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14 [Year 491 Fall]








Morgan X


14 hh







Last Visit:

06-29-2020, 03:15 PM


Signos: 0 (Donate)
Total Posts: 18 (Find All Posts)
Total Threads: 3 (Find All Threads)

Her heavy strands of hair slide /
like serpents over somber, blood-red plush.

• Unicorn
» Morgan x Paint
• Dapple Bay Tobiano with barring
• Thin, muscular build
• Scarred
• Milky white eyes, but perfect vision
For all her softness, she is hardly a creature built to weather the desert from which she was born.

Of remarkably small stature, Hälla is a woman coiffed by the elements: hardened by time and trial, with a ribbon-slim spine that tapers into thin, swaying hips. She is as delicate and vicious as a cobra: a sashaying little creature that has learned to hide her fangs within the litheness of a muscled, feminine body.

But despite the delicate embodiment of her build—barely a hair over fourteen hands and rather slender to boot—she carries the scars of a warrior. Her throat bares evidence of a time something taloned and wild sought to tear it out; her belly the deep rivulets of a gut-hungry wildcat; her lips kissed by war, a too brutal lover.

The juxtaposition of her build is something of a reflection of her character, as is the lovely garb of her markings. With a uniquely complex blaze to encircle her pale eyes and frame the tricolor of her mane, her countenance is a remarkable, snow-brushed crown to the rest of her desert hue.

Collectively, she is undoubtedly a woman of the wilds—with none of the refinement of a city goer, and all the nature of a desert cat.

It is a most distressing affliction to have /
a sentimental mind and a skeptical heart.

• shrewd
• (an effort to be) conscientious
• loyal to a fault
• tenacious
• family-bound; loving
• inquisitive
• ambivalent
aloof; jaded
insatiable appetite for love, desire, belonging
impulsive; bold
An intrepid woman hardened by time and trial, Hälla is the joint creation of a tortured soul and a desert viper. Both intelligent, wild, vicious—and yet separate in their goals. Where the soul was a self-serving cynic with bitter expectations for the world, the heart entombed within the Catacombs of Solterra was a pious, selfless thing. Upon awakening, the juxtaposition of her heart and her head make for a dizzying approach into this new world.

She steps from the shadows of her tomb and into the desert light without any expectations. Those were taken from her a long time ago, with her home, her family, and her grey morality.

What she does possess is an array of conflicted interests, and a deep understanding that, whomever she may be now, Solterra is not as she knew it a decade before. She’s been sleeping for so long that, even if it’d remained unchanging, she’s sure she wouldn’t recognize the desert, anyways.

(Or did she know it at all? Were the dreams a reality for some other sect of her old heart, or just the lie she was fed to make the grueling chime of the clock toll more swiftly? There’s no way of knowing.)

But some facets of the desert never change, and she shares in that permanent wildness, rousing from her too-long sleep with a hankering desire to replenish what was lost. As the sand aches for water, so, too, does she want after the appetites of her soul: love, passion. Belonging.

Whether a decade before or within her dreaming in the catacomb, she once knew family. And as she browses the sand for evidence of her old life, she seeks, too, to grab hold of something to claim as her own.

Let go /
or be dragged.

Her past is scattered upon the breeze of distant worlds. A book unfurled from its bindings, with tattered pages thrown unto the void and spread across the cosmos. She is a woman unburdened of her former life, whose tongue has secluded memories to the deepest recesses of her mind, leaving them to pillage the shadows of her inner self.

But the foundations of her life began within the heart of a gypsy family. A soft, pale thing colored to the likeness of frost, her theatrical parents titled her as the Grey from early on. Born to an Artisan and his Star beneath the cover of twilight, entering the world in the embrace of a twin sister, her tale began with storybook perfection and unfurled with the wildness of a young girl, predisposed to inherit her parents’ hunger for adventure.

As it were, she was instead exposed to the harshness of reality at the courtesy of her mother and father’s carelessness. Too youthful and ambitious themselves, Hälla and her sister, Libra, were left to fend for themselves.

A self-made adolescent who sprung into adulthood with a hearty, deeply ingrained measure of distrust, she nonetheless learned to covet the prospect of watered-down family over that of blood. The close-knit clan she developed through her young adulthood—a collection of strange individuals who, for all intents and purposes, were more patchworked than perfect—came to replace the familial love she’d been deprived of for most of her life.

With her sister absent too, the two of them separated on the whim of their exploratory hearts, and Hälla became the self-proclaimed matriarch of her small group, taking it upon herself to raise the youngest of them—a boy called Fletcher. Alongside her friend Leonardo, the two of them saw to their family’s safety, and the Grey woman gradually nursed to life a timorous, budding care for Leo.

But despite their daily routines and their self-made rituals, and the ingrained sense of structure that Hälla came to covet, her flirtations with Leo she learned to be too timorous, too soft, when he was swept into the sultry approaches of another woman.

It wasn’t long thereafter that he surrendered their clan on behalf of his own family. His wife, their children—and inadvertently taught the Grey a swift lesson on the impermanence of even a hand-made family.


Hälla’s story is a long, weary tale that she would sooner forget, though she cannot forfeit the loathed and beloved faces that haunt her waking moments. She is both liberated and imprisoned by her life, and yet motivated to see its remainder to a stubbornly surviving fruition.

For through it all—through children and lovers, victory and defeat—she has defied the will of stars and pursued survival with hungry, primitive vengeance.

The universe owes her a debt, and she is hungry to claim it.

What she doesn't know is that the stars have already taken her, swallowed her up among the wind and the sky, setting her spirit adrift to worlds distant and unknown.

Until she comes to Novus; until her soul blends with the dying ember of a desert creature trapped within the catacombs, fanning the hearth of a warrior-woman back to life.

When she awakens, she is something else entirely.

- - -

Her name, in this life, she cannot remember.

What she can remember is how she trekked a desert path upon chipped hooves, weathered to the sole by heat and sand. Her skin labors beneath the weight of scars, laden with grit and sweat. Sinew, rippling beneath dappled flesh.


How she came to be one of Solterra's chosen, a flame-kissed girl among the renowned Arete, was both a tale of trial and triumph. An orphan taken beneath the wing of one of the desert's hardy tribes, she was gifted with a boon of magic from an early age, and molded from cinder to inferno at the behest of her peoples.

And it was their tenacious spirit that guided her upon the path of ambition and servitude, their piety to Solis thriving despite their distance from the Courts.

When Lady Marcisa came to call upon the loyal, empowered disciples of the sun God, it was within inevitable cards that the desert girl would heed the calling, carving her path, and her fate, into the rugged desert canyons.


And she follows her brothers, her sisters, to the catacombs from which victory calls. Lead onward by the torch of Zakariah and Arjun, she heeded the beacon as a moth to flame, chasing the wayward novelty of glory into the shadows of the earth, where only bones and rot ought to toil.

And it was there, too, that her fire banked. That the flame was snuffed beneath the crushing dark, and the woman of dunes was rendered into a heavy, slumbering shadow.

With but a whisper within her ears. A lilting symphony to harrow and soothe. A life of prosperity and love within a second skin; children of her own; the too-many lovers entangled within satin sheets she'd never known.

The anguish, too, of those precious lies ripped from her grasp. The truth of crushing loneliness, abandonment.


She sleeps through the decade with a heaving, frantic heart. Wrenching upon the frigid chains that stamp her cinders to soot.

- - -

As a viper from shade upon a warm day, she slides from the sand, unspools herself from the grain, to sprawl beneath the heat of the sun once more. It’s enough to thaw her skin, to awaken the blood within her veins once more—but not enough to revitalize her magic, or to sustain the immortality she’d once possessed.

She is two souls, now. The desert creature and the errant, wandering spirit. Both starved, both lost.

And she awakens feeling empty. Hungry for so many things—

Wanting, wanting, wanting.

Active & Parvus Magic

the lyricism of suffering is a song of /
the blood, the flesh, the nerves.

Although she once possessed control over fire, her powers entered a dormancy upon her entombment that they have yet to awaken from - if they ever do.

Passive Magic


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Character design by alimarije. Art by Alimarije, MusonArt, and Memuii.

Played by:

rayoflight (PM Player)


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