Novus
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Amaroq
Night Court Citizen
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Age:

9 [Year 495 Summer]

Gender:

Male

Pronouns:

He/Him/His

Orientation:

Heterosexual

Breed:

Kelpie

Height:

17 hh

Health:

10

Attack:

10

Experience:

16
Offline

Last Visit:

08-10-2019, 11:16 AM

Joined:

12-11-2018
Signos: 580 (Donate)
Total Posts: 41 (Find All Posts)
Total Threads: 4 (Find All Threads)

He is beautiful in the way of all apex predators, savage and lovely. He is beautiful in the way of all kelpies, feral and full of promise, handsome enough to lure in his prey.

Built similarly to a Friesian, there is little delicate about Amaroq. He stands at 17 hands, powerfully muscled through the chest and hindquarters, elegant and agile on land as in water. His mane and tail are thick and flowing and pale as sea-froth, or moonlight on snow; his hocks are feathered similarly. Long braids run through both mane and tail, woven in the way of his people, and sometimes they are tied with ornaments of bone and horn. His coat is blue-grey above and blue-white beneath, mottled with color, designed by the same hand that gave the fierce leopard seals their camouflage. There are a few nicks and scars along his thick skin, but none given by his own people; they are all earned from prey, polar bears and walruses that fought for their lives. Otherwise his coat is smooth, well-insulated against the cold he was born into.

Most notable is his horn, the color and shape of a narwhal’s proud tusk, a spiral of ivory rising from his brow. And oh, his eyes! They are chips of sea-ice, and like the glaciers their only color is what they've leeched from their surroundings.

Woe to those who come near enough to see his teeth. They are sharp, made for catching prey fast, made for rending flesh. Better by far to never see them, and thus live.

It was a hard, frigid world that Amaroq was whelped into. The only law was the law of tooth and claw, and survival depended on order, and these things have shaped his personality from the moment he took his first breath above the ink-dark sea.

The first thing he learned was that each kelpie had a role in the pod for it to survive; the cold and the dark and the ice were not kind to loners. Survival of the unit (and not just the individual) was the utmost goal. For Amaroq loyalty was inbred, both given and expected from others, with each obeying the alpha according to their place in the hierarchy.

Amaroq is stern and still, quiet and steady as sheet-ice. His sense of humor (especially lately) is buried beneath such frost, and is dark and dry as winter once found. Above all he is driven to survive, whether to kill and consume or to procreate and rebuild his people. Thusly is he instinct-driven. When the moon rises full and clear, his own senses are overtaken by the need to hunt; there is no reason left in him then, for he is all predator, and his only rulers are his hunger and the hunter moon.

He would come off as cold and uncaring, were any close enough to know him, for he has never shed a tear for a life he has taken or changed. There is no room for remorse, and to Amaroq there is nothing wrong in his killing. A wolf does not weep for a rabbit; it is only the way the world goes.

Where once Amaroq would not have thought one way or another about the feeble land-horses, now (after his people were hunted to nothing, after he was driven from his home below the aurora) there is only distrust, and something like hate. Before was too stoic, too matter-of-fact to think of something like revenge; each creature had its place, and the kelpie’s was above the seal’s and the bear’s and the horse’s, and that was only the way it was.

But he has had a long time alone to think of what was done to his people. Hatred grew like a fungus in the dark, glittering hard and cruel as crystals in an ice-cave, and with it grew the idea of revenge.

And so Amaroq wants both to turn the land-horses, and rebuild his family - and to kill them, and avenge the pod he’d known. No longer does he wait for the full moon to come to shore and hunt.

Once his people were as numerous as the stars, as numerous as the pods of orcas that hunted herring in the straights. Their horns rose from the frigid waters like the masts of a great armada and they ate their fill on the thick sea-ice beneath the rippling aurora. But this was already changing when Amaroq was born to them.

He was never a land-horse, fragile and fearful. He was whelped a kelpie, as his parents were, with his teeth already sharp and his hide spotted to disguise him as he swam below the ice. In those days, the land-horses were rarely changed (only when one was brave enough, or beautiful enough, to be taken as a mate). They were only prey, and they knew better than to leave their herds and villages when the moon hung full above the sea.

At first, not so much was different. His people hunted, and swam together beneath the starlight, and followed the ice as it ebbed and grew with the seasons. Their brushes with the land horses were few, and only rarely fatal. But the horses had learned of the value of those spiraling horns of the cold-water kelpies, and how warm and lovely were their spotted coats (of course, they knew already the danger of them). By the time he was three, and fighting for his place in the kelpie hierarchy (they operated the way a wolf-pack does, intricate levels of dominance to keep the peace), their brushes with the villages where the snow-pack met the sea-ice were ending in more death for the kelpies than the horses. They were hunted in groups, driven into fjords, slaughtered with harpoons made from the beautiful, spiraled horns of other kelpies.

His family were nomad hunters, following the ice, living wild and fierce. They did not build villages and wear furs and craft weapons. They could still lure a solitary horse to sea with their beauty and cunning and grace, but they were little match when hunted en masse. Fewer and fewer they numbered, and farther and farther they ranged from the land, out to where the prey was fewer and not even polar bears stalked the ice, it was so lonely and so cold. Fewer and fewer kelpies were born, and almost none were turned (for now, rage and revenge outweighed the need to rebuild whenever a horse was caught).

There were fewer than ten of them, in the end. It was summer and the melting ice drove them back inland, to where the villages had swelled. To Amaroq they were barbarians, trading and wearing skins of other creatures, bartering with jewelry made of bone and horn and potions crafted from blood. He wanted nothing to do with them; he wanted to hunt them. But he was eight, by then, and made wise by his years fighting for survival, and stuck to the shore where the sea-ice broke in chunks like a city dissolving.

But members of his herd were less patient and more foolish. Beneath the full moon they went into the village, and the light shone off the snow and off their silver backs and moon-pale hair, and they wove stories with their bodies and their horns, and lured the people out from their shelters. Amaroq, not immune to the call of the moonlight that hummed in his blood, watched the village far away across the smooth snow. He watched as the people came out, as they gathered around, closer, closer, too close. He watched as the kelpies began to move out to sea, sure and tugging as the tide, and some of the people followed. And he watched as another group cut them off from the frigid water. The blood that bloomed on the snow then looked black and silver.

Amaroq was a survivor. Whatever his hot blood wanted, his cool head prevailed, and he slipped into the frigid dark water and away. He swam until he could no longer hear their cries or the roaring of their bonfires. He swam until the cold water warmed, and salt rimed his skin the way frost had. He swam, hunting, sleeping, always alone, until none of the animals looked anything like him.

He swam until he reached Novus.

Active & Parvus Magic

Parvus Magic Frost rimes him like diamond dust, clinging to his footsteps and pouring from his throat in pale clouds. His skin is always cold to the touch; in a heightened emotional state the ice begins to creep up his legs and ever-nearer his heart.

Discipuli Amaroq has only a basic grip on his ice-magic. With great concentration (and when the weather is not summer-hot) he can create a thin crust of ice on water, or freeze puddles or tears. It is draining to use and difficult to maintain, though of course it works better in already-cold temperatures.

Vexillum At this level Amaroq’s magic becomes more useful to him. When he exerts his magic, he can freeze prey in water (seals, and fish, and any mammal unlucky or foolish enough to be caught out by him). His own temperature remains cool year-round, and he can freeze any liquid for a few minutes, so long as it is shadow or at night during the height of summer (except in Solterra - the hottest season there still causes him difficulty). Still, his range is narrow and the effects do not last long, and he is still well-tired after.

Periti At last his magic is as dangerous and useful as his teeth, and his horn, and his wits. Here Amaroq can begin to freeze the water (and blood) within another creature - if he is in close enough range, and has enough time to concentrate. His other skills are near-mastered. He can freeze an entire pond to the bottom, and larger bodies of water in a circumference of a few hundred yards. He can turn plants brittle, and weaken trees by freezing the sap and water that runs through their branches and roots.

Dominus At this level Amaroq’s magic is lethal. He can freeze the water or blood in a body; he can freeze it from the air, building a wall of ice whenever there is enough moisture available. When he walks on water it freezes beneath his feet, if he wishes it; when he swims he can fashion an ice floe with little more than a wish. The ice is whatever thickness he desires, and immediately responsive.



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Played by:

griffin (PM Player)

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