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Description

AP TRACKER | GALLERY | MOODBOARD

HOW TERRIFYING — AND EXHILARATING IT IS TO KNOW THAT THERE ARE CRIES IN ME
WHICH ARE STILL UNHEARD.
Name: Corine.
Nickname: Mina, Corrie.
Age: 23.
Gender: Mare.
Breed: Pegasus, Hummingbird (Mangalarga Marchador Mule).
Colour: taffy with birdcatcher spots.
Height: 14hh
Orientation: Lesbian.

Voice Actor: tba

Herd Affiliation: Aodh.
Rank: Servile Slave.

Owner: Aleksei .
Familiar: n/a
Relatives: a handful of siblings.
Significant Other: Cullen .
Children: none.

Patron God: Ignacio with silent appreciation of Alya.
Talent: Mediator [LOCKED]
Second Talent: Lore Master [LOCKED]
First Blessing: Force Fields [LOCKED]
Second Blessing: Light Manipulation [LOCKED]
Teke Color: pastel pink & purple gradient.

Theme Song: Moonriser / Ivan Torrent.
Zodiac: The Phoenix.

Character Tracker: Character Tracker

Personality;
Quiet but by no means a wallflower, Opionated in the right company. Diligent in her work and Conscious of her place, paces through life acute aware of her status and abilities.

Charismatic with a particular sense of Humor, always quick on the retort. Stubborn when she believes she's right, to a fault.

Unafraid of getting her hooves dirty if life hands her a bad hand, considers it a challenge. Educated, well spoken and informed on all manner of topics, will happily chat your ears off if you let her.

Can be occasionally be spurned to flights of fancy and whimsy under the right circumstances.

sassy if she can get away with it.

Even on this particular step on the ladder, Corine knows that a meek personality will get you eaten faster than a weak willed noble at the new years soiree. As such, Corine styles herself as a flower, with thorns hidden beneath the petals should someone grip a little too hard. Pretty and practical, and able to defend herself if necessary. Since her birth she's been taught, trained and guided to be well rounded in just about every way, stubbornness and all. Mindful of her words in certain company, she has the capability to be incredibly candid and laugh loudly in the next, thrilled by a bad joke or three. Ready to fire out her own in an instant. Outsiders may say she's been handed perhaps the worst cards in Hireath, being born into Slavery, but she has a haughty sort of pride to it. She is after all, one of the best, and her breeding and standing allows her to avoid most of the suffering and misfortune commoners and free folk alike are subject to, in her opinion.

She's not afraid to work if required however, tie up her mane and stick her hooves right into the action if it has a purpose, or leads to somewhere. Even for the sake of not letting her mind become a tangled web, one thread overlapping until it's one giant knot of everything. She claims always to find the best in a bad situation, lest the glum pall soak into the marrow, even if beneath the veneer of collected confidence and cheer, she finds herself a chip or three. Corine prefers to deal with her more sadder emotions on her own terms, and often at the expense of not dealing with them at all, which often leaves her flustered and aghast when they occasionally well up, and oh they do well up ugly.

History;
Corine's birth wasn't a happy accident, and neither was it a product of lovers who yearned to make something precious of their tender emotions. Corine is one of the few in the mass percentage of Aodh's slave trade, past and present, bred with intention. Her parents picked after scrupulous consideration, a fine pair from a fine line of premium slaves who would come together and produce something twice as lovely. Petite, pretty and capable. Songbirds to Scholars, tailor made with the bow to match. Their hummingbird wings and plumage of gentle pastel soft enough to elicit gasps of delight, touches of paint that resembled the sun, stars and the moon overhead.

Corine was born during april showers, with a shock of curly fuzz and feather down and the delicate shape of hummingbird wings against her wet barrel. Another success, was her owners delighted exclamation in the way of a congratulations to the couple that had little choice. Corine's mother was careful enough, gentle where her father was distant. There was little need for him within her life now his part was over. Corine spent her early years with her nose buried in books under the watchful eyes of her masters, shards spent to prim her up proper with etiquette lessons and talents that would delight those that would pay the staggering sum for her. From fairy tales to the wars of ages past, Corine was expected to know them and she did. Her lessons and life left little for self expression and exploration, she was after all, property. Perhaps her only solace was the fact she rather adored pastel colors and her curly locks of hair, she preferred to let them grow long rather than shear them short as she often spied the other youngsters doing, an uncontrollable outburst from youth unable to thrive. It gave her the appearance of something soft and mild, detracted from the cut glass of her cheekbones and eyes too sharp for such a lovely, innocent face.

For her petite frame hid a quiet strength, a stubbornness and a way with words which left the receiver unable to reply until it was too late. A sharp tongue which promised a weapon once it was properly sharpened. She flittered through a confident, careful existence on the Slaver's estate, toe to toe with the rest of them, vying for a comfortable position on the ladder of ascension. The avoidance of the worst chores and worst tasks of all. Late at night with the rest of the boys and girls, she huddled in their quarters and murmured between them their hopes. Dreams. Sometimes they sang, and sometimes they simply shared stories. Some real and some old, and some so beautifully made up that it would make them dare to let their minds wander far, if only for the moment.

No, idle fancies of freedom were just that. Fantasy, something to nurse them to sleep. Corine was quite happy with her existence. The toils and hard labor she perceived from the common people drew nothing but a thin lipped expression, and similarly the lower grade slaves and their toiling chores pulled a look of pity.

She was sold on her 16th nameday with some fanfare, such expensive purchases beget some sort of celebration in the upper echelons. Considered old enough and educated enough for a role befitting her price tag to an equally well to do individual. A pretty bauble that could sing, recite history and beguile those that required beguiling on her masters behalf. Add a splash of softness amongst their estates. Leaving the Slaver's house wasn't so bad, and perhaps she mourned her mother in her own quiet way, but her tears were better spent elsewhere.

Better spent on profound moments that invoked happiness and sadness. Corine continued through her life with as little or as much fanfare as required. Bright eyed and with a shock of pastel hair, Corine proved to be a breath of fresh air to those she befriended, whom her owners told her to pay attention to. Her journals which she keeps stashed contain drawings, loose sketchings and poems. Little stories and snippets of things she knows and things she's seen. Things she wonders about and finds answer for.

By candelight she filed paperwork, wrote letters while words were dictated, and left to her best judgement in others. She proved capable, loyal, passionate and most of all devoted. Many would be hard pressed to find a fault with her. So Corine was the creme of the crop, who was by far content and daresay overjoyed by her lot in life. Free of whatever trials and tribulations awaited those with lands and titles of their own outside of her window, and the worries that creased her owners brow.

Until the day came where the Chevaliers came for the Slaves. Pit Slaves and Servile alike, there was nothing for it. For the first time, Corine's little heart fluttered in a way that was fearful, worried. She flittered on startled wings until she too was rounded up. Like some common piece. Her and the other serviles glimmered and glittered like diamonds amongst the scarred, cursing pit fighters that consumed her petite frame in their shadows, her gaze held the ones of the labor slaves who hadn't dared to escape. Or perhaps they had, and the blank gaze they gave her in return was the acceptance of an undeniable finality. Huddled in the dark district, her mourning quickly turned to unhappiness, and then unrest. She could continue to wallow, like much of her associates. A few familiar faces in the crowd pulled her sympathies, and also her voice. Pooling her hair into a bun that would simply have to do, Corine resolved to do something with herself objectively. If she continued to pick and poke at her newfound hardship with the sort of lethargy others did, she would wither and rot. So she stuck her hooves in for a lack of anything better.

And prayed to Ingacio that something would happen to put at end to this diabolical mess.

Anything at all.

If the time spent in the Dark District yielded anything good, it was well, it was Cullen. There was rage in her eyes, but there was a gentleness too. A pit fighter and rough around the edges, but her fire burned in more ways than terrible, Corine was hopeless honestly. Even as Cullen attempted to protect her, as if she was a delicate thing of spun glass and she merely laughed in turn, retied her hair and got on with it with a quip of three. There was an easiness there that the pegasus mare hadn't felt around anyone, or anyone who at least showed the slightest bit of interest in her that way. She imagined it to be quite a sight, Cullen who was all the colors of Ignacio's fire and sun, stood next to her petite, silken frame of dawn and moon hues. Lace and coarse thread to an unobservant eye she supposed. But Cullen was more than that.

And when gates finally opened, revealing streams of indignant, relieved nobles and wealthy commoners that had come to purchase them back. She made a desperate promise to the mare as she was lead away by her owner, that they would stay together. Somehow.

Other;

- comes from a premium slave line, which specializes in producing hummingbird pegasi slaves with pastel plumage, and moon/star shaped markings.

design & fullbody by queerly

Description

AP TRACKER | GALLERY | MOODBOARD

HOW TERRIFYING — AND EXHILARATING IT IS TO KNOW THAT THERE ARE CRIES IN ME
WHICH ARE STILL UNHEARD.
Name: Corine.
Nickname: Mina, Corrie.
Age: 23.
Gender: Mare.
Breed: Pegasus, Hummingbird (Mangalarga Marchador Mule).
Colour: taffy with birdcatcher spots.
Height: 14hh
Orientation: Lesbian.

Voice Actor: tba

Herd Affiliation: Aodh.
Rank: Servile Slave.

Owner: Aleksei .
Familiar: n/a
Relatives: a handful of siblings.
Significant Other: Cullen .
Children: none.

Patron God: Ignacio with silent appreciation of Alya.
Talent: Mediator [LOCKED]
Second Talent: Lore Master [LOCKED]
First Blessing: Force Fields [LOCKED]
Second Blessing: Light Manipulation [LOCKED]
Teke Color: pastel pink & purple gradient.

Theme Song: Moonriser / Ivan Torrent.
Zodiac: The Phoenix.

Character Tracker: Character Tracker

Personality;
Quiet but by no means a wallflower, Opionated in the right company. Diligent in her work and Conscious of her place, paces through life acute aware of her status and abilities.

Charismatic with a particular sense of Humor, always quick on the retort. Stubborn when she believes she's right, to a fault.

Unafraid of getting her hooves dirty if life hands her a bad hand, considers it a challenge. Educated, well spoken and informed on all manner of topics, will happily chat your ears off if you let her.

Can be occasionally be spurned to flights of fancy and whimsy under the right circumstances.

sassy if she can get away with it.

Even on this particular step on the ladder, Corine knows that a meek personality will get you eaten faster than a weak willed noble at the new years soiree. As such, Corine styles herself as a flower, with thorns hidden beneath the petals should someone grip a little too hard. Pretty and practical, and able to defend herself if necessary. Since her birth she's been taught, trained and guided to be well rounded in just about every way, stubbornness and all. Mindful of her words in certain company, she has the capability to be incredibly candid and laugh loudly in the next, thrilled by a bad joke or three. Ready to fire out her own in an instant. Outsiders may say she's been handed perhaps the worst cards in Hireath, being born into Slavery, but she has a haughty sort of pride to it. She is after all, one of the best, and her breeding and standing allows her to avoid most of the suffering and misfortune commoners and free folk alike are subject to, in her opinion.

She's not afraid to work if required however, tie up her mane and stick her hooves right into the action if it has a purpose, or leads to somewhere. Even for the sake of not letting her mind become a tangled web, one thread overlapping until it's one giant knot of everything. She claims always to find the best in a bad situation, lest the glum pall soak into the marrow, even if beneath the veneer of collected confidence and cheer, she finds herself a chip or three. Corine prefers to deal with her more sadder emotions on her own terms, and often at the expense of not dealing with them at all, which often leaves her flustered and aghast when they occasionally well up, and oh they do well up ugly.

History;
Corine's birth wasn't a happy accident, and neither was it a product of lovers who yearned to make something precious of their tender emotions. Corine is one of the few in the mass percentage of Aodh's slave trade, past and present, bred with intention. Her parents picked after scrupulous consideration, a fine pair from a fine line of premium slaves who would come together and produce something twice as lovely. Petite, pretty and capable. Songbirds to Scholars, tailor made with the bow to match. Their hummingbird wings and plumage of gentle pastel soft enough to elicit gasps of delight, touches of paint that resembled the sun, stars and the moon overhead.

Corine was born during april showers, with a shock of curly fuzz and feather down and the delicate shape of hummingbird wings against her wet barrel. Another success, was her owners delighted exclamation in the way of a congratulations to the couple that had little choice. Corine's mother was careful enough, gentle where her father was distant. There was little need for him within her life now his part was over. Corine spent her early years with her nose buried in books under the watchful eyes of her masters, shards spent to prim her up proper with etiquette lessons and talents that would delight those that would pay the staggering sum for her. From fairy tales to the wars of ages past, Corine was expected to know them and she did. Her lessons and life left little for self expression and exploration, she was after all, property. Perhaps her only solace was the fact she rather adored pastel colors and her curly locks of hair, she preferred to let them grow long rather than shear them short as she often spied the other youngsters doing, an uncontrollable outburst from youth unable to thrive. It gave her the appearance of something soft and mild, detracted from the cut glass of her cheekbones and eyes too sharp for such a lovely, innocent face.

For her petite frame hid a quiet strength, a stubbornness and a way with words which left the receiver unable to reply until it was too late. A sharp tongue which promised a weapon once it was properly sharpened. She flittered through a confident, careful existence on the Slaver's estate, toe to toe with the rest of them, vying for a comfortable position on the ladder of ascension. The avoidance of the worst chores and worst tasks of all. Late at night with the rest of the boys and girls, she huddled in their quarters and murmured between them their hopes. Dreams. Sometimes they sang, and sometimes they simply shared stories. Some real and some old, and some so beautifully made up that it would make them dare to let their minds wander far, if only for the moment.

No, idle fancies of freedom were just that. Fantasy, something to nurse them to sleep. Corine was quite happy with her existence. The toils and hard labor she perceived from the common people drew nothing but a thin lipped expression, and similarly the lower grade slaves and their toiling chores pulled a look of pity.

She was sold on her 16th nameday with some fanfare, such expensive purchases beget some sort of celebration in the upper echelons. Considered old enough and educated enough for a role befitting her price tag to an equally well to do individual. A pretty bauble that could sing, recite history and beguile those that required beguiling on her masters behalf. Add a splash of softness amongst their estates. Leaving the Slaver's house wasn't so bad, and perhaps she mourned her mother in her own quiet way, but her tears were better spent elsewhere.

Better spent on profound moments that invoked happiness and sadness. Corine continued through her life with as little or as much fanfare as required. Bright eyed and with a shock of pastel hair, Corine proved to be a breath of fresh air to those she befriended, whom her owners told her to pay attention to. Her journals which she keeps stashed contain drawings, loose sketchings and poems. Little stories and snippets of things she knows and things she's seen. Things she wonders about and finds answer for.

By candelight she filed paperwork, wrote letters while words were dictated, and left to her best judgement in others. She proved capable, loyal, passionate and most of all devoted. Many would be hard pressed to find a fault with her. So Corine was the creme of the crop, who was by far content and daresay overjoyed by her lot in life. Free of whatever trials and tribulations awaited those with lands and titles of their own outside of her window, and the worries that creased her owners brow.

Until the day came where the Chevaliers came for the Slaves. Pit Slaves and Servile alike, there was nothing for it. For the first time, Corine's little heart fluttered in a way that was fearful, worried. She flittered on startled wings until she too was rounded up. Like some common piece. Her and the other serviles glimmered and glittered like diamonds amongst the scarred, cursing pit fighters that consumed her petite frame in their shadows, her gaze held the ones of the labor slaves who hadn't dared to escape. Or perhaps they had, and the blank gaze they gave her in return was the acceptance of an undeniable finality. Huddled in the dark district, her mourning quickly turned to unhappiness, and then unrest. She could continue to wallow, like much of her associates. A few familiar faces in the crowd pulled her sympathies, and also her voice. Pooling her hair into a bun that would simply have to do, Corine resolved to do something with herself objectively. If she continued to pick and poke at her newfound hardship with the sort of lethargy others did, she would wither and rot. So she stuck her hooves in for a lack of anything better.

And prayed to Ingacio that something would happen to put at end to this diabolical mess.

Anything at all.

If the time spent in the Dark District yielded anything good, it was well, it was Cullen. There was rage in her eyes, but there was a gentleness too. A pit fighter and rough around the edges, but her fire burned in more ways than terrible, Corine was hopeless honestly. Even as Cullen attempted to protect her, as if she was a delicate thing of spun glass and she merely laughed in turn, retied her hair and got on with it with a quip of three. There was an easiness there that the pegasus mare hadn't felt around anyone, or anyone who at least showed the slightest bit of interest in her that way. She imagined it to be quite a sight, Cullen who was all the colors of Ignacio's fire and sun, stood next to her petite, silken frame of dawn and moon hues. Lace and coarse thread to an unobservant eye she supposed. But Cullen was more than that.

And when gates finally opened, revealing streams of indignant, relieved nobles and wealthy commoners that had come to purchase them back. She made a desperate promise to the mare as she was lead away by her owner, that they would stay together. Somehow.

Other;

- comes from a premium slave line, which specializes in producing hummingbird pegasi slaves with pastel plumage, and moon/star shaped markings.

design & fullbody by queerly