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12 [Year 493 Fall]










16.1 hh







Last Visit:

11-12-2019, 04:43 PM


Signos: 330 (Donate)
Total Posts: 50 (Find All Posts)
Total Threads: 5 (Find All Threads)

I found the best piece of me, alone
Shivering in the dark - three centimeters tall

His hide is one of crimson red and finest, lavish silver, laid snug across a broad chest and croup, long, sloping shoulders, all resting atop durable legs, each dipped in white to the knee. A flawless, pristine stripe of white runs down the straight profile of his face and halts at dark lips that are often either curled into a charming smirk or pulled taut in a deep scowl. From his head grow a pair of black, gnarled, twisting horns that spiral outwards, the tips pointed away from his face like a ram's. At his sides hang wings of red with bands of black, the undersides splashed with alabaster.

Some may deign to call the sinner handsome until they cast their gaze upon his eyes most haunting – the left a deep, mesmerizing gold, but where the white behind the iris once was, eternal blackness now resides. As for his right eye, there is no trace of color against the darkness which extends beyond the eye itself. Beneath the thin skin surrounding it, veins of black can be seen, stretching outwards and down towards his neck until fading out of sight beneath his flesh. Some believe the vision to have been stolen from it, but he'll neither confirm nor deny this.


Eating it's heart
But you will not feast on me today

You were right on time
To crash your head and make the death bed

Atreus is a man shrouded in mystery. He expresses his eccentric personality through his unique mannerisms and is both polite and flamboyant. Atreus’ behavior is performative, as even the most subtle of expressions and movements are exaggerated. On the surface, Atreus bears a charming façade, more than happy to go great lengths to assure he gains the trust of others, most often for his own personal gain than to create a true, lasting relationship, of which he cares little for at this point in his life.

The true nature of the beast is a stark contrast to what is typically seen – charismatic, nurturing, perhaps even helpful to a few - for the poison master is bold and manipulative, leading a parasitic lifestyle as he uses others as he sees fit. He remains civil, patronizingly so even in the face of hostility, perhaps even to attract more hostility at times. Every other word is likely a lie, and though you’ll question it, you’ll be hard pressed to guess fact from fiction. A member of Dusk he may be, but Atretus follows the beat of his own drum in every sense of the phrase. Every action is led by an ulterior motive, and though he will often carry out favors, the half-blood never does anything free of charge. Every moment of time he gives he expects twofold in return, every favor expected to be returned, most often at the most inopportune time – though surely that is never on purpose…

When it comes to those in power, Atreus will always give them the extra attention he believes they are worth, unafraid to put his glibness to use by sprinkling on a few ostentatious words in order to weasel his way up the ranks in hope of advancing his unrevealed, vindictive schemes.

You were right on time
To crash those galaxies and flat-line

I've gone a million miles
With the same crooked smile

His story begins innocently enough.

Atreus was the product of love in its purest form. His father, Remus, was a proud man of grullo color, a member of a nomadic troupe of wanderers, and his mother, Valdis, an exotic roan of Ilati heritage. Their union came after two years of constant companionship and thousands of miles of travel, and oh, the excitement they had experienced at the growing bulge of Valdis’ belly! But on the cusp of their third year together, just as the unforgiving winter began to show signs of letting up, their unyielding happiness abruptly came crashing down.

What was to be a day of celebration quickly turned to one of mourning. Valdis was gifted only a few precious hours with the child she had been elated to welcome into the world that fair morning, and in turn, her son was gifted the only affection he would receive for years to come. By the afternoon, she was gone, and by evening, her spirit was carried on to the next life by the thick smoke rising from her pyre.

Stricken by grief and heartache, Remus turned the blame upon the newborn, claiming him to be afflicted, cursed in some way and refused to continue care of him. Of course, young Atreus didn’t understand any of this, including the loss of a parent other than that without his mother, his stomach roared loud with hunger through the night. Come morning, a kindly, concerned mare who was a new mother herself stepped forward and offered to feed the child. Remus insisted the troupe leave the child he deemed an omen behind, but they would not have it, and so they continued.

Despite her care, Atreus never grew close to the mare who nursed him to health. As his legs grew strong and his mind curious, he sought his father’s attention but was only ever pushed away, sometimes bodily so. He would try and play with the other children often, but… something about Atreus was always seemingly off, like he didn’t understand how to behave like the others his age. He would push them around and grow elated at the harm he would sometimes cause, showing a great lack of empathy and a shallow pool of emotion.

The weeks passed on to months until eventually, Remus took a liking to a new member of the troupe, a mare the color of the brightest sun. It wasn’t long before the pair grew close, and in just over a year’s time, they welcomed a colt into the world. He was a golden child in every sense of the word, loved and cherished, their everything. Somnus was the name bestowed upon him, and Atreus was immediately enthralled by him. He would attempt play when given the chance (whenever his parents had their backs turned), but almost every time was he driven away by Remus.


As Atreus neared the age of two, the troupe was approached one night by a pair of mysterious mares. They wore feathers in their hair and small skulls taken from the likes of birds and rodents hung loosely around their necks, and their hides were marred with what seemed to be ritualistic paintings. They spoke lowly in a hushed tongue none of them understood, save for Remus – it was the same language Valdis had spoken when they had first met, and he knew then that these cryptic strangers could only be one thing - Ilati.

Only the boy of crimson and alabaster seemed to interest them. He didn’t understand their words, but they beckoned him to follow in a manner that was far kinder than any Atreus had received before. None seemed daring enough to step forward and chase them back into the darkness of which they came, and though uncertain, Atreus was persuaded into following them. With one final glance over his shoulder he looked to his half-brother, and then to his father before slipping away from the campsite, finally relieving Remus from the burden of having to look upon him ever again.

What was to follow was unlike anything Atreus could’ve ever imagined. These people, the Ilati, they welcomed him; truly welcomed him more than anyone else ever had. You see, when they had caught wind that one of their own had passed on and left a half-blood child behind, they had sought to find the child and return him to their own numbers, to teach him the ways of the Ilati like his mother Valdis before him.

Terrastella was his new home, and it was to the hospital he was sent to begin his education. It took him little time to catch on to his teachings – he thirsted for more and more, and would stay late in the evenings reading up on everything there was to learn and returning early the following morning. He progressed rapidly, becoming adept in the ways of brewing potions of any and all types. It began with learning the locations of the numerous plants of Novus and their effects, but positive and negative, how to prepare each individual ingredient and their properties. When he was away from the hospital, he oftentimes found himself experimenting on anything and everything he could, with anything and everything he could find. It began with simple things, really – dribbling a few drops of a brew meant to confuse on an unsuspecting frog, or a love potion on bird whenever he could get close enough – but it took little time for such mundane things to grow boring and his interests to turn darker.

With time, Atreus was capable of producing potions more potent than even his mentor was able. It seemed there was nothing he wasn’t capable of making, and soon, he found himself in the place of Terrastella’s Potion Master. Oh, he had no interest in spreading his wealth of knowledge on to others, however, and would only explain minor, what he considered childish brews to those seeking to learn the art. During his remaining time in Terrastella, the Master would come to save myriad lives with his masterfully crafted potions, but he would claim many more as he delved into lucrative deals with lands far away from Novus seeking an advantage in their wars or personal vendettas.

But even with what seemed to be endless knowledge, Atreus still sought to know more. It was rumored that a distant land called Vallen boasted one of the most renowned medical practices across the lands, and by the age of the four, it was there that Atreus left Terrastella in favor of furthering his practice in Vallen.


Vallen was a fair Kingdom, led by a young but loyal King who was devoted wholly to his people. Terrastella paled against the bustling metropolis that was Vallen, with its flawless streets and buildings that stretched on for what seemed miles into the sky. It was on his second day within the city’s walls that his golden gaze fell upon a form most familiar to him, no longer a gangly colt constantly coddled by his parents but finally a man grown into his own skin. Much to his surprise, it was Somnus himself who stood vigil at the Vallen King’s side as his chamberlain.

At first, Atreus didn’t know what to think of it. Did he resent Somnus for reaching Vallen first, for securing a place at the King’s very side? Of course – he would always resent his brother, would always place the blame on him for the way he had been treated so poorly growing up. Even so, a part of Atreus wished to mend whatever meager relationship was left between them and send the long bridge between them crashing down. Why, Atreus honestly didn’t know – perhaps he had grown lonely in his lucrative lifestyle – but the man truly tried to accept his gilded brother for what he was and forge a relationship with him. And for a while, it seemed to work.

Slowly, Atreus began to forgive. Somnus had been little more than an infant up until the time the Ilati had taken him, incapable of understanding the mistreatment hashed out by his parents. Atreus liked to think that over time they grew close, that he valued Somnus and Somnus valued him.

Nearly a year had passed when the roan found his attention straying from his practice in favor of a woman called Calliope, her dappled skin the color of rich chocolate, her flaxen hair nearly sweeping the cobble streets beneath her feet. Atreus was positively smitten for the alchemist – only she could brighten his darkest days, pull him from the veil of black that sometimes threatened to steal his mind and begin to mend his volatile heart – and during the spring of his fifth birth year, they were blessed with the knowledge that soon, they would become parents. They were ecstatic, and every day they pondered what their little one would be like. Would they be stubborn yet charismatic like their father, or strong-willed and mild tempered like Calliope?

As cruel fate would have it, they wouldn’t be given the chance to find out.

A high member of the Council, Alston, a nobleman born and raised inside the walls of Vallen’s mighty Kingdom had been jealous from day one of their relationship. He had set his own eye on Calliope and had approached her numerous times for her hand, but had been turned down every time without fail. In his mind, if he could not have the alchemist for himself, nobody could. Through his own means Alston was able to obtain a small trace of hydrogen cyanide, and with it, carry out his sick plan.

The following morning, the Council was set to have a routine meeting over a simple meal. As she was nearing the end of her pregnancy, Calliope was known to enjoy almond tea throughout the day, as it was the most effective in soothing her oftentimes upset stomach. When served her steaming mug that morning, Calliope suspected nothing out of the norm, falling straight into Alston’s disastrous plans. After all, hydrogen cyanide smelled sweetly of almonds, and by the time it grew apparent anything was wrong, it was too late.

Atreus could only watch in horror as his betrothed’s life waned before his very eyes, surrounded by some of Vallen’s most prominent figures, her body flailing as it attempted to stave off death until it claimed her anyway. An attempt was made to save the child, but for the colt that would have resembled his mother almost to a T, it was too late. It didn’t take long for Atreus to spiral into a pit of madness, hell-bent on finding his lover’s killer. He didn’t eat and he didn’t sleep, and when he wasn’t standing over her fresh grave, he was quite tearing the palace apart in search of clues. It wasn’t until he cornered one of the Royal servants who had been present that fateful morning that he learned the true cause of Calliope’s abrupt, untimely death, and immediately he began to plan his revenge.

In his anguish and desperation to see Alston dead, Atreus failed to take the time necessary to come up with a well thought-out plan. It had been daytime, and they had been passing one another in the palace corridor when Atreus had drawn a dagger on him. He aimed to strike the places that would cause the most pain, places that would assure death after time but not immediately. He began with the nobleman’s stomach, staining his white robes with the blood of his sin before he went repeatedly, and then finally, if the damage wasn’t enough to assure his destruction, a final blow to the neck before he was restrained by a dozen guards. His trial was set for the following morning, the same morning that Alston would succumb to his vicious wounds.


The trial itself was a short one. Atreus admitted to what he had done, rather proudly one might say, but he believed his actions to be justified; Alston had driven his hand, had brought upon his own death for what he had done. A confession from the servant who had been there during the meeting tipped the Regime off that perhaps Alston truly had been the mean to Calliope’s end, and days later, further investigating indicated that he had been responsible for the alchemist’s death. For the Regime and the people of Vallen, only one question remained – what to do with Atreus.

Death was the punishment handed to him. Atreus pleaded, begged that he be spared, insisted that what he had carried out was nothing short of justice and that he should be praised for his deed rather than killed for it. They weren’t budging on their ruling, and it was to Somnus he looked with desperation shining in his terrified eyes. He hoped that the relationship they had forged would be more than enough, that Somnus could persuade his King so that Atreus’ life might be spared. The guards drug him away before Somnus could issue a solid statement. His brother had tried, truly he had, but in the end it hadn’t been enough. In Atreus’ twisted mind, he believed his brother to have allowed the capitol punishment to unfold on purpose, thus condemning him.

His execution was set to take place in three days time, giving the belligerent guards ample time to toy with their prisoner. One of them had raided the office where Atreus had kept his potions and myriad ingredients under lock and key, a key which had long since been taken from him, and had brought a collection of them into the cell. There were four guards total, and while three of them held him down, the other used his own potions against him for their sick entertainment. Some had no effect, simply because of their nature and purpose, but others… others had a much more negative effect, and some were carelessly crafted by the guards themselves right there in the cell. They burned him, paralyzed him for minutes or hours at a time, and there were moments Atreus believed his very breath would be stolen right out of him – and sometimes, he wished that it had.

On the eve of his demise, the guards had returned for one last round of torment, this time with an entirely new collection of potions concocted of their own hands. Again Atreus endured the various effects, wishing with each one that his body would give in and stop fighting the inevitable. At some point in the night, the guards pinned him against the back wall of the cell and poured one final potion over his head. It steamed and sizzled as it burned into his skin, into his eyes, and a blood-curdling scream erupted from the half-blood as his body was set ablaze with unrelenting pain.

Blinded by fury and the effects of the potion, Atreus spurned the hard ground beneath his feet as he tore himself away from the cruel grasp of the guards with what little strength he had left, and threw himself against the metal door that had been carelessly left unlocked. Up the stairs he fled, pushing past anyone or anything that got in his way until he managed to slip out the front doors and tore through the streets of Vallen, his half-blind left eye and memory of the Kingdom’s layout the only thing guiding him. After weeks of hunting him with no success, Vallen gave up its quest to capture him, but a large bounty was placed on the potion master’s head should spy him amongst the crowds or finagle a way to catch him.

Another year would pass before Vallen was sent up in flames and its King murdered. They say that a single traitor is all it took to send the once mighty Kingdom crashing down to the ground in defeat, but that traitor has yet to be found.

And I always give you all you need
But I can see that you're dancing with the devil

Active & Parvus Magic

  • Parvus – The blood of the beast is blacker than black. The most notable sign of this is around his right eye, the small veins able to be seen through the skin before fading further beneath the skin. When injured, will bleed black.

  • Discipuli – Able to craft various potions with different enchantments. Simple potions that call for few requirements have a stronger effect than those requiring many ingredients and last a minimal length of time. Potions that are created and not used immediately will last one week before losing its intended properties and need to be replaced.

  • Vexillum – More difficult potions take a less amount of time to create and are stronger than before. Simple potions have a longer lasting effect. Potions can be created and stowed away for a month before needing to be replaced.

  • Periti – All types of potions are potent in their intended use and have lasting effects. They are easy to create and take fewer ingredients, but those ingredients may be more difficult to obtain. Once crafted, potions may remain in storage for months at a time before spoiling. When emotions run high, what can only be described as a thick, bloody substance gushes slowly from both eyes.

  • Dominus – Each potion is crafted to perfection. Any and all poisons will cause lifelong debilitation or are downright lethal when they’re meant to be. Those meant for healing are able to stop the flow of blood from the most violent of wounds, halt the most persistent infection and can completely take away one’s pain, be it physical or mental.

Passive Magic


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  • Suffers from psychopathy and Machiavellianism.
  • Self-medicates when necessary - he will not stand for treatment by anyone else.
  • Self-experiments at times, depending on the potion in question.

-internal screaming-

Played by:

Dingo (PM Player)


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