Novus
an equine & cervidae rpg
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Novus closed 10/31/2022, after The Gentle Exodus
Caesha
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Age:

510 [Year ]

Gender:

Female

Pronouns:

she / her / hers

Orientation:

Unknown

Breed:


Height:

18.2 hh

Health:


Attack:


Experience:

Offline

Last Visit:

08-11-2022, 02:19 PM

Joined:

01-04-2022

Signos:

200 (Donate)

Total Posts:

0 (Find All Posts)

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0 (Find All Threads)

DONT YOU WANT TO BE A CULT LEADER?
SINCE THE DEATH OF GOD
THERE HAS BEEN A VACANCY OPEN
YOU CAN FILL THAT VOID! HERE'S HOW ~

TW: HORROR THEMES/SENSITIVE TOPICS/IMPLIED SELF-HARM

When Caesha enters your vicinity, you feel her before you see her: It’s an infectious sense of dread, a whisper of something wicked, and it reverberates down in your core.

You hear the choral of a few voices chanting.

The swagger of her gait is an ancient slaughterhouse; each sashay of her hips is a foreign language, drawing you in with a primal war-drum beat that is felt deep in your bones. She is gargantuan in height, standing at an intimidating eighteen point two hands. Years of battle and ceremonial dances has sculpted her physique into a muscular work of art: the thick curvature of her neck leads down to broad shoulders, a chiseled chest, and hips that rival mountains. Her body suggests that she would suit motherhood, and few have attempted to brave those curves, but they ignored her body language, malicious and sinuous, because it’s clear if you listen – she is a butcher.

The voices grow louder and aggressive as she approaches.

Today her skin has been scrubbed clean of the blood; it is a melting pot of iron and steel spots, a hot-white and gunmetal appaloosa. These spots range in shape and opacity, but they are humble in size, clustering in splatters on her merle coat. Her hind points are filthy black and have a curlier texture than the rest of her body, they stand on massive goat hooves – the locals believed she was maybe a satyr, her enemies would insist she was part devil. A right front leg is spotted, it’s partner is solid black; a black skin that interrupts her flecks and daubs in a jagged grin that creeps up her neck and swallows her whole head – the mark of a chimera. Both forelegs have bulging scars, you dare not ask how she acquired them. A foreign tattoo sits amongst runes at the crest of her withers. This marking pulses with old magic – yet it makes you feel nauseous.

When unbound, her black and white hair falls in haphazardous kinky curls. But today, like most days, her hair is in braids. These messy braids vary in size, though almost all of them are adorned with either silver jewelry or trophies from her battles: teeth, bone pieces, an eyeball that has a terrible story.

The sea of voices is deafening now as she parts them, they yell and whoop and chant of your demise.

You won’t be able to see her face as it is masked by an alien iron. Dark and gritty, heavy like cement, and unable to part from its wearer. It leaves her expression fixed in an unintelligible, emotionless stare. It mirrors the face underneath. Aloof, indifferent to your existence. A crown of four bull-horns sits behind her ears, a pair of them pointed towards the heavens, the other pair mimicking the curve of her cheek. A choker of thorns cuts into her throat at all times.

Behind the mask? You won’t see it, you are not privileged enough, but the chanting tells you; it paints a portrait of teeth cutting through the supple flesh of her cheeks, of four icy eyes with lifeless, pale and predatory pupils.

big bad bitch

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nastyalicorn (PM Player)

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