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5 [Year 499 Fall]








Akhal Teke


14.1 hh







Last Visit:

Yesterday, 12:47 PM


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Total Posts: 65 (Find All Posts)
Total Threads: 8 (Find All Threads)

She is not beautiful - no rare and delicate desert rose to bloom and wither in the heat. Elif is pronounced angles and lean muscle, thin and strange enough with her Akhal Teke blood to appear almost draconic at times. She is hawk-like in a dozen ways, narrow and swift and always hungry.

A sooty bay, Elif is near-black on her shoulders and hips, her neck and long legs and the broad plane of her face. Elsewhere she is dappled and red. Her coloring is much like a Harris hawk’s, the desert-hunter whose wings, too, are similar to her own. The shoulders of her wings are the same burnt-sienna red as the dappled parts of her body, and the flight-feathers are the same dark tone as her coat.

If it were not for her eyes, there would be little to set her apart, colored as she is like the canyons in deep evening. Her eyes are the only features that make her look girlish (save for her slenderness, her small size): they are a bright and rain-washed green, a color rare as gemstones in Solterra. They are wide and earnest and through her filly-hood she often wished they were brown, or amber, or anything that did not make her look weak.

Elif is often unadorned; her tail is too sparse for jewelry, her mane near non-existant. Nor would she be the kind to beautify herself, and she has little enough status to mark. But she does wear a traditional collar (no, not the kind the child-soldiers wore - she was born after the War) but an alaja of braided wool, sewn with omens for protection, bravery and strength.

Elif runs as hot as the sands of her mother the desert. She is foolish when it comes to her temper, her anger flaring unguarded and unheeded at the slightest provocation. Always small, often overlooked, Elif always, always feels she has something to prove to the world. It is not rare that her hotheadedness and passion lead her into trouble. Her coat bears constant nicks and scrapes from dares and challenges a more level-headed creature would never have entered into.

Oh, but she is brave! Elif doesn’t know fear, and if she did she wouldn’t stumble into half as many conflicts. She had endless faith in herself and her abilities, and is starving to show her worth to the world, especially given the sharp decline of her family name.

Of course she is impatient. She is no eagle to wait and watch on the updrafts; once she has the slightest idea of what she wants she reaches to seize it, and she has not yet learned that this is not always the wisest course.

There is nothing that Elif could be called tepid over. She is passionate (sometimes to a fault); she either loves or she hates, she upholds or dismisses, she has no casual friendships. She is quick to laugh, quicker to swear. She is not the quiet lady her long-suffering mother prayed for. Like so many facets of her personality, this is both a boon and a curse.

Elif is still new to the world (a world that in turn is still remaking itself after Zolin’s time, ended so recently before her own birth) - new enough to see no shades of gray in her view of morality. There is wrong and there is right and she is sure she is right.

Such certainty reflects too in her beliefs - she upholds Solis and his laws and knows His light will eliminate all darkness.

Elif will help see to it.

Elif Erdogan might have had a life like any other lesser noble - gilt and parties, an education at court - had it not been for the uprising that cost Zolin his life and the fall of his regime.

Her father had always sided with the ruler, but being both of lesser nobility and a coward had never stood at the fore of any controversial ruling or event. This and his rat’s knack for survival meant that he survived the fall of Zolin unscathed, save for the stripping of his rank and much of his modest fortune.

Even so, he and his wife had their lives and their young son, and for most that would have been enough.

Not so for Barak Erdogan. He possessed the same ambition that Elif and her brother Altan inherited, but was more flexible about the means. It was not long before he began his involvement in the Black Market trade.

By the time Elif was welcomed into the world in the autumn of year 499, her brother - then three - was beginning to discover that he could make money and a name for himself in the fighting-pits. All of this was hidden from Elif, small apple of her mother’s eye, and she loved her father but she worshipped her older brother. He taught her to be brave and bold, taught her how to stop the colts from teasing her about her eyes like grass after rain and her small size and her sooty coat.

So sure was she that all was right in her world that she never questioned her father’s absence, her brother’s scrapes and bruises. They had always roughhoused, and Altan only said he had joined Solterra’s militia and was away at training,s stationed at the barracks - why would he lie to her? He never had before.

When he died, then, she didn’t believe it.

Vivid in her memory is the stern-faced peacekeeper who came to her father’s door and told her mother than Altan’s body could be retrieved from the fighting-pits, if they wished for a proper burial. Otherwise he would be buried in a common grave with the other criminals.

Criminals. Her brother was no criminal. Newly three, Elif thought herself an adult - old enough to learn the truth. To her mother’s horror she swore the man down until her faced was flushed and feathers ruffled and her father ordered her to go. That night she went out into the city, the darker allies away from the wealthy houses, and there she learned the most anyone would tell her of Altan’s death - that it was a black pegasus who did it, big and cruel and fearless. She refused to listen to anything else - that her brother was often at the pits, that it was how he made a living, that he loved the blood in his teeth and the way it felt to batter another with his hooves.

After that day, her father was around their modest villa much more. It wasn’t long before he and Elif’s mother moved away, to live with relatives in the Summer Court in the old country - Solterra was falling apart under the new leadership, he said, a curl in his lip. This was after the night the Davke struck, after her brother’s bones were buried. They left and Elif told them flatly she would stay - she loved Solterra, loved it fiercely, and she had work to do.

They left without ever telling her the truth.

As for the daughter, she had no idea of the dealings of her father and brother. Was it kindness that made her mother lie to her about why they so often were away, or fear, or something more sinister?

All Elif knows, even to this day, is that her brother was killed by some villain, a death she is sure he did not deserve - and one she is determined to avenge.

Active & Parvus Magic

Elif sees her wind manipulation as a gift from Solis herself, to aid in her flying and sweep clean the shadows of the world.


At first it only seems that the winds favor Elif, the way that smoke is said to follow beauty. When she flies, the airstreams give her a little more lift, blow a little more quickly for her. She uses it the way a child would: to float cranes folded from paper, to blow seeds from a dandelion, to tug mischievously at a friend’s forelock or tail. At this level it is not good for much more than that.


As she awakens to her power she finds it possesses force. She can push whitecaps onto the surface of the oasis, she can direct the wind beneath her wings. She can use it to scatter sand or pebbles into an opponent’s face or path. Elif wearies quickly at this level, the use of her power dehydrating her. If she overextends herself she may wake to find herself in a heap on the dirt moments after passing out, feeling (of course) like all the air has been knocked out of her.


Her power is becoming a dangerous thing. With a thought she can send a burst of wind enough to snatch a stallion’s scream from his throat or force him back a few steps; using the wind to aid her flying (or make it difficult for another) has become second nature. Weak structures of wood or daub can be destroyed at little cost to her strength, though she can never keep such intensity up for long.


Elif’s command of the winds makes her feel like a new god. She can direct an air current, raise up a sandstorm, push away the rain. Or, if she chooses, she can narrow the stream of her power into a column or wall of wind strong enough to knock an opponent off their feet or a teyr out of the sky. With her power at this level she can course across Novus on the skies without even a beat of her wings, the wind her own invisible chariot.


Passive Magic


Armor, Outfit, and Accessories

Elif keeps a 10-foot leather bullwhip coiled tightly by her side. It's nothing special, except to her; smooth leather she lovingly maintains, the a rich near-black brown not so different than the dark places of her coat. The only bright spot of it is the fall: a rich red the same color as the wool around her throat.

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Played by:

griffin (PM Player)


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