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Current

Current Novus date and time is

▶ Year || 503
▶ Season || Summer
▶ Temp || 74℉ (℃) - 100℉ (℃)
▶ Weather || The weather radar really does seem to be off the charts lately...
I wonder what's going on? (#23-26)

Spotlight

Character of the Season
El Toro

Member of the Season
Griffin

Thread of the Season
Bring Me Thunder; Bring Me Steel

Pair of the Season
Eik and Isra

Quote of the Season
"Her mother lives all in day, her father all in night, and Apolonia straddles the thin, dusky line halving her heart with not so much grace - startling awake in the middle of the night or at the crack of dawn, trying to find some way to compromise." — Apolonia in
The Vine & The Rain & The Light

see here for nominations


DISCORD

Marisol
Dusk Court Soldier


The Character


Offline

▶ Age: 4 [Year 498 Fall]
▶ Gender: Female
▶ Pronouns: She/Her/Hers
▶ Orientation: Bisexual
▶ Breed: Andalusian x
▶ Height: 16 hh
▶ Health: 10
▶ Attack: 10
▶ Experience: 19
▶ Signos: 300 (Donate)

▶ Joined: 05-06-2018
▶ Last Visit: 12-05-2018, 02:05 PM
▶ Total Posts: 55 (Find All Posts)
▶ Total Threads: 8 (Find All Threads)

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Marisol has eyes like weapons, slate gray and sharp, and she has a strange way of looking at you, a way of making you feel like you don’t really exist. Her severity is absolute. Nothing is out of place when it comes to the Commander; she is built lean and tough, long-legged but not without muscle, and wouldn’t be caught dead with her hair untrimmed or coat un-oiled. Her face is finely made and undoubtedly feminine, complete with the requisite long lashes and large eyes, but rarely do people think of her as girly, which must have something to do with the permanent scowl that lines her dark lips.

From head to hoof Marisol is dark, dark, dark. Mostly she seems black, so black it’s almost iridescent in the sun, but around her mouth and hips the color fades to a rich-reddish brown, lightening her aura a touch. Her hair is dark too, black tinged with gold in some places, and pin-straight; Marisol cuts it evenly and regularly, so her mane and tail are always cropped short with military precision. The only splash of white on her form is an uneven stocking, ragged, that stretches over her back leg past the hock, and despite this marking she blends in easily with the night.

From her back are often unfurled two huge hawk’s wings, shiny and densely feathered; on top, their near-black color closely matches that of Marisol’s skin, but underneath, the feathers are cream-white, spattered with irregular brown freckles. In the tradition of the Halcyon Unit, three white stripes layer the back of Marisol’s wings, marking her status as commander. On her left back leg she wears a small, fleecy leather cuff, with an extra buckle wrapped around the outside just long enough to keep a small dagger in. The scent that follows her is dark and grounding - sandalwood and tobacco.

If Marisol is anything, she is adept. Gods help anyone who implies otherwise, for years of training have left her smart and strong and, most of all, stubborn, the kind of girl who will fight tooth and nail for what she believes in, the kind of girl who hates to fail.

Raised from birth to be a Halcyon cadet, Marisol is uniquely skilled in being intimidating. Her stint in the difficult role of Commander has made her quite hard-hearted - at least that’s what it looks like - and given her a near-choleric alpha personality, obvious in her often condescending gazes and the short, clipped way in which she talks. Unafraid of being disliked, Marisol pays little mind to people’s complaints, knowing that part of leadership is dealing with being unpopular much of the time. Attacks on her person will go completely unnoticed, but she does pay attention to comments about her regime: Marisol’s position as Commander is the only thing in the world she truly cares about, and she’ll do anything to be a good leader. Duty is, to her, of utmost importance.

She rarely speaks more than necessary, and when she does it can be bitter. Marisol often says things like “get over yourself” and “deal with it”, and it can be hard to gain her sympathy, especially in issues like injury or heartbreak, both of which Mari refuses to experience. She is frank when it comes to matters of the heart - one could even call it insensitive. Marisol is not heartless, but her upbringing left little room for emotion, and she has become quite skilled at not showing whatever she feels, no matter how much it threatens to consume her.

The Halcyon Unit comes before all else. Marisol is swayed from her duties only by the occasional crush, brief occurrences she absolutely loathes, but she would never put her own wants over those of Terrastella. She is quiet about her own loves, her own desires, in the name of loyalty. It is hard to gain her trust, and only a few of the fleet have, but those who are able to gain her friendship are rewarded with Mari’s ultra-rare smiles and a girl who would kill for what she loves.

The story of Halcyon was the only one Marisol heard as a child. She memorized it. The prince and the princess, that magical flower, and most of all Halcyon, the most majestic of pegasi, with wings, her mother always told her kindly, that looked just like hers. You could be like him, Margot would tell her daughter, eyes glazed with reverence, and when Marisol saw that devotion, the fanaticism with which her parents spoke of the Halcyon Air Unit, she knew she had to become one of them.

As soon as she was able, Marisol scouted out the old leader of the Unit and asked to be trained. “Asked” was not really the right word - Marisol strode right up to the commander and said “You need me” in no more words, and at a time when the unit was beginning to lose some of its importance, they could not afford to turn her way. Still, she faced some backlash. The Commander was a gruff old man with little faith in the abilities of his women, especially in a girl as young as Marisol, and he promised her she would not make it. She promised that she would.

At exactly a year old, Marisol was indoctrinated. Day after day she rose at Dawn and flew out to the training centers, rain or sun, snow or heat; for hours she was beaten down and told how to fight back, sent alone on missions over mountains and oceans, bruised and battered in the name of the order. The year that passed, then, was a tumultuous blur of blood and ink and aching wings. Sleep was unreachable. Rest was not real. For the first time, Marisol’s natural talents were not enough: she was forced to work hard.

Many times she wanted to cry, to scream, or give up. Training was exhaustive and near-abusive, but it was necessary, she knew, if the Halcyon wanted to retain its elite status, and so she suffered through it nobly, nary a complaint from that young mouth. Marisol emerged from that year twice as muscled and three times as tough, her gray eyes hard her now, and utterly unconcerned with life outside the Halcyon unit. Fuck you, she told the Commander. I’m your best student. How’s it feel?

He kicked her out for talking back.

Marisol was devastated. Her return to the Terrastellan commonwealth was, perhaps, the worst moment of Marisol’s young life: she hated herself for speaking up, and even worse was the look of utter disappointment on her parent’s faces as they watched her push through the door, demoted from the only honorable position available to her. Marisol withdrew, became bitter, reclusive. She was angry. How could this have happened - here life’s chances taken away on account of some man’s fragile ego?

A girl found her, weeks later, staring blankly at a market stall. It was someone she had trained with - a familiar face now rent with sorrow.

The Commander is dead. They need you to replace him.

Why the fuck would they want her? A smart-mouthed, bitter girl discharged without honor? It was a sick joke - it had to be - she turned away, gave the messenger some callous line about how really, no one needed anything but food and water. Typical Marisol with her dry, angry humor. Fuck off.

You’re the only one of us that can do it. Marisol - please. Halcyon depends on it.

Active & Parvus Magic





Passive Magic





Bonded





Armor, Outfit, and Accessories

Leg cuff: smooth brown leather padded on the inside with fleece, this cuff rests on Marisol's left back leg and holds a pocket for a small dagger.


Agora Items & Awards


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Miscellaneous



The Player

▶ Player Name: RB (Profile)
▶ PM Player: Send Message
▶ Email: Send Email
▶ Other Accounts: redandblack, angharad, Apolonia, Bexley, Sacha,
hm
Marisol's Signature
"a burnt child loves a fire."



  


RPG-D