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Renwick
Night Court Soldier
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Age:

10 [Year 496 Winter]

Gender:

Male

Pronouns:

he / him

Orientation:

bisexual

Breed:

hanoverian x

Height:

17 hh

Health:

9

Attack:

11

Experience:

10
Offline

Last Visit:

4 hours ago

Joined:

07-29-2020
Signos: 1,085 (Donate)
Total Posts: 11 (Find All Posts)
Total Threads: 0 (Find All Threads)

Wolf boy, rose haired


There is a softness in his handsomeness, which makes him all the more easier on the eyes. With marble carved cheekbones and a strong jawline, he makes an impression even at rest.

Sun scorched bay paints his lithe and muscular body, graceful in his movements with a hint of military precision. It is clear he is built for agility and endurance, rather than brute strength — though you're sure a blow from him will be bone shattering all the same. Touches of cream crawl upon his legs, forehead and chest like the kiss of winter to the devout and defiant alike.

His mane and tail fall in a lazy mess of ombre curls, abundant and untamed. They are a coffee cream upon the tips and fade to smokey black as one turns towards the start of the river, curling this way and that — over his eyes and across the forest floor, even over others if one is close enough and the wind sees fit to cast them to the breeze.

Now his eyes, fanned with long lashes of white gold, are the color of burnished gold. Bright, ardent things which glow with mischief and a joke not yet told. Or perhaps a joke only he is privvy to, spoiled if it so much leaves his lips.

Accompanying him is always the scent of tuberose and chocolate cosmos, in spring and summer he can often be found with some of the flowers braided in his mane and tail, often at the behest of anothers wish.

your contempt will always taste of grief


Charismatic with a Roguish Charm. All boyish Arrogance but hides a keen Cunning. Flippant and often Sarcastic, Serious when it matters and Faithful when it counts. Impulsive and Reckless when angered. Honest, plays a Gallant tune, with a sympathetic note to the downtrodden and defenseless. Hedonistic but has a Loyal heart. Stubborn, and unafraid to dig his heels in when he believes he's right.

Wolf boy with the Rose between his jaws. The Hawk in the forest with the vines 'tween his talons. Renwick is a lover just as much as he is a fighter, his mouth can pour sweetened ichor of honey gold, just as much as it can pour caustic acid made to rub the flesh raw. He's bruises covered with flowers and smiles with sharp eyes.

Outwardly, Renwick is a man who puts forward an air of someone who enjoys a leisurely pursuit in life. Appearing to dance to a much more lighter, sweeter note than most, whether it be reverie, good company or good laugh. Flirting comes naturally to him where most might stutter and stumble. On the flip of the coin, the man is also adept at other dances when smiles and laughter die, and the song fades to black. He has known the song of clashing steel and sang along with it, bared his teeth and become the wolf. He has danced in the throng of the battle, felt the sweat and heat of a body who wishes him dead. Killed a man for less in fact, he might just tell you, over an ale or three.

There are other darker parts of him, his stubbornness to never yield. The impulsive recklessness which sees him leap, teeth bared and sword raised into a crowd who rear to meet him. A tavern brawler who is mistaken for weak, for the flowers in his hair and the perfume he wears.

But, he'd rather not shine a light on those things. Terrible things, he says over the rim of his cup and a sharp glint in his moonstone gaze. No he'd rather focus on his charms, the summer time strolls he so likes to take with good company. Where words flow easy and so do the charms, the times where he'll sit patiently and let fair maids, pretty lads and the young folk braid flowers in his hair. Their favors for him to take with him where ever he goes. The tournaments and jousts he enjoys taking part of, and organizing should the occasion warrant it, which there are few he will comment.

Yet, it is hard to ignore the man is part wolf, especially when you catch his gaze in the low light of the night. Where the brazier warms not only the skin but the soul. Those moonstone eyes, silvery and glowing, change and flit as the breeze does. When eyes lock upon them when Calligo reigns high, the boy is a wolf, with a sharp sharp grin — and sharper teeth.

oh night child, that knighthood won't save you


Would Renwick think himself a bastard? Certainly, after all what is a child born to a consort, A lover who is one of many to the keys to the castle? and a disinterested father called? In a proverbial sense of course.

Renwick never met his father, at least in a capacity that he might remember the stallion fondly, at least. He might have stayed long enough to learn his sons name, or give him it, but Renwick highly doubts it. Fortunate it was for him, that his mother tolerated him enough to see the boy fed and watered, tutored and otherwise sheltered. But he felt his mothers regret and bitterness as boy became a man with a hurricane for a heart, she had been set to have everything until some roguish man had swept her off her feet instead.

Now all that was left of that future? A babe who was content to sneak off, enraptured by the jousts and infamous tournaments, and the soldiers who marched the cobblestones. Whose face reminded her so much for the man she thought could of been it.

His mothers husband was blind and aging, with a coat that once shone like satin silk. To Courtiers and distant kin alike, the distinction was stark. This was no son of the aging Lord in his black stone manor. He was none the wiser that his son was only son in name, and not in blood.

Renwick, naturally, chose to remain ignorant of his mother's regrets and hang ups. He focused on his future, silver eyes glanced at night hewn armor and the colorful banners in the streets. They focused on those heroes out of legend, the ornaments he would later collect and decorate himself in. More and more, he would slip away and ghost back to lay his head down, often accompanied by roses and flowers in his hair, a bit of blood splattered across his lips. It was unsurprising that one day, he asked his mother for a name and with his worldly posessions backed in a satchel, and left.

From there, Renwick threw himself into life. A man without a home, Ren plied his trade as a tournament favorite, the stallion with the flowers in his hair and the sweet smell of summer, the wolf with the rose between his jaws. If there were signos to be made, and favor to be won, you would not find Renwick too far away. In fact, he would be in the thick of it, a grin on his face and lazy curls framing his face — a bruise on his shoulder, a gash on his leg but his purse full. The handsome bastard of festivals and hearts.

It only made sense that he would inevitably find himself conscripted into Rhen's army given the turmoil that lay outside their borders. His agility and grace had made him an asset for much more finer details of war. The War between Zolin and Rhen was a costly, impulsive one that required the Night Court to be deceptive and sly, where Zolin's forces were brutish and relentless. They hunted Solterran war bands by night, stalked them during the day as they moved toward the battlefield. Those that survived (there were always one or two) arrived shaken and demoralized.

It was not all fun and games, for every Solterran they felled, at some point in time, the payment would be returned in kind. A deafening crescendo of give and take, Renwick defied the odds and survived the game time and time again. At least until he witnessed them, terrible little things. The child soldiers, dead eyed with barely a handful of moons behind them. Colts and fillies with no motivation, he had heard of them of course. From the stuttering, dying mouths of half-delerious soldiers addled on adrenaline and the fear of death. How they would come for them all. He'd laughed, in disbelief, but he'd know them by looking. The dying soldier had been right.

He killed a band of them, marching toward the latest point of the War, and then promptly threw down his spear. Out of breath and bleeding, the Knight went home, he put the flowers back in his hair and went back to the lifestyle he knew. He buried his life as a soldier and left it someplace else.

That's where he is now. He's back to his festivals and his tournaments, a bastard still. A bastard with a name and the name of his sire tucked deep in his pockets. Summer flowers in his hair and the sweet smell of tuberose and cosmos wrapped around his chocolate hide. A spear tucked in the corner of the tavern and a purse full of Signos, gold eyes beguiling as honey gold pours from his lips.

Active & Parvus Magic

blessed with a curse


NOT ACQUIRED
Midas Touch, the ability to turn things into and manipulate, gold.




Passive Magic

Blessed with a curse


NOT ACQUIRED:
Curse of Gold, Renwick's bones and hooves are composed of solid gold, while his blood has turned to liquid gilt. Occasionally weeps gold from his eyes.




Bonded & Pets

wingbeats and war cries


NOT ACQUIRED
A Roc named Rheingold, hatched from an egg and raised by Renwick, Rheingold is a fierce and beautiful thing.




Armor, Outfit, and Accessories

The Wardrobe


Gold earrings; located in his left ear, circular & heavy.
Gold bracelets; a gift for winning one of his first tournaments, they sit comfortably on his forearms. They feature a direwolf running with a rose in it's jaw.
Gold nosering; a simple gold nosering with flower & wolf motifs.

NOT ACQUIRED: OUTFIT


Cloak; The Lord-Commander's signature piece. Midnight and Gold. The color of the night in summer and the veins of the mountains freshly unearthed. It drapes across Renwick's body and trails a short distance behind him, and depicts in fine embroidery Calligo's constellations and stars. However, the richness of his cloak is not the thing which draws the eye, it is it's wolf-pelt collar. Larger than life, it all but swallows the Commander in it's startling white strands.

Breast-plate & Harness; Rich dark leather stamped with wolf motifs, the breast-plate and harness are designed for the cloak to attach on, with the harness having small bags and holders attached to hold things like potions and scrolls, coin purses and weapons.

Bridle; Simple in the face of all the extravagance the Night Court is known to possess. Made from midnight fabric and gold chains, from which wolf teeth dangle.




Agora Items & Awards



(View All Items)




Miscellaneous

Voice Claim


SOUNDSLIKE:
Richard Armitage as Trevor Belmont (Castlevania Netflix Series)



Played by:

Mana (PM Player)

DeviantArt:

manabuns    //   

Discord:

dm to request <3

Also Plays


Staff Log




Saved incentives/prizes: None



08/04/20 Character application approved, +20 signos for character ref -LAYLA
01/03/21 +50 signos for visiting on New Years Eve 12/31/20. -INKBONE
01/03/21 +50 signos for visiting on New Years Day 01/01/21. -INKBONE
01/15/21 +20 signos for completing TID5997. -INKBONE
01/23/21 +20 signos for completing TID6223. -INKBONE
02/20/21 +50 signos for visiting on Valentine's day 2/14. -INKBONE
03/19/21 +200 signos and Shapeshift's Outfit item for encountering random event TID6223. -INKBONE