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§► Friðþjófr ◄§
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§► Friðþjófr ◄§
Name:
Friðþjófr
Age:
4 ½
Nickname:
Jofar, Fred (He hates being called Fred....)
Gender:
Male
Sexual orientation:
Bi
Mate:
None
Pup(s):
Nope
Rank:
Aggressor
Physical Appearance(Must be 100 Words):
Personality:(Make this at least 100 words as well! Only the personality, though!)
He's got temper. There are worse tempers, but his can be pretty nasty. It only flares up when he's under stress. Or hungry. And sometimes when he's drunk.
Most of the time, Jofar is pretty amiable, preferring to follow the decisions of someone else. But if he has a serious disagreement, he is not afraid to make himself heard. Because hearing is half therj;ehgh
Friðþjófr does have a mushy soft side. He secretly thinks kittens are the most adorable things ever. Like most secretly, mushy characters, he's an overprotective bastard. Ever more so then Rawr-rawr. And he's also more likely to attack then Rawr-rawr.
Fear(s): Getting arthritis, that thing were you're drunk but you THINK you're sober so you make horrible decisions, that thing were you're sober but you THINK you're drunk so you make horrible decisions,
Like(s): Frogs (the food), swimming, vodka, clay, sticky tape
Dis-like(s): Overly religiousness, seafood, tile floors, zombies, cages, cottage cheese
History: Being written
Rp example (Make sure it's 100 words as well)
Jagged-nailed hands grabbed at Friðþjófr's fur, catching in the few knots and scratching his skin a little. He reared back abruptly, throwing the undead back. But two others took advantage of his lapse. Friðþjófr slammed backwards against a wall, dislodging the zombies with a wet crunch.
“Not today,” He growled to himself. “I'm not gonna die today.”
The hoard of undead was all around him, but he could knock a path through them without a lot of effort. Smiling when he found a break in the wall of bodies, Friðþjófr fought his way out of the mass and into freedom, where he ran like a bat out of hell. Which he might have been in, for all the friggin dead stuff moving around.
Friðþjófr
Age:
4 ½
Nickname:
Jofar, Fred (He hates being called Fred....)
Gender:
Male
Sexual orientation:
Bi
Mate:
None
Pup(s):
Nope
Rank:
Aggressor
Physical Appearance(Must be 100 Words):
Personality:(Make this at least 100 words as well! Only the personality, though!)
He's got temper. There are worse tempers, but his can be pretty nasty. It only flares up when he's under stress. Or hungry. And sometimes when he's drunk.
Most of the time, Jofar is pretty amiable, preferring to follow the decisions of someone else. But if he has a serious disagreement, he is not afraid to make himself heard. Because hearing is half therj;ehgh
Friðþjófr does have a mushy soft side. He secretly thinks kittens are the most adorable things ever. Like most secretly, mushy characters, he's an overprotective bastard. Ever more so then Rawr-rawr. And he's also more likely to attack then Rawr-rawr.
Fear(s): Getting arthritis, that thing were you're drunk but you THINK you're sober so you make horrible decisions, that thing were you're sober but you THINK you're drunk so you make horrible decisions,
Like(s): Frogs (the food), swimming, vodka, clay, sticky tape
Dis-like(s): Overly religiousness, seafood, tile floors, zombies, cages, cottage cheese
History: Being written
Rp example (Make sure it's 100 words as well)
Jagged-nailed hands grabbed at Friðþjófr's fur, catching in the few knots and scratching his skin a little. He reared back abruptly, throwing the undead back. But two others took advantage of his lapse. Friðþjófr slammed backwards against a wall, dislodging the zombies with a wet crunch.
“Not today,” He growled to himself. “I'm not gonna die today.”
The hoard of undead was all around him, but he could knock a path through them without a lot of effort. Smiling when he found a break in the wall of bodies, Friðþjófr fought his way out of the mass and into freedom, where he ran like a bat out of hell. Which he might have been in, for all the friggin dead stuff moving around.
Friðþjófr- Other
- Posts : 2
Blood Stones : 4
Join date : 2013-06-06
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