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Beautifully drawn by Sid (Erasvita@DA)!
Current Novus date and time is
... currently in progress!

 Year || 503
 Season || Fall
 Temp || 35℉ (℃) - 69℉ (℃)
 Weather || The iron grip of Summer has slowly faded into the gentler Fall embrace. The morning dew frosts over in the early morning hours and melts by the time the sun hits high in the sky. Many of the trees have traded their lush, vivid green for a more suitable array of red and orange hues. But don't blink, for Winter's cold embrace is fast upon Fall's heels.


Character of the Season

Member of the Season

Thread of the Season
r.i.p. to my youth;

Pair of the Season
Atreus and Fiona

Quote of the Season
"Are there lines she's crossing? Should she toe them or touch them with a pole and stay away wholly? But to avoid such a storm he offers, such a taste of life; to withhold herself from the chance to taste starlight, to love satin and silk and swallow pomegranate seeds not yet offered... She should be stronger." — Moira in
Small as a wish in a well

see here for nominations


Day Court Outcast

The Character


Age:8 [Year 495 Summer]
Gender: Male
Pronouns: He/his/him
Orientation: Heterosexual
Breed: Unicorn
Height:16.1 hh
Health: 7
Attack: 13
Experience: 13
Signos: 890 (Donate)

Joined: 06-02-2018
Last Visit: 03-21-2019, 07:21 PM
Total Posts: 14 (Find All Posts)
Total Threads: 4 (Find All Threads)

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Jahin Blackmoon >>> He's a mirage in the heat, a shadow on the sand, flames rippling in his hair. He moves easily, fluidly; a cobra in the night. He's fit and sheen, whipcord lean and flashing in the sun. His indigo eyes are star-bright with light of cunning and a keenness unmatched; burnt sienna skin and pearl gray lips, a crooked horn glittering in the sun imbued with sapphire hues.

He is fire in everything he does; he burns with a deep, smoldering intensity. He is what he is, and that is what people see, what they hear, what they know upon first meeting. He is as unchanging and enduring as the sand the spans the desert. There is no shadowed guile in his heart nor in his eyes; only a straightforward truth of who he is and what he will always be.

Some scars laced across his desert skin tell a sordid tale but most are of pride and of family. Davke they speak, the shadowed lines on his face, the natural wounds of battles for love and land and family. But the cross on his shoulder speaks of something else; a house on a hill of sand. A great, proud house in the land of Solterra.

There are two sides to him; a coin ever in conflict.

As a grown Davke stallion, Jahin remained solemn and intense; driven by his burning desire for success. He was rarely merry, spoke little, and was extreme in every way, feeling all things deeply, whether it was joy, anger, pain, or sadness, although his expression (or lack thereof) never betrayed his true emotion. He was especially slow to forget injustice or mockery, for the fire of his mother was in him, and he could be sudden, fierce, and violent in his anger. Yet among his people the davke, he was gentle, polite (if not a bit distant), and unwaveringly loyal. He was proud, of course, for he had much to take pride in, but he was always restless and eager for self-improvement, never settling with what he had achieved.

After his brief time at court after Seraphina freed him, his wild, passionate manner became more refined, more elegant. Those who meet him are surprised by the cleverness of his words, the easy way in which handles himself for beingDavke. His course Davke accent still bleeds through but he does not attempt to hide his origins. He is blunt and straightforward with his opinions. He has not been caught up in the lies and scandal of life at the capitol, but searches for truth among the world that has been broken by a poor king and a bloody rebellion. If you deserve and earn his respect, he serves loyally, unwaveringly. At times he finds himself conflicted--by his personal goals, and the goals of the Regime. At other times, in moments of quiet at sunrise, he longs to return to the desert to find what is left of his people. But part of him doesn't wish to know their fate, their ending. And so he serves Seraphina, who he sees as a woman with a true Davke warrior's spirit.

It began with a Davke mare and a House Lord.

It was a quiet, forbidden courtship that endured anyway. Sienna was fire and flame and sunlight; Korach was silent, steady starlight on a cloudless night. She was colored like the desert, oranges and reds of the dunes and sand. He was midnight obsidian, decorated in finery; hand-crafted gold and silver, deep blue tassels and a silver circlet on his brow. She a warrior and he an elegant lord. She was young, as was he. Both were foolish and paid the price.

Sienna was exiled from the davke horde shortly after giving birth to jahin. She had chosen a lover outside of their laws and customs--chosen an outsider over their own. They kept the child--a healthy, strong colt with the fire of the desert in his heart and his father's horn on his brow. She left her desert son a small necklace to remember her by and a scroll for him to read when he came of age--if he should ever be so lucky to learn to read. Her pride prevented her from returning to korach and so she wandered the desert alone and desperate. and though she prayed for forgiveness, for mercy--she died a lonely death for the desert is not a place of mercy or forgiveness.

Jahin was raised in the way of the davke--a proud and loyal people. They taught him to honor his mother and her death in the desert and the warrior she had been, but spoke naught of his father who was an enemy, an outsider. During his initiation training, he was not always the fastest or the strongest or the smartest, but he outworked many of his age and class to be so. he fought bravely, fearlessly; as a cornered lion might.

Jahin liked many things as a boy; swimming in the oasis, sparring in the sand, exploring the vast desert. But in his childish youth, he loved Makeda more than all things. She was different, more boy than girl, really (she could beat all the boys in a footrace and sparring session), but so passionate and wild. She believed in things more openly and fiercely than the rest. Part of him yearned to flirt with her like the other boys, but obligation and duty restrained him. Jahan was much too serious for play and flirting, even as a child, and already the davke's expectations proved to be a heavy burden.

He was not worthy of the great matriarch's youngest daughter. Not yet. But one day, he would be. He trained for that day. Seasons changed and passed, the moon waxed and waned. The boys finally entered the threshold of manhood. And quite suddenly, war was no longer a game, but his life. Boys who once played dead, stayed dead. Is this what I was born for?

Jahin. It became a respected, admired name among his people. Do you know my name now, Makeda? He devoted his entire life to the davke's well-being and protection, harboring a great and fierce love for them. In the eyes of Avdotya's mother, Jahin's unwavering loyalty and dedication did not go unnoticed. The young warrior advanced in rank. Jahan was already considered a wealthy davke stallion who had proved his honor and worth in battle, and thus, to the tribe as a whole. He could easily attract, provide, and support a wife, but he had none.

Peace was not to last. The matriarch’s favorite daughter was captured by the blood king Zolin. Everything after that day was a bloodbath. The great mother was dead and many of their finest and noblest warriors slaughtered in the sand. Makeda was gone, he knew not if she was dead or alive.

He was alone and defeated and captured by soldiers of the boy King and brought to the capitol for their entertainment. He was thrown into a dank, dark dungeon with no light. He lost track of the days, the nights—it all blurred together in a life of misery and squalor.

He spent the time reciting the oral history of his true people in the desert—and prayed to the Sun God for those lost and wandering to find their way back together. To die in this rat hole…he could not imagine a more unworthy, dishonorable death.

The rebels overcame. Seraphina herself, in all her furious glory, freed the slaves from their rat-infested prison, including Jahin.

He did not know where to turn next. There was no Davke left to return to (that he knew of), only bleached bones in the desert. And so he remained in the capitol, and chose to serve Seraphina—a great warrior who had saved him from a coward’s death as a slave.

While healing and regaining his strength, he spent his time learning to read and write. He learned the language of the capitol. He talked little and walked among the gardens, a wayward, lost soul without a purpose. He learned to speak softer, more elegantly, but if felt like a lie. He learned the customs of the court—how to bow, who to bow to first and who only to nod to. He learned the intricacies of the inner workings of life at the capitol and that it was a life of secrets, murder, and scandal.

After Raum the Usurper overthrew Seraphina in a bloody battle, Jahin abandoned the capitol and returned to the desert, considering his debt to Seraphina for saving his life fulfilled. He is currently searching for the remains of his people, the Davke.
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The Player

Player Name: pres (Profile)
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Other Accounts: Pres, Pavetta, Polyxena,
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