Succo Divicticus

[Succo Divicticus]

{ I CAN'T FEEL MY SENSES }

name :: Succo Divicticus
age ::Appears 22, actually 110
gender::Male

{ I JUST FEEL THE COLD }

height ::5’11
weight ::170lb
hair :: Always short, with the edges well groomed and the top slightly longer. The majority of his hair is a glistening onyx, while the tips are naturally colored blonde. His hair never seems to grow.
skin :: It could be porcelain pale, but he’s likes the sun kissed look. Ruggedly handsome, eh?
clothing style ::Generally wears stone washed denim and black tee’s.
tattoos or scars :: Four parallel scars across his chest, replicating a lions’ swipe.
other distinguishing features::Eyes so liquid dark brown they seem black.

{ ALL COLORS SEEM TO FADE AWAY }

powers ::Succo has an uncanny ability to see in the dark. His eyes emit an orange glow when the moon hits them. Also, he has an incredible acute sense of hearing, smell and a heightened intuition. Rarely can danger sneak up on Succo.
lifespan ::300 years max.
faction ::Royal
race ::Were-lion.
other interesting abilities/talents He can shift into an adult male lion whenever he desires. This causes him no pain and the only stipulation is that he must be bare bodied. Consequently, he must be careful when she shifts back, else he’ll be roaming around Shadowland in the nude >::

{ I CAN'T REACH MY SOUL }

likes ::Just about everything. He’s a personal sort, you see. Long walks in the moonlight, summer storms, a good meal with well mannered company. He’s the outdoors type, so anything involving nature will please him. He especially likes horses and rides very well.
dislikes :: Arrogance and stupidity. Overly obnoxious drunks. Clingy or catty women. The deep cold especially irritates him. Vampires are a natural enemy of his.
fears ::Open and/or deep water. It is the only thing he will not get involved with. Also, if it wasn’t already apparent, he can’t swim. Succo will cross a stream, take a bath, etc, but don’t expect him to go swimming!
dreams ::He doesn’t really plan for the future. Succo is a here and now kind of person.
quirks ::Funny drunk. Impatient with women.
general personality ::Succo loves to have a good time, often out of reach of walls and doors. He doesn’t much care for over-indulging in booze or being around those who do. He is a hard worker and looks good doing it. He’s the guy you call when you need someone to trust and can count on them to get the deed done. Though not aggressive by nature, he can be prideful and defensive. He is very brave, will stand up for what he believes is right or others who need his help. Succo is not a social butterfly, but being naturally charming and charismatic, most genders and races flock to him. Except those wretched vampires, of course.
other informative facts::Speaks with an Australian accent.

{ I WOULD STOP RUNNING }

mother ::Cazenora Divicticus
father ::Soviet Gorveitch
siblings ::none
other relatives ::If he has them, he never met them.
hometown ::Sidney Australia.
history ::Born a human mother and a shape shifter father, the young boy Succo was abandoned on the front step of an Australian hospital. Raised in an orphanage, the growling child was always a fascination to the locals. He went through human highschool hiding his special genetics, all the while manipulating his natural charms. The ladies loved him. Of course they did. Strong, handsome, articulate, what else could they drool over? Fastest quarter back the football team had ever seen. When the chance came to leave his boring life being and resign himself to Shadowland, he jumped on it. After all, who would rather live here amongst human mortals when he could buddy up with those like himself? The answer, my friends, is quite obvious.
other historical revelations He discovered his ability to shift at age 8, when he hiccupped and changed into a lion cub. He proceeded to eat the orphanage pet cat. ::

{ IF I KNEW THERE WAS A CHANCE }

ooc name Paramour or Amber ::
rp expirience ::10 years, tend to lean towards a style with a high word count and heavy description. Trying to lean it down with more dialog.
how did you find SL? ::Cimoron Island, baby.
rp example ::Example taken from CI (love!) and it’s a battle post from my chara Galbraith against the slightly insane but very smexy Paradisio.

I don't want to be the one
The battles always choose
'Cause inside I realize
That I'm the one confused

-|- A growl filtered through his snarling lips. Galbraith had been pacing incessantly for the better part of an hour. His hooves had scarred the sands he stood upon, his path back and forth cleanly etched. ”This is ridiculous…” he grumbled, slinging his head heavenward in agitation. One and three fourths ears swiveled, pricked, flattened and repeated the process. Galbraith halted at the edge of the sea, waves lapping at his feathered fetlocks. The water was cold, made more so by the blustering ocean wind. A shiver crept up his spine. It helped to ebb the river of fire flowing in his heart. This battle was nothing like his last – nor any previous. For the first time in his fourteen year life upon this feted loam, he was not the aggressor. Actually, believe it or not he was completely innocent. Save for his past that still haunted him to this very day. But hind sight’s a bitch and you can’t change the past – fuck, can’t influence the future either while others stand in your way. But what good would working himself into a fit of rage do? Prove Paradisio’s point? That he was dangerous, dark filth? He had every Gods be Damned right in this world to follow whatever path he believed was right. He was born to a pair of lights and yet followed the shadows. And now, with a considerable dose of wisdom under his belt, he has seen his faults. He has accepted the injustices he has caused. He has repented his so-called sins. He will not partake in the Wicked any longer. I am a Loner now and not even Paradisio can tell me otherwise. With a sense of resolution, Galbraith turned away from the sea and slow loped down the shore. His gait was careful and his hooves were precise – rocks grew more frequent the further he went. They rose, grey and serrated, from the edge of the sea and sprang up sporadically along the beach. When they became so dense that he had to leap here and bounce there to avoid snagging one of the treacherous stones, he slowed. Galbraith had covered a good deal of the western shoreline and it left him out of breath. Barrel heaved and nostrils flared. The briny sea air stung his lungs with every intake. His pelt had already begun to lengthen and thicken for winter. The bay-on-white shag was dampened with sweat. ” I am too old for this,” he mumbled beneath his breath. Though he was not ancient, Galbraith was definitely feeling the unbiased hands of father time. Even now, as he walked beneath the bright blanket of stars, his hocks would pop and his front fetlocks would click every few strides. And in the soft glow of lady moon, it was apparent that his ebony dipped muzzle had faded to grey. The pattern extended up between his crimson eyes, chewing away the vibrancy of the color that his youth had once held so proudly. Despite the wear and tear his hard life had done to his body, there was an outward sense of calm about him. That insatiable hunger was sated. The inexplicable need for chaos and violence had vanished. In its wake, it left not a shell, but a stallion reborn. He had aged like a fine wine, but unfortunately, he did not share the beverages shelf life. He had maybe three winters left? Cimoron was not a kind place for the seasoned. Thalbe was the eldest active stallion upon the island that he had met, and he is but twelve! He had to accept the inevitable. He would die, yes, but not a crippled, geriatric old man. He would go out with glory. With honor! He would die a warrior, as he had always planned. But not tonight. No, tonight he was going to be victorious. He had no choice, he must win! If he were to lose the battle tonight, than the repercussion is death. Alas, that is not his driving force. If he is to die, if that is the Gods will for him, then so be it! But he will fight like he had never before. His family counted on him. The love of his life, Divine Parody, awaited his return in Isola Della Morte. And his newborn filly, she didn’t even have a name yet. So sweet, so spastic. He wanted to protect her, shower her in affection and raise her to be just and strong. What would happen to the dainty doll if he died tonight? Would her ambitious mother, Hallmark Holiday, raise their daughter to believe he was just a weak old man? He couldn’t stand the thought. No, he would be there to help raise her. To guide her. He would not leave her to the shadows of the dark land, to be influenced by the flicker of wickedness that haunted the lands. If he could help it, he would not let her make the same mistakes he did.

I don't know what's worth fighting for
Or why I have to scream
I don't know why I instigate
And say what I don't mean

-|- If his past had not been so infamous, his deeds not so dastardly, this situation would never exist. King Paradisio would have no reason to doubt if his intentions were traitorous. He did not say he blamed the young royal, it was probably the right thing to do, but Galbraith wished it didn’t have to be this way. ”Where is he, anyway?” He asked the sea, which responded with the cold integrity it always had. Galbraith felt as if he had walked the entire length of the beach looking for his combatant. And it seemed, he had. The rocks bled away. The sands grew unusually soft and they piled in rippled miniature dunes. He would tread more carefully here. And, though he hadn’t bothered to notice before, when he looked thirty meters head, the beach was sliced to an end by a rising straight bluff. The slate was featureless, reaching for the heavens. ”The backside of Bachelor Cliff, maybe?” He mused to himself, looking to its peak. As his eyes trailed down to the puddle of moonlight at its base, he gave a start. ” Paradisio….” he said in hushed whisper, but don’t be fooled, he was far from reverent. Where had he come from? Was he always there? Surely he had. Galbraith inwardly chastised himself for being so woefully unaware. His eyes roved the Kings body. Black frame with a red strip upon his spine. A broad white blaze painted that delicate face. He was nothing like what he had anticipated. For some reason, he thought the colt would be chestnut, leggy, maybe leaner…but that’s beside the point! Galbraith tuned his focus fully to Paradisio. He curved his stout nape, set head into frame, pushed his ears forward and trotted the remaining distance. Galbraith halted, breath held, eyes searching the Kings. He did not quell in the presence of his aggressor. ”King Paradisio, it is too bad we had to meet on such terms…” Galbraith spoke in euphonious tones. No sense in getting aggressive, is there? Should the Gods favor him, and he is victorious, Paradisio would still be king. He would hold the power to banish Galbraith. Best not tempt fate any worse than necessary. ”Though I must say, I am surprised it was Falinn, a truly abandoned territory, that you have chosen to risk your reputation over. It is not my place to question you, but Adraxxia whom defended O Selvagem needed you as well. You could not have known that she would be victorious at that time. Why did she not get your support, but an empty home did?” Nothing that rolled off his satin coated tongue was accusing, though it was definitely a deep cut. Galbraiths’ lips curled into a rogue smirk. There was a wolfish appearance about the old stallion. More apostate than predatory. ”But that is beside the point, isn’t it? I am honored you deem me threat enough to battle me yourself. That is, unless, you intend to treat all your newly converted followers this way?” Galbraith paused just long enough for his smirk to deepen, ”I dare say you don’t have enough loyal supporters, I’d hate to see you chase the rest off!” He wanted to give his barking laugh, but restrained himself. Best not to lose the composure he held in such tight reins. ”Alas, listen to me. What a windbag I’ve been…” There was a malevolent twinkle in his haunted eye as he stepped forward. Galbraith and Paradisio were face to face, close enough to snatch each others’ ears off. ”May the best stallion win… Galbraith said in a dulcet whisper as he bent his knee to the earth in a sweeping bow. So low his mug was touching the sand, ”my King.”

I don't know how I got this way
I know it's not alright
So I'm breaking the habit
I'm breaking the habit tonight

-|- Galbraith rose in one swift, fluent motion. His roman nose had snagged sand and as he ascended, flung it towards his combatants face. It was a ploy, allowing him time to lurch forward and out of reach. With legs in an elastic swing, Galbraith trotted around Paradisios’ personal space perimeter. He made half a circle before pouncing towards the black stallions shoulder. He pounded his front feet into the sand, which sprayed forward in a curtain-like shield. And behind it, Galbraith turned on his haunches and leapt away. He continued his path. When he came head to head with Paradisio, he bowed his shoulder in, snapped his jaws and rumbled a threatening bray. But again, he danced out of reach. He continued his hypnotic choreography, hoping it might confuse his aggressor. Make him uncertain of when and where Galbraith would strike. Would it be now, as swung his backside toward the Kings barrel and bowed up his back? No! Galbraith squealed and crow hopped away. Each time he feigned an attack, he grew closer and closer. And at one point, when he slunk in, his shoulder touched Paradisios’. Just a fleeting rub. He wanted to goad the blue blood into losing confidence. Enrage him, so he might lose his cool. Make his poker face crack. But Galbraith didn’t have all night. In fact, he couldn’t hold up his bladed dance for much longer. His endurance had never been impressive and it was even less these days. His breath would huff out every time he spun, kicked out or lunged. Despite the chill of the October night, his hide was soaked in sweat. He had to act. He came up along the backside of Paradisio. Now! With his jaws reaching, Galbraith used his powerful hind end for one final push. He didn’t realize he was emitting a wraithlike screech. Galbraith dove towards his target. That sensitive, crucial tendon on the back side of the Kings left rear leg. Just above the hock, where it curves in a concave manner. There the skin is soft and supple, with that very tendon picketed against the skin when the body moves. If his teeth hit their mark, he would aim to wrap his jaws around that vital part of Paradisios’ leg. And if Fate was willing, and he did grab a hold of his leg, he would shake his powerful neck for all he was worth. Like a starved wolf to a carcass. Oh, how he wished he would gouge his ivories deep within the flesh. Let rip the rivers of blood. Tear the tendon. Dislodge the muscle. Shatter the connective tissue that kept that whole system function. Gore him. Lame him. Open him for infection. Make him remember! If I am to die tonight his mind was screaming, I will make him woe the day he fought me! If this was to be his last night on Earth, Gods be Damned, he was going out in a fucking mushroom cloud.

I'll paint it on the walls
'Cause I'm the one at fault
I'll never fight again
And this is how it ends

]

[RUNE AND ROMAN]

WELCOME TO SHADOWLAND!

ACCEPTED

LOL HEY I KNOW THAT POST XD