Dripping with nostalgia, Yves looks as if he was plucked from the pages of some fairytale romance novel. He is sturdy but not coarse, falling squarely between heavy warmblood and light draft in build. A deep dappled gray coat covers him, unusually resistant to the typical lightening that comes with advancing age. Darker Bend-Or spots are scattered across his body like beauty marks or grease stains depending on one’s preference for poeticism. His other markings include one right hind sock and a rather symmetrical small star and broad snip connected by a thin, straight line. Against his dark points, the sensitive pink skin of his muzzle stands out under his white markings; this part of his face is prone to burning under harsh sun. Like any fairytale stallion worth his salt, he sports attractive feathering and long, wavy locks; his start dark gray at the roots and fade out to silvery white. An occasional glimpse of his warm brown eyes can be seen peering out from under his thick forelock.

All Yves ever wanted was to study the natural world. Too bad the natural world seems damned and determined to kill his sorry ass. It would have been so easy for him to become some kind of gentle god-fearing medicine man; clever, but not enough to get himself into trouble. Instead, chaos and unfortunate circumstance turned the aspiring scholar into a self-absorbed renegade. Trouble follows him like a lost puppy–all persistence and needle-sharp teeth–and Yves has long given up on taking it with any kind of aplomb or grace. He is annoyed with the universe and all too happy to voice this annoyance, usually in the form of snarky one-liners.

Underneath that bitter shell, however, Yves remains fundamentally good. He is a social creature who enjoys the company of others, and he seeks out many relationships of both the platonic and romantic varieties, though he is loath to commit too seriously to any particular individual. Too many other-worldly entities have kept a stranglehold on him for too long; like hell he would willingly cede what little autonomy he has left to some inconstant friend or lover. Nonetheless, being helpful and generally enjoyable company, at least to those who can tolerate his world-weary humor, brings him some clear measure of happiness. To that end, his years of botanical study (interrupted though they were) are put to good use in both the healing and merry-making arts. He can make a salve to speed any natural wound’s healing and a spirit that will knock your fucking socks off, and he enjoys sharing both liberally as he travails the twisted path fate has set for him. Everyone might as well have as good a time as they can while they still can, right?

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Positive: romantic, clever, helpful, studious, independent, down-to-earth
Negative: cynical, noncommittal, self-centered, impulsive, bitter

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Absentee father, overbearing mother: a tale as old as time. Yves had the misfortune of being the eldest of many siblings, and thus bore the brunt of his mother's controlling nature. She was adamant that Yves pursue life as a diplomat, following in his father's hoofsteps. Yves was more interested in picking wildflowers for his collection.

As the story so often goes, things came to a head around Yves' fourth birthday. Four years was enough time for his mother to place all of her aspirations squarely on Yves' shoulders, realize he would never be the son she wanted him to be, and grow to resent him for his shortcomings. Yves was surprisingly robust to this resentment; as long as he could continue his studies and talk shit with his favorite sister, he was happy enough. But his mom wasn't happy. When Yves’ younger brother was old enough to distinguish himself as the clear physical and mental superior, their mother ordered him to chase Yves from the herd. His brother, cast in the mold of the ambitious and ever-obedient soldier, completed his mission dutifully and emotionlessly. If it were not for the loss of his sister, it would have been little more than a pinprick. With her loss, it was a dagger to the heart. He was crushed, and crushed again when it became obvious she would not be running away from home to join him. Months passed, and Yves reluctantly moved on from the first great loss of his life.

After that, the losses came in waves.

The Shade had already tightened its noose around Helovia's neck once Yves made his faltering way to that world. He settled into the World's Edge with just enough time to watch everything fall apart around him. By the time he realized he should be fighting back instead of just watching and offering snarky commentary to the survivors, it was long past too late. Like everyone, he was swallowed by the rift portal and, perhaps less like everyone given the total solitude that awaited him in the wild lands between worlds, summarily spit out, stymied again at any attempt to put down roots. Two worlds wiped out in front of his own eyes. He was left to wander the dying lands, lonely and increasingly frustrated, cursing gods who had long since stopped listening. And he survived, albeit discontentedly, and made his beleaguered way to Novus. Here he grudgingly aligned himself with Vespera, daring to hope that choosing a court may finally grant him some reprieve from the destructive force that had been his life so far.