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Current

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)

Spotlight

Character of the Season
Pavetta

Member of the Season
Nestle

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


DISCORD

Basileios
Day Court Citizen


The Character


Offline

▶ Age: 4 [Year 499 Spring]
▶ Gender: Nonbinary
▶ Pronouns: they/them
▶ Orientation: Androsexual
▶ Breed: Kathiawari
▶ Height: 14.1 hh
▶ Health: 15
▶ Attack: 5
▶ Experience: 10
▶ Signos: 255 (Donate)

▶ Joined: 10-29-2018
▶ Last Visit: Yesterday, 01:39 PM
▶ Total Posts: 6 (Find All Posts)
▶ Total Threads: 3 (Find All Threads)

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BIG BOYS DON'T CRY
In the desert where they make their home, Basil blends in with an ineffable fluidity; all long limbs and a narrow frame, they cut through the dunes with the grace of the racing wind. Within the marble halls of the Day Court, their lean, svelte body recalls slender Grecian lyrists and their older admirers— fine-boned good looks paired by a cascade of wavy bronze hair. Though fully-grown, their doe-eyed appearance and boyish physique often gives the impression of youth and boyishness. It is a charming demeanor, but one which belies strong opinions and a will that rises to the occasion. They are full of these small contradictions: small scars, imperfections, grown pale with age upon a noble's body; old, starry eyes in a face carved by youth; lightness from a heavy heart.

But, for all these half-lies and untruths, Basil is more akin to Day than ever. Painted in the hues of dunes and sun-bleached stone, their red dun base darkens upon their legs and face. Across their sloped shoulders lies a dorsal stripe in deep ochre, the same font from which their coppery mane and tail flow; the sun-bleached curls speak to a personality most comfortable outdoors beneath the olive groves. Bright against the dun, sabino splatters their underside and their right legs— interrupted only by the ermine spots upon these same two feet. Almost as an afterthought, the sabino dips their muzzle neatly to match the star upon their brow.

In homage to the traditions set before them, their wear gold— albeit in frugal, heirloom amounts. A beaten gold crown of myrtle is a near constant accompaniment, as is the handful of gold pins used to secure their long mane into a bun as the nape of their neck. Last, thin lines of gold paint mark their cloven hooves just beneath the coronet.
THEY DON'T ASK WHY
Soft-spoken, personable, and somewhat shy, Basil seems more like a scholar, or a former slave, than the head of Azhade household. As a child, they enjoyed relatively more freedom than their older brother by virtue of being useless to the house's goals, and as a result they have a tendency to allow louder personalities to overshadow them. What cannot be denied is their presence, however gentle; ignored by their remaining family is a diamond heart that cannot be shattered by mere mortal means. It is this surprising obstinance that frequently resulted in their former status as the family whipping boy.

Perhaps it shouldn't be shocking that Basileios became an abolitionist at a young age. A natural curiosity, stubborn dedication to their morals, and the willingness to endure gave them the strength necessary to confront the rhetoric prevalent within their family and come out the victor. Their kindness now is a testament to the personal growth they've nurtured over the years, born from the wish that no one else need go through the same suffering, and the softness Basil cocoons themselves with, whatever warmth and comfort they use as a shield— none of it entirely masks the frigid iron they bring to bear against the tyranny of the Old Regime. Basil is no muscle-bound destrier, dealing death with every blow, but their wrath is a scalpel and they will excise every rotten wound with a surgeon's precision. Let it not be said that Basil is a coward.

With the fall of the old hierarchy, Basil has come into their own, revealing well-founded opinions and a quiet grace that most of their family were unaware they possessed. Although they are still youthful and harbor trepidation as Head of House, they see the chess board laid out before them and make haste to consolidate their scattered power. With them lies the wealth and influence to crush the Black Market— and they are willing to sacrifice it all upon that cause.
There was a time when a moment like this
Wouldn't ever cross my mind
The Azhade have ruled the Black Market with a gilded fist for as long as Basileios' tutors can remember, and their ancient texts differ only in the name they give that Market. Two sides of the same coin, these bazaars brought the Azhade household wealth and influence in the ever-shifting sands that comprise the Day Court. For some, this influence came at the price of their autonomy. For others, it bought their opponents' deaths.

Basil makes no excuses for the efforts of his house in expanding the slave trade. They know, unflinchingly, that their grandmother was a slave brought in from the Night Court and that she spent her life as the unwilling consort of his grandfather before succumbing to an early grave. They know, without joy or sorrow, that the nursemaids who raised them were slaves. In a family such as the Azhade, it would have been impossible to go without them.

Let us return, then, to Basil's younger days.

Born the second son of a cadet branch of the Azhade family, Basil's childhood was both blessed and cursed. As the second-born, they were naturally excluded from any thoughts of inheritance or heirdom— especially in the grand scheme of the entire household. As the second-born, they accrued more freedom than their other siblings, especially as being considered more a son than daughter excluded them from the eventual suitor parade. It is perhaps this freedom that spared them the noose, but suffered them the switch.

They were never a belligerent child, only curious and far too fond of asking, "Why?" Why were they not allowed to call their playmate a friend? Why was he told to strike his nursemaid if she misbehaved? Why did they have brands? As they grew older, some of these questions were answered through experience or inferred knowledge. They learned to bite their tongue, to demur when pressed and obsfucate when forced.

And, occasionally, to lie.

For, as the light illuminates, it also blinds— and he was worth defending. Even now, they cannot speak of the unrevealed love for their childhood playmate, but it is there and, oh, how it burns. Even the clouds cannot entirely obscure the sun; is their love for his rare half-smile any different? With every bout, their gladiator accumulated scars and bitterness— so, too, did the world resent the Old Regime.

In the end, it is not an organized plot that shelters Basil from the revolution that rips their family from the mortal plane. It is not their long-held abolitionist opinions that stay the household slaves' hand. In the end, there is no blaze of glory— only his playmate's gentle touch and the whispered words, "Stay here." Darkness swallows them whole in the cellar where Basil remains, listening to agonized cries of slaughter above them and knowing that this, this is the price they must pay and the price they will always pay for the dawn to break.

With the household in ruins, they clean the blood from their family's heirloom crown. A new age would rise.
Active & Parvus Magic

The sun will rise with my name on your lips
Tier 1: Discipuli — As Basil's grip on truth-telling is still weak, they are only able to discern when someone is telling an outright lie. They cannot intuit half-truths, indirect lies, or tell if someone is lying when they are talking to someone else.

Tier 2: Vexillum — With time and experience, Basil is able to better discern truthfulness. At the Vexillum level, Basil can intuit overheard lies as well as lies told directly to them when concentrating. Although outright lies are still the easiest for them to discern, they can also catch half-truths and indirect falsehoods. With great effort, their ability to detect lies also manifests as the ability to suss out truth— though they are clumsy at best, they can sometimes convince others to tell the truth when they otherwise would not.

Tier 3: Periti — At the Periti level, Basil's magic truly begins to blossom. Their ability to tell fact from fiction is unparalleled and falsehoods uttered in their presence are just as 'loud' as those said directly to them. At this level, they are able to project their magic visually with concentration: a bright glow surrounds the target's head, immediately winking out if they tell a falsehood while the spell lasts. Although it no longer strains their concentration so gravely, Basil's ability to prize the truth from unwilling mouths is only slightly better; they can prevent others from telling outright lies, but not from giving sideways answers or half-truths.

Tier 4: Dominus — Having mastered their magic, Basil is now able to compel the truth from someone, no matter how much they may resist. The process is painless, though disconcerting; try as they might to lie, the words that come from their spell's focus' mouth will be the truth. The duration of the spell is maintained easily for five minutes and, with great effort, may be held as long as ten minutes.




Passive Magic





Bonded





Armor, Outfit, and Accessories

cause everything will change tonight
A beaten gold wreath in shape of myrtle leaves rests frequently upon their poll, while a half-dozen golden pins hold their coiffed mane in place.



Agora Items & Awards



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Miscellaneous

This thing, it's a family affair
As a diluted bloodline of a shed-star, Basil is minimally affected by their ancestry. The single star upon their brow passes as a common marking and they see no glimpses beyond the Veil in everyday life. At night, the star-strewn sky calls to them in a way they cannot describe, an eerie echo they both fear and yearn for. Each equinox, they are visited by strange dreams whose contents are soon pushed to the far corners of their mind— and yet, each dream always contains their future's truth.


The Player

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