yo yo yo, mah homies, the name's koosh, but you're more than welcome to call me whatever's clever. my family and close friends know me as amy, or some variation thereof. (believe me, there aren't many nicknames for a three-letter name.)
i'm a twenty-one-year-old gal from southeastern michigan who lives and attends eastern michigan university for a marketing major and japanese language minor. i'm a supplemental instructor in beginning japanese, though i'd sell my left big toe to work at starbucks again. i haven't seriously ridden any horses since i was eleven, but i'd be back in the saddle instantly if i could afford it. instead, my days are full of classes, studying, artwork, and being as lazy as possible.
i've been roleplaying since about the age of ten or eleven (not too sure) when i ventured into the roleplaying section of neopet's boards. since then i've called various sites home over the years, including soupi's old baby, withering tales.
now i'm here and raring to go, so don't hesitate to send me a pm if you want to plot, or even just to chat. :U
The Hoard ;;
Aeonian Horse (used for Hist)
Gods' Blessing x2 (purchased 4/23/2013 and 11/22/2013)
Essence of Magika x1 (purchased 11/19/2013; gave Hist Witch Doctor)
Nicknames: Kal, “K.” Gender: Male. Age: Eight. Birth Season: Stormscome. Birth Place: Just outside the Burgeon Coast, near the Summit.
Breed: Norwegian Fjord/Cob Height: 15’1hh Appearance:”Brunblakk,” or bay dun, Kalashnikov appears rather mundane from a distance. It’s only with a closer look that the bizarre spiderwebbing marks on his legs become apparent, spreading from knees and hocks to the midline of his barrel. A spray of light dapples spread across his rump, but the stallion’s most distinct feature is undoubtedly the impressive scars stretched over his hide. Heaviest on his face, neck, and withers, the disfiguring marks hold silent testimony to his fighting nature and history of brawls; wins, losses, and draws alike.
Kal’s mane and tail show the typical bi-coloring of a Fjord, but grow slightly longer than normal; instead of standing in strict marching stripes his mane falls at will. A black-edged star marks his forehead between a pair of honey-brown eyes.
Magic Class: Elemental; Electricity
Physicality; Kalashnikov is well accustomed to throwing himself into the fray, and is by no means averse to enduring pain for good cause.
Inquisitive; Though not much interested in the more technical aspects of things like magic, he’ll show at least a token interest in anything that catches his eye, if only to understand whether it can be dangerous or useful.
Straightforward; much like his tendency to fight without qualm, this is one stallion who won’t beat around the bush, nor spare feelings. Kal is very easy to read, and doesn’t see much point in hiding things from others.
Un-intelligent; Well, that may be putting it harshly. It’s a plain fact that Kalashnikov isn’t the most brainy of his fellows, but he’s not entirely dumb. The finesses of scholarly pursuits are difficult for him to grasp; he takes his time considering things before coming to an answer.
Lacks subtlety; While his boldness can be an advantage, he generally takes it to a negative extreme as well. His mind automatically leaps toward the point “A” to point “B” route. Skulking in the shadows has zero appeal, and he abhors trickery in a fight. If he were to come up against a brick wall he’d probably try to break through it instead of going around, over, or under.
Superstitious; Raised in a tight-knit family group, the stories they told of phantasms and other dangerous things lurking in the night have stuck with him well into adulthood. He regards necromancy and illusion with great care, and still feels a chill of fear on dark, moonless nights.
Personality: On the borderline of being brash, Kalashnikov isn’t one to trifle around. He’s direct to the point of rudeness, open as a book without a cover, and basically incapable of deceit. Kal’s tight-knit family raised him to revere physical strength and fortitude above any other asset, and almost completely rejected the magical gifts that had been passed via blood from their original Earthling ascendants who passed through the Rift a few generations back. With most of his family gone, though, Kalashnikov is reevaluating their assertions that magic is not to be trusted, and finds himself intrigued by the prickling of power in his own limbs.
Dam: Lyudmila. Sire: Kormak. Past Ranks: Heir (family bloodline). Past Herds: Birth herd, bachelor herd. History: Originally hailing from the cold reaches of Scandinavia and Russia, Kalashnikov’s not-too-distant ascendants were sucked through the Rift via the aurora borealis. Landing in Aeon was an entirely unwelcome occurrence, and both groups banded together in their mutual mistrust of their dubious new “home.” Above all else they feared magic, even the skills they themselves had gained by passing through the Rift. And so they lived on, ignoring their inborn abilities and restricting their association to those who also shunned magic. It was predictable, then, that the number of foals produced with each generation diminished - lest unfavorable inbreeding occur - until the very last of the line stood alone.
That is the philosophy drilled into Kalashnikov’s mind; trust none, stay sharp, and favor magic naught. Upon the passing of his sire and dam, however, a four-year-old Kal found himself wondering things that had been forbidden. Did he hold the potential for magical skill? Would it - as his family had taught - consume him alive if he let his guard down? Forging his way though the ranks of a bachelor herd not only gave him a few answers, but augmented his desire to know more. For the first time in generations, one of his bloodline was open to their inborn magic.
Having “graduated” from the confines of a bachelor herd, the Fjord cross wanders freely across Aeon. All he really seeks is explanation and instruction in the ways of magic; a tutor, a friend, an ally, anything.
Elemental Electricity magic levels up every 8 posts. Current Level is 3, with 16 posts total thus far. 8 post left to next level-up.
Nicknames: Tally, Alya (“uh-LEE-ah”) Gender: Female. Age: 5 years. Birth Season: Stormscome. Birth Place: Aeon, on the Lush Steppe.
Breed: Arabian & Barb. Height: 14’1hh Appearance: Standing at the rather short end of dimensions for her breed, Atalya is of a slim build and delicate composition. Never would she reign victorious in physical warfare, but a contest of speed might be something she’d handle better. The hues of sunset spill across her hide, shading from deep, inky indigo through warm pinks and purples to the light fawn color that can be considered the “base.” Though her markings don’t follow the typical concept of points, the darkest shades are concentrated around her face, spine, and lower legs. An almost iridescent sheen wavers over her entire hide in direct sunlight. Instead of a lengthy horsetail, she wears a slender, whiplike lion’s tail with a lush plume of dark purple hair as long and thick as her mane and forelock.
From the center of a stark white blaze - between matched amber eyes - sprouts a single horn that curves and splits like the antler of a deer. Oddly, the bottom two-thirds of its length carry a strong resemblance to semitransparent frosted glass, with the tips of both tines appearing to have been dipped in molten gold.
Magic Class: Resurrection. Strengths: Charitable, compassionate, well-spoken. Weaknesses: Physically frail, close-minded, dogmatic. Personality: “Gods-fearing” is the single most apt phrase to describe Atalya. A healthy respect for the Gods and their prowess was drilled into her as a foal, from their hand in all things - for naught happens without the Gods’ consent, of course - to the great gifts they chose to bestow upon horsekind. This singular philosophy has given her a curious sense of fearlessness merged with entitlement. Because the Gods control everything in her eyes, whatever she does will lead to their “glorious wish” being fulfilled, though at the same time she feels that the Gods surely wouldn’t intend harm upon an adherent as devout as she.
Given her aptitude for healing the wounds of herself and others, she feels that the Gods gave her the task of using that ability for the benefit of others. Whether through restoring the health of another or helping spread awareness of the Gods’ wondrous works, Alya discriminates against no one - or no thing - in need. Benign indifference is the worst she can muster against true unbelievers; the Gods make themselves known to all by the end.
Dam: Cybelle. Sire: Aldric. Past Ranks: Healer. Past Herds: Birth herd. History: Much of Tally’s childhood was fairly normal, excepting the fervent schedule of lessons and worship imposed by her mother and the other mares of the herd. Unlike some of her fellow foals, though, she took to theology like a parched man to the oasis; it became the center of her attention both while awake and asleep. Simultaneously her mother - a devout worshipper of the pantheon herself - began allowing Atalya to observe the healings that she conducted as the herd’s best user of Resurrection magic. That, too, was something the filly loved to see. Flesh knitting back together with scarcely a mark, bones re-forming before her eyes, the film of blindness fading from an elder’s eyes - all of it simply reinforced her beliefs in the power of the Gods.
As she, too, began to learn the arts of Resurrection, and came of age, Alya’s dam once again encouraged her grown child in those pursuits. This time, however, it was a shove from the nest, so to speak; Cybelle pressed the young mare to leave the family and spread both word and proof of the Gods across Aeon. Though reluctant to leave the comfortable living she’d had with mother, father, and sisters, Atalya could not deny the benefit such a pilgrimage could have for not only her healing abilities but her steel core of faith.
Resurrection magic levels up every 8 posts. Current level is 2 with 10 post total so far. 6 posts left to level-up.
Nicknames: Tree-speaker, Sage. Gender: Male. Age: Physical body is aged to 9 years. Spent approximately a thousand years in the tree-hibernation of a Druid. Birth Season: Greenstime. Birth Place: Aeon; in a section of the Perilous Bog that is now unreachable.
Tree ;; Easily the most unique thing about this stallion is the rather sizeable mangrove tree that rises from his shoulders. The leaves of his symbiont-tree shift Hist’s overall health, and gain flowers in Greenscome. Hanging moss can almost always be found draped from the branches, as well as sections of his mane that have become entangled there. On occasion he finds himself playing host to families of birds.
Legs ;; There are six; the additional set of forelegs became hereditary in his family line after several of the original symbiotic tree-horse relationships resulted in equines being crippled under the weight of trees they could not carry on four legs. Some of the generations subsequent to those unlucky ones approached the Gargoyles to receive the gifts of extra limbs, hence adding the trait to their gene pool.
Mane & Tail ;; Hist is far from concerned with his mane and tail; both charcoal masses of hair are excessively tangled, with natural dreadlocks forming toward the ends. Only his forelock and the section immediately posterior to his poll remain free-flowing, though prone to sticking up crazily.
Hide ;; Possibly the most “normal” thing about him, Hist’s bodily coloring is what would be called grullo - with rabicano and pangare - on Earth.
Bioluminescence ;; Along with the tree that spirals up and out of his spinal column, Hist also carries with him colonies of bioluminescent algae scattered over his hide in swirling, irregular patterns. Given the right conditions of darkness, damp, and provided he’s had proper nutrition to sustain his passengers, these pulsing marks make him an odd - and occasionally terrifying - nighttime sight.
Magic Class: Druid & Witch Doctor. Strengths: Patient, unshakeable, Gods-fearing, survivalist. Weaknesses: Amnesiac, tendency to become lost in thought, unwilling fighter. Personality: Hist is ultimately a gentle spirit, having spent a significant portion of his life communing with trees and other natural forces. He can often be found standing in a glade or even smack in the center of a bog, eyes shut and humming softly to himself. Patient to a fault, it takes a great deal to arouse this stallion’s anger, and he’d even then prefer to resolve things peacefully, with the minimum of injury done to either party. Having been born into a sect of Druids gave Hist a sense of appreciation for the Gods’ creations from smallest insect to mightiest dragon. Since locking himself into tree-form long ago, however, he yearns to remember the things he’s lost.
Dam: Rowenna. Sire: Doran. Past Ranks: Apprentice, Sage. Past Herds: Birth herd/sect. History:
Youth ;; Deep in the Perilous Bog was the place the Tree-Speakers called home. They were a small group, Druids and Witch Doctors for the most part, with the occasional practitioner of Resurrection magic, and kept mostly to themselves. From the dawn of their communion, they revered the trees above all else, eventually electing to manipulate a sapling into sharing the nutrition and life-force of a gifted yearling Druid through a bizarre “surgery.” Using the combined skills of their three favored disciplines, the Tree-Speakers miraculously succeeded, giving rise to their most distinctive tradition. As symbiotes, the tree and the equine would suffer and survive together. It was believed by the sect that sharing a mind and body with their own personal symbiont would strengthen their connection with the trees - and thus Aeon as a whole - for a lifetime. Once the equine’s life was spent, the failing Elder would choose a location for their tree to live on and pass quietly; in a mildly morbid turn of the Wheel of Life, the flesh of the dead would further sustain the vitality of its past symbiont. In that tradition, some of Aeon’s larger trees have the skeleton of a six-legged steed woven almost lovingly into the deepest roots. The final embrace of a life-bound pair.
Now, born as he was into this particular sect, Hist received his own symbiont at his first birthday; a sapling seeded from his own sire’s tree. As the son of two well-respected members of the group (his mother a healer and his father one of their Witch Doctor-Druids), many expected him to join the ranks of the Sages - the sect’s equivalent of a ruling council. Studying under his father’s tutelage led him quickly to an Apprenticeship under one of the Sages, and by his rise into adulthood Hist was well on his way to becoming a formidable force of nature.
Adulthood ;; Made an adult by the turn of the seasons and a strong Druid through intense training, Hist’s life was moving like the flow of an unobstructed river; relentless and true. Though all seemed as if it would spin on to its predictable - and desirable - destination, this was not to be. A division was forming in the sect, between those who wished to rejoin the four Clans and those purists who remained staunchly opposed to open external influence. Most of the separatists were young, impulsive, and less versed in the pacifism practiced by their fellows. On the eve of their proposed departure, the great schism occurred, borne into being by one of the deeds most abhorred by the Druids. Murder.
It was a Sage - not Hist’s mentor, but one of the Elders - who’d been killed as he tried in vain to reason with the rebellious youths on his own. In a hurriedly-called meeting of the Sages, Hist found himself promoted to their ranks as a stallion of a mere nine years. But, desperate times and all that, to be sure. Incensed into a rage beyond measure, though still unwilling to stoop to the basest acts of violence, this Last Council decided upon a course of action that would be the end of the once-harmonious sect. Protest by silence. Potentially an eternal silence.
With only the barest farewell - and next to no hint at their intention - the five Sages scattered themselves through the Bog. It was then that they invoked the most sacred rite of a Druid; the transformation into - and subsequent hibernation as - a tree of the forest. Locking away their knowledge and strength as they did, the Five hoped to make their disapproval known. And who was to say? Perhaps Aeon would be a different place when they were finally awoken... If that ever happened.
Recent Times ;; The centuries have been kind to Hist, though his awareness of their passage is entirely negligible. Joined at an impossibly intimate level with his host tree, he feels and senses everything it does. Subtle shifts in season, the caress of wind over his - their - uppermost branches, even the grating of a stag’s antler against the bark. Never has he felt another jolt like the one to induce his metamorphosis, that burst of awareness and wonder. Never has another Druid drawn near his mind, so as to set him free. That, though, was not meant to last forever.
All it took was a single touch and a word from the famed Adelaide Dresner - a fellow Druid - for Hist's hibernation to end. His host tree returned to him all of the energy they had shared over the centuries, allowing him to awaken and stand on his own legs once more. Reeling from the sudden realization that he's missed almost a millenia of Aeon's history, Hist has set off on a journey of self-discovery and seeks to remember what parts of his past he's forgotten and to learn about the world of Aeon as it exists now. Recently, however, word has reached him of Adelaide's mysterious disappearance; how will he be able to repay the life-debt he owes her now?
Druidic magic levels up every 6 posts. Current Level is 2, with 9 posts total thus far. 3 posts left to next level-up. Witch Doctor magic levels up every 6 posts. Current Level is 1, with 3 posts total thus far. 3 posts left to next level-up.
Taigi - After literally running into this young Druidess on the beach, a new friendship might just be in the works.
Adelaide Dresner - Though their sole meeting was the essence of brevity, it was nonetheless an event that Hist will never forget. In a single touch, Adelaide freed Hist from his hibernation in the Perilous Bog, and news of her recent disappearance has struck him to the core; he owed her tremendously... Now how to repay his debt to her?
Nicknames: Lori Gender: Female Age: 1.5 years Birth Season: Greenscome Birth Place: Aeon
Breed: Aeonian Horse Height: 16.1hh at maturity Appearance: The filly’s entire right side, from the tip of her grey nose all the way down her back and down to her legs was a pure, unmarked snow white. However her left side was a burst of beautiful color. Her legs started at a deep primary blue that lightened all the way up her body until it was a light sky blue atop her back, neck and ears. Ebony splotches were splattered across the blue. Thick, large spots were painted on her back, shrinking in size as they went down her body and up her neck. The spots were smallest on her legs and face, ending by the time they reached her knees or muzzle. A large spot on her face covered her left eye, circling the brown iris that would have matched her mother’s eyes if they had not been clouded. Her right eye mimicked her father’s, although the red was a warm and deep color. It was as though the filly had been born as a chimera...two fillies combining into one in the womb. A near albino filly on the right, and a poison dart colored filly on the left. The start of the horn on her crown would be similar to her father’s, matching her deep red gaze, but as she would grow older, it would gradually curve back to her spine in a gentle swoop, but thankfully it should not grow large enough to cause her trouble if she ever had to look up. The strange material that Stuller felt was indeed the filly’s mane…and her tail as well. Her tail was the same brilliant deep blue of her body, however it was like that of a sideways beta fish tail. The tip faded into the ivory color of her right side. Her mane was also like a beta fish’s tail, though short now, it would eventually be able to fall over her boa as an adult, matching the coloration of her tail. A split in the fin created her forelock, flopping awkwardly over her forehead. Eight legs just like her father, two sets of forelegs, two sets of hind legs. Her right hooves were a creamy peach, her left hooves were as black as her spots.
Magic Class: Elemental- Water Strengths: persistent, intelligent, honest, sadistic Weaknesses: short temper, lacks trust, can't control her tongue Personality: Lorelei is not by any stretch of the imagination sweet or innocent. She's never been considered laid back, or relaxed. In fact, since her first breath she's been.. a bit of a hard ass. Always testing her limits and pushing the edges of her authority figures, she has never once feared being reprimanded. It's simply a part of the deal in her book. They come with the job. She's a tad bit rebellious in nature(so, maybe I'm under exaggerating just a tiny bit). Staying within the thickly outlined boundaries laid down my mommy and daddy has never been her forte, nor very fun. The young filly is defiant, incorrigible, and every bit the turbulent, unruly, riotous Aeonian she pretends to be.
She's never been a particularly affectionate foal. In fact, she's fairly callous and uncaring about anyone and everyone. She's an ornery little bitch at times- most times. Spiteful, snide, and vindictive, she doesn't consider anyone her friend, and likes to think no one considers her their buddy, either. She's uncooperative and shockingly inconsiderate. She cares for no one but herself, and even tends to lose sight of her own well being every once in a while. Polite is never a word one would use to describe Lorelei. She doesn't necessarily care where, what, or who she barges in on, she's outspoken and ceaselessly uncensored. Fearless, she has never been concerned with protecting others from her brutal honesty. She speaks well and speaks often, never bothered by 'hurting others feelings' or breaking hearts. Speaking her mind has always been, and always will be a genuine talent of hers, and she makes it be known.
Despite her rather undesirable qualities, Lorelei does have a few traits that make her a good deal worth your time. The equine is observant and efficient with her work. She notices the smallest details that others may pass up, whether it be in body language or spoken words. Not phased by childish threats or warnings, she can always be relied on to get the job done, whatever it may be. Now-- don't get ahead of yourself. Lorelei is not motivated to do 'favors' for others. Chances are you'll have to put in a little something for her do you intend to get anything out of this girl. She's not afraid to exercise her authority, as she holds herself to a very high standard. If you do manage to capture and maintain her interest, the lovely filly is very decisive, persistent, and focused in anything and everything she does. She finishes any and every task in a timely and punctual manner, and puts her rather uncomfortable traits to good use considering her negotiation skills and smooth talking ways.
Dam: Stuller Sire: Jean-Paul Past Ranks: Foal Past Herds: Selisona History: ---