The Gang of Miscreants

[.:.Gambler.:.]

The Elite

Xena-Goddess of Regret/Sorrows

The Calming

Gentleman
Gambler-King of Spit in the Ocean

Peter Vincent-The Vampire Hunter

Ladies
Valkyrie-her own sorceress

Lynna-a misguided soul

The Damned

Brutes
Jerry-Future Sergeant in Kratos Army; Commander of his own damned

Wenches

Velasca-Murdering Amazoness; obsessed with Ember

Callisto-Crazed "rage" demon; vows to kill Xena

Bat Outta Hell-Lonely wanderer; hates men

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[.:.Gambler.:.]

They called me:
Valkyrie
They aged me:
six rotations
I bear the burden of a:
Mare
I tower above the rest at
15.2 hands high
I bleed the blood of a:
Paso Fino
And bear the curse of the:
palomino
I hate the world like a:
disease. The world has always been a horrible place to be, I was always happier in Valhalley. But the men there were treated so poorly! And my mother constantly using me to get them. They enslaved them, forcing them to wait on them hand and foot anytime they weren't in training. The army of the damned, they called them. Sniggering about them behind their back as they tormented them with their bodies.
I was loyal to the Valhallians, once. I was the recruiter. I would go out and in their dying moments offer the men an eternal life. Little did they know it's cost. They had to be strong warriors, worthy of a title in the golden court. It was my folly for falling in love with one of them, knowing the rules against it. But my mother didn't have to be so cold. He could have lead the army into battle, instead he was cast off the side of a cliff as if he was nothing more than a rock.
That's when I went rogue. I turned my back to Valhalley, leaving them all to rot in their pitiful little hovel. I do miss it's rolling hills and beautiful sunsets, but it is the price I pay for having a heart. I vowed I would never fall in love again. Anyone that I knew the Vallhalley witches had an eye on, I've vowed to kill before their time has come. Cursing the Valhallians to never get another worthy soul. I'd kill them all before I could fall in love again.
After three years of doing so, I've gotten rather good at it. They don't even see it coming, the worthless idiots. Which brings me here, to this Cursed land. It's nothing like Valhalley, and it will never be home. But I've come to find the one who calls himself an assassian, this one named Valek. I'll wear his heart around my neck once I kill him, for he's the last the Valhalley dolls were watching that I know of. Sure, they'll find new prodigies, but they will have been without for several years.
So yes, I've come to kill the great Valek, the cocky bastard who prances around like he owns the world. I'll slay him where he stands, watching him a little first to refresh my memory on his battle tactics.
I see the world through:
clouded bifocals. There are two sides to every coin. I can be caring, and I can be your worst enemy. Mostly to men, they tend to be my worst enemy. I loved one once; but never again. Never again will I let another soul enter my heart for fear of their death coming. Mom would make sure I had no friends.
I have my goals in view, and I strive to complete them in a methodical and efficient way. Nothing or no one will stand in my way of killing the last of this generation. He won't see my softer side. I won't let him see I have a heart and a torn soul, he'd use it against me. Some would say I'm paranoid. Others would say I'm just insane. But I know what I am; a woman scorned. And I will tear down everything my mother worked so hard for. And I'll raise an army of my own, of live horses, and we'll raid Valhalley. So what if there won't be an army for the final reckoning, the world will be ending anyway, won't it?
I have the power of:
Persuasion. I have no real power, only my wits. Powers were overrated, I was stronger for not choosing one and giving into the temptation. That is Valek's key downfall, choosing power over his mind. I'll find a way to kill him anyway.

Plots
Valek, Neytiri, Hades plot

Posts

None Yet

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[.:.Gambler.:.]

I don't have a picture yet. If someone would like to make me one, I'd love you forever. He's not exactly one I can find a picture for...
They call me...The Gambling Man
But I'd been cursed years before....The Death Dealer
I've roamed this plane of existence for too long, edging on...six years
My parts be that of a...stallion

[/b]But I've[/b]... no foals to speak of.
My blood be that of a...Mangled Mix of Muttliness
I've known sorrow and pain, I've known happiness and heartache, but as of yet, my heart belongs to...no one
I stand above this world at 15.3 hands high
My pelt is that of... a black and white blanket appaloosa. Upon my rump there be a pair of six sided die; one rolled to the five and one to the three. On my forehead it appears to me, that there does be the Ace of heart-an A in the middle of a heartly shape.
My history be so untold, but I'll let you in on the secret...
I have learned when to hold them, learned when to fold them, learned when to walk away, and learned when to run. Generally my running entails someone either shoving me away from a fight (generally off a cliff into water) or (this does not happen often) grabbing me and dragging me away. Many have sacrificed themselves for me by doing this-and I have been unable to return the favor.
Through these times, I have been yet mellowed-but always still get myself into situations. You see, the cards are on the table, my hand is yet to be known-so here you go; I'll say I told you so.
I gamble with friends, you see; I am better at it than most. My heart be set on the prize, I get it. Throwing fists isn't the fun part; it's the winning before getting it stolen back from you.
Now, many horses don't play cards. I actually learned it from a squirrel, who had crafted a deck of things he called "cards" from leaves. He swore that these two legged monsters that had tried to kill him were playing them, with much merry making and drunken slurring and fighting. This squirrel is the one that gave me the nickname Gambling Man, and pointed out to me that I had an ace of hearts on my head and a dice on my rump.
My parents, two beasts that I shall not name, were the ones that named me the Death Dealer. I've no idea why they gave me such a name, but it has been a rather nice title when idiots decide to gamble with their lives. In those cases, I am indeed the death dealer; often with a swift kick to the head.
The sad part is, this was, amazingly enough, quite fun the two times I got to do it. High and mighty horses to down on their luck and trying to play at a game they know they'll lose. Perhaps this is a feature from my parents. I was there only long enough to be weaned from my mothers milk, I honestly don't remember much before I met the squirrel. His name was Earl, oddly enough. And don't ask me how, but when the two leggeds came to even the score, he threw a coconut at my head...and sacrificed himself for me. While I lay unconscious, the two leggeds thinking I was dead, they killed him, stewed him, and left his bones to bleach in the sun, where I found them when I awoke the next morning. A deck of real cards of the two leggeds lay next to him, and so I took them. I took them to know the stench of the demons I had to kill if ever I found them. Luckily for them, I have never heard mention of a two legged again.
Now, that happened when I was four. So wrapped up in the game of cards I forgot to be a stallion. I roamed alone for about a year, and then I met a girl. She was a magnificent girl, very sweet, very proper, very mine...but...we both knew we were only slightly more than just friends. We weren't meant to be, but we reveled in the time we had together. She learned to play cards quite well, nearly beating me with a hand or two. We roamed for about a year together before she asked me to give her a child. And so we bred.
Alas, it was not meant to be. Ten months later, when she was still heavy with child-and weighing more than me because of it-a stallion came from her old tribe (as she called them) and told them they'd kill me for "tainting" her. Apparently knowing this was true, and conveniently enough by a cliff overlooking water, she backed me off the cliff. They killed her and her unborn child as I plunged to the icy depths; I could hear their rage and her final scream just before I hit the water.
I don't know how long it was that I was in the water. I had a few scrapes and bruises, but I held onto that deck of cards and the locks of her tail that had stuck to me when she pushed, and was carried by the tide far away from the land I had known. To hear, this tainted, broken, beautiful place.
Out of seaweed, I fashioned a sort of belt and tied the cards and braided the locks of hair into it-I was bored floating in the water for a week. But, although salty, seaweed was tasty.

I came upon the shores here not long after that.

My thoughts are along the lines of..To be honest, I don't know who I am. I like to make wagers, but here I have nothing to wager except my life-and I'm not one to dismiss it so readily just yet. I want to find a pretty lass who can relate to me and find the fairy tale "princess" but I know it doesn't exist in the real world. I am ill in the sense that I am addicted to the card games, and will find rocks or boulders periodically to play against-they always get the worst of hands.
The trick up my sleeve... I seem to have an uncanny ability to guess at something right before it's going to happen. Like know my player's cards before they play them. Or know directly before it happens that "she's going to push me off this cliff. But dear me, she's larger than me, oh dear. I'm falling." It's more like a sixth sense. I'm still to slow to move out of the way when there's a coconut flying at my head though...
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Plots
Toxic Depression-gambling game
Misty, The Warden plot
Samantha plot

Posts

Nothing But a Fairytale-The Bloody Plains; Toxic Depression

[Lyric] The Abode; Lyric

Misty Gray Eyes-The Coast; Misty

For Sooth, I say My Home[claiming]-The Coast, Spit In The Ocean; Samantha

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I am a gambling man, what more can I say? I thought I knew what I wanted-but I always want just one more win. There's nothing yet that has satisfied me; it's the thrill of the fight I guess. The one thing I haven't done is gambled with my life, is that the next step? Perhaps, Perhaps, we'll see where we go.

Whose up for a game of cards? I got nothing to hide, no tricks up my sleeves; just my sheepish grin and that twinkle in my eyes. No one knows to trust me or not; why trust someone who will gamble away all you got?
You ask me what I got to see-I'll tell you nothing, I don't tell tales. Remember me when you got those stars in your eyes-I was the one you beat, I was the one who made you the star. I got no grudge, no silent vendetta against it; just don't act like I'm not there-say hi when I walk by, it's the least you could do for the one whose life you stole.

Just a rhyme, just a rhythm, a silent beat inside my head never to be heard or said, love you ladies, love you gents, thanks for all the times we spent!

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[.:.Gambler.:.]

Picture HERE!
((And yes, I previewed this and realized that the picture stretches the page. BLAH. Well, I will fix it/just post a link in her profile)

Xena, The Warrior Princess

I have been deemed... Goddess of Regret/Sorrows

I have walked...In a sense, she is not that old; only twenty. Her goddess years have been ten; she is still very unlearned in the ways of the ancients.

I bleed that of...Blood. That's a given. But it is of a morgan/quarter horse descent. It smells of iron, of power, of regret.

I color the...night. My coat is neither black nor brown, but a mixture in between. I am that which walks in the dark of the night, right before the dawn.

I know my presence...In my former existence, I was feared. I was the Destroyer of Nations, as they referred to my partner Boris and I. He was a simple man, but he knew well of fighting. I was a sinner then, unworthy of life. I stole him from his wife and child; tempting him as any temptress would. I did not need his presence; but it did well with my army to have a man at my side. They feared me and loathed me, damning me for my femininity. Borias and I combined our armies. We waged wars, we killed many. I do not doubt the blood of at least a thousand innocents was on my hand before my third birthday.
Before long, I was with child-but I did not realize it. My hormones were out of whack-I told my men to spare the life of a colt. (Which may later come to haunt me, if ever he finds me to avenge his people.) That was when I was but six; another two thousand deaths at my demand were under me. When he nearly refused, I killed the brute. The army feared me longer, but their confidence in my judgement waned. Never before had I spared anyone's life.
Borias and I realized what was going on three months later, though our army marched on. Another three hundred probably dead on my command. I no longer wished to taste the blood of my fallen.
The men of the army who found out soon after, not two months later, were horrified. Some knew that their "warrior princess" would never have been so soft. They slay Borias before me, and said it was for my own good. Our factions: Borias' men and my own warred with each other. Soon enough I stepped in and killed the general of Borias's men, and they fell into line behind me. They knew who the true leader was; they knew who truly had the balls in the relationship. And to go through the pain of childbirth, it truly was me.
Not long after, a month before I was due, another four hundred or so slain by my command, a soothsayer was in the village. She spoke of our ultimate destruction. She spoke of how my child would never know the love of his father or his mother (his father was quite obvious, as he was already dead. I though, did not wish to die.) Knowing my men were growing ever more restless with the slow movement as I grew heavy with colt, I stole away in the night. I hoped they ultimately killed each other, the two factions.
For the month I roamed the wild, I grew to regret the many I had killed. I came to grips with the fact that my son should never know who his mother was. I did not know who to turn to, so I prayed to the gods. I prayed with all my remorse and regret that he would grow up to be a normal boy, never knowing what his parents had been. Never knowing the lives they had ruined, the many they had killed in their conquest of power.
An angel then came to me, the day I was birthing. I do not remember her name, but she came in the form of a stork-much like human lore of that which brings the newborns. She told me she would take care of my colt, as we found out later was born, but only if I repented. I named him Solan, and left him with her. For some reason, I trusted her.

I often thought of Solan, and regreted my past so deeply that I could not be by his side. But I vowed to never raise a hoof to another soul again.
Until I met Gabrielle. Her and some other fillies were being ruthlessly attacked by a band of bachelors, and I had to step in. They seemed like the warring type. The moment I stepped before them, I smelled their fear-they knew who I was. I could not allow it in my new found life, and so I attacked them. I slain them once more; for to know me as I saw they did in their eyes; the mockery and laughter but still an underlying fear, I knew they had killed many. These were no innocents of my former life slaying; these men deserved to be expunged from the earth.
Gabrielle was one of these fillies. She was no more a filly than a young mare; but by then the things I had seen, everything was a filly to me. Solan would have been six months by now. Gabrielle was so intrigued by a female warrior that she followed me and began to almost grown on me, and so I allowed her to accompany me. We became close friends. We sought to bring goodness back into the world, and my name still struck fear in many-but not as many as it had before. Only truly evil spirits, demons, and bastards did I kill.
Things took a turn for the worst however, when Gabrielle one night
tried to take matters into her own hands and was kidnapped by the occult. Such a beautiful palomino filly as herself, they wanted her to bring a beautiful wretched thing into this world at the hands of their master, the demon king Dahak. She is impregnated with his spawn, which is birthed but two months after instead of the usual eleven.
I told Gabrielle it was a demonic thing, but she would not listen. She swore that there was hope in it's eyes, thus naming the damned thing Hope. While I thought Gabrielle was sleeping, I went to kill the foal-but it was no longer there. Gabrielle had sent Hope away to save her daughter.
We began to grow apart. I began to worry and regret my past once more, thinking of only Solan.
Luckily for me, the three faces of fate smiled on me. I saw the stork once again, and there, beside it, lay my three year old son. He was well sheltered by the stork. She knew I had repented, and so offered me a chance to show him his mother's love. He knew instantly who I was-and for a brief month, we were a family.
But it was not to last. Hope returned with a vengence. Although it had only been three months since her birth, she had aged to look two. She knew I had tried to kill her, and so she killed Solan. Gabrielle and I came upon her standing and eating his corpse. Gabrielle realized then that there was no saving Hope, she was the demon's play toy. Gabrielle drew her away from Solan, so as to not desecrate his body, and killed her.
This act haunted Gabrielle, as she had never killed a soul-only knocked them out. Little did she know that Hope had been quickly resurrected by her father as one of the Cursed. Solan was dead, there was no reason for me to live now except for the comfort of Gabrielle.
But soon, Hope returned again. Her blazing blue eyes found us easily; only another three months had passed and she looked the same as her mother. Angelic with all Gabrielle's qualities; pregnant with the grandson of Dahak and the son of a god; which she would not tell us; the third coming: the great destroyer. Gabrielle, knowing no good could come of her and so deeply regretting her sin of bearing the child, grabbed Hope and threw herself into one of the volcano we had been skirting.
Twas the god of the volcano's child that Hope bore, and he sparred both their lives-figuring he could use Gabrielle as a bargaining chip against me later on. He sent Hope to where I had first met her where she birthed the Destroyer.
Thinking both dead, I spent the three months traveling back to Gabrielle's home town to bear the horrible news to her people. I regretted not protecting her more. She was so innocent; I should have thrown myself into the lava pit instead of herself, but she had acted top quickly.
Once there I saw Hope. There was no telling Hope and her mother apart except her eyes. Since her eyes were masked, most likely by some potion, I thought she was Gabrielle for a few weeks. She told me of the beast in the forest, ravaging her horse folk and killing innocent wild life. When I went to look upon it, I realized what it was, and realized I had been tricked, as what stood before me was the Destroyer. I narrowly escaped with my life.
I returned to the volcano-quickly with haste. What had taken me months of dawdling to get back to her hometown took me only three days of sprinting. Nearly killed by the extensive travel, but still having a fight enough left in me, I rescued Gabrielle and the fabled god of volcanoes was dethroned when he fell himself into the lava pit. Gabrielle was hardened by the experience, but she was no worse for wear-still her cherry self. We returned to her herdlands, but did not find her herd. Instead we went to the woodlands to confront the Destroyer. Seeing Gabrielle, he thought her his mother-he did not have to be smart to kill things. He ran to her and butted his nose to hers, while I reared up and landed my daggers in his back. Hope came then to save her child, her eyes blazing blue with all her demonic fury. Thinking she had betrayed him, the Destroyer turned on her and ripped out her throat. Realizing thus that we had tricked him, they cried and died in each others arms.

Gabrielle, regretting her existence, regretting that she had not seen the demonic powers in her own daughter and letting it kill my son, not knowing the countless others that the demonic creation had killed...poisoned herself. And though I tried to save my best friend, I could not. As she lay dying with my nape wrapped around her, two figures appeared before me in their true horse forms: Bristile, The God of Time, and Kallistei, the god of love. The gave me a choice; death as I would soon have killed myself without Gabrielle (which was true), or eventually find a way to bring her back or find a reincarnated form of her, though be it hundreds of years later, as a god. (Insert part of regret or war here.)

My mind is of...Mostly consumed by regret, I now hardly speak. I am still a hard headed individual and can take care of myself. I want things done my way or no way. Generally I only speak when I am so angry I must say something bitter, for I know no kindness in my heart now that I I loved has been stripped away from me.

I have been given the gift...of transference. I send my emotions to the other, sometimes so overwhelming them that they can be killed-though I do certainly like disemboweling them. I generally do not kill my prey by this method. It is how my army was so fearless in war; I sent them my valor, courage, and fearlessness through this method.

Plots
Bristile
Gabrielle plot

Posts
From a Past Life to This-Divine Realms; Mirror Lake

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[.:.Gambler.:.]

A Rose By Any Other Name...Lynna...is still a rose.

The breath a take, though 3 years later, is still a breath.

The dream I dream in gold will still always be a dream.

The sight I see of Palominos is just my eyes playing tricks.

The detail I see at 15.3 hands is still just detail; however fine.

My thoughts, my feelings of...Lynna is a paranoid mare. She never knows who to trust, and that sometimes offends her friends. She will go to the ends of the earth to protect someone and help them, if only to feel their love. She is easily tricked into thinking someone likes her, when actually, they don't; but it goes the other way too. She is easy to fall for a stallion, but often times breaks it off quickly because she knows he is not her prince charming.

My past, my dreaded past... Lynna, however horrible she may think her past has been, has had a pretty average life. She grew up in a herd where her mother thought the world of her father but her father thought little of her. Her father was often away, he never seemed to be there, but her mother often defended him. Lynna did not truly know what real romance is. She started playing with the boys at a younger age-about two-then most mares would strike out. She never truly left the comfort of her parent's herd though, even though she had begun to despise her father.
But then one day, she met a boy. He was a bit troubled by his past-his mother had split from the herd in the night and he was left with his father's herd. His mother sometimes came to visit, but he had grown to despise her. He was four. He had loved once, but she had already was in love with another; and in the night she took her life; that was when he was two-she was younger.
It has been nearly six months now of these two; Lynna and the stallion; beating around the bush, saying they loved each other but then something happening that made them weary. Time grew closer to the eve of his former love interest's death, and he grew more distant. Lynna felt lost.
She went out on her own one night, deep into the forest. He had told her of this other filly, and though Lynna said "I wish I could have met her," he would respond with a "no, you would have hated each other." That night, as she struck out, she heard a voice. Clear as day; though no one was there. Hello, it said, my name is Desiree. The name of Lynna's lover's lost 'fallen angel' as he referred to her.
Somehow, as the veil between worlds was slipping on Hallow's Eve, she had slipped through-to help Lynna find her way and became stuck in Lynna's head. What an unlikely pair of friends? A friend that she could never tell her lover existed-for he would think she was mocking him.

I change the world with...Lynna has the uncanny ability to see and speak with ghosts. She gained this ability when the veil was weaker, when Desiree first became part of her.

Plots
Possible Jerry/death plot
Nikolai

Posts
Two Lost Souls, Come Together-The Outside; Adoring Peace

[.:.Gambler.:.]

Click for Pic

I Don't have a scary name, as it's Jerry, but you should be afraid anyway.

Believe me, I've been hunting for Centuries, if not longer.

I'm an ancient sort, of the Preswalski horse line.

My color doesn't scream terror, as it's dun, like it should.

The virgin blood tastes sweet to my stallion bejeweled lips.

I am the sort that tries to blend, tries to kill in the silent recesses of the night. Beware the sort of man I am; for I am the killing sort. I have no emotion, except that of hatred. I have no fear, I have no feeling. My blood runs as cold as the frozen antarctic. I am a con man in a sense; I trick others into thinking I'm some lovely helpful guy; until they invite me in...I'll seduce them and then suck them dry.

I date back years, past the time of I was a normal vampire once, a millenia ago. We were a special breed, a select clan. We wanted nothing more than to better our race and expand into every reach of the god foresaken mortal world. We were the elite; they were nothing compared to us. But one by one we had to scatter; we lost our way and became loners. I alone survived for centuries, trying to build our undead army from scratch as I had no help. I buried them deep in the ground after I raised them-I'd call them to arms when the final battle began.

My curse has lasted since birth; they cursed my mother which in turn cursed my still innocent soul inside her womb.

My powers, though weakened in this state of disunity, combine to form a single rule I can control monsters that I create from draining them of their blood. They no longer have a mind of their own; it is the mind of their maker. They feel no pain, nor do I.

I have but one weakness in all of this world, a stake through the heart made of wood-and all those I've turned go back to the side of good.

Plots
The very scary...Jerry.
dying

Posts
None Yet

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[.:.Gambler.:.]

She named me...

Peter Vincent

She made me...

Five years hence

She bled me...

Morgan

She saw me...

15.2 hands high

She colored me..

dark bay

She made me...

Peter has always been a little bit of a scaredy cat. He often times would run from a challenge. He has sort of created an alter-ego of a stage combatant, because, after all, what he was searching for wasn't really real-but he could get others to believe, right? Except, he knew better than that. As much as he tried to block out the gruesome sight he had seen when he was a foal, he knew that it existed. He created the alter-ego to not appear a crazy loon; but instead a mighty combatant in the war of the undead. He has researched for hours their tactics, their movements, and knows more than he lets on.

She left me...

When he was but six months old, he was out flirting with a filly. When he arrived home; he saw his mother dead; blood dripping from her neck like something had drained her completely. The beast knelt over his father's still twitching body, drinking in his last drops of life. (This, unbeknownst at the time to Peter, was Jerry.) Peter vowed to kill him for what he had done; though cowardly as he was he knew he would be killed in that instance. For some reason, the beast laughed in his face and left him alive; as if he thought it would be entertaining to see this young brute try anything on him.

I call upon...

Peter Vincent has the power to smell out the vampires-he knows who they are the instant he lays eyes upon them. Granted however, it hasn't really helped him track the killer of his parents; as he is far too ancient to let something so simple as that get past him. This power brought him here, however.

Plots
A very scary...Jerry.
Syl/Con

Posts
A Whirring Mind-The Forest in the Lands of Normality

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[.:.Gambler.:.]

My parents named me...
Callsto
And how I loved them so..

They were murdered the year I was born...
Nearly thirty years ago; I don't look a day over six though
By she-who-will-not-be-named...

I stand at the same height my mother did...
15.1 hands high
about a half hand under dad...

Their blood of...
Akhal-teke
courses through my veins

Their mixes of color made me...
of Palomino hue
the same as the sun

All of this started...
It was the first strike against the world that the warlord Xena made. We were a small herd, but we were a happy herd. I was barely weaned at that time; only off milk for two days when she came. We were a god fearing herd, we didn't really deserve it at all. It was just the fire, the burning embers in her eyes that damned us all. She ordered her men to kill my parents, to kill everyone. I hid; no one realized I was there. They burnt the ground, they cursed it. I vowed, as I cowered behind a rock, that I would get revenge for my parents. Surely dad would not want to be killed without avenged.
In my revenge, I went and found the best trainer I could. He trained me to be a warrior, but not without, as he called it, a price. Each night-even though I was not of age yet, he would come to me. My mind fractured to cope with the act; I slowly began to be consumed by the anger and the hatred. It was all part of his training technique.
By a young age, I was nearly as good as Xena. I had exceeded my teacher's abilities. And in one bloody night, I killed him. He was the first of many.

Such anger and hatred for Xena consumed me, that I became to act just as she did. Violently and without reason. An oracle once called me a "rage demon."
I worked to make Xena's lives a living hell. It was I who helped Hope in killing Solan. It was I who helped Hope be conceived. It was I who helped train her. I should have been the mother of the destroyer; but they told me that they needed someone to nurture the girl as her own before she followed her prophesy.
But before I could finish my task, before I could stare my crazed eyes into Xena's soul, Bristile stole her away from me.
But unlike Xena, instead of being ascended for my sins, I was damned. They laid the curse upon me. And it has been pleased-for now I have longer to plot Xena's downfall.
I followed her presence here. And here I will be named a god slayer; for the goddess of regret is never going to atone for her sins, and I will kill her.
I just have to wait for the time to strike...

What I was...
I was sweet as sugar when I was first born. I was loved by everyone. Violence never even occurred to me.
It was only after Xena appeared that my mind splintered. When my mind became consumed by my hatred and vengeance. When the firey rage burning in my eyes appeared. And I became, as the oracle called me, a rage demon. I was so consumed by the feeling that nothing else mattered. I forgot what love felt like. I forget what compassion felt like. All I knew was the ripping feeling every night when my trainer would come to me.
No, the only thing that mattered was killing everything that Xena held close. And it's how it will stay; but it does not mean that it is the true me.
Can't someone save me though?
My parents gave me...
The power my parents gave me, as they called it, was one of "hiding." I can fade into oblivion to avoid being detected. But as my trainer taught me; it is one of stealth. I can sneak up behind the enemy and stab them in the back.
And it is a good one..

It was nearly...
twenty years ago...
that he had cursed me...

Plots:
Diablo love story
Xena savior

Posts:
None Yet

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[.:.Gambler.:.]

(c) mwilliams stock by deviantart
Artemis named me...
Velasca

She made me...
Twenty five years ago (looks five)

She called to me...
At 15.0 hands high

She blessed me...
Of Arabian descent

She colored me...
Liver Chestnut

A secret she wanted you to know...
I no longer respect the god of the amazons; she is a weakling. My eyes are an unearthly shade of pale blue.

I have always...
As many would describe me, I am a leader. I bow to no one; I am my own ruler. I will do what it takes to receive power. I was born to lead, I do not deserve to be ordered around by anyone; including the goddess of the hunt. I will find a way to bring about my true form: the Goddess of Chaos. I have never believed in the value of men; they are merely property. No one deserves my respect before they earn it; and so far only the warlord Xena has: and she is gone as far I know. That does not mean that I am nice to her; it merely means she is someone I must become better then to beat.

They cursed me because...
I was born as a distant heir to the throne of the amazon queendom. Men were merely vessels; we were all black widows. They were only good for breeding purposes and cleaning purposes-they did not do the fighting or the hunting as they were the weaker sex. The amazon were bred to lead.
We valued the opinion of Artemis; the female goddess of the hunt. She was the true leader of the Amazons, the leader of the Valkyrie of legend. She is what taught us our ways. But I soon fell out of favor with her; I was more power hungry than they liked me to be.
I challenged my adoptive mother; the queen of our tribe, to a duel when I was only two. I quickly and most humiliatingly lost, and left to become a rogue warrior. In my travels I met a great many opponents, none of them worth my time. Artemis mocked me at that point, and I damned her for it. I turned then to the only man who ever received my respect; the great god of Fear: Ember. He was held by no laws, he was his own demonic creation. (With some help of his rather stupid father.) He led me through those dark years.

It was foretold that unwelcome vistors to myself would visit the tribe in my absence, but I had originally no intention of returning. It was then that the warrior Xena and her little "pet" Gabrielle showed their faces. Apparently, Gabrielle must have shown herself worthy: for in a great battle that Xena and Gabrielle stood by, Queen Melosa; my adoptive mother; sister Terreis gave her right of caste to Gabrielle with her final breath.

Ember talked me into it; showing me that I would be more useful if I had an army to command. Invigorated, I returned to the tribe when I was five, and once more challenged the queen. Little did I know that the right of caste had been handed to such an unworthy wretch. I slayed Melosa in a very offset battle, and pronounced myself the queen.

It was then that one of Melosa's agents went to refind Gabrielle. It was then that that blonde wretch returned, saying she had the right of caste and Melosa's agent seconded that. Gabrielle took the crown from my head, and she was announced the true queen of the amazons. In a rage, I attacked: she did not deserve such an honor! I had nearly won when Xena returned, striking me down.

But I was not dead. No-they missed my vital points, leaving me to die slowly and painfully. Ember then gave me some of his strength; he saw me as an asset. And it was by his actions, by this small token of my allegiance to him, that I was damned.

It was only the strength to last another moment, to get my revenge and backstab the wretch. But Bristile felt the shift in power; and he knew Ember was up to no good. He cursed me, and healed my wounds only enough to keep me alive. Through some twist of time, he made Ember and I's connection sever.

I was cursed: no longer one of my "horses." I digressed, and retreated to the cursed lands; plotting my revenge on Gabrielle if ever I got out. I would kill everything she ever loved, I would string her up and bleed her dry. I would find a way to channel Ember; making Gabrielle's worst fears come to life.

I knew it was by an off chance that I would ever see Ember again. I was of no use to him anymore. There instilled in me a hope that perhaps I was more to him than just a minion though, and though it is against me and I try to hide it, I do hope he will find me again. We will breed our own army against his father.

Word of Gabrielle and Xena's deaths reached mine ears, and I cursed my luck. It was supposed to be by my blade that Gabrielle was killed. At least she would be damned-she had taken her own life.

Powers: Velasca was gifted with the basic amazoness powers; she is stronger than your average horse and has amazing stamina and endurance.
Time Cursed: going on 30 years-the wounds that were inflicted before she was cursed have festered since and never truly healed.
Interesting Feature:

Plots
Ember

Posts
None Yet

[.:.Gambler.:.]

Mommy dearest, Worse Than Sin, named me
Bat Outta Hell
For she was feeling the urge to fly from her hell

I had a sibling once, named Uathine, or something, but she died the year of our birth,
some fifty five years ago; I don't look a day over three
daddy killed her, yes he did

Mommy bled the blood of
thoroughbreds
The bastard bled the blood of
Fresians
So I'm a mutt of
Thoroughbred/Fresian
glad I got more of mom in me!

I stand at a height of only
15.0 hands
Mommy was young when she had us, so we were all a little short

I'm the color of blood,
chestnut
as mommy always called it

My power is one of
shapeshifting
I turn into a bat to escape the night.

My present self
is a bit of a mystery...I was once happy go lucky, my dad didn't like it at all, but something changed in me. I'm weary now, untrusting. I'm not often nice, but I have a soft spot for foals. I don't trust stallions; as they've always been liars. It's a chain of my line, the betrayal of men, and so I don't trust them, and doubt I ever will again.

My past life
I was born cursed. Malakore was my father's name; he had been cursed before I was born for the sins he had made. Torturing innocent mares, enslaving them for his own pleasure. I don't see why mommy ever loved him. But she loved him blindly, and yet he kept tossing her aside for a mare named Crucifiction. A cheating, lying sneak of a mare that stole my brother's title away from him. Brother escaped the curse; and is since dead. Crucificition is dead, I killed her. But, dad thought it was his beloved star pupil, my mindless drone of a sister Uathine, and so he slaughtered her without a second thought. Without even asking her, he plunged his dagger into her skull and painted the land with her blood.
I told mom what he had done, and she jumped off a cliff.
It wasn't the first time my line had been betrayed by men. Grandmother had been betrayed as well. She loved a man, named Nightfall, and they supposedly loved one another. She was queen of the darks; but they were still sweet on each other. They adopted my mother-then named Little Lady, and renamed her Worse Than Sin. When grandmother was away on a diplomatic mission, Nightfall fell for the follies of a demon witch; and a day to late Satanic Wisdom returned to find her crown revoked. She killed them both, the bastard and the witch, and left that land.
She went then to a new land, where she was reunited with Worse Than Sin, and found a peaceful love with a stallion named Blood. But he disappeared, leaving her alone, and she went mad. Her son, Night Stalker, who seemed to be going soft-she killed him too; for she knew no mare deserved his love. No witch demon was going to steal her son away as well, so she killed him too.
And then, Satanic died of old age. A witchy woman of Lucifer's design she was-and she was resurrected as a foal.
It was my turn then, I'd grown up, I'd moved away from the land of Malakore and Sin; having killed them all anyway, and went to Tainted Paradise. This is where I was cursed for real. I was innocent then, I was still young and did not understand my curse. I did not understand the curse of my line, nor the implications of being cursed, and I wandered like an idiot.
By a bastard prince, I was raped. My grandmother, but just a foal then, came to my rescue, but the damage was done. My innocence gone, I understood the curse of our line. I knew there would be no life to live with men; they were not to be trusted. Grandmother killed him, and was appalled to find out that Sin had killed herself over Malakore. She was very pleased that I had then ended the miserable mutts life, and was annoyingly happy that my sister was dead.
Nonetheless, I never saw her again. We were too different, her and I, and I needed to learn my life on my own. So I left again. I had twins: mindless drones much like my sister that did not respect me in the least. The left me soon after they were weaned, I do not miss them nor do they miss me. Mortar and Pestle were their names.

And so I am alone again.

The time I have been cursed:
Nearly fifty years; as I was born holding my father's curse, and my mother's of a different sort.

Plots
Switchy

Posts
None

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