Name: Pann
Email: Mickealat@yahoo.com
Other Contact: AIM: LALAland112358
Years RPing 4?
Character's Name: Nevermore Nox
Age: 3 years
Gender:Female
Breed/SpecieGray Wolf
Appearance:
What divine creature is this? A reincarnation of Aphrodite herself? Or an angel fallen from her heavenly kingdom in the skies?
There's something foreign, something different and offbeat about Nevermore that places her under the category of beautiful. Her face is unscathed, dark as the midnight sky with a mask of white extending from her muzzle, over her eyes, and down her chest. Silky, black fur outlines the snowy face and breast, spreading to Never's shoulders before fading into a gentle gray. The rest of her body is a work in gray scale with the brightest hue of ivory splashed along her undersides. This soft, velvety pelt hugs Never's feminine frame as a flattering dress would to a woman's body. What wouldn’t someone give to own a coat made from it! Nevermore’s fur, kept well-groomed and clean, is a prize in every hunter’s mind.
Two cerulean eyes, as blue as the summer sky and as captivating as the swirling sea, are placed like shimmering sapphires against her face. Slightly slanted and almond shaped, Never’s eyes are something extraordinary. On the corner of her left eye, are three small swirls as shown in her avatar. A sly smirk, a smooth-as-caramel smile graces her features, tugging on her ebony lips. From her parted lips comes a siren’s song, beautiful and seductive. Her gait is smooth and fluid, delicate paws gracing the earth for merely a second before leaving it again. When she runs, wings seem to sprout. Every movement flows seamlessly into the next like a dancer or a ballerina in Swan Lake. With her slim build and seemingly delicate form, Nevermore certainly excels in speed rather than strength. Do not, however, underestimate her. Armed with razor sharp fangs and a sly, cunning mind, there is no doubt that she is a worthy opponent in battle.
Personality:
Simple combinations of letters isn't enough to give one a clear description of Nevermore's nature. The sinful words whispered from our lips and the dirty gossip that surround our huntress are nothing but biased opinions derived from our own views of good and bad. To some, Nevermore (or Never) is the embodiment of chaos, the mirror image of Eris or a demon escaped from the gates of hell while to others, she is nothing but a temptress, a siren born from the caressing sea, a lost and pained damsel in distress. The Elysian Fields, a blessed abode for the blessed souls, is gated for Never. If one were to picture her as an angel, chains would be clamped along her feet and her wings would be torn, preventing her to ever roam freely through the heavenly skies. I'm a sinner, not a saint, so come darling and I'll fuck you good. Nevermore has an uncanny obsession with the seven deadly sins, believing that she must express one a day to cleanse her soul.
Does this scream evil to you, dear reader? Or do you receive this description with an open mind?
Lies roll naturally off her tongue, spun so well that even she begins to believe it. She is a natural poet, a master of storytelling and words. Sly and deceptive, Nevermore prefers to battle verbally than physically, always enjoying a conversation with a practiced stranger. She enjoys holding the upper hand, loving the look of a royal flush in her hands. When Never sees something she likes or wants she will try, like a young lover, to do everything in her power to get it. Once safely in her possession, the object of interest will be nothing more than a trophy, another jewel in her treasure chest. Tsk, tsk, what a greedy little girl you are.
History:
I was born into a world of wonder, my clear blue eyes opening for the first time to let in a burst of color and magic. Magic you say? Yes, magic. My first few months were months of joy. My brother and sisters respected me well enough and we played as innocently as any other child would. However, my rainbow-filled days were ended as a famine swept through the land. The food we got were pitiful morsels, hardly enough to keep us alive. We went to bed with hunger clawing at our stomachs, rumbling and wailing for more. But more of what? We had outgrown milk and our mother continued to throw us scraps that she would not eat. As a result, her strength withered away. When the famine was over, only I had survived. My gaunt body was in severe need of meat, of flesh, of blood. We disposed of the dead corpses that were once my siblings and I grew strong.
Over time, my parents were both proud and disgusted by my ways. I could stand the macabre sights of death and laugh in the face of danger. My fondness for manipulating the carcasses of fallen beasts shocked my fellow pack-mates along with my growing lust for blood and the constant gnawing of my desires. For the murder of pups, I was chased from my pack, exiled to the life of a rogue, an anarchist if you will. For days I traveled until I stumbled across this land. Chimera you say? Let’s see what you got.
n e v e r m o r e
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