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Current Novus date and time is

▶ Year || 503
▶ Season || Spring
▶ Temp || 43℉ (8℃) - 70℉ (21℃)
▶ Weather || The weather radar really does seem to be off the charts lately...
I wonder what's going on? (#15-19)


Character of the Season

Member of the Season

Thread of the Season
A land of absence
and root and stone

Pair of the Season
Bexley and Acton

Quote of the Season
"And all the while her mind, her blood, her fierce and fearless heart was singing, singing, singing." — Shrike in We're under attack!

see here for nominations


Pending Approval

The Character


▶ Age: 502 [Year ]
▶ Gender:
▶ Pronouns: Male [He/Him]
▶ Orientation:
▶ Breed:
▶ Height: 16.2 hh
▶ Health:
▶ Attack:
▶ Experience:
▶ Signos: 0 (Donate)

▶ Joined: 05-09-2018
▶ Last Visit: 05-18-2018, 05:06 PM
▶ Total Posts: 0 (Find All Posts)
▶ Total Threads: 0 (Find All Threads)

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Sincere| Hot-Headed| Driven| Patient| Foul mouthed| Stubborn| Strategic| Gentle| Compassionate| Creative

Ander is not someone to hide his emotions behind a blank face. Once, maybe, but now he is free in how his emotions a portrayed. He makes it a point not to sugarcoat things. For him it is better to know how things are and why things are than to hide it behind honeyed words for the sake of someone’s delicate constitution. He will actively seek this information out, and has been known to belabor subjects of his interest, either until the speaker has thrown him out or all his questions are answered.

His temper can and will get the best of him. He seeks for there to be fairness in matter that he makes his own. Which could be anything. When his temper gets away from him it runs hot and fast. Sarcasm runs thick and he is known for stringing together artfully crafted insults for whatever manages to rile him. Which could be anything.

He wants to succeed and pushes himself to produce masterwork. He seeks those to give him feedback want to become better at whatever he is working at, whether that be metallurgy or prose. He desires greatness but without the responsibility of leading a nation. There is a measure of patience with him. He knows that nothing comes over night and will ceaselessly work to see whatever he sets his mind to come to fruition.

He is strategic in nature. He watches the room figuring out the angles of attack or escape. He watches the people noting the general atmosphere of the room, change in body language, tone, and the flow of the crowds. Although, he is not one for parties, not only does he loathe court intrigue, but he dislikes crowds.

Despite the rough and tumble nature he is a gentle being at his core, full of compassion, and creativity. While he might verbal lash out at someone he will rarely, if ever come to blows. He will seek peace before he gives into a fight. The last thing he wants to do is inflict pain but if it comes down to his life or the lives of his loved ones he will defend them without hesitation.

Had things turned out differently Ander would have been born into a loving family. A father who would have taken the time to teach his son the wonders of the spear and blade. A mother to fill his head with stories of great warriors and bloody battles. Alas the young boy was left motherless at his birth. The woman having bled out as the young one entered the world and so it came to be the he was blamed for a death that he had no control over.

A wet nurse was brought in to keep the boy alive. His father spiral didn’t start until Ander was weaned. When they were both left to their own devices without the wet nurse providing around the clock care. Up until then his father had just been hovering on the fringes of Ander’s life, watching him, rebuffing the boy with curt words every time the young boy sought him out.

Time had shaped a cycle.

A cycle that consisted of bruises.

The boy bore the abuse in silence thinking that he had earned it. There was no one else to tell him otherwise. No one to run to that would shelter him from the storm that was his father when rage and alcohol mixed. Instead he turned to written text, reading at a voracious rate, tomes of war and strategy, love, fantasy, anything to give him respite from his father.

Then the dreams began. Metal bending to his will, twining in on itself like a snake, hardening to form tips so sharp they could cut with a mere prick. Destruction and creation with a thought, the young one loved it. He dove into texts with a new vigor trying to unravel his dreams. Meanwhile he would steal the cutlery and work on contorting them into new shapes. He was careful to keep this ability from his father, fearing something worse than a beating. His search for knowledge led him to the royal library and after an ill-timed break in, prison. Not even two years of age and the boy was thrown to wolves. Not that this bothered him, his father had prepared him well, primed him to be molded. He learned and adapted. The silent boy that took the beatings became something more. He held his own within the prison and when he finally turned two, Brom found him.

The man offered him something he thought he would never get. A chance to learn and hone his abilities. He ran with it and never looked back. For two years he’s been working under Brom and enjoying almost every minute of it. He feels at home in the Denocte court more so than he ever did as a Deluminian.

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Will do this later