sordid posts items тєαωєι
species Lux gender Male age 2
height Four Five weight 125
eyes glacial blue fur deep navy
markings iridescent throat, vantablack stripes on shoulders to mid back, darker gradient upon rear
scent ash voice androgenous, sultry
He is a beautiful man. his visage slender and delicate. The dip of his forehead to his rather sharp muzzle balanced in its proportions. His eyes a vibrant blue that stands pitted against the dark silver-blue of his bodice as cascades downwards. His throat is ablaze, glowing, ruminating. Its alive in its constant amalgamation of iridescent colours that swam and multiply in their blues and salmon pinks only to be cut. Ruptured by the base of his chest where sharp edged stripes strip the brightness of their dignities. dragging them back amidst darkest vantablack until they are no more. The only further essence of brightness being his vibrant front arms that mimic the sheen of what lies above them.

His throat is rooted, strands of the pale grasping against his darker neck as if a beautiful infestation. His limbs are long, slender. His bodice. The vessel itself carries the mark of vantablack stripe that holds from his shoulder to his mid back. their opacity disintegrating as it transcends down the effeminate curve of his spine. His tail is considerably long, thick, painted in the same blue-black ichor as the rest of him. What one could say stands out the most about his being however would be his ethereal wings. Obstructs born of boreal beauty, like a ghost, a phantom. They are shaped like an eagles and are proportionate in regards to his slender frame.
Likes Music, burning effigies, forbidden knowledge, ancient artifacts, silly men
Flaws selfish, merciless, cruel, overdramatic
Alignment chaotic neutral Religion fuck the gods
Fears Water Hopes He wants to be flexible. Aspirations are for the weak.
He’s a grimdark hellion, a man enticed by the eldritch allure of the unknown. The concept of the forbidden enticing to his unfiltered pursuits. Where most would live to pass upon the constraints of secrecy, he seeks to delve within such notions. Unveil them, assimilate them. There’s a good that comes within the power of magic that overwhelms those deemed without it. Something that sirs, something that roots. Within him is many rooted things, prejudice over those less gifted with the arcane is one of them. There is an enlightenment that comes from the manipulation of the surrounding. There is a sense of volatility, raw, unpredictable, misunderstood; Perhaps that is what of which drew him to his supremacy.

He’s emotionally intelligent, a man of sharp natural perceptions that seems to have no trouble in dissecting one’s psychology to suit his own interests. Only he compares others mindset to himself as a control; he, in his distorted, most unpredictable light, is hardly qualified to feign any sort of normalcy over what and what does not constitute as a countable thought process. Yet in his partial awareness of this dilemma it does not sway him from disregarding privacy. He would argue if one does not wish to be analyzed, one would not wear their troubles so profusely. Yet his disregard for others does not stop upon ‘others’, it extends, fluctuates like a spectrum; to gods, to men, to he. He of all. He shares no care to himself in the slightest. He is just a means to procure.

It does not mean he lives in denial of himself however.

If he has committed atrocity then he will not try to mask said fact. He knows many do not share his dilapidated opinions on ethics; discomfort is a small price to pay for knowledge. Knowledge. He obsesses over it, not menial things and petty discourse but the very functionality of passive existence, using analysis and logic he tackles his issues with the resolve of iron, somewhat heartless, somewhat psychotic. His interests do not solely lie in academia however, he has a love for obscure stories. Ones forged in dark gothic, in abstract horror. He dabbles himself really, but his stories are strictly for his own private collections. Not for prying ears. In regard to that it is clear that he is a long-winded man when he wants to be, this is partly out of spite or mainly conceived to irritate those who he shows disdain towards; most.

His way of speaking is often ichored, his words flow quickly and proficiently, with minimal disruption. He shows confidence in his speech, perhaps a sense of elitism, yet there are exceptions to this rule. He has a sharp reluctance when it comes to complimenting and/or admitting fondness. Solely because he doesn’t see the point in petulant conversation filler. You speak to him meaning business, you engage in discourse, you debate. You don’t come asking him about weather and menial romance requests. So naturally, to save his time and yours he cuts as much filler as he can from his dialogue. This of course makes him out to be some form of sociopath. He is not. Despite being perfectly happy to shred his humanity in his desire for conspiracy he’s not yet found the opportunity to do so yet and thus must repress those pesky emotions for the time being.

He has a curiosity, enjoying putting himself in situations solely to explore identities and actions which are otherwise alien to him, being this way he tends to live in his head for the majority of his waking. It’s not that he’s prone to daydream, its solely that he finds his thought stream more interesting than the words your sputtering.

Despite being darkly aligned to call him truly ‘evil’ would merely be a perception from an outsider, a rather naïve one. He does everything in his own logic, everything for its own purpose. He always see’s the bigger picture, the future, the hard truth. Its only that unlike most, instead of purloining about the matter he actively strives to seek efficient resolve no matter who or what gets thrown under the bus in him doing so. His intentions are one’s built on practicality, not social prowess.

He’s usually snarky under most circumstances. Generally impolite and solely a force to contend with, this is of course a coping mechanism to help deal with the morbidity of the issues that compel him and the helplessness he feels; it is as it is with all dark humors. To motivate him is near impossible however if he does find he is interested by something; no matter how menial, he will strive relentlessly to pursue it. It is also notable upon his frustrations that he has a prominent eye twitch when angered, or otherwise unimpressed particularly by something.

Despite his intellect, he’s a horrible judge of character, tempting him with the right things often results in him doing most of the convincing himself. He is also impulsively collected however upon extreme emotional stress, like anyone, he has a tendency to overthink and over all panic regardless of how composed he usually seems. These matters, intense as they are not helped by the fact he has a bad case of Sesquipedalian Loquaciousness if he can impose his intelligence a little further on others he will no matter how many stakes there are, or how much brevity would help.
Father Buer Umbra Nox
Mother Yennifer Umbra Nox
Sibilings Caim Umbra Nox
Mate none deserve him.
He was born in the woods of Mactibilis, His life uneventful, menial. Something from which he would much rather forfeit for something more intriguing. His mother was doting, overtly kind; He saw weakness in that. His father was prideful, overtly opinionated; Murmur saw his ignorance from a mile off. There was his brother also Caim of whom was loud and impressionable and favoured. Not that he minded. There was a solidarity that came from being less loved that made him feel alive. He found himself making the most of situations. There was not much to make the most off. His most interesting childhood memory being the time he was nearly eaten alive by the fish of lapis river. Naturally he holds a rather high phobia of water thanks to childhood misgreivances.

His intelligence isolated him from familial love and his thirst for knowledge unbeknown to feral apostles he supposed he’d be a vagabond without all constraints of convention; so be it. However there as a great issue about his birth however. Murmur was cruelly named for being a mute. A highly intelligent child silenced. He grew resentful of his brother’s words. Silly pointless speech and in his bitter anguish Murmur conspired with a banshee of whom he met by the weeping willows that lined the shoreline of his home. There he made a pact with her to steel his brothers voice and like leeches his plan set into motion, a sibling silenced. Roles reversed and Murmur luxuriated in the fading screams. It was cathartic; this Harmatia of his. Ever since then Murmur had become quite the theif for things that were not his.

His desire for wanderlust led him upon Victus — to be continued...
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