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6 [Year 501 Spring]








Coldblooded trotter


15.2 hh







Last Visit:

06-14-2021, 06:28 PM


Signos: 205 (Donate)
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Pavarotti is built in the fashion of a coldblooded trotter- short in height, but packed with muscle that darts beneath his skin; packed in tight as though to protect him from the cold. His coat is a ruddy, strong red beneath overo patterning that spreads up over his stomach to around his hindquarters. At his shoulders are a pair of large wings in that same fashion; red making way to flaxen white tips. His mane is that similar flaxen colour- not white to the style of palomino, but an incredibly light cream. His mane is long and full, and his tail does the same.

On his face is sat a dark green mask rimmed in gold. Whether the gold is real or not is anyone’s guess, but it helps to create the feeling of slight unworldliness, heightened by the occasional glint that is captured in his blue eyes- eyes that are blue like ice, like glass. It is a mystery what lingers under that impish mask, be it a wound or a scar or- perhaps- just ordinary skin and bone.

His long legs are lightly feathered, fading to white the further down one looks; and his hooves are a faint peach.

Charming . Friendly. Smart. Honest. Musically inclined. Loyal.

Arrogant. Calculating. Grudgeful. Literal to a fault.

Pavarotti has been polarising since his advent. His mother’s brother swore up and down that there was something simply unnatural about the way that the colt could manoeuvre his desired outcome out of thin air. The mares of his mother’s loved him immediately for his sweet words, his easy laughter, and in no small part because of the way that the boy doted on his mother in a way that they wanted in their own sons. This later grew into an affection for the other fillies (and colts) in the small town that appreciated him.

The loyalty came with its detractors, in the sense that his grudges could last beyond years and even beyond reason. Otherwise rational, it was not unheard of for Pavarotti to challenge a peer to a duel over something that no one else even remembered. But Pavarotti remembered. Pavarotti remembers everything, to the extent that people would call him The Scribe, in a glib way that was not completely compliment.

He is very intuitively intelligent, with a lust for language that makes him a friend to all travellers. Even though he is not fluent, chances are that Pavarotti has a handful of greetings and polite sayings from whatever culture his fellow man may originate. He loves to meet the new, and to involve himself in their lives.

The murkiness of Pavarotti’s existence begins long before even his mother was born. The story truly starts with his grandfather, an immigrant from a long way off in the woods of Floren. He was a coldblooded type in frame, a pegasus with the cold wind coursing through his bones; a cold wind whose rejection lead to his buying a small cottage on the outskirts of Carthridge. He was a distinctly atheistic man, nearly bordering on heretical. It is said that on the evening of his arrival, he spent many hours scouting out every superstitious barrier in the house and tearing it down. Horseshoes were thrown outside, rabbit’s feet were burned, and several mirrors met a bitter end. One wonders at the savagery of his refusal, but it did not seem to hinder the stallion in his pursuit of a good life.

He was a strange figure, but he soon won the hearts of the town through wonderful food and a steadfast, hardworking nature that even the crudest of priests could respect.

Despite, or perhaps because of his refusal, he fell in love at first sight. A beautiful mare from the next town over, in many ways said to be the stallion in the relationship. The two never married, but it is said that he declared his love for her on the very moment of their meeting. But love was not easy, and she died two hours after the birth of their only daughter Aenor.

She was raised in equal parts protectiveness and scepticism, something that showed in her own indecisive nature. She grew up happily, however, and the apple of her father’s glowing blue eyes.

At the age of 6, two years after that ominous meeting with the stallion, Aenor was on yet another walk through the woods when she was faced with a palomino stallion of unequalled beauty. He declared that he was a king, a king of a hidden kingdom that had no name and no recognition, and that he wanted for her to be his queen. He said that he had loved her for years, since the very moment her energy had entered the world in the form of her childhood self, when he had been the same age. He said that he had begun at the same moment as she, doing naught but breathing until the two souls touched the same earth.

Despite Aenor’s love and devotion, her father was sceptical and refused to accept the betrothal of an unknown stranger. His daughter would marry anyone, but they would be honest and never lie. There would be no mystery about who Aenor ended with, and that was at odds with this stallion’s entire being.

The love affair continued in secret, even while Aenor begged for her father to accept his son-in-law. The struggle was in vain, and bitterly so, as in the Winter of that year met Aenor with the horrible news that her lover had died. It came to her in the form of a crow, and a speaking one.

Aenor’s struggle was complicated further by the revelation that she was pregnant. While disappointed, Aenor’s father supported her completely through the shameful pregnancy, through the scorn of the village, until Pavarotti entered the world.

He lived as the gem of his family, especially his mother. She raised him to be strong, but there were many habits that seemed brought into him through DNA. The look in his eyes on new moon, the direct comprehension that lead to more than a couple scuffles.

When Pavarotti was four years old, however, tragedy struck in the form of sickness. Water, air, whatever it was, strangled the town even to its furthest reaches and robbed Pavarotti of his beloved mother and grandfather. Within 24 hours, Pavarotti saw the two most important members of his life reduced to rubble. He buried them himself in the back garden, packed his bags and left everything he knew.

Now he is in Delumine, posing as an entertainer or perhaps even being one with his marvellous flute playing. Who knows the path that he will lead. Or the path that he will make.

Active & Parvus Magic


Pavarotti’s parvus appears without his wishing it, and mostly without his noticing it. Upon his red coat linger the white markings that define a paint, but a number of white dots. The kicker, the thing that twists the mind, is this. Occasionally, the dots appear to dance over his skin, over his feathers. Not big movements, but just enough for the casual observer to pause and doubt themselves for just a moment. Sometimes it looks like one or two have appeared- or disappeared- overnight. This extends to his eyes as well, gold flecks appearing and disappearing without rhyme or reason.


Tier 1- Pavarotti’s skills of mirage are weak at best, especially at this point. It is more based on unconscious instinct than any real learning, and thus it is not effective. Occasionally colours in the leaves can change before the viewer’s eyes, the seasons changing artificially. Flowers shimmer in Pavarotti’s shadow, that are not actually there. But these effects are momentary and easily forgotten. They are barely even tricks.


Tier 2- Pavarotti has learned enough to sustain the illusion and to make actual tricks in the light, true shifts and changes to the vision of the world. The visions no longer shimmer as much as they used to, even though they still don’t last as long as they could, but he has some thought behind it. He can also manipulate small animals’ appearance, and occasionally creates their image for some form of companionship. He can change his eye colour at will, but nothing else about himself.


Tier 3- Pavarotti’s power now extends to larger animals, and he can create the images of other horses- although only one-, or multiple smaller creatures. There is still no meat behind these specimens, but he tries to use them in a form of powerplay to intimidate or tease others. He can now also change his own appearance, taking on the external form of others. He can also create the illusion of minor phenomena such as smoke or storms, without them actually existing.

Dominus: Can make a small army of equines totalling ten in maximum, and the illusion of dust storms and larger natural disasters that can be used to intimidate- the only thing of real meaning would be the appearance of these things, dust particles clouding the eyes but never touching the coat; or fire and smoke marring the horizon that would never burn or scathe. He can also disguise himself.

Passive Magic

Bonded & Pets

Armor, Outfit, and Accessories

He has a flute.

Agora Items & Awards

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Played by:

wild / jet (PM Player)


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Staff Log

Saved incentives/prizes: INCENTIVE-0015

06/09/21 Character app accepted, Dusk Bard. Saved Incentive-0015 to be redeemed later. Accepted with Active Magic. -INKBONE
06/09/21 +1EXP for gaining Active Magic (free restricted item per member), staff-written quest pending. Sent Discipuli item and added to records. -INKBONE