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12 [Year 493 Fall]










16.2 hh







Last Visit:

07-15-2019, 09:20 PM


Signos: 320 (Donate)
Total Posts: 14 (Find All Posts)
Total Threads: 5 (Find All Threads)

If ever he had the desire to blend, he was cursed from the beginning. His coat radiates the color of cheap red wine from the top of his eggshell hooves to very tips of his colossal mass of feathered wings. They often attract attention, whether they’re nestled at his side or extended out to their broadest span of 44 feet. Beneath such an ornate display of dapple red feathers, Blyse’ carries a well-balanced figure. At sixteen and half a hand he is no more towering in height than heavy in weight. He isn’t the type to rely on brawn where there is plenty of wit to do the job. Muscular, of course, because wings are no easy burden to carry—but the stallion is no more chiseled than well-worn stone. His mane and tail are two-toned, a deep charcoal at the roots that bleach out to ivory. But it is the length of his mane that is the most profound, the sheer weight pulling his curls out to mere waves which tangle and twist as they glide by their tips along the earth. His tail, elongated and pouring curls of pure ivory, portrays just a trace of unicorn lineage. Striking emerald eyes shatter the romance schemes of his image. And if you look carefully enough, you can glimpse two metal rings piercing both of his ears.

On the proverbial backslide from noble birth to mercenary, you will find him, settling quietly in to lands as foreign to him as he is to it. He is not a monarch’s sympathizer and cleverly stays away from them now that he is set free of his blood ties to any man who deems himself a noble. In fact, he distrusts them entirely as he distrusts many these days. He would prefer the company of military men who, like him, are well versed in bureaucratic combat and eager to challenge his skills in political warfare. He is always up to a challenge, never mind if there is a cause.

Having spent much of his youth learning to swallow his dejected feelings, he does not easily fall prey to them. There are no rash decisions. Every choice is decisive and well planned and Blyse does well to recognize a risk from a gamble. That is not to say he has only disconnect with his peers. Given the right circumstances, his sense of camaraderie towards others might surprise you. He gravitates toward those most like him, pragmatic and sober in their ideas of people and policy. These war-types, they flock together. But they’re also plagued with their prosaic flaws of arrogance and callousness. Blyse is no different. Even detached from his noble roots, everything in life came too easy for him and he grew accustomed to that occurrence until he became endowed with magical ability on route to Novus. He fumbles with Caligo's gift of Illusions and as an arrogant newborn to her lands, he dare not pray for her help. He does not take well to personal failures which he believes that he can overcome alone, most particularly in military pursuits wherein his passion lies. He thrives from the purpose it gives him. Even in the hardest times he had learned how to create it from nothingness if only to keep his focus away from family affairs.

“When magic first came to our clan, it came disguised as an ally with a peace offering. When we saw what it could do, our people only saw the power it would give them to rule over their enemies. Not once did we think it would rule over us, until that ally, sick with madness begun his tyranny…”

It was a story Blyse knew all too well in his boyhood, so well that he could recite it word for word to this day. It was the history of his homeland, after all. His Uncle Ailor, his only keeper, would tell it to him as if it were the answer to every question Blyse ever dared to ask. This story, with its intricate details and shocking twists, went on to tell how two brothers, without even an army much less magic, went on to defeat the powerful and wicked King and how the eldest brother took his place as ruler and the youngest his General. The two brothers brought peace and civility to the green valleys of his homeland.

No magic.

No Gods.

Only for Blyse, these legends were not merely bedtime stories. They were the very foundation of his existence.

Because Blyse was the only son to the younger brother, who later perished in a narrowly victorious battle that ended the White War against the only rivaling clan left on the map of their small, known world. He didn’t believe in the legend’s bit about magic, not when mere mortal hooves ultimately cast his father to his grave. That last victory was a profound moment for many, as the sacrifice of a few good men put an end to the threat of outsiders and allowed them to thrive. For young Blyse, just shy of his second Spring, that moment was more than profound. He had no mother then, she gave her life to give him his as everyone knew, so he became her brother’s burden and drifted in to the shadow of the greater nobles around him. Tharrow, Blyse’ eldest cousin, would be his father’s successor as General and without much consideration Blyse was brushed to the side where his place in line to the throne no longer held much value.

His father had only just begun to groom him in to the key political player he had intended for him to be. He sometimes sat in on the tactical discourse in the War Room, debating military strategy with his sire’s colleagues for fun. He had always thought they seemed quite proud of him back then. But his father’s death put an abrupt end to Blyse’ training. The King, with three sons of his own to tutor and preen in to great leaders, clearly thought him unworthy of his time and so he was Ailor’s to raise and train.

Ailor was a kind stallion, but assertive and set in his ways. Blyse never understood why he had never taken a mate and had foals of his own. He was a man of virtue, and like so many stallions in Blyse history he was married to the military. A mere lieutenant, though loyal to the core. Blyse always thought Ailor loved his father more than the King ever had, the way he spoke of his victories and his love for his sister—the mother Blyse never knew. He could not miss the love he never had, but he did miss the sense of belonging which had faded away ever slowly since the time of his father’s passing.

Now all of this is not to say he was tossed in to the dredges with only a shovel to call his own the moment his father perished. He was the less favored among nobility now, but surrounded by battle-worn highborn stallions who taught him how to embrace militant life. Military was how noble men deemed unfit to play in the realm of politics earned their names. Following in his Father’s and Uncles’ footsteps, he soon find himself among the lower ranks of the King’s military. New enemies were always trotting over the horizon, and whispers of beasts who wielded the same magic as the wicked King had was enough to ignite the ranks with infantryman aplenty.

Only Ailor seemed to believe that Blyse excelled in the military because of natural skill. From every other vantage point, he was favored only for his nobility. Both perspectives were half of the truth. The deceased General had given his son some of his advantages by taking him under wing while he was young and challenging the extent of his boyish intellect. But he was also the King’s nephew and the great General’s orphan, and for that he was never denied an advancement regardless of whether it was earned. Strange thing, he came to notice, was how each rank he gained only seemed to displace him further from his noble kin.

But this time in his life did come quite easy for him, what with his family ties awarding him some favor in the ranks and skill taking him the rest of the way. By five, he sat two seats below his cousin, Tharrow. By eight, he sat just one away. He tried to placate his resentment of the fact that he had come as close to central power as the King would ever allow by throwing himself in to his service. By this time, he was well versed in bureaucratic combat and navigated the political warfare of a growing regime quite tactfully. But he would never find himself a seat at the round table or on the King’s council. Always, they kept him at arm’s length.

The very next (and last) war would give him even less of a chance than the King. Those whispers of magic wielding enemies, much like the legend of the wicked king, became more real to him. Their expanse in to the Western World became noticed by an army much more powerful than they. They’re lush lands and bountiful, but mortal numbers would be an easy harvest for those who could will steel armor upon their backs and breath fire from their enchanted lips.

The King, supposedly mad with fear, sent out Brigades to annihilate them first. Instead, his assaults taunted them.
War waged for a mere 4 months. In such short time, the King and his army were pushed with their backs against the sea and their numbers dwindled to nearly nothing. They suffered many terrible losses. Ailor among them. They’re saving grace was that they had captured one enemy with the gift of magic, which halted their assailant’s advances. The mare who called herself Celeste. She was a whimsical sight, body and feathers white as the snow with eyes that looked like shattered blue tourmaline. She was clearly blind, but told them she had the gift of “visions”, which they found could be stifled by simply covering her peculiar eyes. Tharrow had convinced (or threatened) her to use her magic to help them win the war. In the meantime, she was a prisoner. And with their numbers diminished and trust running dry, Blyse was made her keeper.

He didn’t mind the task. Even if they allowed him to council the King, he could not see a single tactical maneuver that could save them. They were reduced to hiding behind their prisoner. Guarding her was perhaps the most imporant task the King had ever bothered to charge him with. She was chatty. He was not. Mostly, she just lazed about and told tales of her homeland. She thought a great deal of her Gods and the magic she had been ‘blessed’ with. He did not.

“Magic is a gift, you know. It shouldn’t be feared.” She told him during one of their many one-sided conversations. “Not from where I’m standing.” He quipped back. Celeste stiffened as if his reply startled her. “That’s because you are standing on the wrong side. My kind will win, you know.”

“I know.” He said simply with not a hint of play in his tone.

“If you know, then why do you continue to fight?” She challenged. “Don’t blame your honor. Only a fool would die for that.” “You fight for your Gods because they gave you the gift of magic. Would you not fight for those who gave you the gift of life?” She laughed. “I’m a soothsayer, dear mortal. I know there is not a stallion or mare among them that gave you life. You owe them nothing. If only I had your King’s magic, I could control how you see me too.”

Blyse stared back at her, empty eyes not wanting to show how he wanted to leap to his Uncle’s defense. “Surely by now you know we don’t possess such curses as magic.” He said sharply.

For once, she sat in silence. She radiated satisfaction for it, too. He did not distrust her abilities, only her words. The King had no magic. At least, that is what the stories had said. It had many years since he could say he knew the King well.

“You’re much too old to believe in stories.” She crooned. He stiffened now, questioning if she was a mind-reader as well. “I can tell you a much more believable one. When magic first came to your clan, it came disguised as an ally with a peace offering. When your herd saw what it could do, you only saw the power it would give you to rule over your enemies. Not once did you think it would rule over you, until that ally, sick with madness begun his tyranny. He ruled with an iron fist for a hundred years, never dying and never relenting his vindictive authority. A weak, betrayer of the Gods like him could only rule over non-believing mortals like you. He used his magic to create mirages of enemies at your borders so that he could enslave your people who rallied behind him in terror and advanced before him as his army equipped with his magic. Of the slaves he kept, two brothers who saw him as the plague he truly was plotted a rebellion to murder the wicked King and take back their ancestor’s clan. Only he played them with his mirages as well. Your father did not even notice he killed his own brother and raised the wicked King back in his rightful place. Now here you are, years later, kept so much at a distance that you have been reduced to a bonafide watchman so that you cannot unravel his secrets as your father once did. Tell me, what man of such valor dies in a punitive battle for which your King claimed victory?” She was standing now, facing him directly, her breath heavy to accommodate the intensity with which she spoke. Cloth draped over her eyes, but he felt as If they were staring right in to his wide eyes.

He was always a skeptic, but her words resonated so deeply with him that he doubted himself a moment longer than he doubted her.

It happened to be that she was not a mind-reader. Had she been, she might have stepped aside before he overcame her and pinned her to the ground, wretching her small head to one side and her torso to the other. She tried to gasp, but the air only trickled in to her lungs. The cloth had been shifted down her nose and she looked around in terror, seeing nothing and everything all at once. “Tell me what you see.” He growled, narrowed eyes looking upon her mercilessly.

She writhed against his massive hoof to stretch her neck, opening her airways enough to whisper, “I’ve seen my death and it is soon, but not today. I know you believe me…you…” Her voice trailed as she ran out of breath and fought to inhale once more. He leaned back, giving her the slightest bit of leeway.

"If what you say is true..."
“I have seen this and I know it is the truth: If you confront him, you will die. Leave with me now, and my court will destroy him swiftly enough that what is left of your homeland may recover. They want only him. The Gods only want to reclaim the power they bestowed upon a traitor of their realms.”

He looked down at her, eyes without expression despite the thoughts that raced in his mind. Without a word, he retracted his ivory hoof from her jaw and stepped away from her. He would never come to believe that his compulsion to trust her then was not just the result of her magic.
He walked just a few paces behind her, his gaze sweeping the area as if each step they traveled brought them closer to the danger of capture and not farther from it. For someone with glorious ‘Visions’, she bumbled about aimlessly and clicked her hooves against deeply embedded stone every few strides. Of course she had been captured. He would have rolled his eyes if he could have trusted her to help him be on the watch for assailants. He barely felt confident in following her. He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off.

“We are close, I do not need you to berate me.” Her singsong voice radiated confidence. The mutterings in his head did not.

Without warning, the sound of an avalanche echoed from behind them. Blyse snapped his head around, his sharp gaze searching for the calvary by the sea. The army that he just betrayed was too far away now. Trees obscured their sight—trees that rattled in a fierce wave that rolled toward them. He unfurled his wings, ready to take flight but the earth beneath his hooves lurched forward and shook with a godly violence. In no more time than it took for Blyse to square his stance to hold on to his footing, the shaking reverberated away from them and in to the hills ahead. Celeste stood still, seemingly unphased. Her lids looked heavy, as if she were focusing on something far off in to the distance with the eyes that cannot see rocks on the ground. “Now this I did not see. I thought perhaps the Godess would merely take back her gift and return to Novus, but I see that she thought your kind worthy of a second chance. What a shame, I quite thought you would make a fine asset for Dawn.”

"You may as well be speaking riddles to me, mare." He quipped back in a growl. "Now where are your people? I wish to take my leave of you."

"Then leave, your kind is no threat to me now. Caligo will call you home herself." She tilted her head towards the sea, motioning to the horizon. A notion that was truest definition of the blind leading the blind.

He sighed, growing tired of her antics but not yet committed to his next move. Anywhere but back was viable, but not necessarily wise. He has just discarded his every ally but this one. "I'll bite, Soothsayer. Where beyond the horizon might I find this woman?"

"She is a Goddess, not a woman, you uneducated sleuth!" She pinned back her ears and in one swift motion, unfurled her tiny wings. "So I suggest that if you want answers, you should pray for them." As she leaped in to flight, she laughed.

As he followed, he did not.
We Get What We Deserve - information pending
I'll Crawl Home To You - Met Isra briefly, then departed.
Bring Me Thunder; Bring Me Steel - information pending
Screaming the Name of a Foreigner's God - information pending
kill the lights - Information Pending

Active & Parvus Magic

Years of military training can only produce so much stealth in a heavy-set stallion with a 44 foot wingspan. The Parvus magic, though not properly controlled, can obscure the subtle sounds he makes when walking or flying.
The most lethal of a warrior’s weapons is not as tangible as iron and steel. No, it is wit over diamond-hearted will, obscured in the dark hallow of the war room wherein which the real battles are won. There, violence is subdued by the progeny of reason and tactical warfare. Brute strength is worthless, and pride can only hinder your judgement, which must be perfected if the lives of your brethren are at stake. This, he surmised, is why Caligo sought him as a warrior before Solaris by imprinting on him the gift of magic. Strategy has always been Blyse’ double-edges sword and so the Goddess gave him the gift of Illusions with which to perfect it.
At his most novice state, Blyse can obscure small objects from sight for a mere moment. If he attempts longer intervals, the mirage produced is shaky and detectable.
With better control, Blyse can make larger objects appear to vanish from sight. He is beginning to experiment with altering small objects with a mirage, making them appear as something they are not for no longer than a minute at his strongest.
Blyse has honed his magic to create mirages of objects around him. His abilities do not yet affect other equine, but he can alter himself to others’ perspectives for periods of time. Magic from other users that rival his own magic in strength and experience can have effects on the clarity and longevity of his mirages, even shattering them should his strength falter before his opponent’s.
At the height of his mastery, Blyse can now create perfect, unwavering mirages around himself and others. But they prey upon all the senses now, with the illusion of sound and scent convincing them that every element is there to constitute a reality. Even an affected equine would see and hear themselves as they are not. His mirages can now be maintained for hours, even days on end if he has not had to exhaust his abilities in battle.

Passive Magic


Armor, Outfit, and Accessories

Blyse wears two small blush hoop earrings on each ear.

Agora Items & Awards

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Played by:

Apothic (PM Player)


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