Hecate
Jul 11, 2013 16:40:21 GMT -8
Post by honeybee on Jul 11, 2013 16:40:21 GMT -8
Name :: Hecate
Breed :: Gypsy Vanner x Percheron
Age :: 4
Gender :: Mare
Alliance :: Tribe of Eclipsing Orbits
Pelt Color ::
Mane/Tail Color :: Piebald
Eye Color :: Blue and Brown
Markings :: Skull Cap facial mark, 4 white socks, ref (here)
Height :: 15.1hh
Personality ::Hecate follows her namesake, the goddess of witchcraft. She is wild, mysterious, self possessed. Long ago, she was lead to believe she knew everything - a belief that has carried through her even till now, something in her blue blue eyes seems ancient, something about her seems distant and unreachable. A boat cast out to sea, it can't even see how lost it is - or how alone. 'Cate can be cruel, when she needs to be, she appreciates that sometimes sacrifices need to be made, she understands that sometimes mere mortals must appeal to the greater good, to the greatest good of all. There is also something terribly flirtatious about her, a shimmy in her steps, a heavy touch to her gaze. She has a marvellous sense of humour which goes hand in hand with her deliciously deep throaty chuckle. Wisdom beyond her years is another given - her mummy sure did teach her well! Hecate may well believe in powers beyond her control, she may even believe herself to be in control of some of them, but it doesn't interfere with every inch of herself.
History ::Her mother, Nimue, was a strange, wild pony. She was mean and cruel and mad, and she brought her babies up with eyes as full of visions as her own. Believing thoroughly in a kind and distant goddess who would make all their dreams come true, Mother Madness raised her foals (of which she had three) deep in the forest, keeping to shrines and customs of their own construction which she thought would save them from eternal damnation. She never met her father, his job was finished with as soon as the begetting was done, Nimue held the same kind of feminist self idealism as she has injected into her daughter now - she could enjoy herself, but she needed none to look after her offspring for her.
Nimue first delivered Hecate in the bosom of a herd, she brought her first child into a world she still believed in - but even then her ramblings were beginning to take over her mind. She chewed too many figu leaves, leaves that left imprints on her mind long after their bitter taste had dulled. But as she grew pregnant with her next child, her mind roved wilder and wilder. Her son, Thanatos was a babe on his feet when she frog marched him and her yearling into the forest, the tree's had been calling her and promising her so much that she could no longer wait to be beside them. She screamed at her eldest daughter whenever she tried to leave, to return to real horsekind, she forced them all to live hoof to mouth in the forest. Where she found a stallion to impregnate her next, Hecate will never know. But she and her little brother were left alone whenever her mothers 'moon bleeding' was upon her, and after a good long while of disappearances, her baby sister turned up.
Hecate's little sister is named Eos. It means Dawn, isn't that beautiful? For Hecate - her sister's name meant far more than that, it meant joy, peace, happiness, refuge. In her innocent sister, Hecate found a way to escape from her mothers mad ramblings, her tortuous rituals - Hecate became something akin to a mother, what a mother should be at least, for her baby sister. She would tell her baby sister stories, making up folk tales from the woods around them and leading them on merry dances, she would figure out games for them to play, hiding in the woods, she would figure out ways of talking their mother out of her madness, even if it was just for a little while. By agreeing with her mothers pretense of religion, Hecate learnt how to manipulate it, a bead of belief had been sewn within her also - but by professing herself to be a priestess of their god, she convinced her mother to begin reigning back her terrible rages, her terrible visions, the infectious fear she imbued her childer with.
Tragedy struck when her mother suddenly died. Poisoned by the leaves she so loved to chew, she left behind a wild teenaged daughter who now had to care for and provide for two smaller, much more innocent siblings. Siblings who had never ever even stepped foot in the outside world. Hecate made a big decision and in the end lead back her young brother and sister into the real world. She found a herd that would take them and tried to settle a little bit, but it was not easy. The other mares tried to adopt her little sister, and they tried very hard to get her brother Than to run off and be with the other young colts (something she would have very much liked to do herself) Hecate immediately feeling, of course, that they were being stolen from her. She had lived too long alone and wild to settle into that herd now. What was worse, they wouldn't let her battle with the other two years. They wouldn't let her strut her stuff or run away freely, they wished for her only to be either a bride or a child (as for some mares there are only those two options). Hecate believed that our souls are equal even though our genders are not. Having none of that, Hecate gathered her siblings and set off- treating them as nomads until they were grown enough to look out for themselves. Her brother now aged 3, her sister at 2 - they parted their ways.
So now she roams alone, a little bit wild and a little bit wonderful - but then again, aren't we all?
RP Sample ::The lucidity, the clarity of the light that afternoon was sufficient to itself; perfect transparency must be impenetrable, these are vertical bars of a brass-coloured distillation of light coming down from sulphur-yellow interstices in a sky hunkered with grey clouds that bulge with more rain. There was no simplicity in the lurking of shadows, amber light infiltrating all with the lascivious warmth of its lovely colour. Such a light filtered down through the tree’s and shadowed the land with golden shadows, illuminating the ethereal quality of these branches, reminding those poor living things that dwell beneath of quite how ephemeral they are beside the beastly broken backed tree’s who provided them with shade, with shelter, with safety.
Through these tree’s a lone mare echoed, allowing the beating of her hooves to thrum in tune to her heartbeat, feeling the kiss of the wind in that warm warm brassy light as it shivered along each sinew and buried Sunkist into her skin. For a moment she shut her eyes, those small shining blues absorbed in red as she simply let herself gallop. She loved these woods, these tree’s. They reminded her with happiness of the forest of her youth, of the many games a filly could play as she danced and dandled her way through the woodland. But this stretch of woods was a different place to that, it was a land not trapped in falsehood and mystery, it was a land not shrouded in the heavy cloak of forced make-believe, of almost magic and missing-the-mark mysteries. There was more honesty in this scrap of woodland she wandered within then in any other she had ever stepped inside, and for that reason she ran with the gay abandonment of a foal.
The long hair was pushed back against her shoulders as she ran, although where did she run to? Her own personal breeze rippled about her shoulders, fine heavy black hair, each strand owning the tapering loveliness of a lover’s lock of hair. Her summer coat was coming through, shiny and black, but in a few places the shaggy off-black brown of her former winter coat still showed, along her finely whiskered chin, against the edges of her legs and in the hollow between her bodice and her limbs. Sure, this mare was a sight to behold – but there are few creatures in this worth with true propriety who allow themselves to be ugly, and she certainly had never contorted her features into a mask of imperfection. Her fine white mask made her face stand out against the oil slick shade of her striking coat, long stockings of blotchily connected white serving as a cloud of mist that she herself could own, feathers rippling against her body as they drummed ever steadier along the forest floor.
When suddenly, just then and with no warning at all, she skidded on am uncertain patch of moss and fell to the ground! A loud crash echoed around her, as no matter how pretty and fine her colour was and how finely shaped her face was - a gypsy vanner is a stocky, well built horse! She may have only just 15hh to her, but there was far too much weight attatched to such a title to make not at all a sound! How shameful! Should anyone see her! She should be totally embarassed, and so shocked in truth was she that she at first failed to get straight back up. Instead a startled laugh burst out of her and before she knew what was happening really she was gurgling and chuckling at her own misfortune! of all things!! Silly girl, in truth she was. She simply sat laughing at her own brash attitude for a moment, feeling the little pricks of muscles too surprised by their sudden cease in action to do anything more than complain! What a sight she made!!
Where did you learn first about us? :: Link through from Beless