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Beautifully drawn by Sid (Erasvita@DA)!
Current Novus date and time is

▶ Year || 503
▶ Season || Summer
▶ Temp || 74℉ (23℃) - 100℉ (37℃)
▶ Weather || The end of Spring brings about, once more, the warm embrace of Summer. While some flourish in the comfortable glow of the sun, others take shelter from its sweltering midday heat. Even so, it is now that the continent bustles with life - for it won't be long until a cool chill returns.


Character of the Season
El Toro

Member of the Season

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


Day Court Soldier

The Character


▶ Age: 8 [Year 495 Summer]
▶ Gender: Male
▶ Pronouns: He/his/him
▶ Orientation: Heterosexual
▶ Breed: Unicorn
▶ Height: 16.1 hh
▶ Health: 7
▶ Attack: 13
▶ Experience: 10
▶ Signos: 420 (Donate)

▶ Joined: 06-02-2018
▶ Last Visit: 01-03-2019, 08:28 PM
▶ Total Posts: 6 (Find All Posts)
▶ Total Threads: 2 (Find All Threads)

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Jahin Blackmoon >>> He's a mirage in the heat, a shadow on the sand, flames rippling in his hair. He moves easily, fluidly; a cobra in the night. He's fit and sheen, whipcord lean and flashing in the sun. His indigo eyes are star-bright with light of cunning and a keenness unmatched; burnt sienna skin and pearl gray lips, a crooked horn glittering in the sun imbued with sapphire hues.

He is fire in everything he does; he burns with a deep, smoldering intensity. He is what he is, and that is what people see, what they hear, what they know upon first meeting. He is as unchanging and enduring as the sand the spans the desert. There is no shadowed guile in his heart nor in his eyes; only a straightforward truth of who he is and what he will always be.

Some scars laced across his desert skin tell a sordid tale but most are of pride and of family. Davke they speak, the shadowed lines on his face, the natural wounds of battles for love and land and family. But the cross on his shoulder speaks of something else; a house on a hill of sand. A great, proud house in the land of Solterra.

There are two sides to him; a coin ever in conflict.

As a grown Davke stallion, Jahin remained solemn and intense; driven by his burning desire for success. He was rarely merry, spoke little, and was extreme in every way, feeling all things deeply, whether it was joy, anger, pain, or sadness, although his expression (or lack thereof) never betrayed his true emotion. He was especially slow to forget injustice or mockery, for the fire of his father was also in him, and he could be sudden, fierce, and violent in his anger. Yet among his people the davke, he was gentle, polite (if not a bit distant), and unwaveringly loyal. He was proud, of course, for he had much to take pride in, but he was always restless and eager for self-improvement, never settling with what he had achieved.

After his brief time at court at his father's house, his wild, passionate manner became more refined, more elegant. Those who meet him are surprised by the cleverness of his words, the easy way in which handles himself for a savage. His course Davke accent still bleeds through occasionally but he does not attempt to hide his origins. He is blunt and straightforward with his opinions. He has not been caught up in the lies and scandal of life at the capitol, but searches for truth among the world that has been broken by a poor king and a bloody rebellion. If you deserve and earn his respect, he serves loyally, unwaveringly. At times he finds himself conflicted--by his personal goals, and the goals of the Regime. At other times, in moments of quiet at sunrise, he longs to return to the desert to find what is left of his people. But part of him doesn't wish to know their fate, their ending. And so he serves Seraphina, who he sees as a woman with a true Davke warrior's spirit.

It began with a Davke mare and a House Lord.

It was a quiet, forbidden courtship that endured anyway. Sienna was fire and flame and sunlight; Korach was silent, steady starlight on a cloudless night. She was colored like the desert, oranges and reds of the dunes and sand. He was midnight obsidian, decorated in finery; hand-crafted gold and silver, deep blue tassels and a silver circlet on his brow. She a warrior and he a politician. She was young, as was he. Both were foolish and paid the price.

Sienna was exiled from the davke horde shortly after giving birth to jahin. She had chosen a lover outside of their laws and customs--chosen an outsider over their own. They kept the child--a healthy, strong colt with the fire of the desert in his heart and his father's horn on his brow. She left her desert son a small necklace to remember her by and a scroll for him to read when he came of age--if he should ever be so lucky to learn to read. Her pride prevented her from returning to korach and so she wandered the desert alone and desperate. and though she prayed for forgiveness, for mercy--she died a lonely death for the desert is not a place of mercy or forgiveness.

Jahin was raised in the way of the davke--a proud and loyal people. they taught him to honor his mother and her death in the desert and the warrior she had been, but spoke naught of his father who was an enemy, an outsider. during his initiation training, he was not always the fastest or the strongest or the smartest, but he outworked many of his age and class to be so. he fought bravely, fearlessly; as a cornered lion might.

Jahin liked many things as a boy; swimming in the oasis, sparring in the sand, exploring the vast desert. But in his childish youth, he loved Makeda more than all things. She was different, more boy than girl, really (she could beat all the boys in a footrace and sparring session), but so passionate and wild. She believed in things more openly and fiercely than the rest. Although they seldom spoke and never played, all the warmth in his heart was for her. He better liked to guard her unseen, silent and motionless, watching her playful antics from afar as she went upon dune and under sunlight, singing the songs in the wild tongue of their people. Part of him yearned to join her, but obligation and duty restrained him. Jahan was much too serious for play, even as a child, and already the davke's expectations proved to be a heavy burden.

He was not worthy of the great matriarch's youngest daughter. Not yet. But one day, he would be. He trained for that day. Seasons changed and passed, the moon waxed and waned. The boys finally entered the threshold of manhood. And quite suddenly, war was no longer a game, but his life. Boys who once played dead, stayed dead. Is this what I was born for?

Jahin. It became a respected, admired name among his people. Do you know my name now, Makeda? He devoted his entire life to the davke's well-being and protection, harboring a great and fierce love for them. In the eyes of Avdotya's mother, Jahin's unwavering loyalty and dedication did not go unnoticed. The young warrior advanced in rank. Jahan was already considered a wealthy davke stallion who had proved his honor and worth in battle, and thus, to the tribe as a whole. He could easily attract, provide, and support a wife, but he had none. Makada had rejected him. The boys he'd grown up with teased him, of course, but in good humor: "No woman is good enough for Jahin!" they would jest, laughing. Many potential and beautiful brides sought his attention, but to the bewilderment of all, he refused every woman.

He learned to read. It changed many things. His mother’s scroll was hastily written—frayed and worn from the years. He could not read well, but deciphered enough of the faded ink to know of his father and the great city he lived in. Shortly after Jahin learned to read, the matriarch’s favorite daughter was captured by the blood king Zolin. He was needed by the Davke, by Makeda, and so he did not leave, even though he visited the thought many times. Everything after that day was a bloodbath. The great mother was dead and many of their finest and noblest warriors slaughtered in the sand. Makeda was gone, he knew not if she was dead or alive.

He was alone.

He arrived at the capitol, near dead and weary, so weary, body, soul, and mind. Tired of a life of war filled with blood and revenge. His father recognized him by the blood-stained medallion around his neck and welcomed him warmly; his cousins were wary and cold and his father was shunned for his involvement with the savages of the desert. He healed under the watchful eye of his father and was hidden from Zolin’s soldiers on the streets. When Jahin had regained his strength he found that he did not wish to return to the desert. He spent his time reading, learning to write more beautifully. He talked little and walked among the gardens, a wayward, lost soul without a purpose. He learned to speak softer, more elegantly. He learned the customs of the court—how to bow, who to bow to first and who only to nod to. He learned the intricacies of the inner workings of life at the capitol and that it was a life of lies, murder, and scandal. None of his immediate circle forgot his true davke nature but he could soon pass as an elite of the upper nobility class. It was not to last forever, however. Enemies of his father struck Jahin down in a dark alley one night and turned him into the boy king Zolin and revealed him as Davke.

He was thrown into a dank, dark dungeon with no light. He lost track of the days, the nights—it all blurred together in a life of misery and squalor. He spent the time reciting the oral history of his true people in the desert—and prayed for those lost and wandering to find their way back together. To die in this rat hole…he could not imagine a more unworthy, dishonorable death. Though he learned much about life at court, he was not ready for the rebellion. None of them were. During the rebellion korach his father was struck down (not by rebels, but by those of his own house). The rebels overcame. Seraphina herself, in all her furious glory, freed the slaves from their rat-infested prison.

He knew not where to turn next—knowing he would not be welcome in the remains of what once had been his father's mighty house. There was no Davke left to return to. And so he served Seraphina, a great warrior who had saved him from a coward’s death as a slave.
Active & Parvus Magic

Passive Magic


Armor, Outfit, and Accessories

- small golden chain and serpent medallion
- the handle of his father's broken house dagger; handle is embedded with sapphires
- davke leather satchel filled with trinkets of past victories

Agora Items & Awards

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The Player

▶ Player Name: pres (Profile)
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▶ Other Accounts: Pres, Melpomene, Pavetta,
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