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Current Novus date and time is

▶ Year || 502
▶ Season || Spring
▶ Temp || 43℉ (8℃) - 70℉ (21℃)
▶ Weather || The nip of Winter has begun to ebb away, replaced by the gentle embrace of Spring as it ushers in new life. Plant life peeks out from the melting snow and birdsong fills the air once more, calling drowsy residents from their hideaways. Slowly but surely, the continent’s hustle and bustle returns.

Spotlight

Character of the Season
Velorca

Member of the Season
Sparrow

Thread of the Season
A Path of Stars

Pair of the Season
Rhoswen and Raum

Quote of the Season
"Like his companion, he steadies himself with the salt on his tongue, the sharp-sour smell of the sea like a fresh-split oyster. The beach, for him, is like an intersection between dreams and reality: endless, lulling, pungent and terribly dangerous. Realer than anything, and a mystery he will never solve. It is the only un-knowing he has learned to be comfortable with." From This Grand Show is eternal

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Lothaire

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The Character


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▶ Age: 5 [Year 496 Fall]
▶ Gender: Male [He/Him/His]
▶ Orientation: Heterosexual
▶ Breed: Oldenburg X Percheron
▶ Height: 17.2 hh
▶ Health: 14
▶ Attack: 6
▶ Experience: 10
▶ Signos: 25 (Donate)

▶ Joined: 06-05-2017
▶ Last Visit: 02-05-2018, 09:40 PM
▶ Total Posts: 36 (Find All Posts)
▶ Total Threads: 5 (Find All Threads)

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Lothaire is a striking creature to look at. Iron-forged bones hold him high into the air, standing at 17.2 hands. He is vast, thickset and muscular, with only small touches of the litheness his mother passed down here and there. Certainly his frame does not allow for great speed or agility but that is not to say he is incapable of either; regardless, strength is his strong suit. Lothaire's skin is a shimmering alabaster, spattered with tobiano markings of his Serpentine shifting ancestors. Python green and black colouration adorn his head, back and lower hind limb. The colour also extends to the set of enormous hooked wings featured proudly on his broad withers; they appear almost ragged and torn, but do not underestimate the power behind such a great wingspan. Perhaps one of Lothaire's most bizarre features is his distinct lack of equine ears. Two small snake ears (holes) reside where the equine ears would have, making his head sleek and almost alarming in appearance. This is exaggerated further the absence of any mane upon his neck, with only an extremely short tail of black and white colouring. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul, but if you were to gaze into the abyssal space-black of Lothaire's you find but a reflection of nihility.


Lothaire is truly a man of the night. Quiet of tongue and keen of hearing, he is the watcher on the wall and the hunter in the forest come the falling of shadow. In the presence of others he is conservative both with speech and time, reluctant to sell either without good reason. He wears his indifference without pride, rarely taking offence to harsh words thrown at his skin. Although solitude has always been his favourite companion ( often regarded by the winged man as an old friend - the only one he has ever had ) he is a curious soul, calculatedly intrigued by the peculiar minds of others. There is a nebulousness to Lothaire which hangs thick and heavy, almost tangible in it's potency, as though there were a thousand insidious secrets hidden just between his teeth.

He is an introvert at heart. As the only child in a small rural hamlet, Lo lived a sheltered life and as a result he did not develop the same set of social skills as other boys his age, or girls for that matter. Nonetheless, this has never presented itself as an issue to Lothaire, for in the silent song of isolation he finds something close to peace. That isn't to say, mind, he will always turn his cheek from the sight of a stranger on the horizon, but more often than not Lothaire will choose the northern wind upon an open sky instead. Friendship is a foreign language, one that he was never taught, and it shouldn't come as a surprise that he has never tried to learn. Acquaintances are kept at arms length, for it is there they have always been; he has not known intimacy nor has he ever welcomed it. First impressions were never his strong point, and off the cuff he is often regarded as resolutely aloof.

To trust a man such as Lothaire would be a grave misjudgement of character. Eve trusted the snake and it amounted to her demise; one would be wise to learn from her mistake. Where others wear loyalty as a badge of honour, Lo discards it entirely, for his selfishness is pure and unadulterated. He cares not for the consequences of his treachery, why should he? In the shadow of the mountain he lingers, keeping to himself, always a secretive creature. Despite his sly disposition, Lothaire is unfailingly patient and an excellent listener, especially to those who manage to earn his respect; something that should be regarded cautiously. A profound thinker, he is notably philosophical - an admirer of constellations and existentialism.




POSITIVE: Patient, articulate, nonjudgemental, profound, ambitious, rational, pacifist,
NEGATIVE: Aloof, selfish, disloyal, reclusive, morbid, self-destructive, cold.
Thousands of years ago, four hundred miles north of Novus, lay a kingdom where the land met the sky. A place creatures of contorting shapes and faceless names called home. Lothaire's ancient ancestors were what the mortals called shapeshifters; his father's line descending from the mighty Anaconda Python shifters, but as the centuries passed and the last of the shifters began to die out, the younger generations retained some of their forefathers' great power in a diluted aesthetic form which can still be seen today - Lothaire being a perfect example.

He came from the humblest of beginnings, dark-eyed and tall. The relationship between his parents was not typical, or in fact strictly legal in the eyes of the establishment; his father had been the poet laureate to the Tsar and Tsarina, his mother? - A lowly serf maiden and the only daughter of an ageing farmer. They met by chance upon a cold December morning, Searlas' thin fingers brushing against Madeline's cheek, sealing her fate. He was far too old for a girl barely of age, lest we mention the gaping difference in social class, but this did not deter Searlas from pursuing the forbidden fruit. He groomed her fervently, despite the stifled disapproval of Madeline's father - but what could he do to dispel the establishment's most favoured poet? The girl, impressionable and naive, fell fast hard and into her bed Searlas crept. Within but three months she was with child.

The news greatly deflated Searlas' interest; no longer was she pure untouched innocence, instead she was but another woman bearing his progeny. His visits to Madeline's little hamlet rapidly became few and far between, until one day they simply stopped entirely - he did not meet with her again. Heartbroken, as any delicate bird would be at the loss of her 'first love', she reluctantly carried the babe till full term, and when the boy was brought into the world - all eyes and bone - she could not help but look upon him with ire in her heart and cold acid on her tongue. She named him Noah, meaning comfort, for the irony of what Searlas had once meant to her. The gift of his name was the last she would ever grant.

Noah lived a sheltered childhood, the only foal in a rural community into which he was born. His mother was ever absent, both in body and mind, keeping to the fields where perhaps she did not feel so suffocated by her grief. It was left to Noah's grandfather to raise the boy, and raise him he did: his method was quiet and calm, but intensely firm. He was a sensible child, mirthless; the women would talk of the old soul trapped within his young body, and oh did Noah listen. He saw things, things that nobody else would have cared to notice and they stayed locked within the dark recesses of his mind as material to mull over in the shadow of night.

When he turned three years of age, Noah bowed to his grandfather and laid a solemn kiss upon his mother's turned forehead, bidding his final farewell. Asphyxiated by the boredom of the village, and hardened by the resentment from his mother, Noah knew he held no place there; it was time to find his own path. His first act as a free man was the shedding of his birthname; he felt imprisoned by the hidden meaning, as though he could still hear Madeline's anger ringing in his ears. And so, Noah became Lothaire, a name he stole from an elderly Germanic gentleman whom he stumbled upon soon after leaving his homeland. Lothaire did not linger long in any one place, searching for purpose or people, or both. He found neither.

Novus was known to Lothaire briefly before he arrived within its borders; upon the wind he'd heard its name and to it he turned with curiosity burning slow in his deep chest.
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