Post by Finn on Feb 7, 2018 5:58:24 GMT
Name: Wraith
Build: Lean and lanky, Wraith borders upon gaunt. Her long limbs and arching neck would be graceful if she could manage to keep weight on. (Andalusian)
Combat Build: Courser
Gender: Mare
Height: 17 HH
Age: 14 Years
Coat color: Wraith's coat is a lovely, mottled melding of black dapple over soft grey-blue undertones. The dappling intensifies as it travels downward, and her legs below the knee and hock are solid onyx. While the majority of her body is heavily mottled with deep shades of navy and ebony, her shading softens to a pale, solid grey as it traverses up the arch of her neck to the planes of her visage.
Markings: No extra markings mar her pelt save for the natural dappling of her pelt.
Deformities: As she has been blind from birth, Wraith's eyes are completely pale without evident irises or pupils.
Mane and Tail: Both mane and tail are soft and long, hanging wild without adornment. Narrow bands of silver highlight their deep obsidian pigmentation.
Eyes: Wraith possesses no noticeable irises or pupils. Both eyes are a pale, milky ivory, evidence of her complete and permanent blindness.
Alliance: Wastelander - No Herd Affiliation
Mental Disorders (if any): None
Physical Disabilities (if any): Completely blind, gaunt with hunger
Powers (if any):
Wraith possesses the power of limited Foresight: she is able to glimpse images of possible futures. While these images and waking dreams normally come unbidden and could not be summoned at will in her youth, she has been able to call upon her powers of divination at will with some practice as she ages. Only with great and exhausting effort can Wraith call to mind specific future possibilities, and these futures are generally only possible timelines that exist alongside numerous others. However, rarely, Wraith glimpses future events that are certain, immovable and unalterable. Additionally, while she is entirely blind, Wraith is capable of seeing the faint auras that surround living creatures, allowing her to orient herself around most living animals.
History:
In the darkest depths of winter, the harsh and vast expanse of the Taiga is among the most inhospitable territory in all the Wastelands. Few and far between are the herds that manage to eke out a living in the deep snow, where a layer of permafrost covers most vegetation even during the mildest of summers. It is said that some foals have lived their entire lives beneath skies dreary and blanketed thick with gloom, never once glimpsing the sun in her bright splendor.
Among these sparse herds, there lived a small group of twelve lead by the stallion Vartan. A massive, muscle-bound brute of eighteen hands, his coat shone a shade of purest ivory, unblemished save for the great scars rending his pelt. At nigh forty years of age, the stallion had led his herd through thirty-five winters, protecting them from predators mortal and dangers intangible. Although stern, Vartan's gentle temperament and compassion for those under his care made him much beloved by his herd.
At Vartan's side strode the mare Amisi, his adoring mate through twenty-seven long winters. Her pelt of blue roan blended with the shadows beneath the squat trees of the Taiga and her flaxen mane shone beneath the light of sun and moon. Like her mate, Amisi was sweet of temper and disinclined to ferocity.
In agreement that the herd, who barely managed to forage enough food in good years to bear foals to term, could not participate in the pitched battle between the Dawnlanders and the Wastelanders, Vartan and Amisi lead their herd deep into the Taiga. They could only hope that even the most bloodthirsty Dawnland raiders would not dare venture so far into the horrible terrain.
The last days of winter were upon the herd when Amisi bore a single foal by Vartan. Unfortunately, winter had left Amisi weak and thin. The filly would be the only foal brought forth by the pair, as her mother perished during the difficult birthing. Grieving the loss of his mate, Vartan would not hear of leaving the filly with her mother's corpse in the snow. It took too long, the others whispered, for his daughter to rise on trembling legs to amble about. When she finally managed to find her feet, her stumbling movements were too awkward and she tripped often. Close examination found eyes not with the pale irises of her father, but completely pale, milked over without even the barest trace of a pupil, let alone an iris.
The first mare to whisper that it would be a kindness to leave the poor foal for the wolves to spare her the painful, slow death surely to come earned a swift and angry bite so fierce from Vartan that the others were shocked into silence. Another female with a foal of her own, born only a week prior, was selected to care for the filly alongside her colt. Vartan's order was uncharacteristically firm: he would not hear of leaving the only evidence of the love shared between Amisi and himself behind.
Winter faded, and so too did the great strength of Vartan. The stallion had become prone to long periods of deep melancholic anguish. Weight sloughed off him and the muscular bulk he had once born with great pride was cannibalized one step at a time. Food had lost its taste, water its allure. Nothing could sate the ache in his throat, nor the agony of his heart. It is unclear whether his stumble from that tall, jagged cliff was accidental. The stallions and mares closest to him at the time of his fall had insisted that Vartan had whispered the name of his mate even as one front hoof had come down upon empty air, his gaze locked upon the ground far below.
Now six months old, the filly that had been dubbed Wraith by her surrogate mother mourned the loss of her father in her own way. Distant and head held high aloft, she stood facing the rising sun. Although she would never see its brilliance, its rays warmed her visage. The sound of hooves fading into the distance, wandering in every direction, told her all that she needed to understand: the herd was splitting with the death of her sire.
By now, she is accustomed to the flashes of color and form that come unbidden. Two of the mares and one young stallion will likely meet their end in the bloody jaws of predators. Their jaws gape, dripping crimson vitae onto the thick permafrost, eager to tear flesh from bone, to crack femurs for marrow.
There is no hesitance to the steps that carry her away from the scene of her father's grim end. His bones will be picked clean by scavengers. His bones will freeze, then thaw, then freeze again. A decade hence, she may return to brush a soft muzzle over the bleached and smooth dome of his skull, whiskers bending across bared orbitals.
Never again does she meet her surrogate mother, who had nursed her through the vestiges of winter and taught her to walk with her head low to the ground, whiskers grazing nearby obstacles, ears perking in every direction to catch even the faintest sound. In her dreams, the images return again and again until she learns to call upon them.
Wandering hooves carry her from Taiga to Desolation, into the Reach and beyond. Again and again, Wraith returns to the Taiga. Winters hard and long strip her musculature, leaving her waifish and pale as her namesake.
Personality:
Although Wraith could never be described as cold or aloof, there is a certain air of distraction about her. Few and far between are those who manage to hold her attention for an extended period of time, and those who do not manage to retain her interest will often find themselves overtly ignored in the midst of conversation. It is often as if the mare might be listening to something else entirely. While she is not inherently distrustful by nature, Wraith is an independent and proud creature and not prone to bonding easily. Her disinterest is generally polite when displayed, and those select few who earn her interest are treated to affection warm and quiet, without intrusion or effusiveness.
Picture:
