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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.

Spotlight

Character of the Season
Theodosia

Member of the Season
Nestle

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


DISCORD

Armance
Pending Approval


The Character


Offline

Age: 502 [Year ]
Gender: Male
Pronouns: Him/His
Orientation: Pansexual
Breed: Mustang X
Height: 15.1 hh
Health:
Attack:
Experience:
Signos: 200 (Donate)

Joined: 03-14-2019
Last Visit: Yesterday, 12:53 PM
Total Posts: 0 (Find All Posts)
Total Threads: 0 (Find All Threads)

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Adolescence has momentarily caught Armance in a gracile figure; his body is cut nimbly, his limbs still spry and thin. Nearly sparrow-boned and light—not a make meant for him in maturity. With age, the youth will grow robust, athletic. A ruffian – with his hair shorn, and pulled into a thick mohawk, and devil-may-care surliness bound in each expression. A wild boy; made of umber and soot, of the decay of late autumn devoured by rime. Like fallen leaves, darkened by the cold, his face and other extremities are the same. Hoarfrost collects along his undercarriage, barring the cloak with lighter hues. Splashes of white encroaches the shadows, at his throw and down the jaw. A single cloven-hoof is also taken by the feral touch of white. The influence of warmongers drift in the firmness, and girth of his build. It rests in his agile figure, like a low rhythmic beat of war drums. Though the years may stretch and youth will wane, there will always remain rebellion in his smile, and dissidence in his eyes. A shade of avarice, and just a pinch of gluttony. They are lively, and bold despite the warmth of golden depths. They belong to a bird of prey, and ferocity therein is a sharpened axe—much like the wings bloomed at his shoulders.
leonine, full cover • tail
raptor, brown • wings
cloven • hoofs
gold-tipped ram • horns

grullo rabicano • coat
faded soot brown • locks
sabino splash • markings
golden brown • eyes
likes, dislikes, quirks, habits, some other stuffs.
A huffing, burled creature—it was amusing, though she knew no one’s patience could withhold for an eternity. How much more could she expend? Minding the risk of drawing his ire any further, she withheld from goading. It was clear the rope’s end was nearing closer and closer, and it would best to give her brother some peace of mind. That expression. Her mouth’s smile fell into an uneven frown; feeling more so the scolded child -- an accurate reminder that she needed to find a return to her oldest habits. This adventure of hers had taken them quite far, and tested the mettle of their ability. But, he finally spoke, allowing her another whim against his better mind. She considered which path she wished to take, as there came a brief moment of regret. More curious to what he could find than what she would come across. But, the decision was made and it seemed appropriate to stick with it; lest she seem wishy-washy and without conviction. He was ever the constant, the stone to her tide. Accountable, dependable. Reminding herself to pay him better than lip-service humour, she sighed tonally, and began to ready to depart. “Whatever you find – we’ll meet back here,” she called after him as he began his stride northward. She would watch him depart, a last look, before turning southward and beginning her own sojourn.
a gilt hawk & the waning moon
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