16hh akhal-teke unicorn + pansexual + blood-bay pinto and black chimera + quilcrown + duo obsidian horns + jet-black hair + multiple face piercings + modified split tongue + gold accessories + black sclera + sun-stained eyes

It’s difficult to describe a creature like Fever.

When she enters the room, you will first hear the chime of her bells on the dainty garter she wears on her thigh. Her skin is anointed with exotic oils; a perfume of amber incense and cloves permeates the air as she begins to dance for you. Her body is athletic and lithe: she is a willowy display of long legs, a sylphlike waist, and sultry curves that are intoxicating and suggestive of her fertility.

A refined head sits on top of her serpentine neck, the crest of it crowned by a collection of quills: six black, three alabaster. Two wispy horns split her forehead, they are made of obsidian and have been licked by the winds of time to give them an organic, sinister shape. She gives a wink with her dark lashes – they frame golden eyes that rival the warmth and color of the mid-day sun, and each iris sits on a black sclera.

Her coat is an abstraction of precious stones: a tapestry of carnelian, obsidian, and moonstone flirts in a splatter-like pattern that serves no purpose but to invite you in to take a closer look. Her hooves have gilded shoes. A tight choker in the same fashion grips her throat. The dock of her tail is decorated with three golden bracelets, and the obnoxious length of it would have you curious to know how she moves so gracefully with the weight of it.

She beckons you closer, you can’t help but oblige.

Her hair is silky, it starts to spill halfway down her neck and falls to her shoulders. An assortment of piercings pepper her face: two studs, a ring, and then two larger hoops decorate her right and left ears, respectfully. A dermal on her cheekbone, a horizontal bridge piercing, and a septum ring – all wrapped in gilt – complete her menagerie of skin jewelry. A man-made forked tongue wiggles at you, sporting two more golden studs.

And just as you think she would let you touch her, she sashays away into the smoke of the desert sands, leaving you to wonder if she was only a mirage.

LIKES: adventures, chaos, hot summer days, dancing, bonfires, anything gold, spices, compliments
DISLIKES: authority, nobility, small spaces, cold weather, silver accents
VOICE SOUNDS: SILKY AND SMOKY

RAVENOUS:

Beneath the dazzling smile and gleaming eyes is a parasite with a glutenous appetite for all things glittering and an insatiable hunger for power. Some may believe this is an admirable trait because Fever is ambitious and goal-driven. As a hedonist, she is industrious in her pursuits of all things pleasurable: gold and riches, bountiful feasts, admiration from strangers in the dark. She believes in indulging, but that doesn’t necessarily mean she is selfish – in fact, Fever is very generous. Quick to share her riches, if Fever is eating well, then the few who are allowed to sit at her table will always have a plate. Unfortunately, Fever has yet to reach the depths of her gluttony, she knows no limit, and will continue to live unsatisfied.

SEDUCTIVE:

A scholar of charm and beguilement, Fever knows how to profile you and lure you in. Like a Venus flytrap, she baits her prey with either a spell of hypnotic song and dance, or an intellectual conversation by the firelight. A well-versed woman whose words spill out her mouth like sticky-sweet nectar; she knows how to move in order to tempt your attention, she knows how to leave her touch lingering just long enough for you to question if it is an invitation. A bad influence by nature, a fire starter. Should you choose to follow the trail of honey to her den, say a prayer first. Fever is a patient person and knowing her acquaintance is willingly dying from a slow-moving alcohol – beautiful and euphoric at first, but will ultimately lead to misery and decay.

IMPETUOUS:

If not a victim to Fever’s enchantment or thievery, you will not be spared by her wrath. A simmering spitfire at all times, it takes only one wrong word to ignite her anger. Suddenly, the viper removes the sultry façade and exposes her teeth. The very few she is loyal to would be thrilled to know that without much instigation, Fever is sharpening her dagger. Yet, her fury is the scream of a violin, driving away anyone she is close to. Stubborn, hot-headed, and if she cannot harm you physically, she will instead turn her words in weapons. In reality, Fever is the real victim – generational spite and despair has corrupted her mindset and turned her into a monster that only knows how to hurt others; you will not find remorse or guilt in her. Fever will always strike first and salt the wounds of her enemies without mercy.

UNATTAINABLE:

As slippery as the wind, you cannot harness Fever. One might think her a convivial friend or a devoted lover, but alas, they have been trapped and deceived. Fever is never one to stay the night or call you to catch up, she is a lonely creature by choice. She will bless you with an unforgettable time while she is in your life: bringing you extravagant gifts, whispering songs of your glory while you lounge in bed together, even fooling herself with feigned loyalty, but in the end, she will leave you. You will do something to change her mind – she will fear you are growing too close to her fires and she will be damned if anyone tries to smother her flame. The viper would rather cut out her own tongue before saying “I love you”; protection of her herself comes first, so she chooses to thrive in nomadic solitude.

TACTICAL:

Fever’s body and voice are not her only weapons of choice – she is extremely intelligent. It’s not unheard of for the viper to bewitch her prey with the sharpness of her mind. While knowledge of medicine and mathematics takes little residency, her genius is specific to tactics of warfare and street-life. Naturally competitive, she loves to calculate your next move in whatever game you two are playing, she enjoys long discussions of battles long forgotten. A clever little serpent, if not for her wildfire disposition, twisted morals, and habits of destroying everything of actual merit, she would thrive as a strategist. If not born into the role of entertainer, she would have made a wonderous warrior.

FAMILY-ORIENTED:

Despite a callous and devious exterior, somewhere deep inside, Fever is hurt by the absence of her mother. She is scared that she will not be able to find her. Back at the manor, the servants were very tight-knit; the few faces she had come to know beyond the walls after every attempt of escape are precious to her. She was still a spirited filly back then, hope like firelight in her eyes. Sometimes, she will experience bouts of numbness, a sort of vague melancholy. She will be a shell of herself, quieter, softer. She longs for familial bonds, strong comradery, and get-away-driver type companionship. Fever appreciates her alone time and favors solitude, yet sometimes craves company, a voice to listen to, someone to call on, an ex-lover, a peddler in the street, anyone - just to remind her of community life.

THE BIRTH OF A SLAVE FORETELLS HOW THE REST OF THEIR LIFE WILL GO: SWIFT AND VIOLENT.

They learn quickly that their fates would forever be intertwined with the dark and dastardly dealings of the black market; always to be kept a secret, a ‘hush’, an invisible blight on the face of Solterra. Authorities and higher powers had tried to snuff out these primal traditions, yet a few noble houses would only feign their changed ways. Servant families were scarce and well hidden - select breeding stock passed down from the ages of King Zolan and his terrifying reign over the Day Court. A collection of nobodies that would rarely see the light of the kingdom: these maids, butlers, servants – they were all conditioned to believe that no one would ever come to rescue them, but even worse, was their damaged psyche insisting that they didn’t need to be saved. These ghosts – these skeletons in the closet – were content to satisfy their laws of conduct: obedience, submission, and silence.

All except Fever.

She stood alone in the center of a dark room with a gaggle of golden-masked faces appearing around her, gawking at her, examining her. She couldn’t contain herself as one reached out to feel the texture of her coat, and without warning, snaked her head around to give the stranger a wicked bite. Amidst the dismissal of the wounded stranger, Fever would hold her head high, and growl through her blood-smudged mouth, “I will not leave my mother.”

In order to not tarnish his reputation, Lord (redacted) would offer to house Fever for another year to break her in so that she may be appropriate and ready for her next family. The bidding would then commence and Fever would be blindfolded and ushered away to rejoin the other house servants.

The sight of her mother, Temper, would move her to tears. They would embrace tightly, Temper burying her face into her daughter’s hair, silently weeping as to not alert anyone else that they were sharing an intimate moment. She whispered harshly into her ear,“You could have been punished.”

Fever did not say anything, only gripped her mother tighter.

“Fever! You cannot act like that less you wish to be- “

“I do not care what they choose to do to me. I will not leave your side.” The defiance in her gaze burned like the mid-day sun, and Temper chose not to challenge it, only be grateful that her daughter was returned to her and allowed to live in their lord’s manor together for another year.

~ That day, Fever learned that with enough force, she could bend anyone to her will ~

THE VIPERS FOURTH YEAR AT THE MANOR WOULD BEGIN AS PLESANT AS A SLAVE COULD HOPE: IN FACT, SHE WAS RELATIVELY PAMPERED COMPARED TO THE OTHERS. Lady (redacted) had proposed a solution that would handle the young slave’s vivacious streak – she theorized that with a little spoiling and a gentle approach, she could convince her to throw away her barbaric whims and warrior dreams. Fever wanted nothing to with her etiquette lessons or her domestic lectures, in fact, Fever wanted to be a solider for Day Court, to walk mighty in the sunlight with her comrades, to slay sandwyrms with champions and bring honor to her Kingdom.

Lady (redacted) would scold her. “Sell your body to the military? Sweet thing, you have it so good here. And the (redacted)? Those prospects promise to treat you even kinder – I've heard their servants have fresh fruit for breakfast every day and turn down each night with hot baths. Don’t you deserve nice things?”

Fever would hesitate; how did they know she yearned for luxuries?

Alas, the abstract woman would sigh before furrowing her brow into an indifferent scowl. “The military is no different than you selling my body. The only difference would be unbound hands to choke the life out of my enemy.”

A soft gasp would escape Lady (redacted) lips, but she would meet Fever’s insolence with a sharp yank on a chain attached to the viper’s bullring. “You won’t speak to me like this, Fever. You won’t speak like this to anyone.” Each syllable an aggressive pull on her nostrils, eventually forcing her to lay down in submission.

“How dare you, you ungrateful snake. If it weren’t for the bid on your head, I’d see to it your mouth stitched shut for threatening me.” Regaining her composure, the lady would then stand over Fever, reminding her of her place.

“You will learn respect.”

With downcast eyes, Fever would glower at the floor, quiet and complacent. She would not forget this.

After her lessons, Fever was allowed to mingle with the other servants who had been toiling away either cleaning the manor or tending the gardens. Temper was a house servant, easy enough on the eyes that she had always lived a privileged manor life, and to see Fever reject this lifestyle was hard for her. She watched her daughter struggle to find her place in this twisted hierarchy. Temper worked industriously to teach Fever how to feign obedience, yet Fever never had the patience. The mare would attempt to escape time and time again, promising to come back for her mother, devoted to the idea that she and Temper could have a normal life far away from commands and chains.

Alas, each time, Fever was apprehended before she could alert authorities. Each time she would succumb to a punishment of being chained to an isolated room without rations for days. But every time she would finish isolation, she would return more bitter, even angrier than before.

Temper would pray to Solis to guide Fever. One night, while brushing her loved one’s hair, the graying mare would chastise her painted daughter's behavior.

“You have to stop running away! Fever! One of these times they wont just starve you, they’ll do worse. I’ve seen the things they do for disobedience. Baby – “she choked, suddenly overcome with emotion, whispering with pending horror. “Do you want them to bury you? You’ll never be sent to Solis by burning if you continue to disobey them.”

“I will return to Solis, Mother.” Fever stated matter-of-factly, reaching up to caress a tear off Temper’s cheek. “Have faith in me. I will take you away from here.”

It was that night that Fever would attempt her last escape.

For this time, when they caught her, they also apprehended her mother – whom they assumed was an accomplice.

And punishment was not an involuntary fast.

Instead, they cut out Temper’s tongue in front of her daughter.

Fever’s screams fell on deaf ears.

The pitiful wailing from her mother would haunt Fever for the rest of her life. She cried tears until she could not muster anything from herself, only to curl up next to her crippled mother and quietly beg for her forgiveness.

~ That day Fever would learn to never let anyone close to you, lest you wish them to bare your burdens ~

NOT LONG AFTER HER FIFTH BIRTHDAY, FEVER WOULD BE BATHED AND FLUFFED, ANOINTED WITH OILS, HER HAIR BRAIDED TIGHTLY IN AN ORNATE FASHION IN PREPERATION OF HER BARTER DINNER – WHERE SHE WOULD BE ESCORTED TO THE NEW MANOR SHE WAS SENTENCED TO SERVE. She had finished preparing the meals she would present, and then she passed her fellow servants; she would greet them all with a small dip of her head, a silent apology for the promises she would never fulfil. Fever had sworn to them that she would deliver them away from this cruel and unusual purgatory. Instead of a breaker of chains, to them at this moment, she was only a breaker of promises. Standing at the end of her path in a sheepish hunch, anxiously humming to herself, stood Fever’s hardest goodbye: Temper.

Fever would plant a lingering kiss on her mother’s forehead and each cheek, sneaking her mouth to press against her ear, to remind her, “I will find you. Have faith in me, mama.”

Temper would break her delirium and widen her eyes, whimpering in worry as she saw the self-satisfied smirk on Fever’s face. She could not ask Fever what she had done, but the pleading in her eyes was apparent enough for her daughter to take pity and give her one last kiss.

Fever mouthed the word “run” on Temper’s forehead before pulling away to join the nobles in the dining hall. She would leave Temper paralyzed, torn between trusting her daughter – the light of her life - or heeding the generational advice that was engrained into her mentality. Instinct would tell her follow the instructions, yet habit commanded for her to stay.

(To this day, we do not know what her decision was.)

As Fever made her grand entrance into the hands of those who wished to control her, she bowed and then, only after having their permission, took her seat for dinner. With her arrival, servants were allowed to begin plating the first course. A pair of stringed instruments began to sing a tune easy on the ears.

“You have prepared a beautiful feast,” Lord (redacted) spoke, bold and proud of his subject’s improved disposition. Fever knew to never say thank you in order to not come off as boasting.

“I am equipped with the tools necessary to serve, My Lord. It is as simple as that.”

The prospecting Lady announced, “You know, I thought last time you were a little mouthy, biting that poor chap at the auction. How do I know you won’t try to, I don’t know, smother me in my sleep?”

The nobles all laughed amongst themselves, as if it wasn’t actually probable for a slave to rebel in such extreme measures.

Fever offered a charming smile as they jested. It made her sick. “I wouldn’t dare bite the hand that feeds me.”

The prospect buyer paused in his guzzling, “I specifically bid on you because I appreciate your spirit. I like a little fire in my servants. Keeps things interesting.”

Fever would raise her brow in feigned amusement. As they would begin to eat their dinner, she would clear her throat.

“My lieges, my ladies. Please allow me the privilege of a dance for you, so that I may express my gratitude for my time in this manor.” She paused, before leering playfully. “It would please me to entertain you while you enjoy your meal.”

“Dinner and a show? She really is the best investment I’ve made thus far with you, Lord (redacted).” The prospect guffawed, almost choking on his mouthful of food before motioning for Fever to begin. The Ladies of the Houses gossiped quietly amongst themselves.

Like a viper, Fever rose from her seat with a poise that enchanted the four nobles – she placed herself in the middle of their hall, asking the musicians to play a passionate song for her. “Something with a little fire in it,” she mused, throwing a wink to her prospect. He raised his glass in approval of her teases.

A series of oriental melodies whined from the violins; it was equally as hypnotizing as it was haunting. Fever would allow the sound to reverberate in her body before moved to sing along – an ancient language, the tongue of her people. It would sound primal to foreign listeners, Fever’s voice a feral rasp that felt like silk and smoke as it crawled into your ears.

Hooves clopping a beat and belled jewelry would serve as her cadence, and she would vocalize and sashay her body into serpentine shapes, a flexible creature who would appear to defy gravity at times. She would smile up towards the ceiling, a genuine expression of delight as she continued to shimmy and sway, only to suddenly leap up onto the dinner table. Her song gradually morphed into strained yelling as she began to kick at Noble’s dishes, sending food flying, porcelain and crystal glass shattering as they made contact with the marble floors.

The music abruptly stopped.

For it was not long after Fever had begun her show that each Noble at that table had keeled over from the poison in their meals. Fish-like, gaping mouths trying to catch air, a slow and exhausting journey to death. With leisure, she bent over the ear of Lord (redacted). The man who stole her mother’s voice.

“Eat shit.”

She casually moved his head over his plate and rubbed his face in the leftover food. She helped herself to a prolonged drink of his wine, savoring it, enjoying the taste simply because she had never been allowed to indulge in it. The rest was dumped on Lady (redacted)’s head before pick-pocketing all four bodies.

Hastily, Fever would usher to the foyer and out the front door, suggesting to the witnesses to evade the crime scene - unless they wished to front the blame – and slipping away into the night. She prayed Temper had listened and already fled, but Fever did not have time to search for her. She had to stick to the shadows.

~ This night, and the many nights that would follow, Fever would learn how to elude authority ~

DAYS WOULD BECOME MONTHS, WHICH WOULD LEAD TO YEARS LIVING IN THE OUTSKIRTS OF SOLTERRA. Fever would mature into an enigma; a woman with secrets and a mask of mystery, the dazzle of her smile would remain ever-charming, the rage she had made her den in had been abandoned for now. She would return to Day Court, head held high, a glittering display of all the gilt and gold she pawned off of her deceased captors.

Although not branded, the bullring remains: a symbol of her confined and miserable upbringing. Her people had sanctified hair, but she shamefully cut it when she spent her years avoiding authorities. It fell to her shoulders now, yet her tail remains at length as a tribute to her mother. Until they are reunited, her tail is to remain uncut - her hair is sacred to her.

~ Fever would learn that this was the beginning of her new era; she would unnerve the day, find her mother, and dismantle authority. God help the Court should Temper not be found alive ~