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Author Topic: [Hobbit] Dyri  (Read 5381 times)


  • Men
  • Wanderers
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  • Alias: Reis
  • Application: Plotter
« on: November 26, 2013, 06:01:00 AM »


NAME: There used to be no name for Dyri to call his own - he was withheld the gift from the time he was but a newborn. For many years all that the man were a series of pseudonyms, names used for no other purpose than to gain his attention. When employed under Dyri, the one parental figure he had at one point or another, he was finally bestowed with a name. To this day, Dyri holds unto the name with pride, and aside from his daughter expects all to refer to him by such.

NICKNAMES (IF ANY):  He never received a name as a child, no endearing words that reflected the warmth of loving parents. In fact the earliest word that the man recalls used to refer to him was bastard. A child out of wedlock, unwanted and unloved, filled the role perfectly as far as his father was concerned.

The death of his father and as he passed under the care of his uncle changed the name he had often thought to be his own to one that, while no longer holding a relation to his status, still failed to provide him with warmth. As they traveled farther into Gondor, it became obvious that boy was a term coined by his uncle for him to obey, and quickly learned to follow it without question.

He was scrawnier than the other children his age - a mass of matted dark hair, wobbly knees, and nervous eyes that seemed unable to hold anyone’s gaze. When it came to play, he was always the slowest, always the weakest, and always the one to come last. He couldn’t swim as a child, running left him breathless, and when he came under the apprenticeship of a blacksmith master, he spent more time needing help than actually helping. It was with an annoyed sigh and the shake of the head that his master named it what many had called him before - Runt.

It would be as a young man shy of twelve, two years after finding himself under the apprenticeship of the older Gondorian man, that the question finally came. In the two years of working under Kvistrson the question of his name, or lack of, had never come into play, until the dread of winter grew near. It was as the days grew shorter and colder, the jobs becoming fewer in between, that Kvistrson asked the young boy. The boy, retorted the simple fact - he had none to share. The admittance brought a flush of color to the boy’s pale cheeks and surprise to the man’s dull eyes. Kvistrson was silent for many minutes before he finally spoke, his voice broken with the faint keening of blackbirds. ‘Used to kno’ a man some while back, kin’ of look like ‘im ‘at you do...’ the older man mused, ‘...Dyri was ‘is name. Dyri, ‘at’ll do.’ It was not long after that that Kvistrson found himself propositioned by Dyri’s uncle, to buy the boy off his hands. So he did and so Dyri became ‘Dyri, son of Kvistrson.’

While love for a gained name has made Dyri ask of many to use it, only two have been excused from doing so. The first was his wife, Anais, who from the moment they met was unable to bear his name on her lips. First she called him ‘stupid’ an idiot boy who spent more time dreaming an unreachable dream than a child would. With time, those bitter words became kindness - he was her ‘love,’ and she his heart. Their love with time took shape, and no soon after was he gained the last nickname - one which makes his heart swell and for a smile to dance on his lips, ‘Baba.’

DATE OF BIRTH AND AGE (AS OF T.A. 2941): Thirty five | June 17th 2907
RACE:  Man

HAIR COLOUR AND APPEARANCE:  As a member of the guard of Gondor, Dyri is expected to have a clean appearance - something that the young father has taken to heart. His hair is short by the standard of most, grazing his neck when left to its own devices. However, it is rare to see the man without his hair pulled back, secured in place after moistening it with water.

EYE COLOUR:  Bright, crisp teal. While there are many things that Dyri endured as a child, none of them cloud his brow. In fact, it seemed that his pitiful situation and, eventually, the loss of his wife made Dyri’s eyes brighter - eyes that appreciate beauty whenever he can. If one were to be honest, his eyes are not the eyes of warrior or pain, but the eyes of one who accepts life and knows that the future is always better.

BODY TYPE AND HEIGHT:  No one would have expected Dyri to grow. Likewise, if you met the man of 6’4’’ you would never expect him to once have been half the size of other boys his age. But with time, work, and plenty of warm meals, it eventually became impossible to stop the man from, well, growing.  Later on in life his arduous training as a soldier hardened the lines of Dyri’s body, strengthening his muscles and straightening his posture. When he stands, he stands tall - chin high and eyes forward - the result of a life he has taken to heart.

OVERALL APPEARANCE:  When he first took the oath to serve his lord and kingdom, Dyri received the armor that is rarely seen off his frame. A fine chainmail undercoat protects the Citadel Guard’s body from piercing blows and is followed by a thick, cotton-padded black tabard with a leather underlining. Dyri receives further protection by the addition of a chest plate crafted by most apt hands and decorated with the white tree of their kingdom. The trees roots and branches snake away from the trunk of the tree, weaving their way into the edges of the silvery spread. The intertwining branches peek in and out from underneath a black cloak that signify his position above a standard soldier and into one of Citadel Guard - position granted to the most well-versed and studied of soldiers. His title is further emphasized by the helmet he wears - with gold embroidery running down the helm. The wings of the Citadel Guard’s helm, unlike that of a soldier, are spread in mid-flight, fluttering away from the piece and crowning his head.

A tasset of the same material as that of his chest plate protect his thighs from harm, the heavy addition often causing mild bruising on his legs from daily use. A belt made of uncolored leather holds his scabbard and sword in place, making it accessible to the man in the most dire of circumstances. Hidden behind minimalist, clean braces and grieves are a pair of leather gloves - and in turn - boots. While serving more utilitarian purposes, this final addition to his repertoire rarely goes ignored by the soldier, showing the same pristine look as the rest of his armor.
DISTINGUISHING MARKS: There is nothing truly extraordinary about Dyri aside from a small scar that crawls on the left side of his brow. The scar, barely noticeable after years of healing, is the remnants of one of the many pebble wars he once waged against Anais as a young child.

WEAPONS:  While the man of Gondor has become well-versed in an array of weapons as his jobs require, Dyri feels the most at ease with the blade Kvistrson forged from him by his side. Koli, born of the hottest of coals, made to be flexible, durable, and sharp. It was, in Kvistrson’s words, a masterpiece, a sword worth the finest of hands.

FACE CLAIM:  Giulio Berruti

STRENGTHS:  There are not many traits that Dyri can take pride on or which he sees as an advantage above another - he is but a man doing what his duty dictates. Yet, there is little doubt in the soldier’s man that what is asked of him, is something he can readily provide. A man who has spent the majority of his life involved in arduous work of one kind or another, Dyri is strong - hearty. Dyri possesses great stamina as a result of his life and training, this showing specially well when he is forced to train for long periods of time under the weight of his armor. While the armor often strains his movements and causes the man to become short of breath after a couple of hours of work, once the heavy folds and layers are torn from his body, the smith-turned-soldier breathes again, quickly composing himself. While he has never been a man of politics or gifted with the sweetness of words, Dyri’s mind should not be taken for granted; the soldier possesses a tactical mind, one molded to direct forces, to apply pressure on breaking points, and succeed in the bleakest of situations. Peace, however, has made this talent of his less known and is something that he is quite content on keeping. One of his lest known qualities, though perhaps the one that Eliana and his parents enjoy the most is the man’s ability to sing. Humming is something that the man often does when bored, yes, though his song  is something he solely reserves for his daughter’s ears as he is laying her to rest for the day. On another note, he is quite content with his ability to imitate Anais’ cloudberry jam and cheesebread, thank you very much.

WEAKNESSES:  The weaknesses in the soldier, come not from physical limitations, but rather emotional ones that sometimes take their toll. There are times, for instance, that the soldier finds it impossible to sleep - he just keeps hearing her voice in the death of night. Went sleep abandons him and his mind is left to wander, Dyri sometimes swears to feel her warmth, to feel her head against his chest. He has thought about joining her, Anais, that is, but the fear of leaving his child behind is the only thing that prevents Dyri from following through. Every day, the man is forced to smile and pretend that all is well, even if sometimes Dyri fears he is losing his grip on reality. But the cheerful greeting of his daughter - her hand grasping his reassuringly, melts the thoughts away, burying them for him to revisit another night. Perhaps there is no greater weakness of Dyri than the love for his family, for his child. If harm is to be made as a threat against his parents or daughter, the man loses all sense of composure - his rage blinding the once even-tempered man. Dyri will bash out unforgiving at any that dares raise a threat against those he cares for and will do anything to ensure their safety - a prospect that terrifies him in it and of it self.

ASPIRATIONS:  There is nothing more that Dyri wishes other than to see his mother and father live long, prosperous lives and for his dear Eliana to grow as wild and free as her mother had been.     
FEARS:  Losing his daughter as he lost his wife.

PERSONALITY: Dyri is a friendly soul. He enjoys the company of others and is prone to conversation and jokes. He has lived in the white Citadel for the majority of his life and continues to call it his home. Those closest to him understand that while the man is the perfect sample of a loving father and an honorable soldier, he has never been the same since Anais’ death. Yet while loss has transformed the man, his friendliness is something that cannot be denied. The man always attempts to bring a friendly hand regardless of the situation – he likes people, he likes meeting people, and most of all he loves learning about them. His kindness, however, should not be confused for weakness. The male has a strong character worthy of a warrior. As apt as his lips are for smiling and for his voice carrying words of encouragement, they can quickly sour if placed in a compromising situation.

While calmness has never been a part of his persona, the soldier prone to saying jokes and laughing as easily as the next person, Dyri does carry himself with a certain amount of dignity. Each movement the soldier makes is fluid and calculated – each step taken with great care. His movements are minimal, giving the appearance of floating at times – the lack of noise behind his movements further encouraging the belief.

Saying that Dyri is adamant can be a bit of an understatement. The man is stubborn to a fault. It is incredibly difficult for people to change Dyri ’s mind, especially when it has been set. In fact, when told that something is beyond his reach, the soldier has been known to go out of his way to especially prove the opposing party wrong. Granted, this has sometimes caused a bit of friction for the man, but nothing which a friendly fight and a laugh, followed by a hearty drink afterwards, won't cure.

To say that the apple of his eye is Eliana would be an understatement. For the father of thirty-five, there is no treasure more precious than his sweet little girl. He will do the impossible for her and will protect her furiously no matter the situation. To threaten the child in any way or form, is to seek the fury of the soldier.

HISTORY:  “To lead a life without love, without the warmth of an embrace, without the breathlessness of a kiss, truly is a cheerless thing. Twenty-five years ago, I would have readily dismissed the idea as nothing more than silly desires whispered amongst women; fantastic dreams of fancy that would never come true – idiocies. Yet, when first our lips met, every doubt melted into the nothingness of space. She became my everything – my life, my substance, my breath. And while time took my Anais, while the fates gave me few years to enjoy her company, there is no second of it I would regret. To have led a life without meeting her, to have never understood what it meant to be loved by her, would have been a pitiful thing.”

“I must have been a mere twelve years old when first I met her – red hair, alabaster skin, and eyes so green it seemed as if they had been molded from an emerald. She was a cheeky, little thing – the daughter of my Kvistrson’s employer, and a common sight amongst the smith. She never spoke, rather she yelled, and had a chirpy laugh that bubbled easily within her chest. She was expressive – if a little hardheaded as well – and often times I found myself at the wrong end of Anais’ ire. Not that I could blame her, I was a terrible boy. When my father, Kvistrson, had no use for me in the Smith, I would venture with my friend, Kozef, and torture the girls that lived close by. Granted, Anais would rally with Elreen and Kanika, the three chasing Kozef and myself by chucking pebbles in our direction – got me pretty good in one occasion as well. I still have the resulting scar from one of these pebble wars, as she dubbed them.”

“I had climbed-up a tree to escape my so-called pursuers and I swung out just out of their reach. I mocked them as they continued their pebble onslaught, but none connected with me. I chortled, I jested, and yes, I even teased, but while any sensible boy would have stopped when found himself trapped like a hare by a fox, I was encouraged. It must have been close to an hour when finally Elreen said to go home, that sooner or later I would have to come down. As they took their leave, I swung myself into a lower branch. ‘Go home,’ I called to them, ‘go and play with your stupid dolls,’ and that did it. I didn’t even see her coming – before I knew what was happening, Anais grabbed me by the brim of my pants and yanked me down. I must have hit my head on the way down – how, I don’t recall. I just remember feeling the air forced out of my lungs as I collided unto the ground and how the color drained out of Anais and my sisters’ faces. And as I touched my face and noticed how it came away red, I understood why. ‘I-It was your fault!’ Anais started, scrambling to her feet, ‘You weren’t supposed to fall down!’ They darted, the three of them, to hide at Anais’ family household. My sisters didn’t come until several hours later when they believed the fury of my mother had passed – and, well, when they were sure neither Kozef or myself would retaliate.”

“Kvistrson’s wife, and my eventual mother, was so upset when I finally stumbled home; half my face sticky with blood, the other covered in muck and grime. I remember her yanking me to a chair, cursing the day she ever took in a ‘goblin for a child,’ but I couldn’t help but smile. At the short age of fourteen, I turned to her and said that I would marry her, Anais – Anais would become my wife. Mother slapped me in the back of the head, told me to be serious for once. But, by god, that was the most serious I had been in my entire life.”

“I believe mother knew what had happened all along, but I never said it outright – I never blamed Anais or the girls; it was my doing, my mistake. It surprised Anais, I expect, especially since I would not miss an opportunity to make her uneasy. It took a couple of days for her to finally approach me, a box in hand. She stared at her feet as she tried to form an apology – one that never came. Instead, she simply shoved the box in my hands and ran out the door. I stared dumbly after her and after a few minutes, I opened the box. In it, secured beneath a sheet of scrapped clothe, sat a ball of twine. Can you believe it? After nearly killing me, she gave me a simple ball of twine – used twine, at that. It was a collection of different colored strings, tied together into a single line, and then rolled-up into a ball. I… still don’t understand the reason behind the ball of twine, and frankly I never asked – it would lose its charm.”

“After that, a strange friendship was formed between Anais and myself; a quiet understanding that never wavered, even with the passing of the years. It was a strange relationship, but not an unwanted one. Granted, our arguments never ceased, but I now saw them as an entertaining quality of our relationship – and, honestly, I would not have changed one thing of it.”

“As a child I was small, scrawny at best, but with age the once smooth muscles begun to develop, my short legs began to grow. Over time I became broad shouldered and strong, and found myself following to become a soldier to the crown of Gondor. Anais, in turn,  turned into a beautiful woman – graceful, poised, though she remained as loud as ever. Our friendship continued to blossom, quiet afternoons spent in each other’s company, exchanging jokes and stories that only the other could understand. Even when my training as a soldier would take me away from her side for months without end, every time I would come and greet her, our roles would resume as if we had seen each other earlier that day.”

“It was in one of my visits to my home in Minas Tirith, that everything changed."

"I stopped that afternoon at her household, as I had done so for so many years, and instantly searched for Anais. But while I expected to find the woman sitting by the fire, embroidering in the stillness of the afternoon, I found her accompanied by a man I had never see before. His name, I later learned was Riganc, Anais' caller."

"It had happened not long after my last departure to Minas Tirith, where I continued my training. Anais' uncle, came to her father with a proposal -- to marry the young woman to his partner's son, to solidify the relationship between the two partner families. She seemed, content to say the least, that Rignac was gentle and soft-spoken, a true gentleman. I asked if she was happy and she merely smiled, dismissing my question. I didn't quite know how to react. Part of me was glad that she had finally found stability and a potential husband, but at the same time, it wished it had been me."

“The once childish feelings grew progressively stronger with the passing of each year and, by the age of twenty-eight, I recognized those feelings as being as true as the first day I had experienced them. At first, I was not sure what to make of these feelings – I thought about burying them on more than one occasion. She was engaged, to be married by the end of the year, Still, I could not bring myself to do it, I could not forget everything that I felt. If only to find solace for my being, I called to Anais one day and said everything. Everything I had felt, everything I still felt, and how I could not let her go on with the wedding without voicing these feelings. As I explained everything I felt, I never expected Anais response. Without hesitation, without any doubt, she took my first kiss, my only kiss.”

“That night, we lay together as one – every feeling, every fight, every laugh erupting into a single, unrestrained night. In that one moment, nothing mattered, except for her. I was unsure, to say the least, what would happen after that night. Frankly, part of me did not care – I had Anais and that is all that mattered. I was too stubborn, too proud to understand the consequences that our actions could have. She was arranged to marry a merchant’s son – a wealthy, good man who would provide her with her every desire. And I had ruined it.” “But, Anais didn’t mind. In fact, the next morning as she lay next to me, she said that she had been hoping, begging those feelings weren’t hers alone. Anais broke the engagement with Rignac that afternoon, Anais’ uncles’ face was a deep puce; I swear that if eyes could kill, my life would have been cut short. But it didn’t matter to us, the fates had pulled us together. We married that fall, a traditional ceremony that cemented our relationship. It was a peaceful life that we enjoyed, a quiet monotony that we came to embrace. We fought from time to time, but it was only expected – she was a strong, fiercely independent and I was arrogant and stubborn – but we were happy, nevertheless. Yet, two years after we married, the dynamic changed. Anais’ felt different – she felt queasy, exhausted all the time. Worried for her health, we visited a medicine man in Minas Tirith, where we learned she was expecting.”

“Pregnancy fit Anais much to my surprise. Where I had expected doubt or hesitation, I found unusual gentleness. She never knew I saw her as she sat in bed, hair tangled tresses that slid past her neck. She sung to our child, hand pressed against her womb, a gentle melody that rolled from her throat – she was never a good singer, but it was the most beautiful thing I heard. Every day Anais’ womb grew fuller and my love for her did alongside it.”

“Months later, on an early winter morning, Anais went into labor.”

“It took a day for Anais to give birth to small, wide-eyed girl. Eliana, she called her, and I swore the child smile. I sat next to Anais as she fed the babe, who suckled on her mother with unrivaled appetite. Anais smiled weakly and I kissed her forehead, told her that she had done good – that she deserved to rest. She nodded softly, whispered a gentle ‘I love you,’ and she drifted into sleep. I stayed there in the bed, child in arms, Anais on my side, and I felt my whole life was complete. At some point, I drifted off to sleep, the next thing I remembered waking up in my bed, sitting up against the wall, child still in arms – besides me, my beautiful Anais, still asleep.”

“She – she looked so beautiful, like a goddess. Anais lay in bed, surrounded by pillows, her fiery tresses forming a halo around her head. Her lips were slightly parted in silent prayer, her fingers still laced into mine. For a second, I swore she still slept, that she merely encountered sound sleep. I leaned in, kissed her forehead as I had done each morning, and it was then that I noticed how cold she was. I called her name, I shook her, but no response came. I shook her again, my heart sunk – I could hear screaming now, an endless shriek that echoed through the room. I pulled Anais into an embrace, afraid to let go – the screaming grew louder, more relentless, and it wasn’t until minutes later, I was the source of the noise.”

“In the middle of the night, sometime when I nodded off to sleep, Anais was taken, her tired body left behind. The girl that had given me the ball of twine, the girl that had chased me up a tree, the girl that had captured my heart, was gone. It seemed unreal – a nightmare that I was unable to wake from. But there was no denying it; Anais was gone. I mourned her death for several days, families and friends visiting our home. Condolences were spoken, sweet words exchanged, but they did little to appease my soul. It was three days after that I laid her to rest – to sleep under the gaze of the tree that started it all.”

“It doesn’t get any easier, that is, waking up without her by my side. Even five years after her passing, I still expect her to see her beaming up at me with her bright blue eyes. Eliana has grown without a mother; yet, it’s amazing how much she reminds me of Anais. Her hair is blonde, short, so unlike her mother’s but those eyes, that cheeky grin, that bubbling laughter, is one and the same. If it wasn’t for her, Eliana, I would have long since stopped breathing.”

“She is my everything, the last gift Anais gave me. I continue to serve Gondor as a soldier, a man of honor, yet whether it be out of loyalty or a wish to protect my sweet child, I can no longer tell.”

AGE:  Twenty-four, dearies~!
EXPERIENCE: A good amount of years, 10+ [I keep forgetting the exact number and I am too lazy to count]
OTHER CHARACTERS:  Well, there is Alderbrow, Anomen, Elanor, and Vashti currently.
CONTACT:  I would say PM or C-Box, or feel free to add me to Skype if you'd prefer~!
HOW DID YOU FIND US?:  Googling accident :3
There was a stillness in the forest that made the mercenary uneasy; it was a silence so prominent, so overwhelming, that Vashti had learned to recognize it without particular difficulty. It was a silence that drowned the bright chirps and faraway keens - unnatural - and one usually caused by an unwelcomed visitor or another. She knew this well too, Vashti herself having caused this sound - or lack of - in more than one occasion. She glanced briefly at both man and woman, before her attention was drug towards the silence again. Whether they heard the uneasy stillness that now surrounded them, the mercenary was unsure, their faces were not betrayed for whatever thought crossed their brow. In many ways, neither did the mercenary, who continued to sport the same wry smile she did before. However, her hands had begun to search for the blades she had discarded next to her vest and now held them neatly across her lap. You are exaggerating, she told herself, making something of absolutely nothing at all. But, then again, she would much rather be prepared.

“Well for one, it isn’t like I wanted to be here I assure you...”

The elf carried on with the conversation without pause, her voice dismissive, but her body language spoke of volumes more. Vashti tilted her head slightly, brow knotted, and lips agape. “Uh huh.” She clicked her tongue absentmindedly, restraining herself from asking more than she should. Then again, whenever had that stopped her before? The motion, as small and insignificant as it had been, did not go unnoticed by Vashti. Her eyes lingered slightly on the elf’s arm, how it curled gently above her torso - protectively, the mercenary would go as far as assure.  She breathed in deeply before releasing it sharply. Vashti shrugged her shoulders, a good natured smile masking the curiosity that lilted in her eyes. “Well, I will be very interested to hear of this so-named venture later on;” she said with a chuckle, “void knows I like a good story to go with a pint.” Or, at the very least, it would be a nice way to let Ginger answer some clear, but unspoken, questions.

“So you decided to take on a group of Orcs by yourself,”  The suddenness of his voice nearly made Vashti jumped. In all his lack of noise, she had nearly forgotten that he was there. Vashti kicked herself mentally, brow tested by grimy fingers. “How very interesting as a pack that size requires more than a single being to eliminate.” She stopped her movements, lips tight and eyes narrow.

Vashti quirked her brow considering the man’s statement, before giving a gentle chuckle; well, that was one way of addressing her curious predicament. Others would have danced about the issue with particular ease, saying enough to drag the topic out, but being vague enough so that Vashti did not feel dismayed. Yet, this elf, this unnamed man, had a more direct approach. It was  genuinely amusing. After a few seconds, the mercenary shrugging her shoulders. “One would think, but they do not tend to be troublesome if the right pressure is applied.” She admitted at the man’s words, her eyes traveling from her all but ruined vest and towards the man instead.  He had a point - to a certain extent. While taking on a pack was tricky business, it was not an impossible feat. She had done it before, others before that, it was simply a matter of patience, preparation, and surprise. It was a well-kept secret amongst those that made their living from slaying dark creatures - and  a secret they were not fond of parting with. But with the right favors done, the right palms greased, and tight lips would loosen faster than any would expect. This for that. Quid pro cuo. Still, even with this knowledge the task was not easily accomplished. The dangers were many, palpable, and very much real.

“These ones, however, were a bit different, one might say.” A bit of an understatement, really - and the constant throbbing of her body proved to be a constant reminder. Vashti eased into her makeshift seat, shifting unconsciously before nestling her face against an open palm. While it would have been fairly easy to catch other Orc parties by surprise - whether they be those of a scouting group or something larger - these ones had been prepared. Call her paranoid if you will, but the moment that damn archer had been the first to deliver a blow - an arrow missing her by mere inches - she knew that she had bitten off  more than she could chew. While she was not one to admit it, she thanked her luck - had the elves not drawn the attention of part of the party away, she would be looking far worse than she already did. That is, if she did not consider the possibility of death. She chewed at the inside of her cheek at the thought. But now, she was prepared - she knew what to expect and would be able to adjust herself to the situation.

Movement caught Vashti’s attention, her eyes flickering in direction of the male as he made his way towards a pack.  He fumbled with it for a few seconds, a bored expression coloring her pale features as she watched. “What I find interesting,” she said with a devilish lilt, “is how apt you are at fighting Orcs for a mere medicine man.” She smiled then, a barely there knowing smile that quirked the corners of her lips.

“Much more interesting.”

« Last Edit: March 13, 2016, 07:33:55 PM by Mandos »


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« Reply #1 on: December 10, 2013, 12:56:00 PM »
Reis... I... I can't... I can't find words to explain what's on my mind... you're so amazing! Such heart poured into this app, the beauty behind it and that sadness that tears at our hearts! Truly such a beautiful work of art, Reis! I truly, truly love Dyri and cannot wait to see him in action!


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  • Alias: Cass
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« Reply #2 on: December 10, 2013, 05:00:00 PM »
Wow.  There are no words Reis, at least not beyond what Loki has already said.  This application is a work of art in its own right and you have detailed a beautiful and very human character.  Stunning, absolutely stunning.

Fíli | Aesa | Kvasir | Andar | Liv | Ivorak | Haleth | Ástir |Damel
Veizla | Vex | Loire | Muunokhoi | Morvoren | Faramir | Rorion | Ashar


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