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Current
Beautifully drawn by Sid (Erasvita@DA)!
Current Novus date and time is
... currently in progress!

 Year || 503
 Season || Winter
 Temp || -10℉ (-23℃) to 55℉ (12℃)
 Weather || Winter has left a blanket of pristine white snow in many parts of Novus. Only Solterra remains mostly untouched by the season's frosted hold, but even the desert may feel a cold breath of wind now and then. With Winter now settled across the continent, dreams of Spring dance in the minds of many.


Spotlight

Character of the Season
Seraphina

Member of the Season
E-cho

Thread of the Season
Coloring outside the lines

Pair of the Season
Moira and Asterion

Quote of the Season
"There is something to be said for how soothing habit could be, when one was trying to avoid words they shouldn’t say." — Theodosia in
Cinderblock gardens

see here for nominations


DISCORD

Rowan
Pending Approval


The Character


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Age:
Gender: Male
Pronouns: He/Him
Orientation: Heterosexual
Breed: KWPN X
Height:17.2 hh
Health:
Attack:
Experience:
Signos: 200 (Donate)

Joined: 04-13-2019
Last Visit: Yesterday, 12:09 AM
Total Posts: 0 (Find All Posts)
Total Threads: 0 (Find All Threads)

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A coat of gold or a coat of red,
A lion still has claws
And mine are long and sharp, my Lord—
As long and sharp as yours.

Stars mottle the sky in radiant white, as lamely wan as the cratered moon. Up close, they are burning, pulsing beacons of incessant and irresistible light. Against the night sky, they seem cold and distant things, even if a touch would set an inferno. They breathe life unto planets, they ignite the midnight heavens in flickering shafts of white light.

That is Rowan: forged of subtle starlight splattered across a dappled bay pelt. He towers upon powerfully built legs, though his head is often hung low out of habit, detracting from the immensity of his build. His flaxen hair spills like molten silver down his neck, cascading over the fine column of his throat in elegant whorls. A perfect diamond crowns his forehead, its points drawn with god-crafted precision. His ears are dashed in white, capped with the likeness of snow over alpine mountains.

The stallion's pelt boasts the rich colors of sunset, appearing subtly lavender under the light of dusk, though contrasted by warm browns and faint golds. The vibrancy of his colors paint the expanse of a lithely built man: leggy and muscled, he was born from his life on the road.

But his eyes? They are perhaps the most remarkable.

Forged, indeed, within the smitherys of starlight, thick white lashes frame pools of translucent blue, effectively offsetting his masculine build with the subtleties of an alluring, smoldering gaze. And oh, he burns with the same subdued ferocity of stars, his viciousness hidden behind his beauty.

Rowan smells of sweet tea trees and eucalyptus with just a hint of smoke, like the kindling of firewood.

And so he spoke, and so he spoke,
That Lord of Castamere.
And now the rains weep o'er his halls
With no one there to hear.

ART BY RHIAAN
And who are you, the proud lord said
that I must bow so low?

Compassionate, thoughtful. Merciful but merciless. Liberated. Loyal to a fault, courageous until death. Attentive, intuitive. Wry, at times mocking. Temperamental. Vindictive and unforgiving.

He is kingless, governed by his wildness and fettered by his freedom. No laws chain the flaxen stallion, and he heeds only the stars now. Once, there was a time when his mind was painted with war and leadership - obligated to answer the call of warhorns. Now? The earth is his mistress, and he walks her dusty floors with the gait of a wanderer.

Rowan is a composition of contradictions. He is the blade upon the chopping block, yet the balm in a medic's cabinet. His heart is a bottomless well of compassion and kindness, yet only the strongest of tethers can survive the plunge to find such warmth. Even then, the heat of him is scalding. He is a man of extremes: too much love or too much hate, and yet still he's certain it's never enough.

Only a cat of a different coat
that's all the truth I know.

ART BY ELIZAHVETA
And so he spoke, and so he spoke,
that lord of Castamere.

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet.

But now the rains weep o'er his hall
with no one there to hear.

ART BY RHIAAN
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The Player

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