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4 [Year 500 Winter]








kirin x / warlander


16.3 hh







Last Visit:

12-21-2019, 12:02 AM


Signos: 740 (Donate)
Total Posts: 51 (Find All Posts)
Total Threads: 9 (Find All Threads)

seal brown, gold that cuts across his shoulder like veins in granite ; long, untrimmed mane - long furred lionesque tail ;
tall, muscular, refined ; sharp eyetooth & incisors, hidden behind lips
accessories: golden twine for braids, strung with small bones, claws, skulls & cobweb lacework
smells of: black currant & sandalwood cedar, faint notes of patchouli and tobacco.

warbred ; the fall of a starless night. his skin is dark, swarthy depth – a river of stygian shores, inlaid with the veining of golden bones. it glimmers, the mercurial shores rippled with inking tendrils that bide and weave, wrapp'd in the fervor of the hunt. lycain brood. his musculature is virile, smooth, brimmed with youthful grandeur and spartan might – furious gaits that profess their power, their thunder, the heavy drums of an army that seethes from the aching soul; a hunger, the bottomless agony of a ghoulish haunt. he is the embodiment of the styx, the cold hard stone that guides its waves, the austere trenches that gleam and pool with the shadows of a graven eve – splashed across his shoulders, the glint of luscious golden ichor that sprawls from chest to shoulder, as if erratic cracks in the granite slab. tall, long, his physique is a tantalizing mix of athleticism and grace. his shoulders are broad, peaked in their symmetry with the point of his croup – framing a healthy, winding spine that boasts the curves of ample muscle and tight sinew. he bears a heavy, squared jaw – wolfish, broad, his handsomeness accentuated in sharp angles that smooth along the slope of his nose, as if his features carved from marble. his face is dark, severe, often morose – and otherwise, so viciously charming, a butcher's grin beset by deep eyes that leer lapped in honey. there is something alluring about the change of his expressions, their facade of a mirror's sifting smoke suave ; something predatory, dangerous, so inviting and equally terrifying. in the slight of his amusement it is often to catch a glint of silvery fang, peeked from behind a sliver of his tongue as it glides across his sharp incisors. carnivorous glee. his devilish deshevelment is crowned with the height of two curved horns, knobbed like splintered black bone along their ridges. his hair is long, uncut – sometimes braided against his nape, laid loose or so tight it is nearly hidden, held by gold webbing twine and small skeletal filigree. if left undone it drapes over his shoulders and cascades just past the curve of his thick neck, unraveled in thick obsidian waves, interrupted by few strands of gold. his tail is long, a flourish that is gilded in similar fashion, luscious glistening black furs that carry from dock to tip.

ambitious, intellectual, charismatic, organized, aesthete, loyal (to specific few) arrogant, aggressive, distant, distrusting

neck deep in menacing cabal – he is ruthless, heartless, his motives only know one end and his ambitions drive him there despite any interference. he is cold-blooded, hot-tempered, an incessant fiend consumed in the wild lust of succession. it is as though he craves immortality, while wielding its bounty. his mind is tracked only with survival, domination, prosperity, while his motives bathe in the grim conduct he assumes. black hole sun ; feverish latency of violence, what drips from the dagger and consoles his bitter lips – feral, feasting gluttony riled in gentleman suits and lycan furs. he is virile, narcissist brooding, a contemptuous hound that hungers for all that which lies beyond the hot press of his eager fingertips. to grasp, to strangle, to burn holes with his mouth and peel flesh with his gaze. reaver, reaper aesthetic. he commands the room in cold contemplation, a pagan king possessed of all untimely hallows – an earl of nether realms. there is a louring aura about him, that which winds its wilds through his bones and entangles in the charm of his grin. a double edged blade who in its lethal glint conspires with a coquettish indulgence. a dark individual, consumed of sensual duality. he is rough, unbridled passion – a devil's couture. charismatic and cruel – despite his reserve, his dire ambience that tours the mind like a plague, he is effortlessly charming, silver-tongued lecher, grit with the filth of his desires. vicious, rampant being unhinged; rage courses his veins like a rapid drug, and his addictions deprive him of any desire for remorse. his, is a heart left to wander freely 'mongst the warrings of death and infamy, equally divine in their right possessed – and collected within itself, silence collapsed its starvation, apathy rendering his compassion no more than a festering lust for blood and delicacy. his existence is but a dream – a gasping intimacy that retches its volatile passion in ruining his past, an unearthly anatomy in its handsome menagerie of chiseled bone and fibrous flesh. he were a creature born of lust and ruination, and halved of their morality still; a patron of beauty in war, the art of bloodshed in its finest filigree.

of gods, horror, and despair.

by the first light of the world there were only the ancients. they lived in the air, in the seas, in the fire, in the sparks of lightning and the rumbles of thunder that rolled over the plains. they were light and dark, day and night, and at once everything together just as they were apart. their laughter breathed life into the world, their sorrow bred rivers through the ruts. they were the first. they plucked the bright starlight from spacious skies and created the seconds, those many called gods. these were children, more volatile and wild than those who had come before them. they made wars between their brethren, created their own creatures and claimed dominion over their halves. the titans, the ancients, bewildered by this mark of atrocity and chaos they brought into the world, sought to quell their ruthless children. they first attempted with gentleness – so came the gifts of harvest and craft, the cool mountains in the brushland scapes and the shimmering oases of the dry deserts. they bore fire into the hills of wintry peaks, meadows at the stead of vast plains. but it was not enough.
the gods were hungry, as they are always hungry. the more the ancients provided, the more the gods wanted. many of them were selfish, unruly things that thought of themselves their own masters. when the titans turned from gentleness to force, there came the great wars.
the first war had come as a loss to the gods. there was not enough of them to face the might of the titans. many of them fell victim to the uncontested power of the first ones, some captured and set to the most miserable quarters of the universe. the rest regathered themselves with the last scraps of dignity and pride they retained, licking their wounds as a calm settled between the realms of mortals and titans. as punishment for their rebellion, they were stripped of true immortality – left to rely on their patrons, the mortals – surviving on worship alone. this left them to the mercy of those they called domain over. some turned to softness, providing their patrons with lore, crafts, and skills that only the gods had previously willed. others became despots who scared their patrons into submission, relying on their violent delights to inspire compliance and sacrifices. those who could not convince mortals to worship them suffered an agony of eternity – they fell vulnerable to pain and heart, endured diseases and wounds, the sadness of loss and the confusion of being forgotten. but never would they ever find the comfort of death. those who secured the faith among their patrons found strength, seemingly endless. they were impervious, radiant things whose powers far outstretched the grasp of mortals.
a group of the most scorned and wrathful gods devised their past failures to be blamed by a lack in numbers. these gods created new things – great and terrible things both, things of great beauty and others of vicious terror. some bred with mortals and created half-breeds, demigods with the strengths of the gods but the looming chance of death.
greater in numbers now the gods and demigods, partnered with the wrath of their mortal worshippers, turned their sights to the ultimate rule of titans. the ancients still held their grip over the ways of the universe and were stead in these old ways. it was by their will alone that they could summon the death and punishment of a god, and so were deemed an enemy. those rebellious gods and their incensed partners called a war against the titans, and started the era of a long and ruthless war. the mortals, punished for the involvement, endured many plagues and diseases, famines, deaths and titan-made monstrosities such as the dragons from the volcanic mountains and the whips from the iceladen plains. there in itself borne the war within mortals that penned them against each other even as the gods waged against the titans, battles between those who favored the gods' wrath and those who favored the titans' will. cities crumbled, fields scorched, mountains rocked, and seas quaked. nights stretched months of merciless cold as days spanned of reckless heat. oases were eaten by the sands, grassy plains reduced to arid brushland. but it was too late – though the mortals had begun to fall away from some of the gods one by one, the titans had fallen to their gods and followers, and were imprisoned in the nether realm.
after the titans were imprisoned, the gods gathered to determine their new rules. they were to decide who would reign the skies, the whims of the world, the seas, the beneath. but they were quarrelsome, and many did not come to negotiate kindly. many separated to different regions, different civilizations that piqued their interest. those in their own pantheons chose the wills of the world they wished to move – those of the rain, the fire, earth, and water, or those of larger pantheons that held their grip on secular duties such as the divided wills between the rain, the cold, the winds, just as they determined separate rule over particular creatures. their demigods were often left in place while the gods moved to leisure, unencumbered by responsibility while their mortal patrons continued their worship. where the world was a place of peace, vitality, an fruitfulness in the rule of the titans, this new world ruled by unsound gods found inevitability with disease, wars, famine, and sorrow.
those who did not favor the gods in the second war chose to hold their faiths to the ancients. they believed that while the ancients were imprisoned they were omnipresent and powerful still, existing in breaths of wind, the wills of mortal flesh, even the realm of dreams. they believed they, when strong enough, could even walk the earthen world, and would create beings to live among mortals and contest the power of the arrogant gods. every once in a while the nature of the gods' were shaken by what was thought to be the will of a silenced titan, their power tapped by loyal mortals. those patrons who sought the deepest connections to the titans were regarded as shamans, proprietors of memories of the old age, the era of ancients. it is through them that the lore of the first ones survived, and are the strongest place between the mortal creatures and the will of titans.

of titans, stones, and heresy.
he is a thing born from the scorn of a withered titan. though his life is a thing fraught with secrecy, mystique and heresy, there are few who know the truth of his nature.
erasmus was born in the wilds, a continent separated from novus by the terminus sea, an ancient throne of the fiery war god whose claim was lain. this was one of the original gods who chose to rebel against the titans, and had been made rich with the faith and loyalties of his patrons who spread wide. in this wretched scape of flatlands, thick dry forests, and distant harrowing mountains, the tribe into which erasmus was born cradled in the bed of the flatlands. to the west stood the crestline of peaks that framed the near desolate valley; to the east grew the tall thick forests that served as a sentry for the cliffs over the terminus sea. in these treacherous stretches of the aptly named wilds, tribes maintained their domain by war, militant and conservative in their ways.
the chief of the tribe had taken many wives in his desperate attempt for an heir. he had been cursed by a rival tribe and had been provided few daughters and stillborns but no sons. syke, one of the chief's wives, freshly lamenting the loss of a stillborn took to begging the shaman for help from the gods. their war god themistos could not be troubled to help a grieving a mother except for matters of brutality. the shaman looked to their roots instead, the binding ties that reached deep to the psyche of the imprisoned titans. it is said they wept to hear her weep, for they had many impetuous children while she could have none,and with her fealty to them agreed to bear her a son. they came to her in dreams and visions and guided her way, speaking splendors of her child to be.
so it is, as syke claimed it to be: erasmus came to existence on the break of a long and ruthless drought. first came the dry storms – the booming cluster of tempestuous skies that roved the brushlands and set fire to the forests on the edge of the wilds. as the thunder gave way, the skies began to rain stones – solid black stones that glimmered like oil in the hot sun, changeable as pearl – cold, round stones that fell to rest on the charred beds. on this shore syke came to witness a passing serpent swallow one of these stones. over the next few weeks she returned to check on the serpent, whose belly had swelled and swelled until it could no longer return to its hole. its scales had begun to crack and reveal veins of gold. the snake, weighed by the weight of the stone, could not hunt its prey and found itself endlessly parched. she would often find it at the riverbed, drinking it deep, never deeply enough to quench the horrible thirst. she at last returned the river but found that it was empty, and at its base lay a polished black stone veined in gold. this stone, she was told, she too was to swallow and to trust in the ancients to provide her with a son. it was however, their son, an extension of the titans – and so he was to eventually return to the river from whence he came to serve them against the unruly gods. such was their price.
syke eventually bore a son, erasmus. he was celebrated as the first and only of the chief's heirs – and was treated as such. he was pampered by the royalty of and allied to the tribe, included in tribal affairs in the means to groom him for rule. though he was still expected to partake in the pits – training grounds were colts were tested in their mettle and brawn, trained from the moment they could run. despite their many pleasures and lavish engagements, erasmus often favored the pits over managerial arrangements, and often attended training sessions in avoiding royal affairs. his skills and capabilities often leapt far beyond those of his equals in age and physique, and his physical development was exquisitely muscular outside the scrawny, lanky yearlings he brawled with.
though his mother was ordered by the titans to return him to the river from whence he was born, she demanded that he never traipse the treacherous deep of the forests. she spoke of monsters, cruel gods, horrors that lived in their dark. she feared losing her only son to the whims of the ancients, and so withheld him from their cause. despite his adoration for his mother, these tales only stirred a sense of wonder in him – and as he grew older, he found himself drawn to their depths. the ancients had conjured small trials of his perseverance and strength during his travels along the river. often these were tasks of hunting, though some manifested themselves as fiends he wrestled with to the death. some were enemies, some were tricksters.
one day, after short months that followed his year's birthdate the chief's advisors' suspicions toward the odd ruffian of a child drew them to question his conception. those who relied on the faith of their god claimed he could not be the progeny of mortal parents, and feared he was an instrument of the titans against their god. they presented their fears as accusations of adultery between syke and the shaman, and wrapped themselves into the favor of the chief. believing their accusations he sentenced the shaman and syke both to death, and at the appeal of his council, who claimed leaving him to live would risk treason, also sentenced erasmus. yet before they could reach him, he had already fled the tribe at the pained begging of his mother. a bounty was placed on his head in the name of treason.
erasmus had fled to the deep of the woods that framed the northern sea. his learned tactics had earned him the aptitude of survival in such harsh conditions, surviving those lesser vagrants ruthless in their desperation, evading those who hunted him for the favor of the reward. his travels were encroached upon such honorless thieves and dogs until he had escaped their stretched territories, wandering into the womb of no man's land. he set up small camps in the deepest of thickets, intended to reserve himself from the attentions of passerby.
he woke to an eery silence that settled over the thicket one night, heavy as laden mist. as he opened his eyes he beheld a silhouette of a mare against the eastern skies, darker than the pitch of night. “who are you?” he questioned, but the silhouette did not answer. instead it moved east and paused, as if it desired to be followed. erasmus obliged the shade, trailing its path east until the night slipped from them and the sun began to rise over the sea. it was at the brink of the cliffs that oversaw the terminus that he lost her path and was struck from behind, knocked unconscious.
he came to with the sting of salt in his nose and seawater in his lungs, his ears, his eyes – swallowed by the torrent of the terminus sea. red, red, blood dripped down his forehead and mingled in the seawater that stung his bloodshot eyes – disheveled, abandoned for the rage of the ocean. death closed over him, curious and waxing, its hands locked against his throat. as he passed to rest, he was stirred again by another wave as it rolled him over, bull'd into his shoulder and shrugged with the tide. but the next was tangible, more so than the water that rushed and choked. this wave had bruised his shoulder with its sudden weight and palpable muscle, grabbed ahold of his mane and yanked him against the roving tide. 
with what he had left in body and soul, he swam against the fury of the waves that threatened to drag him out to the leagues of death, his sore strokes seeming futile in the strength that held him stagnant, save for this savior that carried him to the shallows. it had been the veiled woman, her cowl soaked in glistening seasalt and sweat, shadow fell hard over her soft features. with what remained, he felt expended – but it was the earth that the last wave pounded him against, the grit of sand and shells and warm ground. as he wove through consciousness and the darkness of doom that menaced his dreams, he choked out the water that filled his lungs, spit the salt from his mouth and wearily bid his eyes to see. 
there had been no more than a silhouette that regarded him from afar now, the wind whipping the wetted fabric against her hips. as he attempted to blink and strain his gaze again there was nothing, the silence surrendered to the roar of the sea and the gulls that cried overhead, echoing on a vacant beach. he succumbed to sleep, fingers of the ocean dragging against his flesh, begging his return to the depths of terminus. he dreamt of night, everlasting night, falling through the starpricked canvas and a sea of galaxic haunts – finding peace on the shores of a denocte beach.

Active & Parvus Magic


I. Discipuli- able to soak in & expel small, fleeting amounts of shadow, capable of moderate night vision. the consistency of these shadows resemble smoke – intangible, unstable. he can entertain with the semblance small, immovable objects for only seconds at a time. any attempt of motion sends them to vanishing wisps, unable to extend shadows more than a few feet from his body. his power is only aesthetic at this stage and the magic can only be achieved if he is near or within the presence of shade.

II. Vexillum- with more practice in control he is able to manipulate shadow into small clusters with a stronger will and focus, capable of blinding his enemies briefly with a cloud small enough to veil their eyes or head. they can now take on forms that accomplish movement, albeit remain miniscule (in example birds, snakes, rats) though he is prone to inaccuracy when it comes to their direction. any extensive use of his magic may result in fatigue and body aches, and the usage is very difficult in the illumination of sunny days.

III. Periti- erasmus is now able to draw shadows into larger masses, webbing their thick shade to surround his enemies in smog. they can be gathered against himself as well, smoothed against his form or bristled out to make himself seem larger, resemble another creature, or veil his body to blend in with the shadows. he is able to transport himself through shadow, though incapable of doing so much farther than three yards and in the absence of daylight.

IV. Dominus- he has achieved full accuracy and control including size, form and motion. erasmus can now form shadows into a collection of webbing clouds, blocking out the sun, surrounding a group of equines, or divining any otherwise massive forms from the conjuring of collected shadows. the extent of his projection through shadow has broadened, though he is unable to practice true teleportation – only able to achieve travel from shadow to shadow in any gradient (cannot materialize in a plane of full sun) and no further than eight yards.

I.I. Parvus: a veil of shadow. the shadows may lick at his heels, gather beneath the mass of his mane, clinging to the gold threaded web he adorns, shuddering with any sudden movement, or caress over his body in ethereal waves that are most active in times of passion. his parvus magic is most prominent when the environment is darker.

Passive Magic


Armor, Outfit, and Accessories

accessories: golden twine for braids, strung with small bones, claws, skulls & cobweb lacework (x2); a small satchel for coins & trinkets

armor: His armor is made of a Denoctian metal forged to be lightweight, dark as the night, which in the moon's glow may faintly shimmer in certain light like the cascade of distant stars. His faceplate is long and broad across his muzzle, fitted to a point between his nostrils and two horns sharply risen at its center. A matching plated neck piece leads to the chestplate engraved in gold runes from a forgotten language, strapped over his withers and just behind his elbows with a dark tanned leather. Between his chest piece and haunch guard stretches a black iridescent sheer like a banner, which in the breeze shifts between galaxic and subtle blue, purple, and gold tones. Strapped to his legs are matching bracers. An iridescent black cowl settles in the crook between his shoulders and the chest plate, sewn in to the leather strapping. Behind his left shoulder sheathes a sickle sword of the same metal damascus-forged, jagged in shape, double-edged and kept keenly sharp.
enchantment: this armor helps him maintain a reasonable body temperature at all times. in areas of cold, the armor keeps him warm. when overheated, it cools him down. the metal is always eerily cool but not cold to the touch, even when the sun is beaming down upon it. - not yet claimed

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reticent gaunt haunt. witchy wretch.
quiet, passive, an introverted heatseeker. can't grasp small talk. approachable, nonetheless.

aka RAUM on discord.

Played by:

Raeym. (PM Player)


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