Post by Bye on Jun 13, 2007 17:34:15 GMT -5
Your character's name:
Ihsus, aka Ihs
Their special abilities:
Ihsus' fur is on fire from his skull to his tail, making a mohawk like everburning flame. He can't burn himself, but it serves for great defense and occasionally offense.
Weaknesses:
Water, of course. Also high winds, but not so much, as it won't put out the flame but will effect him. And the ground, should he roll over or be slammed backwards. If the flame should ever be kindled out, then his life is taken immediately.
A description of your character:
Ihsus is a certain breed that was exiled away onto Bohrung because of his species' aggresive appearance and capability of burning down forests. He is a Buciarsi, a race that burns somewhere on their bodies constantly, and unlike their features reflect on them, they're quite shy and dependant. A fair four years old, his ancestors escaped Bohrung about the time Wartime and Regime escaped, taking advantage of the low security.
A picture (optional):
above.
History (again, optional):
Ihsus was born with three other siblings, who both burnt to death as most Buciarsi youth do because of their delicate skin. He became close to his father and grew up in humid plains and plateaus, where nothing there could be caught on fire for very long. After his father died, he decided that there was nothing in the land for him, painstriken and bewildered. Thus he ended up wandering in random places.
A log post (can be of any character):
Regime grinned momentarily. It was all ebbing and flowing according to plan, according to fate's will. And he was quite acquianted with it, having been so ascew from it for so long. "Good work, Suffice," he complimented, noting that she had picked up on an inevitable weakness he had yet to detect. His own plan was forming, but she had her own, it seemed. Smart little pluck, she was. Now it was time for his own action as Chuckles was distracted. He waited for a moment, gathering energy, looking as if he were still watching, and then dropped from the tree, forcing his face into the snow. Opening jaw to extreme extorsions once more, snow pummeled into his mouth and nearly choked him. However, his tongue came into use. Speedily he used the muscles in his neck and threw his head, opening his jaws in a machinical order, shoveling great amounts of snow Gaara's way. His theory was, if he could hit the main system, any other flowing sand would be disabled, as all his attention would be brought to saving his own body. Again Regime did so, not taking note of whether or not his snow attack had hit. And again, and once more before he had to stop, head limp from the swinging. Four times. Four attacks, four chances Gaara could drown in the fresh moisture of the habitat. Four times he could witness his own downfall and death. Oh, what a clever move that was. Afterall, it was the Berlin.