Hróðvitnisson family

Name: Weth Hr??vitnisd?ttir (Nordic Goddess of Anger)
Gender: Female
Age: 2 years (born in Autumn)
Litter: 2 (unnamed bb)
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Appearance:
The woman's pelt is the richest of ebony, thick enough to add bulk to her lanky frame. It falls in silken tresses upon her feminine, curvy frame, carrying the scent of woodsmoke. Her dark pelt, even in the sunshine, cannot be described as anything other than black. The silken tresses upon her plume are quite extravagant, quite thick and long. The tip of her tail is stained a dark charcoal, hardly noticeable against the rest of her dark pelt, unless one is truly paying attention. Underlining her mismatched optics are twin streaks of the same charcoal pigmentation, which wing out to each side just a touch.
Large optics glimmer with intelligence, mismatched and full of fire. The right eye is a deep green, like the needles of an evergreen tree, acidic flecks buried within the darker tones. Her left eye is a bright mauve, flecked with lighter rosy tints. The two offset each other quite nicely, and are the most attention grabbing aspect of her.
A lanky build has been bestowed upon the woman, and most of her height is in her long, toned legs. Feminine curves create feminine hips that sway sensually as she walks, despite her petite shoulders and waist. Her cranium is delicate, a tiara if anything. High, angular cheekbones create a well sculpted face with defined features and a tapering muzzle full of formidable fangs. Tea cupped paws carry her tall, thin frame about the land quite nicely, nearly soundless in her movements. The lady stands at a boringly average 34" in height, and weighs about 100 lbs when healthy, with lean muscles coating her beautiful, sensual body.
Personality:
The first thing one notices about Weth is her attitude, her constant use of sarcasm and sass a powerful barrier surrounding an otherwise uncaring and dark heart. She is a cruel creature, tormenting the weak simply because she can. Her mind is one of her strongest weapons, but she does have lean muscles if that goes south. She bonds with hardly any she meets, but takes to certain others if she deems them worthy of knowing who she really is; on the inside. The femme has a nasty temper, and while she can usually control it, there are times where she simply goes off and screeches profanities like a banshee. Those are times where you would want to stay away from her, for she can break you like a twig under her foot. She is a deviant, using her alluring body to tempt men, and sometimes she is content to sleep with them, because sex is nothing to her. She can be affectionate, but that is not often, and neither is it long lasting. She is manipulative, with a tongue of pure silver that can talk an eskimo into buying ice. She can be proud, and haughty, simply because idiocy is beneath her and some people are pathetic and annoying. She can be devilish, snarky, sly, and simply a through and through bitch, and she loves the fact that it is a common opinion of her.
RP Sample:
The obsidian wraith padded over the plains, her dark frame sticking out like a sore thumb in the land without shadows to hide in. A hefty sigh left her lips as she looked about, mismatched optics boredly scanning the land around her. She had followed the trail correctly, she was sure of it. So where were the rest of her family, the ones who had left the boring confines of her old home in search of something new? They should be here, and yet here she was, on these empty plains, looking around for ghosts. A familiar scent wafted to her as the wind changed directions, and she grinned wryly as her tiara would pivot to face her older brother.
"Well hello, brother. Finally you've decided to show your face."
She would growl with a smirk, taking in the familiar frame of her blood. They had been close as children, and she hoped to rekindle that closeness, since he had been the only one to understand her for who she was.
"Yes indeed, yet you aren't kneeling before my greatness."
The dark furred male would growl back, with an equally snarky curve to his lips. A scoff would erupt from her throat as she rolled her eyes and dipped her head in a mock bow. Brow would raise quizzically as she looked the taller man over, taking in his condition. Clearly he was not starving, the prey here must be plentiful.
"Now, shall we go about and cause mayhem? For old time's sake."
Pleasant vocals would murmur with a broad, dark grin curving her lips as she gazed into her brother's eyes boldly. They had always been trouble, and now, without parent's to attempt reprimand, they were free to be the little hellhounds they were.
Plans?: Find Loki (because they be partners in crime), stir up some mayhem, sleep with many guys, be sassy, throw a few tantrums, all that jazziness.