Hindi, "Sting"
Species: Jungle Smili, which are created by Spotty.
Friends with: Toadfoal's Dakarai
Personality:
Pompous. Darda loves to toot her own horn, and exaggerate to make herself look like the best, because she believes she is the best. She often blows stories out of proportion, and, when called out on her bluff, often leaves rather than recant her story, or, when that is impossible, covers it up with some excuse or another.
Paranoid. She is scared to death of anyone learning that she is afraid of the smallest things. Her bright markings have caused her pain in the past, and so, while she shies from social interaction in which she is expected to share any more than her stories, she wants to be admired by others. Constantly glancing behind her, she flinches even when all she sees is her own shadow.
Somewhat Schizophrenic. Darda’s paranoia is further encouraged by the voices that whisper in her head, insulting her and distorting her reality. This, perhaps, is where much of her stories come from. However, she is not completely disabled; most of the reality she perceives is real. The voices in her head do not wish to risk themselves by allowing her to die in a wildfire that she does not see is real, after all.
Homebody. Darda loves to be in a place she can call home. When she loses the village that she has lived in all of her life, she is completely lost, and pines for it, even after she has found a new place to inhabit.
Defensive. Being easily seen by prospective predators as a cub did not come without its effects. Driven by paranoia and the voices, she is quick to attack in order to defend herself.
Likes:
Home. Naturally, being a homebody, she loves feeling safe in a place she can hall her own.
Bright flowers. In her tropical forest habitat, bright flowers are both relatively common, as well as the perfect hiding place from the world. If they are pleasant-smelling, all the better. She sometimes plucks flowers and decorates her body with them, as she is dissatisfied by all of the prospective earring stones and bones available to her.
Admiration. Darda loves the looks of awe she gets from others as she tells them stories. They make her feel better about herself, and she loves getting her ego stroked. The looks also seem to ease the voices’ hateful words.
Safety. With the target-like colors on her fur, safety is something she does not often get. She relishes in the ability to relax whenever she can, though she is almost always snapped into full alertness by her paranoia catching the movement of wings or leaves shifting by the wind.
Dislikes:
Revealing unnecessarily. Darda loves telling stories, but hates revealing any more than her “fictionalized” self. Males that try to court her must be satisfied with this false projection, as they are very unlikely to get any farther than that.
Danger. Despite being familiar with danger, she hates the loss of safety and shelter. Her mental disorders are at their worst when she is in the most trouble, which causes her to break down.
Exposure. Akin to her dislike of danger, Darda cannot take exposure, be it being called out by someone that knows the correct version of the story, exposure to the elements and to the other predators that might wish to take on someone like her, or exposure of her weaknesses when she has broken down. She cannot imagine being safe if she dares seek comfort from another living being, at least for the majority of her life.
Herself. She knows only too well that her markings are the reason for most of her problems. Without them, she would not have had such a hard childhood, would not have felt so compelled to be so flashy, and, as she feels, would be able to be normal.
Background:
Dark. The eyes of the birds… she could feel them on her, watching her, judging if she’d make a good meal or not. She could almost hear them consider whether or not to call out for a real predator, perhaps one of the dragons or dark, flesh-hungry gryphons that she’d heard frequented the skies above. Lying here… she was exposed. The nest, where was the nest… it was here, she could have sworn, where’d it go?!
Darda’s paranoia and schizophrenic behavior started when she was a weaned cub. Her parents, since they were darker, hunted at night, and hunted together to increase the odds of catching prey. This left her alone, in the dark, hoping that none of the night creatures would come for her. Her parents, during the day, tended to a large-leafed plant that she was to hide in, but she eventually grew too big to be adequately hidden. Even with just the tip of her tail peeking out, she could feel the eyes on her, with the sharp voices murmuring words of death into her ears.
Something was there. She knew it. No, no- it was over there! Yes, that was it! There it was, she knew it was there, it was going to hurt her- kill her, eat her, slice her open- no, please… no…. A growl behind her- another cub from the village, it pounced- no, no! It was a predator, it had to be, the voices, kill… kill… die…. She twisted around, clawed the eye of the offender, bit his shoulder, threw him off… attack… before he does, before he kills….
Darda’s paranoia made her extremely dangerous. A playful cub that harbored a young crush on her found out that she didn’t like to play-fight or be surprised- and he lost an eye to this lesson. She became well-known for her ferocity, and was left well enough alone, for the most part, by the cubs. However, it soon became obvious that the threats that haunted the jungle did not view her as a threat, but a challenge…. More than once, the dragons from the Flatts flew over, looking at her… watching, waiting for the perfect time to strike… though, unbeknownst to her, the dragons only appeared to her, in her imagination…. But oh, she was so scared….
Loneliness… how to bring attention to herself to attract a mate? Surely, she had to seem better than all of the other females… she had to seem like she had more qualities… but her colors… a liability, at best. She focused on her bravery. She could be brave. She… defeated a boar for one of her piglets! Yes, yes, that would go well…
Her storytelling began when she reached maturity, and felt the urge to find a mate and reproduce. Her hatred of her own body and how it had betrayed her to the eyes of the predators- real or not- during her cubhood- made her feel that she would never be able to attract anyone with her physical attributes. So she exaggerated her abilities and accomplishments. Sure, some of the stories were almost true- after all, she had taken a piglet from a boar mother, but said mother had been killed by something much more sinister beforehand, and she had not needed to raise a paw to take it. Unfortunately, others in the village that liked to wander soon became aware of inconsistent evidence- after all, didn’t she say that the boar mother’s skull had been broken, yes? No, no it wasn’t… It was all she could do to not panic and run as her stories were unraveled before her, sometimes by the one she had been telling it to in a vain attempt at astonishing them.
Crying. The village was sick. Dying. She could hear them struggling from her den on the outskirts. If she was to live, she had to leave. The voices flared as she ran, and, convinced the illness was a monster chasing her, ready to kill… maim… torture…- she ran faster than she had ever ran in her life. Must… run….
When illness swept through the village and wiped the inhabitants out, Darda was just able to escape. One of the Smilis that lived in the village had eaten infected meat, the day after one of Darda’s stories had been publicly exposed, and so, while she hid away and broke down, the disease spread quickly and killed all that it had infected within a few days. She would have been one of the dead, had she not hidden away… but no. She ran until she collapsed just inside the border of the Lower North. She was found by a lost Pardusero cub, Manchado, who initially sought her help, but soon grew to love her stories, and started thinking of her as his mother. She, on the other hand, treated him more as a pet- a companion, but nothing more.
Laughing. Hyenas had surrounded them, taunting their targets. These may have been stupid lackeys, but they were still dangerous… still deadly. The voices… rip… tear… eat while it’s still thrashing- let it be a dream! They leapt forward- and so did she.
Darda first met the hyenas when they tried to kill her and her pet. She didn’t particularly care if Manchado died- after all, the scent of the young adventurer’s blood would be enough of a distraction for her to escape- but she did not want them to turn and come after her if the little one was not enough of a meal. So she did what she felt she had to do- she launched herself at them and snapped their long necks, her canines sinking deep in their flesh. With them dead, she found herself not sighing with relief- instead, she broke down, the danger just too much for her to handle; exposed… open… target! She nearly had a panic attack when a small, warm body nestled itself against her, trying to help, and yellow met yellow as she found no judgment, no hatred, no hunger. The cub would never hurt her.
Lost. Homeless. Being with another didn’t help the pit of sadness that cut through her, leaving her feeling empty… abandoned by all hope, cut off from safety, betrayed by the only thing she felt was a constant comfort in her life, and left to suffer the danger and despair. And the voices….
Darda did not handle being homeless very well. Because she still felt her den in the jungle was her home, all of the hovels she and Manchado stayed in simply were not safe enough, were not protected enough, were not hidden, warm, soft, close, high, or spacious. More than once, she expressed a desire to return, but such thoughts were followed by the punishing voices, whispering that the dragons would get her there, that to return was to commit suicide. She was forced to settle, nestling in the low scrub along the southern edge of the Lower North. That was where they found her.
Blue, grey, black, red, white, green, orange. A dozen hooves and a dozen paws all stood before her, a pair each of Smili, Quagga, and Goennec. The quaggas spoke… harmless, they were harmless… they offered safety. Safety? Yes… need it…
She did not know how to handle the rebel band that approached her, but agreed instantly when they offered safety. Never mind that she would have to go through danger first…. The promise of safety was sweet on the horizon. As they started wandering, she slipped back into old habits- trying to impress the two male Smilis, despite one being taken and the other uninterested in females. She was constantly flirty and flashy, showing off her abilities and particular assets that she found even somewhat attractive, the picture of a [flawed] temptress on a mission.
Messenger. That was her job. She had to keep up communication between the two patches of forest and the horse herd that rested in the plains in between, and hope the dragons- so close, so close, they’re going to kill, rip, they’re hungry, hungry, hungry and they want black and yellow, please help, help, help- would not fly over and kill her. Kill her dead, dead, dead….
She was assigned to coordinate the efforts of the three major contributors of fighters, the East and West forests, and the local horse herd, with its single reindeer, musk ox and Pardusero followers. She found that the equines with zebra and quagga blood in them were the warmest to her efforts, and would often meet her halfway in an attempt to be helpful. She assumed it was the stripes in her mane that caused them to act in such a way, which was a mild comfort. They didn’t consider her a liability for her colors, at least. After discovering the sad male Pardusero that followed the herd, she sent Manchado to him, murmuring that it was for his own good. She was almost sad to see him go… almost. But she had to focus on something more… on bringing the herds and groups together. On helping combine and coordinate their forces, training the young and refining the old into an able army that could dare stand a chance to threaten the dark masses.
Battle… danger! No way to escape… what to do, what to do…. Freezing meant death, panicking meant being ripped apart- dead, dead, dead. Fighting. Must fight.
The band decided to take her with them behind the dark enemy’s- Shiva’s- lines. She was to keep the main fighters intact as they approached the wolf’s lair, where the quaggas and Angat were to attack, and the poisonous Smili was to kill him. She, on the other hand, had to stay at the entrance to his lair, and stop whatever guards came to stop them. Easy enough job, if only she was not petrified at how dangerous the mission was. Reluctantly, Angat attempted to reassure her that he would help her out if she needed it, once he completed his part. It was the only thing that kept her from running as everyone passed her into the cave, leaving her exposed- the dragons, please, no, they’re here, they’re going to kill- to the guards, Shiva’s own two children. One obviously didn’t have any fight in him- he turned and ran. But the girl, on the other hand…. She fought to the death.
Story of a lifetime… surely this would attract someone. She had helped vanquish evil! Surely, surely, there was a male out there that would find her attractive for that! Surely, he would be able to look past her yellow stripes. She could dress herself in Orchids, Tiger Lilies, and Black-eyed Susans- yes, yes, that would look beautiful…
With Shiva dead, she finally had the story like none of those she had tried to fabricate to amaze those in her old village- but she could no longer return, and she did not really feel the urge to tell the story. It may have been true, but the experience… was not of the type that she wished to relive. She broke down for several days after leaving the battlefield, the voices finally murmuring words of peace.
Finally, finally, she was safe, if only for the moment. Unfortunately, the darkness was reluctant to leave.
Dakarai bugging Darda. xD By Toadfoal. <3
