This is an urban fantasy roleplay. Please note that this is not paranormal romance or high fantasy, although I'm sure there will be elements of both. We want the adventure and excitement of merging two worlds, not 'romance-the-nearest-person.' If you're wanting that, you should probably go someplace else, because you won't find it here.

It will be set up in stages. Right now, we'll be working on Stage I: Beyond the Wall. For the moment, we will only be accepting applications for magical creatures already living within the forest, to get set up. We're looking for all kinds of creatures: Fey, Kelpies, Nymphs, Sprites, etcetera.

But let's not get too crazy. Our setting will be Southeast Georgia. We're talking Savannah-area, but more inland than that. So keep that in mind while creating a character for this stage of the roleplay. Your character should be a species that makes sense for the area around the time the fence was put into place (probably around the late 1800s).

At this time, we will not be accepting any human applications. Save those characters for Stage II!

Anyway, the idea here is that there are these old-world creatures (and some younger ones with more radical ideas), and they will soon be unleashed into the modern world. We want to know how they will cope with such a sudden change in environment, and if they can survive in it.

Time will work a little differently, here. Every two days in real time will be equivalent to one day in roleplay time. We hope this will give everyone enough time to respond. Of course, falling behind is understandable, but we need to keep the plot moving, or things will fall apart.

If we need more time, don't hesitate to ping me in this thread, and we'll see what we can do about it.

Applications will be just that: applications. If you apply to this roleplay, there is no guarantee that you'll get in. is my partner-in-crime, and we will be approving (or rejecting, as the case may be) applications as they come in. If you get rejected, don't be offended! It just means there are some things you need to work on before we can approve you. We'll do our best to give you constructive criticism, and from there it's up to you to decide if you want to try again.

We expect everyone on the forum to be literate. This means no one-liners. We're also going to stress your ability to provide quality over quantity. Sure, you might be able to write 1,000 words (been there, done that) about the scenery, but let's be real, here: no one wants to read that. We'd rather you crank out a couple of good, meaty paragraphs and move on. Makes things easier for everyone.

You will be required to submit a writing sample with your application. No intro posts, please: give us a way to really judge your writing. We're not going to be too harsh, we just want to make sure your character isn't going to be off catching butterflies by him/herself while everyone else is actively progressing the plot. No offense.

As far as characters go, we will operate on a loyalty system. Everyone will start off with one character for Stage I. When Stage II comes along, you will be allowed to submit a second character, and by stage III, a third.

Note, however, that no one is allowed more than three characters, so you can save your extra characters for later stages, if you wish.

When the 7 days (two weeks our time, remember) are up, we will pause the roleplay and commence Stage II, which will be revealed as Stage I is drawing to a close.

1. PG-13, guys. Cussing is fine, but please realize that the more your character curses, the more we'll be inclined to believe that you don't actually know how to write dialogue.

2. Let's not violate the Terms of Service.

3. Be civil to each other in the planning thread and OOC. Characters can fight all you want, but anyone seen creating OOC drama will be asked to leave.

4. Post order: I really don't mind what order we post in, but please don't intentionally leave people out. If three characters are having a conversation and only one responds, be courteous and wait for the third party to reply.

5. You must post at least once every two days for the first stage. We can't have people disappearing on us. If you're going to be MIA for a while, that's fine! Just let us know first, okay? We understand that life gets busy; we're college students. Believe me, we get it.

6. Literacy is a must.

7. You must fill out an application in order to join this roleplay. Either or I will approve it. After that, we will invite you to join the group ( ) and post in the in-character thread when it is created.

8. No Mary Sues or Gary Stus, please. We know you can do better than that.

9. Again, one character per stage and no more than three characters total.

10. Let's have fun!

Please note that we reserve the right to change the rules in the future if needed. We will not do so without notice.

Please submit your skelly (as detailed below) as an application in this thread under a spoiler with the character name as the spoiler title!

We will accept applications for Stage I for FIVE DAYS.

March 08, 2013 8:00 p.m. EST

until

March 13, 2013 11:59 p.m. EST

If you are still interested after the deadline, please wait until Stage II is accepting applications.

Username:

1. Rowan Twigtreader played by Bonnibell
2. Cabbage played by Buttherapy
3. Oakland Moss played by archaic
4. Creaks Like Bones played by Krepta
5. Ayelet played by Violet
6. Tsirisis played by BlizzardLizzard
7. Junipe played by Dolphi
8. Odolf played by Synesthete

Username:

Character Name: Rowan Twigtreader

Age: 131

Sex: Male

Race/Abilities: Rowan is a scout; a member of the Trooping Faeries, also known as the Twyleth Teg. He boasts that he has 'the eyes of an eagle,' because he gets (quite literally) a bird's eye view of things. Whereas he does most of his actual scouting on foot, he makes use of the birds native to the forest. He knows their songs like his mother's lullabies or the familiar tunes the bards play during the dances. The birds like him well enough – at least they don't try to eat him anymore. He can't really blame them; he supposes that, to a bird, the fluttering of fairy wings speaks of a very large and tasty insect dinner. But they can differentiate between friend and food now, and he's certainly not complaining. The majority of his most valuable information comes from the birds. He's found that Crows are the most useful, as they are a great deal more intelligent than some of the others (he learned a long time ago never to ask a Magpie for anything. The reflection of the sun off of water was enough to drive even the most focused Magpie to distraction).

Personality/Physical Description: Naturally, Rowan is light-hearted and adventurous. As a youngling, he always dared to climb the tallest trees and take the path less traveled. He preferred to cut his own trail across a roaring river of rapids while the rest of the troop found some makeshift bridge or another, not daring to fly for fear of water splashing their fragile wings. He has an adventurer's heart, and that's gotten him into trouble more times than he can count. Thinking is not his strong suit; he's very quick to act, which consequentially means that thinking comes later, and usually in the form of regretful reflection.

Under normal circumstances, he stands just over a foot tall. His body is thin, fit, and sturdy – made for maneuvering through the woods. His skin is pale, though you wouldn't know it from the layers of dirt and mud caked on. His hair is a dark nest filled with twigs, and he doesn't care to do anything for it. More often than not, he takes a dip in the rivers and streams that run through the forest, so he figures it gets clean somehow and doesn't bother. His mother, Lumis, used to scold him for his poor hygiene and claim that her son would never find a mate.

So far, he hasn't proved her wrong, but that's neither here nor there. He's too in love with nature to consider a family with any of the women in his living-group. Especially if they wouldn't approve of his affinity for mud-lying. Sometimes, the best way to know the workings of the forest is to lie in the nearest mud puddle with only his deep brown eyes and his nose breaking the surface.

No one really questions his methods; after all, he's one of the best informers around. It doesn't matter how he gets the job done, so long as the troop is kept safe.

History: Rowan was born in 1832 in human terms. He wasn't around for his troop's immigration to the Colonies, but he heard about it later from the elders. They stole away on Oglethorpe's ship, huddled beneath the deck. No one really gave him a straight answer about why they decided to leave Wales, or why they thought that the Colonies would be a better fit, but here they were, all the same. He grew up with around fifteen others his own age, raised in a group setting. He had his real mother, of course, but all of the other faeries in the troop served as stand-in parents whenever Lumis wasn't around. The forest was vast, then. It stretched as far as the eye could see, and it was beautiful and wild. The spirit of nature was everywhere, untamed.

It was in Rowan, too.

He was a very rambunctious child, always getting into some sort of mischief. He was bold and vibrant, and very nimble. They recruited him into the scouting program as soon as he was old enough to fly. Still, no amount of discipline could tame his spirit, and he took absolutely nothing seriously. Everything was a joke and a game. No one could convince him otherwise. The word 'death' wasn't even in his vocabulary until the humans brought their guns.

Rowan was playing with one of his brothers (all young faeries raised together considered themselves siblings) when he heard the first crack of thunder. Except it was much louder, and it was like no thunder he'd ever heard before. They stopped their frolicking at once and looked around wildly for the source. Then came another and another. The forest was still and apprehensive, tense with an energy he'd never felt before.

All at once, the forest came alive with panic. Birds took flight from the underbrush, crying out in fear. Animals of all kinds raced by. All fleeing in the same direction, all terrified of something. That noise. It wasn't natural. Rowan and his brother quickly took cover in the branches of an oak tree (much to the annoyance of several Oakmen who resided there), and peered down to observe. Slowly, a group of humans emerged with strange sticks in their hands. The air smelled like fire. Rowan would always remember that.

“There she is,” said one with a thick, dark beard. He pointed with a beefy hand toward something Rowan couldn't see. “Don't want to scare her.”

Slowly, the man raised the stick to shoulder-level. He squinted out of one eye, and pulled something with his finger.

The resulting sound nearly knocked Rowan from the tree, and his ears rang for the rest of the afternoon. That didn't even compare with what he saw next.

The man delved into the underbrush, disappearing from view for a few minutes. He returned with a triumphant grin on his face. It made Rowan's stomach churn.

“And that,” he said as he dropped the doe's carcass on the ground in front of his friends, “is how you hunt, boys. Let's take 'er home.”

It was Rowan's first experience with death, and it certainly wasn't his last.

For a long while, humans made him extremely nervous. Their guns seemed so brutal. He didn't understand the need for killing, or hunting, or anything that the humans did. As he matured, though, and scouting training intensified, he began to discover more about them. Scouting involved spying on humans, and he soon found that they hunted for food. What they needed to survive, nothing more. They used their pelts for shelter from the wind, and the meat from the animals, they consumed. It wasn't wasteful, he supposed, but he still didn't like it. He much preferred his diet of berries and leafy greens.

Eventually, when he came of age, Rowan was sent to live with a smaller group of faeries. It wasn't as hard as he thought it would be; he had been groomed for it for his entire existence. It was just part of the journey. He supposed it was around this time that the iron fence showed up for the first time. He remembered well the construction of the manor house, and how the forest shrunk. It wasn't so bad, though. The woman who lived there was a kindly thing. Not all humans believed in faeries, he'd come to understand, but this woman was different. She instructed her help not to destroy the faery rings on her property, but she never ventured inside them either.

She left milk and honey as a peace offering, without fail, every evening just before sundown. Various herbs and spices hung in bags from the rails outside of her home, left to dry there by her withered hands. She understood, and respected the forest. But slowly, the fence grew. The forest was sectioned off from the rest.

Rowan's living-group didn't pay it much mind. They were too concerned with mating and dancing, and whatever else it was that they did. It didn't seem threatening at first – they had the freedom to wander the grounds. They could leave whenever they wanted.

But one day, the woman stopped leaving her milk and honey. He saw her one day, dressed all in black, standing at the edge of the forest. She looked like a troll turned to stone, just standing there in the field, facing off with the trees. She trembled, the chill of the wind no doubt blowing through the dress she wore.

“You took her!” she called into the depths of the woods. “She was only four years old. How dare you--” She spat on the ground and rubbed it in with the heel of her boot. “Why? Why my granddaughter? Why not me?”

She kept repeating these phrases in variation, each time growing more and more frenzied and upset, until eventually she sank to the ground and started pulling up dirt. She didn't stop until a young man – also dressed in black (Rowan later found out that this was the color of human mourning) – came and steered her away from the woods.

Not long after that, the fence closed around them. They were trapped.

And there they stayed.

Now, scouting doesn't involve as much as it once did, but it's almost more important. Every day, he patrols the borders of the fence. He keeps a lookout and monitors the development of the human dwellings beyond the fence. The birds keep him informed of development beyond what he can see. The spirit of nature still lingers, but it's weak. Sickly and dying, the spirit of Man and Industry suffocates it. He can feel its pain, but from behind the iron bars, he can do nothing.

Anything Else: If anyone wants to take on roles of the troop currently residing within the forest, that would be awesome! Rowan would love to have some interaction with his brethren. :) There are probably around five of them living together in their little group.

Writing Sample:

This was clearly just not her day. She never should have woken up this morning. Or gotten out of bed. Or decided to do anything with her life. 

It was hard not to be offended. Did she have some kind of people-repellent happening? Maybe her haircut was offensive to troll culture or something, although the only offensive thing she could even think of regarding trolls and haircuts was the stupid little dolls. The ones with big tufts of hair and exaggerated features that haunted children's nightmares right alongside the dreaded Furbies. 

Or maybe she smelled wrong. Maybe being a changeling had royally screwed her over, and she'd never be accepted in either place. The little people had told her that Someplace would be accepting and different, but so far, it wasn't shaping up to be that way at all. If anything, the people here seemed even more judgmental than humans. At least when she was normal, she had friends. Friends she hadn't spoken to since graduation. Elena wondered what they were doing now, and if college was going okay. If any of them had boyfriends or girlfriends or jobs or children. 

It was getting late, and she really just did not have the energy to keep doing this. What she needed was a long, warm soak in a bubbly tub and to curl up under her blankets for a while before dinner started. That would be perfect.

So she tossed her sign in the nearest trash can and headed off to the second wing, climbing the stairs two at a time. Her mood improved with each step she took, because every step was one closer to the comforts of home. Or, temporary home. The only home she had right now. 

Technically speaking, she had some other duties to attend to right now, but no one would really notice if she didn't do them. It wasn't like she had someone to report to immediately. Nobody watched her every move or threatened to take away her position with the school, because nobody cared. 

As she walked past the door with the scratches on it, she inwardly groaned. This was a destructive batch already. She made a mental note of the room number, because it was clear this kid was going to be trouble. She didn't understand some boys' need to mark everything as their own. Maybe it was some kind of weird hypermasculinity thing. Definitely over-compensating for something. Poor guy. She'd had a boyfriend like that once. She was fifteen and he was sixteen, and one day he came home with the biggest truck imaginable. It made the monster trucks on TV look small.

Needless to say, they hadn't been together for very long. Because he was a douchebag, obviously.

Finally, she reached her door. Room 218. Home sweet home. She keyed in and pushed open the door. Immediately, she was surrounded with the most comfortable scent she could possibly think of: her own. The room was decorated warmly and lightly, to give the illusion of constant summertime. There was one wall -- the wall beside her bed, because she'd claimed wall-side as her own -- dedicated to a network of fairy lights. They were perpetually on, and glowed softly in the dim light of the room. 

Her bed was covered with a quilt her grandmother had made. It was her favorite, and she was glad she'd brought it with her on vacation, because it was one of the few family items she actually had left. There was also a huge pile of pillows she'd accumulated. Sometimes, being an RA had its perks. There was a spattering of pictures taped to her headboard, and most of them were poor quality. They were taken on her phone, and ranged from her mother, mid-laugh, as she played with their dog, Lucy, to her two best friends from high school with spaghetti noodles turned walrus teeth. 

Everything was exactly as she'd left it, and she sank onto her bed with a grateful sigh.

Except, something was wrong. The bathroom door was shut. Upon further investigation, she realized that steam was curling from under the door, and she caught the vague scent of... body wash? Her body wash.

Great. Her roommate had moved in, and she was already using her things without permission. This day was just getting better and better.

Character Name: Cabbage

Age: 287 or 6 (Born May 2, 1725 – Died December 6, 1731)

Sex: Female

Race/Abilities: Ghost/Banshee

Personality/Physical Description: Cabbage is a ghost and therefore appears as a specter in varying degrees of opacity, some being able to see her clearly and other not at all. She is of Native American and European descent, and has soft black hair that falls down to her waist. She does not appear to be 287, rather she is perpetually a six year old. When in the throws of her sorrow, her face can appear grotesque, her mouth yawning wide and the sockets of her eyes drooping down dramatically. She will often appear in the boughs of a tree.

History: Cabbage is a descendant of the Yamacraw Indians, a tribe who moved to the area around 1723. Shortly after she was born, Cabbage was stolen from her cradle and replaced with a changeling. The fairies brought her back to their mound in the forest and she lived with them for many years. Unfortunately, the Fae are fickle folk, and after a few years they tired of her. As she grew bigger, the novelty of her wore off. She began to grow too big for the mound and one winter the Fae left her out in the cold to die. The following spring, an Elder tree began to sprout from the soil where she died.

Cabbage has lived in the forest as a ghost for over 200 years. Even though her physical appearance is frozen in time, parts of her mind continued to age as she observed the changing world around her. The result of this imbalanced growth was a severe bipolar disorder. Cabbage is at times a wise and discerning young woman, and the next instant an immature, screaming child. Anything can throw her into a fit.

Cabbage speaks English, to an extent. A very short part of her life was lived in a human household, so she does remember a few human words. She also speaks in Birdsong, which she learned from the Fae. It is the closest equivalent to Fae language that there is. If she were exposed to human language it would be possible for her to pick up on it, but only in between fits.

Anything Else: Though Cabbage is of Native American descent, she was born into a European household as her father was European and her mother Yamacraw. English would have been the language of choice. She was very young when she was abducted, so she does not remember her parents or ever living a human life.

Writing Sample: She was in heaven. Actual heaven, where nothing was dirty or smelled bad and you were never cold and you got to be covered in soft things. She could die happy, right here and now. If anyone ever tried to take this bathtub away from her she would just have to commit murder. Plain and simple. There was no going back from this. If she ever made it back to the city she would start breaking-and-entering, just she should could borrow bathtubs. And shampoo. It felt so good to massage it into her scalp, and when she rinsed it stripped all of the oil out of her hair, leaving it clean, but coarse. That was what the conditioner was for. She'd never used it before, but she'd heard about it in magazines. She squirted out a tentative handful and rubbed it in. She couldn't believe how different it felt after she rinsed again, and she couldn't wait to see what it would look like after it dried. Maybe it would even have Volume (she'd read about that in magazines, too). 

Hulda was so comfortable in the tub she almost forgot where she was, and began to doze off. It was the sound of a door closing that woke her up. Her eyes snapped open and she sat paralyzed for a moment, listening intently for sounds from the other room. There were a few footsteps, the creak of a bed, the rustle of sheets, and then silence. Hulda sat quietly, waiting for some other sound, but none came. She was faced with a tough decision. She could either sit in the bathroom forever and never leave the tub, she could grab all of her stuff and make a run or it, or she could show her new roommate who was boss.

Devising a plan, Hulda quickly jumped out of the tub and pulled the plug on the drain. The water began to swirl away beneath the thick froth of bubbles, like a storm when seen from above. She hadn't realized when she'd been sitting in it, but the water had turned an ugly shade of brown from all the dirt that had been on her. The next thing she did was find a towel. There was a small stack under the sink and she quickly dried off with one, tousling her hair in it before wrapping it around her body and tucking the top in around her chest so that it would stay on by itself. Making sure that her hands were completely dried off, she then rifled through her pockets pulling out a case of cigarette papers, a lighter, and a precious old tobacco tin. She opened it carefully, keeping it over the toilet lid in case anything fell out. The tin was almost full, a rare sight these days, and the small, brown leaves inside shimmered with a strange iridescence. Her tobacco was mixed with Glamour. Being as careful as she could, she tapped some out onto a square of cigarette paper before rolling it into a joint. It was a fragile little thing, but hopefully it would work...providing whoever it was in the other room wasn't too strong. 

Hulda placed the joint gently between her lips and flicked her lighter. A flame sprang up and she touched it to the end of the paper briefly, being careful not to burn too much. The first puff was always bitter and painful. It filled her lungs like she was drowning. It wasn't the nicotine that did it, it was the Glamour. It was the feeling of all of the villi in her lungs absorbing a rush of magical energy. With the second puff the feeling mellowed into a sense of warm fullness. She exhaled through her nose, the shimmering smoke exiting in a billowing rush to rise up into the air around her. But it did not dissipate into the steam; it swirled around her like a fur cloak, surrounding her in an iridescent sheen. She had missed this feeling. 

As she rose her confidence level rose with her, and she strolled to the bathroom door still clad only in a towel. As she turned the knob she took another puff from the quickly shrinking joint, then spilled out into the other room on a wave of steam. The heat and moisture rose up around her, curling out to meet the cooler air of the bedroom. She spotted her roommate sitting on the bed by the wall, and as she opened her mouth to speak a honey sweet tumble of smoke came pouring out.

"Hi there," she purred, her voice low and enchanting, imbued with every ounce of persuasion and confidence the Glamour gave her. Unfortunately, her entrance fell a little flat when the smoke before her eyes cleared a bit and she was actually able to see the person sitting on the bed. It was the fairy.

Character Name: Oakland Moss

Age: 302

Sex: Male

Race/Abilities: Oakland belongs to a group of creatures dubbed with the name of Treefolk. They are trees that walk with human like faces made from the knots in the trees. They can speak and it’s usually a grumbly sound deep within their throats. They wander the forests tending after the younglings and making sure they grow properly, but there are occasions where they grow wrong, but turn out all right. Many of the Treefolk have been around centuries and know more about the forest than any other creature that lives there.

Personality/Physical Description: Being nearly three hundred years old, Oakland has seen and done more than many of the creatures living around him. He’s travelled much of Georgia and witnessed the ever-changing world around him. He migrated to Southeast Georgia around 1840 and has stayed in the same wooded area ever since tending to saplings, as they grow older and older.

Being among the oldest Live Oak trees in Georgia, Oakland is a sturdy tree. He stands at around thirty-five feet tall with a diameter of about sixty feet. He’s definitely not as tall as most of his friends who average from forty to eighty feet tall with diameters from sixty to one hundred feet. He’s far more round than he is tall which he doesn’t mind, just makes him that much more unique from his brethren. His bark is a very dark shade of brown that nearly crumbles beneath your hand. It’s constantly falling off leaving it smooth to the touch. Moss and leaves hang off most of his limbs and some lies across his shoulders and back acting like a sort of natural cape to keep animals from trying to snuggle into the knots or notches in his back.

Outside of his height, he’s slightly more unique. Most Live Oak trees have branches that spread and twist like yarn stretching quite far attempting to take up as much room as possible. Oakland is no different. His arms are twisted and bent with a few notches where animals like to sleep. More than once he’s had to shoo chipmunks and squirrels out of them to keep them from making homes in his arms. The saplings find it terribly hilarious and will occasionally give the little critters a nudge into doing so. They’ve gotten in trouble more than once for doing so. His legs are similar with a few smaller branches jutting off to the side covered in moss or leaves.

His face juts directly out of his torso with no clearly defined neck. It’s tall with branches poking out from behind his head and around his shoulders and a few from his back. His eyes are the most human-like things about him. They’re a deep gold color sticking out like sore thumbs, yet they still show his age deep within them. His mouth is hidden behind a beard of moss that hangs to about the middle of his chest. His nose juts out from his face in a large, round mass looking awkward with his face.

Oakland is a delightful person. He enjoys telling stories of his travels and will spend hours upon hours talking to a rock about where he’s been and what he’s done. Occasionally, the forest creatures will join for a listen. He’s rather jovial in his old age and has even been known to play a few pranks on his friends. They don’t find it nearly as funny as he does and more than once he’s gotten into trouble. He just thinks that just because he’s old doesn’t mean he has to stop living a happy life.

He’s not very fond of the wall as it shut out many of the other trees who could have joined his clan. He can see over the wall and can be seen staring into the vastness that he’d once travelled. Oakland misses his travels, which is why he spends a lot his time telling stories, to reminisce in the past.

History: Oakland wasn’t born like everyone else. He grew from a small seed planted in Southern George in the year 1711. He grew ever so slowly getting taller and wider with each passing year. When he finally reached a hundred years old, his elders taught him how to walk. And boy did he walk! He wandered from East to West and North to South exploring every forest he came upon. He didn’t return home nor would he ever settling into his own forest around the year 1840.

For years after, he watched saplings grown into younglings teaching them to walk just as he was taught and telling stories of his history and the history of Treefolk. Around the late 1800’s the wall started to appear. It was a slow process built by humans. He’d known humans for years watching them change, grow, and expand further and further across the state cutting and burning down forests to make room for themselves. He wasn’t angry with them, just disappointed that they’d destroy such beautiful land to build man-made structures instead.

As the wall continued to spread around his home he began to feel afraid. Afraid that the humans would destroy his home, but that’s not what happened. An old woman closed the forest off completely with the construction of this iron wall. She locked the forest away to live eternally in peace with very little human interaction. Oakland liked it better that way. Humans were destructive and he didn’t want to see his home be destroyed by them. He feels safer inside his iron cage.

Anything Else: N/A

Writing Sample: Beckett couldn’t deny that leaving Aaron here hadn’t been the best idea he’d had planning this out, but he couldn’t very well keep him in the car. That wouldn’t make the surprise very surprising. Nor would it be any fun, but leaving him at the amusement park with some guys wasn’t so bad. At least he hadn’t wandered off and gotten kidnapped, but the least they could have done was make sure he didn’t eat too much sugar. They clearly weren’t very good at babysitting. Next time he’ll find better babysitters.

He could tell Aaron wanted to go on the ride and he knew that Ariel didn’t want to go. Just looking at her, anyone could tell she was terrified of the ride. Plus Beckett had a feeling she’d probably throw up all over him if she did go on the ride. So not going on it seemed like the better option.

Aaron would probably ride the ride no matter what, but Beckett didn’t feel it was safe to leave him to stand in line and ride the roller coaster alone. He knew Ariel would tell him to go ride with her brother, just because the boy really wanted him to. Beckett wanted to go on it anyway. It was huge and he couldn’t resist the thrill it would give him.

He smiled as Ariel released his hand wrapping her arms around his waist and smiling up at him. She looked so damn cute with her wet hair and gorgeous eyes. He smiled wrapping his arms around her as well. He chuckled rolling his eyes. ”Aaron would hold your hair,” he replied, winking. He gave her a slight squeeze as she told him to go ride with Aaron. He nodded in agreement.

”I’ll make sure he safely touches back on solid ground,” Beckett replied. Then her soft lips were pressed against his cheeks and it took all his willpower not to move his head just a tad so her lips were pressed against his instead. He managed it though, slowly disentangling himself from her arms and turning toward Aaron.

”Let’s go kid.” Then he started toward the line a huge smile crossing his face as he wrapped an arm around Aaron’s shoulders.

It wasn’t long before they were climbing into their seats right at the front. The bars were pulled down in front of them and soon they were soaring off the wind ripping at their hair and drying them off. The roller coaster twisted and turned; spinning constantly; diving and climbing higher. It was a wild ride and Beckett loved every second of it! Aaron appeared to be enjoying it himself. He had a huge smile on his face and his hands raised in the air. Definitely enjoying it.

The ride slowed to a stop and Beckett climbed out his hair plastered against his forehead and his clothing clinging to him. He glanced over at Aaron and chuckled as he looked ridiculous with his hair sticking up and his clothes pressed against his skin. Yeah, they probably looked awesome. As they exited the gate, Beckett came to a stop his gaze scanning the crowd looking for Ariel. He narrowed his eyes and sighed shaking his head. ”Looks like she’s disappeared. Better go find her before she gets too lost,” Beckett said, gently nudging Aaron as he started off in search of her. He was sure she wouldn’t go on a ride though. Most of them were roller coasters anyway and he knew there was an arcade. That was where he was headed. Seemed like the most logical place she’d be anyway.

Character Name: Creaks Like Bones, "Creaks" for short. Has adopted the name, "Morrel" for human encounters.

Age: About 1,700 ( Going off the age of most of the older Cypress Trees ) years Old, possibly older. Being an 'ageless' creature, he hasn't really bothered to count, and years can seem like days sometimes. However, he can remember fairly far back, and he is certainly no longer a young creature.

Sex: Identifies with Male.

Race/Abilities: Creaks is a Forest Aspect, which is to say that he's a part of the forest itself, though only a very small part. Each aspect is different from the other in physical appearance, but Creaks himself most resembles a great Elk or a Moose covered in moss and bark. He as a Forest Aspect/Forest spirit is bound to his point of origin, which is a large Cypress that can be found deep within the forest. A smaller Cypress can be seen on his back, and it's appearance will always reflect the health of the Origin Tree.

Creaks Like Bones is a physically powerful, though fairly slow moving creature. He possesses immense strength and endurance and can withstand many wounds that might be life threatening to another creature, in part because only a small part of him is actual flesh and blood. The rest is living wood, leaves, and roots, with the life-source in the center, protected by layers and layers of thick, woody hide. This life-source comes in the form of a luminescent sap that has potent healing capabilities, as well as the ability to cause plant-life to bloom and restore itself where it falls, though in order to access it a fairly deep wound must be made. If Creaks is seriously hurt, he may restore himself overnight if he returns to the tree he is bound to.

However, if Creaks Like Bones does not return to his tree within 24 hours of straying from it he will begin to wilt and weaken, and finally die. He must return to his tree nightly for up to at least six hours of rest and to recharge his batteries, so to speak. Anything that happens to his tree similarly affects him, and if it were to be destroyed he would similarly die as well.

He is also capable of fairly limited shape-shifting, but seems to stick mostly to his one form unless pressed to dire circumstance.

Personality/Physical Description: As mentioned before Creaks most resembles an Elk or a Moose particularly in the head, neck and antlers. A good deal of him is covered in gray-green, moss-like 'fur', which increasingly darkens into a slightly browner color as it reaches the neck. He has a shorter, rounder muzzle than an elk or a moose, with long, tulip shaped ears, a broad nose, and small, dark eyes. He has massive, branching antlers the color of bleached wood, which they may actually be judging by the whorls and lines that cover them. Branches and crags of a similar substance crop up here and there all along his body, particularly along his spine, up until they reach the miniature tree sprouting out of his back.

He is most often seen in his bipedal form and stands at a massive 17 feet, though he can also occasionally be seen in a more quadrupedal form, which is about half that size. His feet in both forms are gnarled and root-like, and might resemble bird's feet if they were ever trimmed back. In his more feral form these root 'feet' take the place of his bipedal form's 'hands', which are shorter, more mobile root-like structures. On both his hand and his feet, his 'fur' thins out significantly until dark, wood-like flesh can be seen underneath.

He can also change into a fairly convincing human guise, though close examination would easily dispel such illusions, and it is fairly uncomfortable to remain in for long, as he must compact himself significantly to do so. It is usually a form used to buy the slow moving giant enough time to escape to somewhere safer. From afar he seems like a gray haired, grizzled old man with startlingly dark eyes, perhaps in his early 50's. However, upon closer inspection, one might find that his pale skin is paper-thin and cracked, and his hair too-thick, a well crafted construct made from dried leaves and grass. The only real thing is the eyes, peering out of a human mask while the real beast lurks beneath.

As far as personality goes, Creaks is like everyone's nosy old grandfather. He's probably plenty wise, and no one doubts he's seen a lot during his lifetime, and hell, he probably has some pretty good stories to tell, but no one can stand to hear him blather on anymore, and goodness is he an insufferable know-it-all. Still, he's fairly good natured, and he's not likely to hurt anyone besides irritating their ears a bit. If he grumbles and gripes off in the corner somewhere there's no harm done. Oh, wait, he's coming this way? Oh. Yay.

History: As far as Creaks knows, he was always in the forest, and always will be. He is sure he was born, like all creatures are, though he cannot remember when or how. Unlike many of the forest's resident's, his life is a simple life, and he mostly keeps to himself, though he does enjoy a good conversation once and a while. For the most part he has been content to simply exist from day to day and tend to his tree. However, all this commotion has forced him into a more social state of being, and he knows in his very core that this new development with the fence can bring nothing but trouble. Worst of all, he's determined that everyone else knows this too.

Anything Else: Nope!

Writing Sample: Maximus was still as the tide of fleeing wildlife passed him, a testament to their newest arrival. His expression as he watched was of a man in no hurry, an individual comfortable in his own domicile, his own place of power, but there was a faint flicker of annoyance there as well. Someone was in his garden. He could hear the birds in their cages, distressed at their inability to escape, as well as their mewls, howls, and whines of the other animals in his menagerie. He turned on his heels and moved towards the commotion, though he did not speed up his pace, moving leisurely over the grounds.

At last he came to his personal gardens. A sprawling paradise of flowers, fragrant herbs, and bountiful fruit trees. There was a humming, fluttering sound from the back, where the zoo cages were. It was the sound of hundreds of wings beating frantically at once as his birds tried to escape their cages, blind in their panic. Susa growled, and the vampire reached a pale, strong fingered hand down to comfort him, though there was a deep, angry scowl on his face that set his features into an even harsher countenance than usual.

"You there," he growled at last. His eyes fell on the other vampire. He had not bothered to will them back to brown, and they blazed with a violent golden light. He doubted the other man was mortal anyhow. "This is private property." His voice held a booming authority to it, and it carried well over the flowers and benches and winding paths to the stranger. Within their cages, the birds quieted, almost stilling completely, though the occasional twitter of distress could still be heard.

He uttered something soft to Susa, then left his pet where he was and moved off towards the other, still moving with slow confidence, though his great strides ate up the ground before him despite his calm pace. The great cat flattened his ears and growled, but his Master had commanded. He would wait, but he wouldn't like it. Pointedly, the spotted feline showed his teeth at the man in a great, hissing breath that coiled like smoke up into the cool dawn air.

"If," Maximus continued, "You have just arrived, they would be happy to receive you at the barn or the house, but this garden, my garden, is off limits." At least, it was without special permission. He liked to punish those unfortunate enough to have erred in his presence with manure duties, or perhaps with the unpleasant duty of feeding his carnivores, though Lucien preferred to do that. Still, the meat wasn't always store bought, so to speak, and nothing drove home obedience like watching a young tiger chewing on a few fingers.