Rivane is made of twilight just before the stars come out. Dusk wraps itself across her back and shoulders like a cloak, fading softly to reveal the bright imperial purple of her belly and the vulnerable place behind her jaw. Each point deepens to sable, her legs ending with dark hooves made hard by much travel and her tail with a shock of violet hair. Throughout her coat, faint spotting can be seen, though this is more noticeable in her summer coat than in the winter, and three bright stripes cut across her crest. Her eyes are scarlet red and gleam like Mars drifting unfettered across the sky with no clouds to hide behind for she has neither mane nor forelock to cover them. True to her mixed heritage, Rivane is many things physically, sometimes graceful, often-times not. She is built ruggedly with lean muscle and a straight profile. Notably, she has four ears that can move independently, this is a family trait, as well as the long leonine tail.

Reference Notes:
Original lines by AmeAmeridian
Coloring and edits by me :)

Despite the difficult outside influences of her childhood, Rivane’s family life was a loved and encouraging one, leading her to develop a creative and gregarious character that cares deeply for those who are close to her, however growing up among a people outcast by their society has forced her to hold those pieces of herself close to her chest. The vagrant nature of her upbringing has led her to try to find a sense of belonging in a single place, which began her journey apart from her family and eventually ended among the courts of Novus. She longs to be seen and accepted for who she is, but she mirrors the mistrust that others have so often projected onto her and can be difficult to get to know, rarely sharing intimate details about herself, her family, or her history, instead she will deflect and keep others at arm’s length. She can adapt to myriad situations, and her time among pariahs and fugitives has given her flexible ethics. She will do what is necessary for her survival and that of the few she allows into her inner circle, but is not easily led by others.

Rivane loves secrets. She can’t help it, it’s in her blood.

Positive: Curious - Imaginative - Compassionate - Observant - Adaptable - Independent

Negative: Reticent - Mistrustful - Conflicted - Eavesdropper - Morally ambiguous - Stubborn

We are descended from gods, Mama would tell us as she tucked me and my brother in for the night, filling our heads with dreams of magic and worlds without bounds. Papa would scoff - every time - and his disapproving cough became as much a part of our bedtime ritual as the fantastic stories that dripped from our mother's honeyed lips. She would smile and dip her head down to kiss the eight sleepy ears atop her twins' nodding heads, and to whisper it again. Gods.

I don't know if that's true. If it is, we are not gods any longer.

Once, not long after our tribe fell, our people served in royal courts as witnesses and spies - but our time among the Nobility has ended, too. It turns out folks don't much like it when you learn their secrets - even accidentally - and now those years are so far in the past that many of our children are born deaf in some of their ears. Never without them, though, never "normal." We are the Secret Keepers - the Secret Takers, depending on who you ask - and we wear the tools of our espionage atop our heads like crowns, unable to hide our blood except by shedding it.

We are landless, now, travelers, peddlers, hawking wares and news, and, yes, still the occasional secret. The people of our homeland may despise us, but they are hungry for the tales we tell. This is the life that I have known; suspicious stares and conversations which are ended abruptly when I walk by. This is the life that I have left.

Mama cried when I left. Papa was stoic, but he was a Councilmember and the fate of our caravan weighed heavily on him, more heavily than a wayward daughter who wanted to see more of the world than the dusty corners relegated to outcasts. I thought that I would get to see more, that I could force them to see me and not the stain of prejudice emblazoned across my brow. I couldn't though. Not there. Not until I had gone so far that the people didn't know me by the strangeness of my ears, that they didn't know the stories. Not until I reached Novus did I find a rare scrap of freedom, but it comes with the bitterness of knowing I will never see my family's faces again except for the soft-edged shapes in my fading memory. Every day they grow fainter, more precious. I didn't know you could forget pieces of your soul.

This is why Mama had cried.

(I'm sorry Mama. I wish I could tell you I'm okay.)