Arran Kinnaird
 Name: Arran Kinnaird Nationality: Highlander/Lowlander, raised Highlander. Guild: Commonwealth with higher potential towards remaining there or joining the Army/College. Rank: N/A Age: < 1 year Gender: Male Palette: Arctice (White, Russet) Eye Color: Green Size: Medium Personality: [List the 5 profile words + Detailed Description]
Roleplay Sample: We're pretty open to creative freedom for young Arran, we just ask that if you want him to be 'evil' or 'dark' that he develop those traits rather than pop out of the womb a monster. xD
The links below can be used to reference what life might be like in the Kinniard Clan/their little family. Arran will live in th Highlands (Perth) with Sorcha, Baelfire & Clan Kinnaird. Imediate Family: Baelfire: Father, Soldier in the Imperial Army (Royalist) NOTE: Baelfire wil be away on work a lot, due to being in the Imperial Army, but when he is home he will spend most , if not all of his time with Sorcha & the kids. Sorcha Kinnaird: Mother, Hunter in the Commonwealth (Voxi) Gwydion & Orlaith, his younger brother and sister (Undecided) Iona, their grandmother (currently an NPC) Kit and Essie reserve the right to reclaim this character should the adopter fall inactive or neglect the character. This character may not be taken to other sites without explicit permission. |
He is sullen. A man plagued by the weight of this world from the start. A burden that he has undertaken all of his own volition. For it is upon his ivory shoulders that the balance between the highlands and the lowlands sits. It is lodged within his chest that the Voxi and the Royalist ideals coexist. It is within his stormy mind that these opposite worlds constantly collide to create just as tumultuous a presence. He is selfish. There is an inherent necessity to find fulfillment, to find happiness, to find some sort of peace. Such an impossible task when stuck so adamantly in the middle of everything this life has to offer. Whilst others may view his attempts at accomplishing such goals as egocentric, he views it as the simple pursuit of destiny. He is headstrong. Borne to a kingdom divided, to a family split in beliefs, it is befitting a man to be steadfast in his views. There is a strict classification of all things here and it is imperative to understand one’s place amongst them. For if you are not one thing than you are but another. Things are black or white, there is no grey, just as there is no convincing of him otherwise. He is serious. Little humor is to be found in a beast of conviction. This life is short and there is much to be accomplished in it. A fruitless fate that separates the man from the pup, the soldier from the citizen or even the criminal. He is impulsive. Perhaps a testament to an underlying immaturity, he acts outright with little foresight or planning. For he not only comprehends the concept of finite time but so too the rush of immediate gratification. It is about achieving his personal directives while also finally feeling something, anything that isn’t the incessant storms of his thoughts. template by bean
The little lion man lay perched upon the remains of the ancient stone edifice, as much a piece of Perth’s history now as his ancestors. Perhaps the only evidence of the life pumping beneath his russet and ivory pelt, was the occasional rustling of his fur upon the breeze. For he was unmoving, emerald eyes transfixed to the south in anticipation.
Yet he was not ready to be lost to the sands of time. No, he was but a babe within these lands as proven by those in his present company. All at once another disturbed his revere, suddenly pouncing upon his back to tug an erect audit back into a yapping maw. The russet crown that adorned the little lion man was almost comically tugged back, the excessive skin of a pup giving freely to the direction of the pull. Beneath the movement was a narrowing of the once still emerald optics. An action paired with the flash of sharp pearlescent teeth as well as a growled warning. “Stop! Stop it Gwyd! GET OFF!” A growl and words never seem to be enough for his fox hued little brother. So Arran is forced to unceremoniously shoulder him off his perch. Disgust quickly replaces his frustration as extra saliva dribbles from his assaulted audit. Nothing a few shakes of his head can’t fix but alas there is no dignity left in his sentry duty as hard as he may try. Now the silence is disturbed by Gwydion’s own protests or more so complaints about how boring Arran is. Of course, he will stand for no such dishonor. “Lay off it Gwydion! You know I’m waiting for Dad…” It is of course impossible to ever get the last word with Gwydion but he tried nonetheless, so bickering pursues. Never to last long as mother’s little helper arrives on the scene. Orlaith, draped in their mother’s likeness, prances up with what Arran always thinks is a bit of an air of superiority. In some ways it invokes a slight jealousy in the little lion man but so too adoration. Between a toothy grin she playfully scolds them both before offering a warning of mother’s arrival. “Look what you did, you ruined it!” The clouds gathered within, a tempest waiting for release. Waiting for the rains to fall freely, the winds to howl mournfully, the thunder to clap loudly. Instead, the storm was contained, the only evidence of its existence in the electrified hairs of Arran’s raised hackles. He didn’t need Gwydion acting like a pup when dad arrived, he didn’t need Orlaith proudly parading around either, and he certainly didn’t need mother doting on the three of them. Or worse yet spewing her highlander, her voxi beliefs while dad was returning from the noble life as a soldier! The little lion man leapt gracefully from his prior perch to march steadfast towards the south. He would meet his dad at the edge of the wood, alone. He would find the best solider in the Imperial Army beneath the setting sun and one day it would be the two of them making this journey. Both brave and battle scarred. template by bean
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