Post by Fox on Aug 7, 2010 20:49:38 GMT -5
Foxglove
[/b][/size]
(Face claim: Chris from Scrapped Princess)
----------------------[/center]
Starting Fresh
FULL NAME: Foxglove Bedstraw Hawthorn
NICKNAMES: Fox
GENDER: Male
SEXUALITY: Hetero
AGE: 17
CANON OR ORIGINAL: Original
BERK OR CURR: Curr
Get the Picture
HAIR: Brownish red; somewhat flayed about at the back; bangs hang over his forehead and the hair reaches down just to the end of his neck.
EYES: Dark gold
HEIGHT: 5’5”
WEIGHT: 139 lbs
SCARS: His left arm is badly burnt from the hand up to the elbow
PEIRCINGS: N/a
TATTOOS: N/a
Know the Person
LIKES: Children, hunting, music
DISLIKES: Animals, talkative people, wasting time
STRENGTH: Cunning, quick on his feet, a good actor, stealthy
WEAKNESSES: Physical strength, his left arm, his emotional instability
FEARS: Dragons, a mental breakdown
SECRETS: His fear of dragons despite his obsessive pursuit to kill them all, and his desperate desire to settle down into the life he once had
PERSONALITY:
At first glance, Foxglove looks like a charming and kindhearted young boy. He’s incredibly polite and helpful and an easy guy to befriend. But this is all a trick. In truth he is cynical and deceitful, acting as such only to gain a person’s trust so that he can kill their dragon. He will even attack the owner, too, if he must. He has a murderous hatred for dragons and anyone who owns them. He is not one for brute strength and prefers to attack stealthily from long-range with his crossbow.
Though he usually doesn’t interact with people unless they have a dragon, there are times where he will offer his assistance in a genuine attempt to be helpful. He is also polite to anyone who doesn’t own a dragon, though he prefers to keep reserved. A genuine kindness is revealed from his ruthless shell when around families and children, as they remind him on his old life when he used to be happy.
He tries to convince himself that he is happy now, but in truth all he really wants to do is settle down and live in peace. However, he feels obligated to killing dragons and believes he is doing the world a favor and thus cannot allow himself to stop. He also fears that if he stops, the weight of losing his family will cause him to break down.
Face The Facts
FAMILY: Mother; Rosemary, father; Muddring, sister; Tigridia (all deceased or missing)
FRIENDS: N/a
OTHER: N/a
PETS:
Name: Griffon (he never named it)
Species: Hagriff
Personality: Rather old and jaded; she has little free will and simply does everything Foxglove tells her to. There are times where she is too tired to make it to certain extents and gives up, simply accepting the punishment without protest. Though she prefers peace, she does have fight in her and will do so if ordered.
(Rough-legged Hawk + 1 lion butt)
HISTORY:
Foxglove was born into an average family with a mother, a father, and a younger sister. He grew up quite happily, earning his own griffon at the age of 10 and loving it dearly. His family was kind and did not approve of hurting their griffons, though they were not past a brisk physical punishment if one was being particularly misbehaved. Foxglove had no need for that, though, as he and his griffon shared an inseparable bond. He learned how to fly on it and spent the happiest moments of his life with it.
Then one day his sister found a dragon while she was out in the forest. It was very young and she wanted to keep it. Though they knew the disapproval the people of Curr had of owning dragons, her parents just couldn’t say no and let her keep it. Her dragon and Foxglove’s griffon didn’t really get along, but there were no conflicts. His sister was excited that when the dragon grew big enough, she would be able to fly beside her brother.
Life went on happily for Foxglove and he grew up to be a remarkably kindhearted boy compared to most of the teenagers of Curr. He never did his or any other griffon harm and was very polite. He hated confrontations and preferred to negotiate rather than fight. This all changed when he was 15 years old and a family of angry dragons entered the village. They were searching for their baby, as they had been ever since his sister found it, and finally managed to track its scent to their house.
The attack was sudden and the dragons wasted no time burning down their house. While this was happening, Foxglove had happened to be out riding his griffon. When he spotted the smoke in the distance just where his house should be, he spun around and flew back home as fast as he could. When he arrived his house was in ruins and his family was no where to be seen. The pack of dragons was still there, however, nuzzling the baby dragon happily.
Realizing what had happened, Foxglove when into a blind rage and charged at the dragons with a burning torch. A single dragon faced him as the others left with the baby and burned Foxglove’s left arm badly. As he went down from the pain, his griffon tackled the dragon before it could crush him with its claw. They fought viciously and Foxglove watched for as long as he could. However, as the heat of the flames and the overwhelming emotions overtook him, he finally passed out.
When he came to, the fire had long died out and concerned citizens of the village had come over. There was nothing left of the house or Foxglove’s family. There was a trail of wreckage within the forest near what was once his home and at the end of it was the body of a dead griffon. The dragons were nowhere in sight and the villagers of Curr hadn’t even realized they were there.
Foxglove was offered help by many people to give him shelter or a job so that he could support himself, but he refused them all. Those dragons had taken everything from him and all he could think of was revenge. Even if he couldn’t find the pack of dragons that had destroyed his life, he would kill every dragon he came across. They were savage and murderous beasts and he would be doing the world a favor by killing them.
So, with a mask of no emotion that was a shell of his former self, he left the village to wander the wild, aimlessly searching for any dragon to kill. As he neared Berk, however, he realized that some people kept dragons as pets not unlike Curr to griffons. This mattered not to Foxglove, however, and he came up with a strategy to get around the humans and strike their dragons. Most commonly, he quite boldly introduces himself to the dragon owner and manages to act remarkably friendly and good-natured despite his intentions. Then, once the person had grown secure enough around him, he would wait for the perfect change to take down the dragon. Most of his means of attack are with a crossbow and he always aims for the neck. He keeps hidden the entire time and once the goal is accomplished, he leaves. If the owner so happens to see him and tries to stop him, it is not beyond Foxglove to wound or even kill them, too.
Foxglove has managed to kill several dragons in the two years he’s been wandering alone and has grown quite a bloodlust for it. He kills wild dragons more so than owned ones. He managed to capture and break a griffon during his travels as a better means of transportation. This time, however, he is not kind to the griffon and uses the traditional Curr way of making it listen to him, striking it when it doesn’t listen and showing it very little affection.
He enters both Curr and Berk on occasions, mostly for food and shelter and interacts with others very little just in case someone recognizes him as a dragon killer.
(Hope it doesn't sound too sobstory, but I couldn't think of anything less tragic that would invoke the same dramatic change of personality)
Behind the Mask
NAME: Fly
CHARACTERS: N/a
WHERE YOU FOUND US: Your logo at TwistedDisney
CONTACTS: wizu_1@yahoo.com
ROLEPLAY SAMPLE: (from another HtTyD RP)
Beautiful! It was a beautiful day today. The sun was shinning with only a cloud or two in sight, too thin to promise any chance of rain tonight. The night before, however, it had rained pretty hard. Now the ground was cool and every single blade of grass in the field was covered with dew, making the hills sparkle magically. All kinds of bugs were out today and every flower in the field was reaching out and rejoicing under the sun. It was a perfect day for bug watching and flower sampling.
Milkwort whipped out his sketchbook and journal and seated himself atop a smooth, flat rock that was just the right elevation for him to see all the bugs that crossed his way. He loved coming out here in the fields. Very few people came out here and it was just the place where he could enjoy himself in peace and solitude. At the moment, a colorful beetle was trying out a flower just a few feet in front of him. He smiled, identified it in his journal, and made a quick outline of its figures in his sketchbook. When the beetle had left its perch, the boy slid off the rock and gently plucked a petal from the flower. “The noble chafer likes hogweed... Okay!”
With a victorious tap of his pencil on his journal, Milkwort flipped it closed and turned around to return to his seat. A tiny chirp made him freeze just as he was crawling back up and he looked down at the silver smooth surface of the rock. A big smile spread across his face when he found his guest. “Ah! A rosalia longicorn!” He squealed as though he were a child who had just found his favorite kind of candy. He crouched down beside the thin blue and black splotched bug until his chin was nearly touching the rock. The beetle didn’t move, convinced its camouflage was working. Milkwort slowly took out his sketchbook, careful as to not scare it away. “You’re awfully far from home, little guy,” he said as he started sketching as though he expected it to talk back.
With a dull thud, the entire rock vibrated numbly and the beetle flew off. Milkwort watched it go dejectedly, then sharply looked over his shoulder with an annoyed glare. His very unwelcomed companion who he had specifically instructed to keep still and quiet was doing just the opposite. The Hideous Zippleback was the last thing Milkwort wanted to think about right now. This day had been going along great until he remembered that the darn beast existed. At this very moment, the tall, green creature was stomping among the field, trampling every poor defenseless flower and bug that happened to be unlucky enough to find itself underneath its feet. Milkwort groaned. Dragons were such destructive creatures. How nature had survived with them for this long, he had no idea.
“Hey! I told you to be quiet!” Milkwort snapped. The two-headed dragon looked up at him quickly, then they both glared in unison. Milkwort stiffened. He knew what that look meant. J-B suddenly started running toward him and Milkwort made a desperate scramble over the rock. He hadn’t made it to the other side before Jerk, the left head, had grasped the back of his tunic in his mouth and lifted him in the air. “Stop!” Milkwort struggled wildly, vainly trying to reach out for something to grab onto. Jerk carried the boy over to the other head, Bully, who proceeded to emit a gaseous fume in his face. Milkwort coughed, trying to hold his breath. They left him like that for a moment longer before Jerk pulled him away and dropped him on his bum from five feet in the air.
“Ow...” Milkwort whimpered, rubbing his sore lower back. J-B then began a shrill and terrifying shrieking that by now Milkwort new was laughter. Grumbling to himself, Milkwort crawled to his feet and limped away, defeated. He sat himself down at the top of the hill where his dragon, which had suddenly started bickering with itself for some reason he couldn’t be bother knowing, was just a murmur in the distance. There, he proceeded to try and enjoy himself with his flowers and bugs and ignore his sore behind.
Milkwort whipped out his sketchbook and journal and seated himself atop a smooth, flat rock that was just the right elevation for him to see all the bugs that crossed his way. He loved coming out here in the fields. Very few people came out here and it was just the place where he could enjoy himself in peace and solitude. At the moment, a colorful beetle was trying out a flower just a few feet in front of him. He smiled, identified it in his journal, and made a quick outline of its figures in his sketchbook. When the beetle had left its perch, the boy slid off the rock and gently plucked a petal from the flower. “The noble chafer likes hogweed... Okay!”
With a victorious tap of his pencil on his journal, Milkwort flipped it closed and turned around to return to his seat. A tiny chirp made him freeze just as he was crawling back up and he looked down at the silver smooth surface of the rock. A big smile spread across his face when he found his guest. “Ah! A rosalia longicorn!” He squealed as though he were a child who had just found his favorite kind of candy. He crouched down beside the thin blue and black splotched bug until his chin was nearly touching the rock. The beetle didn’t move, convinced its camouflage was working. Milkwort slowly took out his sketchbook, careful as to not scare it away. “You’re awfully far from home, little guy,” he said as he started sketching as though he expected it to talk back.
With a dull thud, the entire rock vibrated numbly and the beetle flew off. Milkwort watched it go dejectedly, then sharply looked over his shoulder with an annoyed glare. His very unwelcomed companion who he had specifically instructed to keep still and quiet was doing just the opposite. The Hideous Zippleback was the last thing Milkwort wanted to think about right now. This day had been going along great until he remembered that the darn beast existed. At this very moment, the tall, green creature was stomping among the field, trampling every poor defenseless flower and bug that happened to be unlucky enough to find itself underneath its feet. Milkwort groaned. Dragons were such destructive creatures. How nature had survived with them for this long, he had no idea.
“Hey! I told you to be quiet!” Milkwort snapped. The two-headed dragon looked up at him quickly, then they both glared in unison. Milkwort stiffened. He knew what that look meant. J-B suddenly started running toward him and Milkwort made a desperate scramble over the rock. He hadn’t made it to the other side before Jerk, the left head, had grasped the back of his tunic in his mouth and lifted him in the air. “Stop!” Milkwort struggled wildly, vainly trying to reach out for something to grab onto. Jerk carried the boy over to the other head, Bully, who proceeded to emit a gaseous fume in his face. Milkwort coughed, trying to hold his breath. They left him like that for a moment longer before Jerk pulled him away and dropped him on his bum from five feet in the air.
“Ow...” Milkwort whimpered, rubbing his sore lower back. J-B then began a shrill and terrifying shrieking that by now Milkwort new was laughter. Grumbling to himself, Milkwort crawled to his feet and limped away, defeated. He sat himself down at the top of the hill where his dragon, which had suddenly started bickering with itself for some reason he couldn’t be bother knowing, was just a murmur in the distance. There, he proceeded to try and enjoy himself with his flowers and bugs and ignore his sore behind.
[/font]
