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15 [Year 489 Winter]










17 hh







Last Visit:

06-30-2020, 03:50 PM


Signos: 930 (Donate)
Total Posts: 18 (Find All Posts)
Total Threads: 1 (Find All Threads)

as if he had heard me
he reached for my hand

He wears his age like a gentle coat, the crow's feet around his eyes and the laughter lines around his muzzle deep. They are a sign that his life has had better moments. However, as you catch a glimpse of his dim, white eyes, you see a hint of sorrow.

His Warlander physique is no longer made of hard lines or rough edges, but he still maintains a slim build that was clearly stronger when he was younger. Carefully he walks, his steps a little more careless now but no less graceful.

Weathered and worn, on his good days he looks the part of the regal king he once was. On the bad, he looks tired and lost.

Swathed in an old collection of earthy colors that grow darker near his face and legs, but fade out around his barrel. Around his hindquarters, some unusual striping can be found. Upon his weathered cheeks is dark war paint. Paired with it, some of the same paint brushes across the front of his face. It is a reminder of times long past, just like everything else he carries on his person.

His creamy eyes see you despite appearing blind, and his soft, fatherly tone brings warmth. Were you to ask what is wrong with his eyes, though, he would simply chuckle and say 'nothing.' Long ago, when the crow's feet around his eyes were gone, his eyes used to glow — now they do not. Now his eyes are just another reminder; they are a result of being born with magic flowing through him. They are just another sign that he was born one of the outcasts of his home.

Crowned with two dark horns, the lowest of which is smaller than the other, they are deadly items that use to be stained in blood. As the years have passed, they have not lost their sharpness. However, they no longer help him in battle. Now they only add to the regality that his entire appearance seems to hold, even if he is older. Along with these, his flaxen hair does the same while also managing to hide his older age.

A beaded gold necklace, a blood-red cloak, and gold-dipped shoes all hang onto his person. All items are ones he gained during a specific time in his life and has kept to this day, despite the reminders they bring. They do not represent who he is now, but they are a trademark and brutal items that remind him of what he left behind.

At the end of it all, the last things you notice are the bandages around his hind leg. Even though he has lived a long life, he is not free from the physical wounds of it, nor the mental ones. You wonder what wounds he could have gained so recently, and wonder why the bandages are so dirty. Little do you know, he has had these wounds since he was a young man.

a flaring red silhouette
bound in invisible chains
Admirable | Benevolent | Calm | Empathetic | Gentle | Loyal
Confidential | Formal | Noncommittal | Submissive

He has always been a man that stands in the back of the room, one who does nothing to draw attention to himself. Everyone always seems to notice him sooner or later, though. He is known to not speak much about himself, yet the little details he does give away always lead others to believe he is an open book that has nothing to hide. Over time, his charming, youthful attitude has faded away, now replaced with something fatherly and warm. Even then, he has the ability to lure others to him with a warm smile alone, more often than not approaching those he does not know with a joke or sarcastic gibe dripping from his lips. He is cool in his demeanor and does not allow any anxiety or tension to break through his weathered skin.

Even now, after years and years, he has managed to keep doing this. No matter if it is a little harder, a little tougher, to do so.

With socialization skills that have long been honed and thoroughly developed due to a life that revolved around politics, he can speak faux words as easily as he can walk. The tender tone he uses more often now helps him along the way. However, the same cannot be said for words that are a shade truer, for those always result in him stumbling about and hesitating. Emotions make one vulnerable, after all, but as he grows older he has come to learn that time is precious and those fears aren't as strong anymore.

Posture still strong despite the years, he emits an independent, confident aura, but this is counteracted by his aged and kind face. Given this, others often believe he is as approachable as a long-time friend. Which, of course, is very true. This covers something deeper, though — a hidden layer that was drilled into him at a young age, one built for obeying and complying. It is a hidden thing that is so ingrained into who he is that he is rather passive more often than not and rather docile.

Due to his extended time around politics, he has learned that it is best to be a mediator in most situations, always wants all the facts before choosing a course of action. Diplomatic and tending to go for a more nonconfrontational approach (as one should at his age anyway), this still does not mean that he is not determined, nor stubborn. It is those two specific traits that have gotten him through much, after all. Along with these two traits, his time training as a soldier has also planted something inside of him that has slumbered for years now.

Those instincts are there, but to act on them would be foolish.

Underneath all of this there is also another side reserved only for those he considers his (whether they know it or not). For those that are his family, his loved ones, there is a side that involves affectionate bumping, teasing, kind smiles, and gentle encouragement. A genuinely caring and wise man, he remains completely loyal to those in his small circle.

a soul free of his past
but not of the sins committed
early life, the court

determined and proud, you break free from your bonds

There are lands were individuals naturally born with sorcery in their veins are rare. These individuals, once discovered, are immediately seen as cursed and something to be exploited. So, one must take them while they are young so that they will have their undivided loyalty in the future. This is why, upon learning that Avallac'h had an affinity for such arts, the Crown came for him and his mother allowed it. It was his magic, something he had been born with, that made him a prisoner so early on in life.

He became enslaved, chained and tethered to the Court. His living arrangements were certainly better than they had been at home, but a cage is still a cage no matter how dazzling it may appear. Being thrown into quarters where he lived among those both with - and without - sorcery, he was put to work immediately. Starting out, he was left to do the more mundane tasks (something befitting a young child), learning how to better his talent on the side thank to the help of other enslaved mages. It was not long, though, that he was soon considered mature enough to take on more mature tasks, ones that involved him becoming a personal servant to visiting delegates and diplomats of the Court.

Regardless of his work he was still a sheep, following orders without question — the perfect servant.

The time came when another night had passed, one that involved him being in the company of drunk diplomats. It was there, swathed in silk and giving fake laughs, that he came to a decision: he'd not remain in this position any longer. No more would he be told to obey and kneel simply because he had sorcery running through his blood. This is where sharing the company of such influential individuals had its perks, and with flattering gestures, well-placed words, and doubts, he soon found himself slowly working up and away from a lowly servant and toward something more valuable.

He would show them that he was not some cursed fool.

Despite this change, though, he still was not satisfied. Now holding a more admirable position, with better food, drink, and a place to stay, it wasn't what he wanted. None of it had been what he wanted, but it would do for the time being. Just so long as it got him away from where he was before. (Not once did he think about the friends he left below, but the thoughts of them would come to haunt him in the future).

He could never escape what he was, though, and that was made clear when the war came. Word of it had been floating through the Court for some time already, and Avallac'h had thought himself safe, but he was quickly proven wrong. After adamantly trying to dissuade the Crown from partaking in such a foolish thing he was commanded to go and fight. He argued with all he had, but a gruesome "You owe the Crown your life," is all they had to say for him to know it was no use. And so it was decided. He would fight. No matter what position he had gained his magic was an asset that they needed on the battlefield.

He trained with the rest of the mages, more fit and well-fed, and then he was deployed.

It was not clean nor quick — the war was long and taxing. Those involved faced many trials. Many never returned, while others never came to speak of what they faced once back. Avallac'h had done things that, to this day, he is not proud of nor keen on speaking about either.

At the end of it all, Avallac'h found that he never knew who had won.

Once again, just like when he was a child, Avallac'h found that it was due to the Crown and his sorcery that he had been placed somewhere he didn't want to be. Because of this, after the war that something new sparked inside, flaring at the thought of the Crown. Returning with cursed and gruesome wounds on his leg that had him sick with fever, he remained only long enough for the healers to figure out something.

Then, he left.

Never again would he allow another to force him into using his sorcery for such a thing; never again would he let himself be put into such a vulnerable position. He fled in the middle of the night, unbeknownst to the rest of the Court, leaving all he knew with a flash of his cloak. He had learned his lesson, and he would not partake in any wars or follow another ever again


we could have been grand; would have been

After flourishing out in the world, running into individuals that were never like the snakes he once knew (they were nothing compared to what he had already faced) Avallac'h knew he had found something wonderful. He fell into their games and desires freely, enjoying every second of it.

Continuously moving, it is through this endless wandering he found himself in the Passage of Caeleste. At first sight, it had been unassuming; it had appeared like so many other places — that is until he felt his chest grow hollow. This is how he found a solution to a lifelong burden, for within the Passage his magic was stripped away, leaving him bare and empty. Something was missing (it felt wrong), but it was the first time Avallac'h felt absolute relief. The very thing that had been the source of his enslavement was no longer with him. He could, for once, actually breathe.

Caeleste had more in store for him, too, for it was only just after entering that he ran into her. Independent, stubborn, determined — he should have known better. Huntington had been her name. She led him from the Passage and became a source of curiosity and interest for Avallac'h. He doesn't know how, nor why, but there was something there and he just couldn't let it go.

Upon leaving the Court, Avallac'h had made a promise to himself to never become loyal to anything or anyone ever again, but he found himself doing just that when it came to her.

But suddenly, nothing. She had disappeared, and curse his foolish attachment that should never have formed. He went searching, leaving behind the rain-drenched land; he asked and followed every lead he could find.

The entire time he reprimanded himself; cursed himself to the darkest pits of hell and back. Nevertheless, he didn't stop looking.


the sky was grey but they found you and gave you hope

Through words of small sightings he came to be in Nordlys, and this is where he found Huntington once more.

Things did not go as planned, though. She greeted him with sharp words; ones that told him of her desire to disappear. She had left for a reason and did not want to be found. Despite wanting otherwise, Avallac'h told her he would leave her alone. So there Huntington left him, on those cobbled streets of Morthalion with little more than a careless goodbye.

Foolish on his part to travel all that way for nothing. Avallac'h now found himself somewhere new, and despite his fatigue, it wasn't long before he started to learn more about the new land he had come to.

Slowly he learned what little he could of Nordlys, of her people, and her beliefs. Despite knowing better, he began to grow fond of the place. So new and foreign, he began to find hope in arid deserts and forested islands.

It is in these places he ran into them: those he considered daughters. Aelin, Jahra, and Pyrrha.

(That is why, to this day, no matter where they might be or how far they are, he wishes for their happiness and well-being.)

He ran into Huntington once again, though, for he was greedy for her presence. Little did he know that this would be the final time he saw her. No matter the amount of healing herbs he picked for her, or care he tried to give, it could never save what he had seen between them.

She disappeared once more, but unlike before he did not try to find her. He was not foolish enough to do so again. He had not expected the consequences of their last meeting, though. An old, sickly feeling returned — one that he could remember feeling long ago when war laid on the horizon. A hidden restlessness grew, and grew, and grew, only silencing when a call from a hidden idol - a beastly tiger known as Lars - called for him. Avallac'h answered willingly, unaware of the path the idol of strength would lead him on.

The indomitable Lars promised the return of his magic, going so far as gifting him some of it immediately (albeit at more than half its strength). With its small return, the hollowness inside Avallac'h wept, and he left the beast with a promise that he would return for the rest of his sorcery.

But he never did.

During his quest to do as Lars asked of him, fear crept in. This final piece, one lost long ago, was the one Avallac'h knew would solidify him to the land. The parched deserts would become his home — and he wanted that.

It terrified him. He loved the land and her people, but it was dangerous to do so. He wasn't ready to give every last piece of himself to the land. It was safer to depart; he knew it would be best for him to leave.

And so, like a coward, he left.


this was it, peace, home, hope — you failed

He left, traveling further and further from the place he felt, that for the first time in his life, could become a home.

Little did he know he left right before destruction and ruin came.

It was during his passage on a ship, the waves of the ocean rocking its wooden foundation, that Avallac'h knew things needed to change. He needed to learn how to put his fears behind and try. It was time to grow. And so, he found himself on the island of Sovereign, a place he could not help but compare to Nordlys for so long before he realized he needed to leave that place and her people behind (leave those he had come to care for behind). This land had new opportunities for him.

Soon enough, he came to realize it also held familiar faces he thought he would never see again.

Then, by some blessing, the people of Sovereign came to choose him as one of their Kings (a title he hadn't been able to fathom others calling him), and it is where he resided as their Fair Sovereign. Sanus, her gentle wind and dancing prairie grasses, become something he never knew a place could.


It is there that he ruled beneath the Fair Fate, feeling glowing pride at knowing it was Aelin who held such a position. It is also there that he found Jahra again while walking the calming prairie trails. It is there he found Campion along the shores, defeated and broken.

Finding them safe and whole was a relief, and with each time they spoke, he found a family.

Despite his growing age Avallac'h did all he could for his people. Reaching out and meeting with the other Sovereigns. He had served an individual undeserving of a crown, and he didn't want to be that type of man.

In the Basilica of old, in the cobbled streets of Nicosia, and on the winding trails of Sanus' prairies, his weary and tired soul found rest. But, as with all things, trouble soon rose.

The Darkness.

The threat to his people, one that wanted to lay claim to their very lives and alter who they were. At the time, Avallac'h acted in the best interest of his people, but at the expense of locking away a poor soul that should not have been chained and forgotten. Rurik, like so many other faces, is another weight of guilt he will always carry.

Soon the Darkness became too much, and in the fight to try and protect his people he lost his daughters and the men that he held close and silently looked out for again.

His only way of escaping had been through a portal, created by another woman Avallac'h was coming to care for: Morrigan. With her on his trail and the few of his people they could save in front of him, they escaped as Sovereign fell.

With it, a piece of him died.


fallen king, failed king, now you must live with your guilt

Within crashing waves he found himself. The thought of simply sinking to the bottom of the sea was an appealing one, but he made his way to land instead.

Once he had finally made his way onto the beach, the Fallen and Failed King cried; cried for the people he had promised to protect, the loved ones he had lost and never expressed affection for, and the place he first called home.

He felt himself deserving of death, yet the aging man continued to live.

Edana is where he continued his story, and within her quiet and gentle hold he found his daughter Jahra, and the child which she had created with the help of Aelin. Aehra was wonderful, and Avallac'h had promised to help care for the wonderful girl in any way he could.

Alongside Jahra, he met many other familiar faces, ones he had met all the way back in Nordlys even.

Then, despite believing Aelin had been killed, Avallac'h soon found out that she was alive. However, there was no remnant of his daughter in the woman he found. She did not even call herself Aelin anymore, and no amount of hope or tears helped to bring her back to him.

The pain and guilt stacked up higher.

Despite promising Jahra he would help Aehra learn he went into seclusion. The deserts of Edana is where he found himself, and it is there he found something else for him.


A griffin of mahogany, her wings had been dipped in gold, and she had held fire in her heart. A companion, something he never knew he needed but found himself needing. She was an anchor; a soul that he grew close to and bonded with despite her constant wandering.

It seemed Edana had more in store for him, though. His next step, something that reminded him of his time with the Court, was the call of the Lightbringers.

With the help of a scroll he was directed back to a glade that he cherished and enjoyed being at, then he joined the ranks. He quickly began their lead tactician, and a new threat (threat after threat) loomed on the horizon. Never-ending, never stopping, he set out to do what he could under the command of those that had fought for Edana before him.

Once again, though, it was not enough.

Edana was taken by the same looming darkness that constantly nipped at his heels, and in the carnage, he found himself more alone than ever before. Aeritha was gone — Jahra, Aelin, Aehra, Campion, Morrigan. All of them, gone.

He searched.


no matter what, you must not give up hope, dear one

A clock counts down the days and he is tired.

Active & Parvus Magic

Once upon a time, long ago, Avallac'h had the ability to manipulate energy, manifest it, and use it as he pleased.

Now? Now he has nothing, and he never will again.

Passive Magic



Free spirit of fire, born the the arid heat of the South, my only wish is that you are safe.

Not long ago, a creature of mahogany and gold had called Avallac'h her's. She had been free as could be and protective of him. Aeritha, a griffin with fire on the tips of her wings, had been his confident for such a short time.

Avallac'h's only wish is that she is still alive and well, free as she was the day he found her.

Armor, Outfit, and Accessories


Made of red fabric with gold trimming, there are gold embellishments that hang from where the fabric drapes across his neck. It is an old item, one that has managed to stand the test of time.

That is, until recently. Now some edges are frayed and it's a little dingy in some areas. It's nothing some tender love and care couldn't fix, though.

beaded necklace, gold shoes:

Similar in color, both items represent the status he once had in the Court. Now, they are but mere reminders that never let him forget about his time there.


Wrapped in two separate places on his hind left leg, the bandages that Avallac'h wears cover old wounds that have been there with him since he was taken from within the pits of battle.

How this is possible? The wounds are cursed, and the only way he has managed not to fall sick with fever again because of them is due to the help of healers from the Court. As a result, Avallac'h cannot feel any sensation in the areas surrounding the wounds although he can still, thankfully, use the leg completely.

Agora Items & Awards

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profile banner by Tibet-Lama
profile footer & avatar by Rayofliight
appearance image by AmeAmeridian
postbit image by teemoory
outfit image by Neamrel

Played by:

Neamrel (PM Player)


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