Hello There, Guest!
- Register


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)


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


El Toro
Day Court Soldier

The Character


▶ Age: 7 [Year 496 Summer]
▶ Gender: Male
▶ Pronouns: He/Him/His
▶ Orientation: Pansexual
▶ Breed: Peruvian Paso X
▶ Height: 17.2 hh
▶ Health: 7
▶ Attack: 13
▶ Experience: 11
▶ Signos: 20 (Donate)

▶ Joined: 06-04-2018
▶ Last Visit: 7 hours ago
▶ Total Posts: 47 (Find All Posts)
▶ Total Threads: 9 (Find All Threads)

Send Message

scent honeysuckle, lemon balm, cinnamon

El Toro stands tall at 17.2 hands high, having inherited his father's height with grace and length. He has the fine but functional build of his dam, a Peruvian Paso, though he towers above her on long legs and a slim but well-muscled form. His neck is more muscular than would be proportionate - due to his horns - but this is not to an excessive degree nor is it typically obvious at first glance. His face is delicately - but not effeminately - structured, his profile slightly convex. Toro's features are distinctly Iberian and wrought with care, much lighter in build and form than his Baroque cousins. El Toro possesses a pair of white horns that spread out and curve forward, reminiscent of a typical Spanish Fighting Bull. His irises resemble opals, with intense "fire" of pink, lavender, blue, green, and purple. The structure of his eyes is otherwise typical, if not a bit large and slightly narrow in shape. Below Toro's left eye are three gemstones embedded into his skin in a vertical line, being blue, green, and violet from top to bottom. These gemstones are cut roughly but are polished and clear.

El Toro's coat, mane, and tails are all the same shade of clean, bright white. His horns come close but are a bit more bone-colored. His skin is pink and burns easily under sunlight, and his coat is marred by various scars from sparring, the most notable being on his right foreleg, where a chunk of flesh was torn away by an opponent. Toro's mane only grows enough to stick up, and is fluffy and soft, overlapping his forehead. His hooves are light in color and toned similarly to his horns, though more yellow. Finally, Toro has two, cattle-like tails, each about a foot and a half in length.

Since his battle with Raymond, Toro now sports a notable scar across his right flank.
in short: passionate, immature, hot-headed, loyal, stubborn, dedicated, a tad dramatic, extroverted, independent. bitter about pegasi. more damaged than he realizes.

He fights hard and loves hard. A warrior, a passionate boy, really - not a man - maybe not even a warrior. He fights not necessarily for honor but for pride, and if faced with a loss he will demand a rematch; he must get even. Toro likes pretty things, pretty people, intricate jewelry and lovely mares. He is unaware that this attraction could go beyond the opposite sex, though he may learn it yet. El Toro rages like a bull, but for himself first and friends second. He is loyal, but quick to turn away from someone if he feels his loyalty has been disrespected or discarded. He refuses to be hurt more, but at his heart is sensitive and is quick to presume that he is unwanted and disliked. He wounds easily, covering it up with physical confrontation, or, in the worst of situations, simply leaving. Toro is quick to flee a hurtful situation, and one is blessed if they keep him long enough to endure an explanation. He doesn't want to hear it, nor does he wish to dwell on it. Toro patches his wounds without treating the infection; they often fester into bitterness and a grudge that, though he will demand it be settled with a fair fight, will never fizzle out. The stallion is proud to a fault, but despises the arrogant; his immediate reaction is to put them in their place. He is in love with his own strength, to be weakened would destroy him. It is his duty to help the weak and inferior rise up, to protect those that cannot, and enlist the strong to do the same. He cannot abide those that refuse to change for the better or improve themselves in the way he thinks best, though he may be similarly stubborn. He wants others to become independent, as he was forced to do. He is frustrated by anyone that wishes to remain reliant on others for their strength. If they will not change, he leaves, but not without attempting to beat the concept into them. Toro harbors a deep hatred of winged horses; it has turned from envy to bitterness to seemingly irreparable loathing. He has come to this new world for equality, and yet, he does not seek to adapt. A hypocrite.
Born to a member of the royal guard, El Toro was expected to follow in his father's footsteps from birth. His mother, a singer, had one such skill to offer her son - her voice. Song came to him with ease, and they honed it together, building an artistic ability that his sire would force him to keep hidden. "Singing," he would say, "is not for warriors. It is for bards and women." Toro loved anything he was good at, and his mother's praise was enough to keep him singing - if only in private.

El Toro's father was an ambitious man, and for perhaps his entire life he had aspired to become captain of the royal guard. He was an underdog, a wingless stallion in a land of pegasi, and he had married a foreigner, a wingless bard, guaranteeing his son's inferiority. He could court no native mare - they all sought wings or had their own. Toro recalls his father's dedication and ambition with a hint of bitterness. It was his downfall, really - the conviction that he could be better, could rise above his physical deformity and become something more - an equal, even. He never would. El Toro's father came to believe he was next in line as captain. The current captain was aged, retiring. This was his life, his soul. He had to get it.
He didn't.
The rejection was earth-shattering for him, unsurprising for anyone else. Toro's father raged for days, rattling off about the winged ones and scarring the ground with his horns. "They always get you, Toro. Even if you're better, even if you deserve it. They'll take everything you want and love for themselves. They'll take it." In time, his constant raging became unbearable, a fit that would never end, and Toro would find his mother out in a field somewhere, teary-eyed, singing softly. Together they would wait, until sunset, before returning to their home. If asked, Toro might say, "it was the waiting that killed my father," but really it was something else - ego, perhaps, or desperation, or maybe some innate weakness of the mind that made him predisposed to breaking. One evening, Toro and his mother returned home, and there his father was, laying on his side, legs twitching, mouth frothing, eyes rolling and blank. Something had gone wrong within him, something crucial, something you could not go without. No healer could aid him. Afterwards, he only wandered, staring, sometimes getting lost for days in the woods. Toro's mother always looked for him. She found him, many times, but often he wandered back on his own, and Toro would fetch her from among the trees. Any status his family held was lost, trampled, and Toro was left stranded, no pieces for him or his dam to pick up. Foals would no longer play with him, colts teasing and filles shunning. Some spoke to him out of pity, but their friends would discourage it, and they would give up. It was unwise of them; though Toro was built like his mother he was strong and quick, and if no one would play wit him he would just have to fight them. He won often, he was praised, he never hurt someone outside of a fair fight. Honorable. Fillies liked him now. Colts respected him, and if they did not he could simply humiliate them with loss. Toro's pride swelled, he loved the attention, but when it got to his head he'd lose, too much time spent focusing on his pristine coat or pretty girls. He learned his lesson - winning was more important - and fillies seemed to like that rugged look anyway. Wings or no, he could best anyone.

Except her.

His father's hate for pegasi was a festering seed in his heart. He'd kept it at bay with victory, with popularity, with ego. But it was there. Burying it was one thing, watering it was another. He buried it. She helped, first, and then must have thought it should grow and she watered it. Intentionally, he thinks. The winged were malicious creatures. It didn't stop him from falling in love.

The truth was, he envied wings. It was a case of sour grapes, really, they were beautiful and magical things that he wanted but could never have; they dominated his life, defined his inferiority, and confined him to the lowest caste. He made a point of flaunting that no one with wings had bested him - at least not before being defeated in a rematch - and really, how great could wings be if they couldn't protect you? Everyone liked him, anyway, and if they didn't they were blinded by all those feathers! He was flightless, and better for it.

In his fourth year, he met a winged filly. Chestnut, though redder than any he'd seen, with a broad chest and powerful build - the kind his father would have loved. She had a quiet strength, unlike Toro. There was no flaunting or victory laps, she simply succeeded and accepted it. It amazed him. When he saw her fight he'd say. "don't you know how good you are? Don't you want them to know?" and she'd reply, "Of course I know, and so do they. I don't need to tell them." This mare he never battled, for his spars were of ego, and hers were of necessity. She never asked him to, so he never did. She mystified Toro, and had everything he could ever seek in himself. She let Toro stick around, allowed him to walk with her and talk with her, watch her battles, though he was never permitted to cheer. "It's a distraction," she'd say, and he would say, "but you need to learn to fight with distractions." She would reply, "you're a different kind of distraction." He liked that.

Toro spent many sleepless nights thinking about her. His fights grew sloppy; she yelled at him. He brought her to meet his dam. They got along. His father was somewhere else, the woods, perhaps, staring, alone. His mother stopped looking a long time ago; she let him go and one day he never came back. It wasn't long before they found him; everyone had looked. He was loved before he broke, even as a genetic failure. The stallion was dead, scavengers crowding around him, tearing at the face El Toro shared. The face of an honorable man.

The funeral pyre was large and carried out with great pomp. Toro's mother sang. The winged girl came. Only distant family and friends cried; he'd been dead for a long time already to the close ones. Toro returned to life with relative ease, he stopped being sloppy because the girl was watching and his mother went back to performing. He fell deeper in love with the pegasus; she joined the guard a year early and excelled. Stallions loved her, but she told him time and time again that they just didn't understand her. He did. He knew. He loved her.

She started doing other things, hanging out with friends that didn't want to hangout with him, she had less time, more work, more things. He askd her once, "Why don't you spend time with me anymore?" and she said. "We do spend time together. We're friends. I'm in the guard. We can't hang out all the time." It hurt. He blurted: "But I love you." "What?" "I lo-" "No, no. No. You can't. You don't - no. Toro, we're friends. I had a crush on you when we were younger but we can't do this now." He knew why. He understood. "Because I'm less than you, right? Because you have wings and anyone without them can never get as far-" "No, Toro. That's not - ugh. You just...you don't understand." She turned tail, pausing a moment, maybe thinking, changing her mind he hoped, and flew away. Toro didn't go home right away, didn't tell his mother. She was singing somewhere. This wasn't right. He didn't understand. He didn't want this. He wanted her to like him and she didn't and he just knew it was about the wings. Just like he knew he understood.

His passion was misplaced; he was meant to love success, himself, his mother - anything but the pegasus. He cried to his dam. She sang to him. "It happens," she said. "You have too much heart for this world. You love it passionately and it hurts you. I'm sorry." He rested his head against her neck. He cried. It wasn't really about the girl, or it was only about halfway. The rest of it was his curse. His unfinished form, without wings. He asked, "where did you come from, mother?" "East. Far away. Why?" "Did they like wings there?" "They didn't care. Toro, you're not..." "If I can't love here, I'll go love somewhere else." His mother told him to rest, go to sleep, don't leave, do anything but leave. She almost begged. Almost. But as he left, she said, "It was just a girl. You're still a child. Love wll come again." And he whispered, far away, "Yes, but not here."

Within the last few months, Toro ventured to Novus, stumbling upon the Day Court. He sought the rank of a warrior, and was at once amazed and relieved by the irrelevance of his physical form, and the favorability of his skillset. He still knows little of Novus or its people, however.
Active & Parvus Magic

Passive Magic


work in progress

Margariz, a male white lion. Margariz first appears to Toro as a cub, and grows at an accelerated speed. He will eventually reach 10 feet tall at the shoulder. His eyes are blue. Margariz possesses a similar stupid bravery to El Toro, but enjoys peace and is inclined to relax unless Toro has gotten into some kind of fight. As a cub, Margariz does not take his own size into account and often jumps into fights he cannot win. When Margariz hunts, he takes pleasure in the long, slow death of his prey, something Toro finds disturbing, but he still will only hunt for food. He just wants to squeeze out every ounce of enjoyment when he does.

Armor, Outfit, and Accessories

Rump: Thin metal wiring covers most of his rump. It is silver in color and is beaded through with tiny, polished gemstones that reflect a rainbow of colors. On either side, several topaz briolettes dangle.

Forehead: Between Toro's horns is more of this dreamcatcher-like wiring. It is also silver, its gems color similarly, and three sapphire briolettes hang to the left, right, and center of his face.

Right: Toro's right horn features silver wiring, dotted with various gems and featuring dangling briolettes of different gemstones, in the center. The tip of his horn is capped in a copper piece (that can be removed), featuring an emerald.
Left: Toro's left horn tip has some silver wiring with various gem beads and dangling briolettes.

Agora Items & Awards

(View All Items)


Postbit by Hans Eiskonen on Unsplash https://unsplash.com/photos/wn57cSQ7VzI
Table by Avis, table images sourced from various on unsplash
Manip by Nikkayla
Pagedoll by Fintron
Pixel by Kat
Toro's Ref/Image Stash https://sta.sh/21t6ls4kqo2v

The Player

▶ Player Name: Muirgen (Profile)
▶ PM Player: Send Message
▶ Email: Send Email
▶ Other Accounts: Muirgen, Fereydoun, Mesnyi,
Hi! I've been rping for about 6-7 years, especially with equines. I'm an aspiring graphic novelist. I love to read fantasy novels and game a bit so feel free to chat :)
El Toro's Signature
please always tag the proper character for replies