Nova Solus
Nova Solus
Physical Description
General Physical Condition
- Lean, but not typically noodly like most mages
- Some muscle definition, but sadly no abs
- He's a caster, there's not really much else to describe lol
Identifying Characteristics
- Vibrant blood red eye that almost seems to glow
- RABBIT EARS
- Large eye scar
- Heavily tattooed
Mental characteristics
Personal history
[Requires Friendship 2 to unlock this info]
Sexuality
Bisexual
Education
[Requires Friendship 2 to unlock this info]
Employment
Freelance/Mercenary
Accomplishments & Achievements
[Requires Friendship 2 to unlock this info]
Failures & Embarrassments
[Requires Friendship 2 to unlock this info]
Mental Trauma
Yes
Morality & Philosophy
- You could do everything "right" and still have everything ripped away from you. Concern over being a good person is a waste of time.
- Life is inherently painful, tragic, and awful. Living is meaningless, as is everything we could ever hope to achieve. The gods in their gilded palaces are useless and laugh at us like clowns in a circus. Nothing matters, and death is a blessing that can't come quick enough.
- People only help you if they stand to gain something from you. If they can't, they will hurt you. Trust no bitch, and you can never be taken advantage of.
- There's no such thing as justice, only shitty people with enough money and power to manipulate the world to suit their wiles and get away with whatever they want.
Nothing kills you like your mind.
View Character Profile
Alignment
Chaotic Neutral
Age
33
Date of Birth
26th of Illusion
Children
Gender
Male
Eyes
Red/[redacted]
Hair
Black w/ violet ombre
Skin Tone/Pigmentation
Pale
Height
5'8"
- Abyssal
- Common
- Primordial
- Sylvan
Dear Eversong...
I don't know what it is they see in you.
They talk *so* highly of you, you know. About how much they miss you and adore you and how great you were for them. How you inspired them. You traveled with them for less time than I've been here and you already made *that* much of an impact...
I hate people like you.
I hate how you're still able to see whatever light is left in this fucked up mistake of a world. I hate how you, too, are apparently victim to a system that takes advantage of you, but instead of it breaking you, you rose above it — you live despite it, in spite of it. I hate your infectious optimism. I hate all the generosity and heart you have to give. I hate how you've been a positive force to those you walk beside.
I lied. I know exactly what they see in you.
They see hope. Warmth. Love. Inspiration.
I hate that you're everything I wish I could be.
I hate that you're everything for them that I'm not.
Fernweh
There's a place that exists in the deepest reaches of my mind. Somewhere I created....I don't remember when. Or why. But it's there. It's been a long time since I've seen it, and to be honest I think it's long since been abandoned.
It's nothing like where I came from. No darkened skies and heavy snowfall. No ice-slick rivers or empty parks featuring neglected playgrounds. No naked trees or sad thorny shrubs dotting the landscape, because that's all that can grow through the permafrost. No neighborhoods locked up tight against the cold, thick black columns of smoke wafting from their chimneys in a sad attempt to thaw what the climate has long since frozen over.
No lonely children wandering the desolate streets because their house is like a prison.
Nah, none of that. This place is balmy and breezy, lush and green *everywhere*. The sun hangs boldly at the top of the sky and it warms my skin straight through to the bone. Probably burns my pasty ass too, but it's worth it for a warmth I've never felt. There are flowers, *so many flowers*, and my eyes almost go dizzy at the array of colors, but I can't stop looking at them, counting and identifying each variety. There's soft music coming from somewhere—I can't trace where—but it's *so* nice, *so* calming and soothing, and it makes me forget everything I feel, everything I am, even just for a moment. I can sigh for once, I can breathe for once, I can soften for once. Something sweet glides on the air here, pastries and freshly baked bread or something, and it doesn't make me ravenous so much as weighed down with comfort. Muted murmuring and warm laughter dances in tandem with the wind and scents and in the very depths of my soul I can feel it.
It's safe here.
I imagine this is what home should feel like. Someplace where your heart can rest. Where you don't need to constantly look over your shoulder or curl into a ball against the biting cold or dread another night drenched by rain. A place where your demons can still see you, but not swallow you whole. Maybe you break bread with them instead. Maybe you invite them in, but on your own terms. Maybe you offer them tea and ask them to stay and chat for a while. It's not scary though, because you know you're safe.
I don't know why I'm reminded of this now, especially considering I don't often remember much these days.
Is there a word for feeling homesick for somewhere you've never been? Can you miss a home you've never had?
Conversations With Ghosts
I cast my weary gaze across the grass and regard the group from a safe distance. I wonder who that safety is for—me or them? Am I keeping them safe from me, or myself from them? Muddled feelings that I can barely separate out anymore. Everything has become so tangled; an intricate knot frozen over with time that I, for some reason, keep trying to unsuccessfully pick at with whittled nails and cracked, bloodied fingers.
iT hUrTs, DoEsN't iT? tHaT eMpTiNeSs?
I shut my eyes and sigh, pulling my knees closer to my chest.
cAn'T yOu fEeL iT? yOu KnOw YoU cAn, DoN't LiE.
"Please leave me alone. I'm not in the mood."
yOu NeVeR aRe!
"Exactly. So leave."
oHhHhHhHHh, BuT dOeSn'T iT rEmInD yOu Of ThEm???
"Who?"
dOn'T TeLL mE yOu'Ve FoRgOtTeN, nOvA.
"Forgotten...? I.....forgotten what?" I can feel my blood running hot. "Quit it with the fucking games."
HAAAHAHHAHHAHAHAHHAILOVETHISGAMEHEDOESN'TREMEMBERHENEVERREMEMBERS
"What the fuck are you talking about?! I DO remember." I clench my fists. Nails break skin. "I remember EVERYTHING that happened to me. I will NEVER forget."
oH dEar...
YOU'REFUNNYYOU'REFUNNYYOU'REFUNNYYOU'REFUNNYYOU'REFUNNY
iS tHaT wHy YoU wAtCh ThEm? So YoU wOn'T fOrGeT tHiS TiMe??
"Stop."
iT cAn'T hUrT yOu If YoU dOn'T kNoW hOw It fEeLs RiGhT?
"S t o p."
bUt iT hUrTs AnYwAy, DoEsN't iT??
YOU'LLKILLTHEMYOU'LLKILLTHEMYOUKNOWTHEYAREN'TSAFE
"STOP."
iT hUrTs So mUcH, yOu WaNt So bAdLy WhAt YoU cAn't HaVe
BUTYOUKNOWWHATYOUARE
"SHUT UP!!!! SHUT UP!!!!!!! SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! LEAVE ME *ALONE*!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
I'm on the ground, clutching my skull. Torn hair in my fists. I can feel their scrutinizing glares. He's crazy, I'm sure they're whispering. He does it to himself, it's his own fault.
I am. I do. It is. I deserve this.
And something deep inside me aches.
I Gave Them Blood
It always starts the same way.
Fire.
Everything on fire.
Smoke so thick and dark it coats my lungs. Oh, the mercy it would be to suffocate.
Screams. Bloodcurdling. Names crying out for other names, pleading, begging, desperate. Wet gurgles. They don't scream anymore.
Death hanging heavy in the air of the night. Homes aflame, mostly rubble, bodies thrown across the framework like discarded dolls. Toys in life's sick little game.
Blood. So much of it. Slick and sticky. My boots, my uniform, my hair, my face, my mouth, my hands. My hands. My *hands*. It ignites the fire that leaves me, feeds it like gasoline, each recoil knocking me to my knees. My "eye" bleeds, mixes with the tears I swallow and choke on. I'm not used to it, it wasn't ready.
No time. Orders are orders. Insubordination is death. Keep going.
Eyes follow me, wide, *horrified*, my boots crushing bones, limbs, belongings, futures, hopes and dreams. The stench of rot, of burning flesh. Another Fireball tears across my skin, rips through my body, launches across the sky and impacts a cluster of buildings to the west. I vomit violently, I wipe my mouth, I continue.
Time is somehow both dilated and accelerated. I can see all the colors of each explosion as they happen—deep reds, oranges, and yellows—colors that should be reserved for beautiful things like sunsets with a friend, the leaves on the trees in autumn, the eyes of someone important to you, the warmth in someone's voice. I can't tear my gaze away as I run, and run, and run....
There is a flash; I'm straddling a body, too small, my hands around their neck, and they're crying, struggling, asking me why. I don't have an answer. What would suffice? They cough and sputter blood, continue to struggle, and I tighten my grip.
But this time the person changes, their form amorphous beneath me before shifting rapidly through features. White fur stained with blood. Blue skin and pointed ears. Long brown hair. Glowing orange eyes. Smaller frame with a mischievous grin tainted with pain. Blonde hair, sad eyes, glasses. No, no no no nonononono. This isn't right. There's no way, there's no way.....
My chest caves in as the form stops struggling, as the life leaves their eyes. I heave, there's no air, *there's no air*, I scream, I scream, I scream, my throat bleeds and I SCREAM—
I wake. And every time I do, I wish I hadn't.
Starved
I often hear people talk about love, but if someone asked me about it, I don't think I could ever offer an answer.
I don't know what love is. I don't know that feeling. What is it supposed to feel like? I've never known.
Everything in my life has existed on this constantly tilting axis of what is earned. For me to not know what love is, that simply means it's something I have not yet earned. Something I don't yet deserve to have. I don't think there's anything more to it than that.
To be honest, I don't think it's something I ever *will* earn, much less deserve. That ship has long since sailed, and I'm not about to fucking chase it.
But sometimes I can't help but wonder....
......was I raised without love? Or was I born unloveable...?
Dark Mirror
I had a feeling August was more than he let on.
Outside of the fact that I've never run into a changeling so far (that I'm aware of), this discovery doesn't surprise me. I *know* magic—it's probably the only thing I'm sure of in this world—and I knew something fucky was up with the way he'd "cast" his "magic" to change forms. Guess now I know what my gut was trying to tell me. I'm not upset at him for holding onto this either—not like my opinion matters much. Everyone has secrets, and people keep them close for a reason. He's entitled to that.
But there's something else.
His chosen form.
The way he talked about why he keeps that one. How that grotesque scar is on purpose. It hurts all the time. Constantly. Every day. Every damn day...
Something happened to him. Something haunts him. He carries a weight around with him everywhere, some sorta darkness that hangs over him. I can see it. I *know* it. Because I.....I....
I wonder how much the others know. How much he'd be willing to tell. It's such a dangerous thing to be curious, and yet.
It seems as though my darkness feeds on danger.
From The Outside
[[ooc post]]
If I had to ask any of our characters a question, I think I would ask Adria anything pertaining to her druidic powers; what does she aspire to be? What goals does she have in mind for this power? What does she hope to learn? Why did she pick up druidry in the first place, or was it even a choice? What does nature mean to her?
It's no secret I'm a big tree-hugger, but no two druids are the same. I'm always fascinated by what draws others to the power, and would love to hear Adria talk about it!
Still, We Rot
I fucking hate this new guy.
As if associating with a two parts sex obsessed, two parts oblivious, and one part suspicious band of imbeciles wasn't bad enough, life saw fit to spit in my face and just chuck a god into my midst. Of ALL the fucking things. Didn't need *more* convincing that my life is a fucking joke, yet here we are. He's loud, he's bright, he's upbeat, he's obnoxious, and I hate the way he looks at me like the knowing glare of a parent toward their petulant child. He touts a lot of "mY dAd Is ThE gOd Of WaR aNd JuStIcE!" and claims his father is the only one of the pantheon who does any work which, honestly, is fucking laughable. Justice, huh? Where? For only those he deems worthy? That's not justice. Though, I'm in no position to speak on justice. What I've done and what I'm currently pursuing are the absolute *furthest* thing from it. Best to let that thought die.
YESYESLETITDIEJUSTLIKEALLTHERESTLETTHEMALLDIE
I begrudgingly admit that he piques my curiosity though. For all his ignorance, he too seems to maintain an interestingly negative view of his own kind and is beginning to learn that he won't find hope in the hands of mortals. Better he learn it early than go his entire existence like Xerrakir or Issac, trying to manifest shreds of good where there aren't any and believing in "the good of people" against their better judgement. I don't know why this Rin guy's mission is to essentially oversee humanity and take stock of whatever the fuck it is we do down here, but I'd be a liar if I said it didn't unsettle me. Why is he so concerned with whether change persists for thousands of years? It never does. We're a lost cause. All mortals do is sell each other out and kill each other off. Our forests are nourished from blood rather than water, our crops fertilized from the decomposing bones of those we slaughtered in order to rise. It's a violent cycle that endures always. You're either part of the cannibalistic machine or consumed by it. There's no changing something so inherent.
NEVERCHANGENEVERCHANGEITLLNEVERCHANGEYOUWONTEVERCHANGE
Whatever. As long as he stays the fuck away from me, I'll be fine. I'll be fine. Eyes open, Nova.
EYESOPENNOVAEYESOPENNOVAKEEPYOUREYESOPENYOURENEVERSAFE
SEETHEWORLDFORWHATITISANDWHATITSDONETOYOU
HEWILLLEARNSOONENOUGH
He'll learn soon enough.
JUSTLIKEYOUJUSTLIKEYOUJUSTLIKEYOU
Just like me.
Peddler of Dreams
Xerrakir is just like every other self-professed "good soul" that I've ever met.
Listen, don't get me wrong. Guy's got a good heart. I'm not gonna sit here and deny that. But I genuinely think he's gotta be either stupid, naïve, or both, cause there's no way he understands even a modicum of the way the real world works. I don't know if he listened to any of what I said during that cute little group therapy session, but you don't get a guy who's lived a life like mine to believe he's redeemable by saying that you were literally hand picked by a god to be removed from your own torment. What about those of us who don't get chosen? What of those of us sequestered to the dark corners of the world, shunned from warm hearths, ignored by generosity, forgotten by the masses? Sure, I deserve my lot in life. I did this shit to myself. I don't get to live any other way, and that's just how it is. But he's frankly a fucking fool to compare the two of us. The gods saw fit to offer him succor -- not me. We aren't the same, and we never will be.
I'm sure he means well. The few others who didn't immediately turn me away or call me "monster" did also. But there's a difference between growing up within violence and becoming it. Like those I've run into before, he seems set to convince me of a brighter future. The reality check will come soon enough. It'll suck to crush another soul, but sometimes the harshest lessons in life are the ones that come from pain.
Still, a part of me aches...
Heart Made of Glass
On active duty, you aren't allowed to return home much. Things like holidays and namedays just become regular days that you learn to forget about. The duty is you and you are the duty. Just one of a number.
But once a year, after the first snowfall, troops are granted a three day leave to visit family. "It's all you get, so make it count," they told us. During my very first leave, I was determined to do just that. All growing up I remembered hearing Ma talk incessantly about some sort of tome of illustrations. She was a brilliant mind and never struck me as the type to enjoy books with art, but it was clear from the way she talked about this book that she pined over it. She only had these conversations with Pa -- though I don't understand why, as talking to him was always like talking to a fucking brick wall for all that he listened -- and I was definitely not meant to overhear them. But I tucked the information away, knowing that military personnel receive a *very* small stipend each month for food, and if Pa wouldn't get her that tome, I sure would.
As soon as I was enlisted, I saved up everything. Ate cafeteria scraps for a year to keep myself from starving. By the end of it I was all pointy bones and sharp angles and my stomach ached every waking moment, but it was enough. I got that damn book. Walked right into that bookshop on the corner of my street and slapped down all my meager savings. Even wrapped the entire thing on the floor of that shop with the leftover brown paper bag and twine that our winter uniforms came packed in. It was sloppy and unskilled work, but I was so proud as I walked the rest of the way home.
"Happy Solstice, Mother!" I beamed, arms outstretched. "I love you!"
There was no mistaking the recognition that flashed across her face when she finished unwrapping it, her edges softening for just a moment, and I thought I'd finally done it. But it was gone almost as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the familiar stoicism I was used to.
"It is clear to me, Novum, that you have been shirking your duties while away. I am profoundly disappointed. I thought my son above such mundane distractions. Apparently, you have no respect for your parents."
And she chucked the book right into the fireplace.
I could do nothing else besides watch it burn. Beautiful botanical illustrations licked away by flame. I never went back home for leave after that.
What a valuable lesson to learn, that nothing you do matters.
Song of Oblivion
I don't sleep often, and when I do, it isn't well.
I tend to spend my nights lying awake thinking about all the ways I fucked up in life and what I might choose to undo if I had the power to do so. Shit makes me laugh — where in the hells do I even start? How do I choose a single event when every step I've ever taken has been in blood and flame? When everything I've ever touched has crumbled before my very eyes?
I could start with the detonation. Fire, despair, anguish, and rage. Ashes made of a home, of lives. But that's not far enough.
Maybe the carnage, then. Chaos. Screams, terror, blood covering the ground, soaking into the very land. Staining my boots, my hands, my skin, my soul. Hands around a neck. Too small. Because it was a mercy to end it that way instead. Mercy for who, I wonder? I don't remember anymore.
Further still. The indoctrination. Gods, I was so young, wasn't I? *So young.* Eager to start, eager to finish, eager to please. For what? Wasted fucking youth. It was so grueling. I cursed them with every step I took, every drill, every skirmish. If only I'd known back then. If only I'd been smarter, stronger, not so blinded by naivete....then again, how arrogant of me to think I alone could ever have been enough to take them on. Not even in my fucking dreams.
To be honest, I don't think anything is quite enough. I could sit here picking at fraying edges, undoing the carefully woven seams of my life, but not a single snipped thread is truly enough to unmake all the wrongs. And so that leaves only one solution. When faced with rot, you cut out the infestation at its source.
Oh, to have been a fly on the fucking wall when my parents met. Coulda flown down Ma's throat and caused her to choke to death, or something like that. Anything to prevent my parents from ending up together. Better yet, from ever even meeting.
That way I would never have been born to begin with.
Ghosts of All My Guilt
i killed them
i killed them
i killed them all
ALLOFTHEM
i had no choice
YESYOUDID
i had no choice
THEREISALWAYSACHOICEANDYOUCHOSETOKILL
burning flesh
MELTINGFROMTHEIRSKELETONS
i hear their screams
THEYNEVERSTOP
i wish it had been me instead
DEATHISFARTOOKINDAFATEFORYOUNOVA
i'm so tired of hurting
YOUDESERVETOSUFFER
please
YOUDESERVETOSUFFERFOREVER
YOUWILLNEVERHAVEPEACE
YOUKILLER
MURDERER
MURDERERMURDERERMURDERERMURDERERMURDERERMURDERERMURDERERMURDERERMURDERERMURDERERMURDERER
The Boy and the Well
Ma sucked shit at telling bedtime stories.
"Once upon a time there was a leper boy and a well in a forest and he was told not to drink of it but he did and everything was bad forever, the end. Now go to sleep Novum, your studies begin at daybreak on the morrow."
Curious little fuck that I was, I wanted to know the *real* story, and always begged her to tell me the actual tale in its entirety. She never did. Since most of them were fantastical, she thought children's stories were a waste of time and didn't inspire true intellectual growth. I'd try then to go to Pa, but he'd just sit there and shrug his fucking shoulders. Bastard.
So when I was old enough, I pursued the story on my own. The actual story goes like this:
There was a leper boy who lived in a small, sort of run down village. He was born much weaker than his siblings, the youngest of five. Kid could barely lift a stick, and so naturally was an outcast among everyone, family included. Couldn't be expected to help around the house, fell ill multiple times each winter, sucked up more precious resources like food and water because of his condition. Eventually his family got sick of caring for him and told him if he wanted to live, he'd have to pull his own weight. Though he tried his best, he could never manage to "pull his own weight". He just couldn't keep up.
One day, he caught wind of a rumor that there was a magical well in the forest surrounding the town. It was told to grant anything one could want, at a cost. The townspeople urged each other not to seek out this well. This was not enough to sway the leper boy, though. He was at wits end trying to find ways to survive and contribute to his family and felt like he didn't really have much left to lose since, well, he didn't have much anyway. So he departed for the forest, searching high and low for this fabled well.
Days passed to no avail. Defeated, exhausted, and starving, the kid finally decided enough was enough and that he should just cut his losses and go back home. On his way back, he tripped over a massive gnarled tree root and was sent tumbling down a ledge. Upon landing at the bottom, what did he come across but none other than the well? He quickly ran to it to crank the lever and pull up a bucket of water, a task only completed through sheer determination. The boy eagerly drank the water, downing it all, then sat down and began to pray. He begged to be different. He begged for the strength to be able to look out for himself and keep himself alive. He begged for his family to be taken care of. He begged for what felt like hours, but didn't notice any changes. Fed up, he finally just went home.
The boy woke up the next morning to set about his daily chores, only to find that things were....different. He could *do* his chores. He could clean the barn, fetch water, milk the cows, tend the garden, and go on a market run with ease. Overjoyed with his newfound strength, he did everything he was never capable of before. His family was impressed, a miracle they said, and sat back a little and let him earn his keep. At night, however, he started to have terrors. Visions. He was sweating profusely, and burned through his clothes and bedsheets. His back was in immense pain, like something was trying to burst out of him from inside. Sure enough, a pair of demonic black wings tore through his skin, spilling blood all over the floor. One by one his teeth began to fall out, soon replaced by razor sharp fangs. He screamed in agony as this transformation took place, turning him from leper boy into hideous entity. Having heard the fuss, his family rushed to his room to tell the boy to keep it down, only to be met with a nightmare. They cowered in fear, and as the boy-demon looked upon them, he realized that drinking from the well had worked. He was different. He was strong enough to look out for himself and keep himself alive. He was able to take care of his family -- and "take care of them" he would.
"If you want to live, pull your own weight" he cackled.
And then he ate their hearts.
Evermore he wandered from village to village, cursed with calamity bought of desperate desire to do good. He left a path of destruction in his wake, and all quickly learned to fear the day that darkness would descend upon them, for none would escape alive -- or, at least, with their hearts in tact.
Darkness Descends
Well. For the first time in a while, I found what I was looking for.
Definitely an interesting lot, as Draconia said -- that much is true. Unfortunate that I missed out on the two weird elves, but whatever. Woulda loved to mess with them a bit and pop a hole in that holier-than-thou fortune teller's inflated ego. The quiet one could have been especially fun to piss off, something that apparently didn't seem to be too hard to do. But these four will have to do, plus the absent one who, according to the rest, seems to be a real pearl-clutcher. Oh, I will have fun with him.
Aside from the big beast, they seem mostly unassuming. Good thing; I don't need the eyes. I have to admit I'm incredibly curious to find out how they escaped this whole hunt fiasco. Guess that depends mostly on their individual capabilities as well as group synergy. It's always fascinating seeing the roles within a team and how one's shortcomings can allow for another's niche. Squad dynamics, power balance, interpersonal bonds.....just like.....like.....
FORGETFORGETFORGETFORGETFORGETFORGETFORGETFORGETFORGETFORGETFORGETFORGET
FORGETFORGETFORGETFORGETFORGETFORGETFORGETFORGETFORGETFORGETFORGETFORGET
FORGETFORGETFORGETFORGETFORGETFORGETFORGETFORGETFORGETFORGETFORGETFORGET
I don't really see how these chucklefucks are gonna get me to where I need to go, but hey, it's the best lead I've got. I'm hoping this arrangement is amicable enough for them to keep me around for a bit. I figure having someone else's hands to bloody and blame if shit goes south is a nice cushion to have under their asses, and it's not like I'm unused to it. It's all I am, all I've got, and I don't give a fuck about using it. My little show at the arena was testament to that, made all the more fortunate by their attendance.
Luckily, this is all temporary. They don't have to get too involved with me, and I only have to stick around until my goals are met. After that they can all go on their merry ways and pretend they never fucking met me, and I can depart and finally be satisfied.
Shit can't come soon enough.
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