon looked like that did it. And whether or not that soldier got his revenge. Most of the times that one is no. I can tell you where they’re from, and what their parents name was. I can tell you they didn’t deserve to die. And I can remember with an accuracy that keeps me up at night; the way their bodies felt pressed against mine as the life went from their eyes. And I can remember the utter sense of defeat at the fact that I couldn’t save them. And the guilt I still feel because they believed with all of their little hearts that I could. I don’t think I was ever really prepared for the things I would see in this war. Or the fear I would experience as herla’s bled out on me, even as me and the mions assigned to me desperately tried to patch him up. Or the sheer terror I would feel as Talons gnashed their teeth at us, and I was expected to still stay by the dead even as the danger escalated. I don’t remember how I got this scar on my face… Or the mangled left ear. It’s all sort of black. Though I’m fairly certain that blow to the head (as my CO explained it to me) is the cause of my amnesia… But I think it was the first time I’d ever heard the voice in my head. I was still stunned on the ground, being made to get up by my CO and a fellow medic, he was telling me to retreat. But for some reason I couldn’t actually hear him. All I could hear was people screaming desperately for Medic. “MEDIC. WE NEED MEDICS.” And I wondered who the heck that medic person was, and where they were. And it clicked in my head when the voice rang out in my mind "You're the medic. They're calling you. They need you. No time to stand scared now son. Get your a** into gear and move it. You can feel the pain when you're dead." And even though I was being told by the other Medic I needed to pull back, I wobbled towards the nearest herla I could and started to patch them up. Blood in my ear, and dripping down my face I healed that herla and through his pain he kept calling me Medic, and thanking me Medic. And it hit me; I knew who I was, I’m Medic. I must be. People kept calling for me. And when they did and I couldn’t hear out of that ear any more my voice would tell me where to go, and kept calling me a good soldier. We won that battle, and we only lost a few of our troops, but none of them were the ones I took care of. It was a good thing we won that battle; I may not have been able to sleep for as long as I did if we hadn’t… That’s another thing I remember; being able to sleep for as long as I needed to after that injury, my CO afraid that they would lose me. I can still feel the terrible itch when my wound got infected; and that no matter what we did I couldn’t keep it clean. And I couldn’t stop long enough to clean it. My fur started to fall out from the mange that resulted. I recall being more upset by the fact my fur was missing then the fact that I had mange. I remember the battle at Moss bridge. And being alright with the idea that I wasn’t going to live. I really was making my peace with dying on that field. I remember the voice in my head being oddly quiet, as if he knew I was going to die too, and there was nothing he could say to me. I remember when my CO got his leg ripped from his body; and that I nearly started to cry and I can remember that I kept yelling at him “Don’t die! Don’t die! That isn’t a part of the plan!” And that I was trying to save him more for my sake then for his. Because I knew the moment he died the rest of us would go too. Although I later learned that the only ones of our group that made it out was me, my CO, and one other soldier that had stuck close to me to try and keep me safe as well. We had to drag our CO back as the Talons retreated, and the other platoons dragged back their wounded as well. I shook the entire way we went back. I would have probably collapsed from the after shocks of what happened if it hadn’t been for the fact that I didn’t want to let my CO die. That was also the first time I started to think that I might be gay. We were brought back to Brightscale Glade, and were told that was where we going to stay. The healers there were better equipped and took care of my mange; but they couldn’t give me back the fur that I’d lost already. I’m still self conscious about it. I remember Rolan being dragged to me while we were; weary and close to death. I remembered the need to save him; because my CO told me how important it was that he lived. That he was the only one still living after Partridge Pass, and we needed to hear his story. I had no idea who he was, or that he was some important herla. I don’t think I grew up in the Hartlands… Because I didn’t even know who our queen or king was when we were told they died. I remember the feeling of pride when I saved Rolans leg. I’d become something of a specialist on them at this point. Considering that all the Talons I’d ever seen liked to go in for the back legs. It was an effective method at immobilizing an opponent, and I effectively made herla mobile again. I remember how very light I felt when I didn’t have to take Rolan’s tags as well. I keep each and every dog tag of the soldiers that I couldn’t save. I keep them in a pouch around my neck. Because if I don’t I might forget them. And I will NEVER forget them. I might not remember what hit me, I might not remember why my ear is mangled and there’s a scar across my eyebrow. I might not remember who my father is, what my name is. Or what my child hood was like. I might only remember LIVING in a war. But I will NEVER forget the Hart and Hinds I couldn’t save. Who called out my name; who called out to their mates; their lovers; their mothers; their fathers; their brothers or sisters; or the ones that called out to their children. All of whom will never hear from that herla because I couldn’t save them. I live every day because someone else died in my place. I walk beside my CO because I’m afraid of being alone. Because I can’t look into the eyes of a herla and not wonder if they might be related to someone I couldn’t save. I can never live a normal life. My night terrors and constant fear of what might be lurking around the corner have seen to that. I don’t like talking about the war, because it’s left me broken. I can’t hear out of my left ear, and I still can’t remember my life before. I don’t like having to remember all the brave herla that died trying to protect the others that know nothing about them, that don’t appreciate what was done for them. Sometimes I can still hear the young hart and hinds crying out to me in my sleep, and at times like those I wish I was dead too. I am a field medic.
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Poisin Ivy Josephine Vice Captain
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Posted: Thu Jun 02, 2011 11:07 am
 Name: Aeros Gender: Male Masculine or Feminine: Feminine Type of Herla (Forest, Delta, Mountain or Mutant): Delta/Mutant Personality: Serious, silent/brooding/morose, he's prone to nightmares (both asleep & awake). Backstory: Gazing at the clusters of Herla near the campfires, Aeros suppressed a shudder. Unwelcome memories of the hellish skirmishes he'd gone through kept trying to worm their way to the forefront. He wouldn't let them take over his mind. The war had been over for a long time, so why was he haunted by the past? "Aeros, watch your flank, damn it!" One of his comrades shouted as a Talon suddenly lunged out of nowhere at him. Dodging an otherwise fatal attack, he countered with a vicious swipe of his tail. He lept nimbly through the forest, dodging attacks and countering with his own. His powers were useful; being able to 'evaporate' and manipulate the wind/air aided in his defensive and offensive maneuvers. Spinning about on his hind legs, he landed on his forelegs and lashed out with his hind legs, landing a vicious kick that shattered the skull of yet another Talon. Suddenly he heard a scream to his left and whipped his head around, only to witness his comrade fall.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" He roared, charging blindly into the melee, using his blades with such deadly accuracy, heedless of his own precarious position as he sought to avenge the death of his comrade. Soon, though it seemed eons to him, the skirmish was over. The Talons had retreated (what little remained of them), leaving behind a wake of blood and death. Aeros' sides heaved as he fought for breath, ignoring the stings in his flanks from the attack.
"Heh... who'da thunk a girly lookin' bloke like ya had that in 'im, eh?" Wheezed the bloody form of his childhood friend.
"Don't talk! We'll get a healer over here, so save your energy! Please!"
"Don't go all teary-eyed over me, ya daft Hart! We both know it's over fer me. Just... don' let th' war take ya too." With a shudder, his friend's eyes glazed over and saw no more.Blinking, Aeros shook his head. Damn, not again! He seethed inwardly. How long was he out of it? Letting his guard down, however involuntary as that had been, could be a costly mistake. He'd been a scout, skirmisher, and damned proud of his abilities. He was the ghost of the battlefield, vanishing from one location only to reappear elsewhere just before cutting down his opponent. While his pale form was a beacon to the enemy, he had used that to his advantage. Lure them in, then ambush them from all sides. Use the wind to give his blades an added edge... evaporate away from an enemy's attack and counter with his own. "How long has it been?" He muttered softly. "How much time was lost?" Glancing at the rabble of youth, he snorted at his own folly. He'd volunteered for the army alongside his friend, only to witness countless youths cut down before the relentless scythe that is war. Mustn't be so grim... From the ashes of death springs forth new life. At least these youths will be free.Picking his way through the shadows, a pale ghost in the night, Aeros found a relatively quiet area to rest undisturbed. He had no desire to directly participate in merrymaking. His faraway storm-grey eyes gazed at everything, yet nothing. It saw without seeing. (( I fail at using Paint to draw. t.t He was supposed to have more swirling tribals, like the markings from the Woodland Druid (Sidhe tattoo), but... *orz* Not sure why I drew the butterfly-like mark on his chest... maybe I had the Bleach version of that butterfly (Suzumebachi death-mark) in my head. xD Again, I fail at drawing. ))
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Posted: Sat Jun 04, 2011 12:45 pm
~TAKED ~
{His war theme song: here}
{and that little doo-dad on his lip is a ring, not a fang. 8V;;;!!! and... those are metallic wings. |D; }
Name: Aervon
Gender: male
Masculine or Feminine: masculine
Type of Herla : Forest mutant
Personality: Genuine
Backstory:
Man... how long'd it been...? It was hard for one to tell in such a place. The sun was only visible for short periods of times where the platoon that Aer was in charge of held their ground. The valley here was particularly deep compared to the others, and had numerous nooks carved into it's winding trail; perfect places for those slippery Talon to take to during the night, or when an eye was turned. They were considered the crevices of hell; the 'demon's' seeming to spawn from their depths without warning. Many of his comrades had gotten killed that way; stumbling after a strange sound, or carelessly walking too close to the dark caverns. It was a constant rule to keep to the inside of the grove, so as not to get split up. Though their location wasn't the best, it did hold a lot of action. Whether that was considered good or bad depends on what kind of Herla you are; a coward would probably say not.
Sleepless nights were not a thing of rarity. In fact, they were the most common of rituals amongst the small group of twenty or so that patrolled the specified area. Many of them were well into adulthood, a few younger soldiers littered in as well. Aer happened to be one of them. The Hart was young in body, but quite aged in spirit as well as experience. Most would call him a seasoned buck; he'd been through the war since it began, and came from a well known family of fighters; it was only fitting for him to follow such a path.
White dipped paws stepped silently as cream hooves followed behind, a lengthy sleek tail adorned with a healthy tuft at the end swayed calmly as the caboose, very faintly sweeping the dust that was plenty clad on The Foothills. Sand from the desert beyond intertwined with the natural rich soil, causing a dry and barren state to take hold of the two toned land. To the left, sand and dry heat, the right rich woods and hidden meadows. It was no contest which was more desirable. And in a way... Aer couldn't really blame the Talon and their want of some of the lands... but there were better ways to go about it other than brute force. Either way, the buck fought to protect the sanctity of his home, and his people. But he knew that such war wouldn't spare any favoritism to either side. It was a blood bath... only the strongest prevailing. Territory had nothing to do with it, only skill, and occasionally numbers.
How long had it been since he'd grazed in a calm, serene meadow...? Felt the wind ruffling his long hair, tousling it gently to tickle his scalp. When he could smell the wild grasses blooming and flourishing upon a coming Spring... or the tender crunching of decaying leaves along the ground, crackling and giving a 'shhhh' sound as they glid along strong currents. Or listening to the delicate trickling of water spilling over a rock outcropping, to delve into the stream that had been birthed just below. Feeling its cooling effect as it sploshed against his chestnut fur... Ah yes... those days seemed so long ago now.
A single ice blue orb stared up to the sliver of sky that could be seen above the herd in the long stretch of dug ground. Evening was approaching. He'd have to prepare for the attacks that commonly occur at such times. It was at this same time in fact that his current form had been obscured. It was probably a year ago, back when he was more brawn and less brains. Still a younger pup in the big war. He didn't have his head together then, and charged into situations without analysis or observation. It's how he lost the once lovely feathered wings along his back, the bones being crushed and shattered, torn from his very back to only leave sharp protrusions of white and red dyed marrow behind. In their places was a hard and heavy metal, that assumed the same shape, but were constructed more so for the battle. The buck was often times called Scythe for his sharp executions, and unrecoverable slashes. Due to the heaviness of the wings, they made his remaining bone hinges and muscles strong, and deliver powerful blows to enemies that might cross him. Especially to those who tried to spiral down from above to tear at his neck, or hide... as many of the Talon did.
Not only had his wings been lost, but an eye as well, leaving him to sport a cover so as to keep the empty socket from view, and further infiltration. He could still recall that day a Talon had sunk it's claws into his face, tearing apart flesh, fur and orb... It would be a lie to say he didn't miss his old body... but there really wasn't much that could be done about it now. Wallowing never did a d---- thing for anyone.
Staring at the pastel hues of purples, pinks and jovial oranges splay along the heavens above, it unfortunately brought no one below a sense of comfort or awe. Perhaps a few grumbles and sharp instruction from the higher ups, but it only signified the need to get yourself into gear. A soft howl of wind dipped into the crack along the earth, sweeping past the inhabitants there, making most pause their preparations to stare towards it, noses all twitching, tails flicking, and ears swiveling. The scents upon that draft gave much information needed for the attack that was to unfold. The Talon's were definitely on their way. As soon as the realization was spread throughout the platoon, it was an immediate effect that a more serious and somber attitude started to contort onto the soldiers faces, and a silence rose up that was as loud as any chatter that may oppose it. A usual ritual for such times. Aervon maintained his composed and semi lax disposition, but his trained eyes remained sharp and in tune, the metallic wings folded on his back stretching to work out kinks and binds, giving off a light clinking sound as the metals rubbed together, his tail fluidly writhing as if it were a boa behind him to end with a firm flick with the fur at the end. Plenty of his soldiers were looking onto him, an obvious respect and understanding in their pensive eyes, as their leader began a calming meditative sort of session, letting his body fully connect to the other components of it's existence, tapping into the natural instincts that drove him to do what he'd been born to. Most of the Herla were anxious, or brimming with energy, whilst the hybrid always seemed to hold a collected front, never over reacting, or under acting; unless in times of peril. He would fight for, and with his group giving his all, and never turning back.
If there was even a peek of light at the end of this tunnel of death, torture, and agony, then he would keep pushing and keep fighting as long as his majesty saw hope.
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