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15 [Year 491 Summer]






Asexual Panromantic


Lusitano X


15.2 hh







Last Visit:

04-30-2021, 08:46 PM


Signos: 230 (Donate)
Total Posts: 1 (Find All Posts)
Total Threads: 1 (Find All Threads)

He is not impressive.

Ephraim comes from a time before the genes of equines were mixed with so many grand and ethereal creatures, leaving his dappled silver skin earthly and plain. No wings or horns adorn the stallion; indeed, he is of nothing more fantastical than good and hardy peasant stock.

Ephraim’s white mane and tail hang from a well muscled frame — the stallion’s age not yet stealing from him the soundness of his body — and his shoulders climb to the comfortable height of 15.2hh. Despite his humble coloring, Ephraim does claim a bit of vibrance in the pale cyan of his eyes. Pupilless as they are, the male’s irises are hard to miss amid his otherwise unsaturated appearance.

Unflappable || Patient || Jovial || Conversational || Steady || Eloquent |||| Unhurried || Nonhierarchic || Stubborn || Patronizing

What Ephraim would like for strangers to know about him first is that they are welcome and safe around him — especially the children. As his years have progressed and his chances for children and grandchildren of his own have crumbled away, the stallion has found that his adoration for foals has only grown. He finds much inspiration and joy in interacting with and caring for the younglings of the world, believing that the future and all of it’s spoils are held solely in the hands of children, and that elders and adults must assume positions of support and guidance.

Though he is from humble beginnings and humble continuings, the sage male has never been one to acknowledge rank and file — preferring to view all creatures as equals unto one another, masters to themselves and not much else. This trait has landed Ephraim in hot water more times than he can count, but the stallion’s grandfatherly airs have helped keep his head attached to his neck over the years.

Having lived his life wearing so many different sashes, Ephraim leans toward a healthy respect for those around him, though at times his age and experience combine into a rather condescending impression. With a penchant for giving lectures and advice where none were requested, the elder has learned to recognize when his opinion is not entirely welcome — then proceed to say his piece anyway.

Just trying to embody some Uncle Iroh vibes, is all.

Born in a poor farming community to an even poorer farmer — the desert is, after all, not the kindest place to grow one’s food — Ephraim’s fate was largely decided for him. As a foal, he was taught that to work hard was to eat, and that to eat was to survive, if only barely.

The last vestiges of the community that he had belonged to has long since dissipated into Solterra’s sands, the citizens either dying or merging with other cities and nations over the years. It had, however, served as a somewhat acknowledged independent vassal territory deep within the Day Court’s desert; meaning that as long as the farmers of the sunbleached and sandbitten village were able to deliver whatever meager tithe the then-king demanded, they were left to their own devices.

It was a good thing, to be left alone; a good thing to get to choose how to live, and by what principles they would conduct their lives. So dependent were Ephraim’s people upon one another that they seldom quarreled, and even then, it wasn’t anything that couldn’t be solved with a little hard work and a good night’s rest.

Indeed, it had been good to be left alone.
Right up until it wasn’t.

They had all, on some level, expected such things to come, for violence and conquest to darken their skies; but when each future hung solely on a handful of stalks sprouting from parched soil and each day was tallied by the sunken spaces between your children’s ribs, who has time for thoughts of war?

Starving they were, but Ephraim’s people had been starving for generations and had grown strong, stubborn roots amid the cracked earth they tilled. So when Zolin’s regime began to fall, and the warlords seized their chance at glory, Ephraim’s people fought to keep their lives their own.

It was not glorious, the chapter in the stallion’s life where so many names were left to be mourned and then forgotten. Most and more perished amid the various raids and skirmishes — the warriors little more than hungry children and old, tired men with an unreasonable fierceness in their hearts. The member’s of Ephraim’s village knew that it made little sense to buck against their opponents, to continue to fight for the freedom to scratch out what miserable existence they could amid a desolate sea of sand — but it was the desire for independence, not reason, that guided their hooves and teeth to find purchase upon the flesh of their enemies.

Ephraim had been no exception to this baseless pride, for he fought alongside his brethren with the same wicked gleam in his seafoam eyes and the same stubborn stiffness to his spine. He knew not why they fought, but only that they fought and they farmed and they starved. This was the way of things, until, much like the suddenness of the crusade — it wasn’t.

Like the sea he had never seen, the attacks gradually receded from the sands, Solterra stabilized once more, and Ephraim’s people were left alone. And while war had left them, Ephraim found that he hadn’t quite left the war.

He was young, then, only a few summers old, and couldn’t adjust to the violence that had come to mold him. The stallion left his village and sought employment as a mercenary, eventually learning that inflicting pain upon others could only ease his own for a short while. Next, after finding himself laid up in an infirmary and dependent on the healers’ care after a particularly nasty contract, Ephraim tried his hand at learning the healing arts — though he mostly only succeeded in learning how to make various aromatic teas and adopting a satisfactory bedside manner.

After that, the male wandered about Novus, taking odd jobs and learning from anyone who had the time to spare. There was a short stint in which he found himself working as the assistant proprietor to a brothel in the Night Court, though he was quickly relieved of his position after having been found sneaking most of the sweets reserved for guests to the children of the brothel’s employees.

Years enough had passed when Ephraim decided to settle down, his bones having grown older and tired of traveling between kingdoms. Thus, he trekked back to his motherland, a wealth of knowledge limning his shoulders and a garland of experience gracing his brow.

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Postbit URL - Jonathan Kemper on Unsplash
Design, Postbit bar, Reference image, and profile picture - Alimarije @ deviantart
** If Other Art is posted without credit - purcased the design 6 years ago, I am in the process of hunting these creators down and crediting them. Please tell me if you know who the artists are!!!

I play Cerridwen and Raglan and myself (eyy)

Played by:

Eris (PM Player)


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04/24/21 - Application accepted! +20 signos for visual reference -LULLIVY