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Things that go bump in the night
And the things that bump back
Audition form 
15th-Sep-2005 11:18 am
Trin
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Comments 
16th-Jul-2006 01:32 am (UTC)
Real Name & Age: Shannon Elizabeth Worsham / 27

AIM/Yahoo: valkyre01

Email: Shan@rebelblade.com

Experience: 10 years: All of the freeform online in chat rooms; Generally multi-genre but I had a good stint with a few Wod rooms; Star Wars. Storyteller for a few years. Host of Multi-Genre a long time ago...

Where did you find out about us?: doddling around Life Journal Roleplay Community

Character name & age: Kerys Gahren. 32 years of age (regrets for the lack of pic. I never really had much use for them. If you like I will add one)

Species: Lycan

Character background:

Kerys Gharen was a very typical child of seven who lived in a typical country home at the outskirts of Dublin, just where the structured cold stone of the city gave way to the weeds of suburbia and old poverty now anew with the influx of technical economy. Her father was route-walking postman. He came home every evening just before the long hours of the day took the last bit of pride out of his stance and he fell into his easychair, 10 hours older. Her mother, typical housewife, kept a protective eye on the evertroublesome brood of her children. She was ususally too busy to think of anything else. Kerys was neither the youngest treasured jewel who got to sit in their father's lap come evening time, nor the oldest, already getting her first worrying wrinkles at Kerys' birth.

Nor was she one of her two brothers, one 5 years older then she, and always managing to try his hand at being a patriarch. Kerys had the leisure of being forgotten in the ranks, giving her all sorts of time for thoughts of anything and all manners of rebellion. She was the one who stole her youngest sister's dolls and hid them in her brother's room. She was the one that locked the only bathroom from the inside in the early morning and shimmied tomboyishly out the window to dance around in the garden to the background grunts of frustration and shattered echoed as her family splintered through the door. Anything to put a little entertainment into her life. Anything to get out of the ordinary, walking barefoot by a brook to feel her feet squish through moist pete, or catch frogs and fish in the sodium haze of a silent afternoon. She loved the silence. She loved listening to the old world aroud her. The world that carried fansties long before her existance.

Kerys had been born of old stories, you see. Her bones carried the transcript earthen bloodlines of poetic tragedies and thick amber stories of a thousand years ago, tossed about with an ale in 200 year old taverns and wistful gaelic songs. Her brothers and sisters had mostly forgotten it, busy with the modern life and its temptations, and her mother and father were too busy trying to survive. Kerys had the luxury of being different.



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