Novus
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Septimus
Dawn Court Scholar
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Age:

6 [Year 498 Fall]

Gender:

Male

Pronouns:

he/him/his

Orientation:

bisexual

Breed:

Oldenburg x

Height:

17.3 hh

Health:

10

Attack:

10

Experience:

19
Offline

Last Visit:

08-11-2019, 11:35 PM

Joined:

03-25-2019
Signos: 690 (Donate)
Total Posts: 41 (Find All Posts)
Total Threads: 9 (Find All Threads)



Septimus is a tall, lean creature in possession of a simple, earthy elegance. He is long and trim, with angular, pretty features – the product, he will say, of his wildling blood. His coat is a rich bay, interrupted by dashes of off-white on his front-left leg and forehead. The color is not striking, but it is satisfyingly warm and deep, like the bark of a great tree or the dirt of a lush forest floor. His hair consists of long waves of dark chocolate, which are nearly black at the roots and fade to a deep mahogany near the tips; occasionally, he will work them into plaits or braids to keep them neat, but, more often than not, they hang wild and loose about his form. An impressive rack of antlers sprout like the branches of a tree from the back of his skull, dark enough in color to nearly be black. Though almost exceptionally massive, they are lightweight, and they do not hinder his movements, which might suggest to the wary observer that he is far more dangerous than the cheerful curve of his lips and the unsuspecting fluidity of his movements might suggest. He is not only in possession of those; great wings, dark at their base, paler towards the tips, and off-white at the edges of his primaries, sprout from his shoulders, birdlike and expansive enough to carry him in the air with considerable ease. He is cobbled together from bits of forest, pieced together from the creatures within it, and, in spite of his scholarly pursuits, he seems a wild thing, most himself in the world’s most untamed reaches.

Most notable are his emerald green eyes, bright as leaves in early spring; they contain a gleam that could almost be called mischievous, if it didn’t seem so much older than the rest of him. Similar in hue are the little green gems that dangle loosely from his antlers and his ears. The earrings are one of his most precious possessions, magical conduits and gifts from his mother, but the rest of the gemstones are simply pretty trinkets, perhaps to distract from the earrings themselves. A pair of simple glasses rest in front of his eyes, giving him an almost unassuming face. They were used to treat a complication in his sight, but only for unnatural things – as a halfblood, he never quite possessed the second sight that came naturally to his mother and her family, and the glasses were enchanted to correct for it. After entering Novus, they ceased to function, but he still wears them, both for sentimental value and as a promise to himself that someday he will find his way back home.

Septimus can often be found with a leather satchel at his side; he uses it to carry his notebooks, quills, and vials for collecting samples from plant or animal life he encounters in his travels. The satchel is actually quite heavy, and, given his tendency towards rambling and collecting ever more notebooks, is often overstuffed.

With an unhurried, awstruck step to his stride and his bookish apparel, Septimus might easily seem delicate, meek, or naïve, but he is a seasoned traveler, and there is far more to him than what is obvious on the surface, from the too-old look in his eyes to the way that he smiles – a crooked, knowing thing that rarely curls his lips far enough to show his teeth.

But, oh, when he does – they are wolfish in design, and sharp, a thinly-veiled threat and a suggestion of a nature that is altogether otherworldly.



A ravenous intellect with an insatiable sense of curiosity, Septimus tends toward the sarcastic, but he hides an altruistic soul beneath his snarky exterior. A traveler and a naturalist by trade (and, as a result, an expert navigator and a cartographer), he is exceptionally fond of wild places and things, a seeker of mysteries, knowledge, and adventures wherever he goes. Once he latches onto a problem, he has to see it solved - but he is also rather easily bored, and, as a result, never content to remain still for long. He is prone to fits of obsession, often neglecting his health and general well-being in favor of satisfying some goal or solving some problem, but, without something to pursue, his mood tends towards the sluggish and depressed. He suffers from bouts of wanderlust, and, however content he is in one place or another, he never seems content enough to remain. (There is still so much of the world – or, more extensively, the universe - to see, and Septimus is determined to experience every far reach of it.) He tends to suffer in cities and enclosed spaces, often appearing fidgety and uncomfortable while indoors; he wants to see the stars and the sky and feel the wind in his coat, not be stifled by walls and confinement.

He is rather short-tempered, though his outbursts are often subtle, understated, and smiling; however, like most of his fae-blooded kind, this should not dissuade you from recognizing that he holds a nasty grudge. He is not, however, unfriendly (though he does have a bit of a mischievous streak) and is most often outgoing, curious, and friendly – though immensely difficult to impress. He is a decent conversationalist, full of perceptive inquiries, but prone to rambling on subjects he likes; it’s best to not get him started. He is never seen without a notebook and a quill and carries messy journal after messy journal, filled to the brim with notes, magical sigils, and rather scientific drawings of anything that catches his fancy, most often plants and animals. (He rarely allows others to see their contents, at least without strict observation.)

Though Septimus is generally very cheerful, he longs for his magic back like a piece of his own soul. He possesses an extremely strong sense of family, and he is as perpetually homesick as he is a wanderer – the notion of being magicless, and therefore stranded and unable to return to his mother, terrifies him. He tends to be very familial towards those who gain his affection, and, by virtue of having numerous younger siblings and cousins, is quite fond of children; he is as much of an eager teacher as he is an eager learner, and he delights in the opportunity to chat with young creatures, seeing the world through newborn eyes.



Witchblooded, faetouched, whatever you want to call it – your mother was something beyond, so you were born different, an unnatural anomaly, a hybrid creation, discontent, unquenchably wild and irreparably mortal all at once. You have never quite been able to piece together those two halves of yourself; there is something in you that belongs nowhere, and you have known that simple fact for as long as you can remember. Maybe that is why you wander. You are always looking for right. You have never quite found it.

The Wilds were no place for a child, but you were no normal child; you were your mother’s son, feral and unquenchable by nature, and blessed with your father’s mortal curiosity, and, though the Wilds were rarely kind to the curious, they loved you. Were you a simple mortal, they would have crushed the life from you immediately – you would have gotten lost on paths that shifted and twisted like vines whenever you looked away, or the ground would have reached up to pull you beneath it, or you would have fallen prey to those strange, strange beings that lurked in the woods. Your siblings and aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents would never harm you, and many of them were – terribly strange, – but there were other things too, darker and stranger, and they would have swallowed up a foolish little boy without a second thought, or done far worse to you. But the Wilds loved you, even though you were not quite of them, so those strange things loved you too, or tolerated you, at the worst.

So – you explored.

The wanderlust was inbred, your mother would always say; she tried to raise you like one of her folk, but you were a halfling, so you could never quite conform. When you were a year old (or so; time passed differently in the Wilds), she gave you a pair of earrings and told you to never take them off, and that was when she began to teach you her craft. You were a halfblood. You could call upon latent magic in the world around you and twist it to your will – but your mortal half constrained your power, so you needed a focus to help you pull it. Those beautiful green stones, green as your eyes, were not just for decoration; they were crafted of pure magical energy, and, with them, no feat of spellcrafting or magical prowess was out of your grasp.

Your mother taught you spells and incantations of the darkest, oldest types; she made you memorize all the books in her library and practice your craft daily, to study all the wild things in the forest and write, write, write, to take notes on every strange or lovely or terrible thing that your eyes touched. And you did. You always did. Eagerly, ravenously, fervently – it was everything.

But finally, there were no more books to read, no more spells that she could teach, no more wild things to find or far reaches to explore. Finally, you reached the end, and then what? The only thing left to do was to leave, to find somewhere else to go. You embraced your mother and your countless branches of family, gathered your things, and left, promising to return someday – but maybe not soon. Outside of the Wilds, you knew that you would age again, and it worried your mother, but you assured her: you would find what you were looking for, and then you would come home.

So you searched. Endless landscapes, cities, horizons – kings, queens, knights, monsters, witches. You searched and searched, a wandering mage, a being of immense power, but, though they would beg you to stay with each port you passed – for you would always find some way to pay for your stay – you could not stay. You searched and searched, and you never found what you were looking for.

And then you crossed a threshold.

It should have been like any other, but it wasn’t; something happened to the spell. When you fell into Novus, you fell in wrong. Your magic was gone, and half of you was gone with it – you were fractured, dazed, broken.

And, as you stared up at that first sunrise, it occurred to you that you might not be able to find your way home.

Active & Parvus Magic





Passive Magic





Bonded





Armor, Outfit, and Accessories



EARRINGS | His most prized possessions, Septimus wears a pair of emerald-green earrings at all times. They were a gift from his mother, and, when he still had his magic, worked as a conduit through which he could concentrate his innate magical talents.

TRINKETS | Perhaps to distract from his earrings, Septimus wears a tangle of dangling green gems on his antlers.

GLASSES | Although he has no abnormalities with his vision, when he was still in the fae realms, he wore these glasses to allow him to see the unseeable; he still wears them, by force of habit, and because he hopes that one day they will regain their powers.

SATCHEL | Septimus wears a heavy leather satchel against his withers, filled with notebooks, quills, ink, and glass vials. He is rarely seen without it, at least while traveling.



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designed by siilverfang

postbit & avatar by firu-sozo



Played by:

Jeanne (PM Player)

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