Character OTS


Björn & Lirr

Couple OTS


Ozereus Ahriman
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  • OOC Name: Randalin
  • Total Posts: 10 (Find All Posts)
  • Rank: Nonpartisan
  • Age & Season: 8 (Winter ❅)
  • Species Equine
  • Lineage:
  • Height: 18.3hh
  • Sex: Stallion
  • Crystals: 55
  • Tag: @[Ozereus]


Smells of burning coals meeting the harshest winter's night.

Face claim: Stephen James

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OOC & Character(s)


Ozereus stands tall and proud in a pitch black suit, no hints of blue or swirling gray…his entire body is the purest, deepest and darkest black imaginable. There are no other colors anywhere on him including his hooves; but he does bear light feathering on each leg.His eyes, however, each contain a silver galaxy that often leaves his eyes looking silver. His mane and tail are both long but not so long that they snag on brambles and well maintained yet not overly groomed (think constantly windblown but clean). The same inky darkness encasing him spills across feathered wings larger than needed to transport him. Wings so large that even when folded the tips drag on the ground should Ozereus neglect to pull them up higher. His overall form is tall and exceedingly fit; he has had centuries to perfect his fighting form. When he enters a feral state, the galaxies are flooded by black which overtakes even the whites of his eyes until only the ink remains.


Ozereus absolutely does not care about anyone other than himself, period. End of story. He is entirely self-serving and will only help another soul if he deems it in some way beneficial to himself. This does not make him lazy; he does all he can to keep himself in excellent shape including his wings. He possesses great intelligence but often withholds his knowledge from those around him choosing to offer snippets heavily coated in sarcasm. Oz is loyal to no one and no cause but neither is his loyalty for sale. In that regard, he cannot be bought; however he does take the occasional contract from time to time if the price is worth it to him. He is a fighter to the core whether with caustic speech or violent actions, Ozereus is more than happy to put someone in their place (provided he can find a benefit to himself). Simply annoying the stallion will not push him to physical action but he will remember how often your presence has crossed his radar and after a substantial tally, he may launch an assault. In short, he is loyal to none, cold and utterly self-serving.

Update February 2018:

Though his personality remains intact as described above there is a single spot of color among the blackened edges of his mind. Arête The mare’s presence has tempered the beast where all before her failed, but the moment she leaves his sight or something threatens her; the Fallen truly emerges once more. He will defend her and her line until his last breath, something only the greatest of miracles could have achieved.

The Feral Side of Oz:

When black bleeds into his eyes, the true downfall of his Fallen state comes into play and a feral beast is unleashed. An already calculating and cold man becomes icier; calm and deadly with a bloodlust that is near impossible to dismiss without satisfying the urge for death. It is exceedingly difficult to pull him out of this state and any who dare try are more likely to become a victim than experience any success; with the exception of Arete and her daughters. He is able to draw himself away from the feral side of his nature, but will remain rather…fierce for a time afterwards.


Not much is known of the Fallen before he lost Heaven's grace and he will not speak of it. At first, perhaps, he longed to bathed in that golden light once more and attempted to gain Heaven's favor to be reinstated. He pined for the way the rays reflected and sparked off pristine white wings and skin and the memory of grey bleeding over his entire body sent shudders throughout him. It did not last long. As the darkness in his mind grew, the bitterness over being abandoned by Heaven spread in his veins. The further an angel falls, the darker their coloring becomes. His coat reflects this change perfectly, the downward spiral into amused, defiant, and cold bliss. Those feelings further enhanced by the 'gifts' he kept; immortality (who wouldn't want to be reminded for the whole of eternity about their failures), and his unusual ability to manipulate shadows. The Lord of Heaven decreed him doomed from the start while proclaiming to all the story of the actions leading to his banishment; the ability to control shadows a demonic gift in their eyes. He will never forget the way his Lord stated his fate to be predetermined by the nature of his powers.

Though most of his emotions are willingly suppressed, recalling that day stirs more anger in him than the loss of his brilliant coat.

Centuries have passed since he became Fallen, a title he now embraces, but during that period even the best trackers from Heaven failed to keep tabs on him as they do with all who fall. Most Fallen become feral, losing themselves to their darker instincts and, occasionally, they are willing to take contracts of a certain nature. No one escapes the grasp of a Fallen, their abilities magnified the longer they live, but the feral are carefully monitored and eventually several Angels put down their once brothers. Ozereus is a rarity; he balances on the edge of complete wildness and sometimes slips into a feral state with a maniacal, bloodthirsty, grin but pulls himself back out with relative ease. His affinity to shadows beneficial for keeping him hidden throughout the years from trackers despite joining a herd, until several months ago.

This is the story of how he came to Fimbulvetr:

Three months ago, in the heart of the day, he lingered in a space filled with unnatural darkness of his own making. He released the feral side of his dual nature and felt the cold darkness sink into his bones; senses sharpening, bloodlust rising. Scenting the air like a wolf, he knew his target was approaching and that manic grin twisted pitch lips into a bemused snarl. Ears flicked immediately in his prey's direction, counting the steps until he knew the precise moment when he would emerge around the bend. Ozereus was not disappointed. Launching himself in a cloud of shadow, his oversized wings quickly circled the man and several blades comprised of the suddenly tangible swirls pointed themselves at the target who stood paralyzed in fear. Precisely three seconds before he struck those blades into the man, the cry of a filly pierced the air and stole a fraction of his attention as the girl placed herself in front of his prey. Nostrils flaring, the Fallen so lost in the wildness, did not hesitate and conjured another blade in front of the girl's heart. A huffed breath of air later and an eerie silence filled the air. The girl and her grandfather lay dead on the ground before him.

The black that overtook the silver galaxies in his eyes began to recede; the only tell that he was surfacing from his feral state.

However, a sharp horn blast sent him spiraling back into that much feared state. The angels had found him mere moments after killing a man and a child. The terms of his contract were simple enough and if he wanted his payment, he needed to handle this quickly before another team was dispatched to aid the four sent his way. In a haze of furious rage, he flared his wings and took to the skies to draw them away from any souls who may be tempted to help the angels. His greater wingspan granted him swifter speed than those pursuing him, and he used it to his advantage. Dropping from the skies, Ozereus turned to wait for the quad of Heaven's trackers to find him; not willing to simply flee. In his wild state of mind, it made far more sense to eliminate the enemy instead of hide. Though, even if not feral, he rarely chooses flight over fight.

In a flurry of black and white, he was on them before they fully settled against the ground. Teeth, hooves, and shadow working in tandem to tear the group apart in a matter of gloriously bloody minutes.

In the recesses of his sane mind, he knew the longer the fight lasted, the more difficult it would be to pull himself out and remaining feral was not an option for him. He knew the only creature he bonded with, Arete, when they next met, would do what the angels could not and end his existence. The conditions of his promise guaranteed he could not defend himself against her and even lost to the wildness, his subconscious would prevent any fatal action taken on his part. As the pitch black faded from his eyes and his took in the horrific sight before him, the Fallen knew it would only be a matter of hours before he would become a permanent fixture on the tracker's list of those needing to be put down.

He fled into the twilight.

For three months he kept himself sane and constantly steps ahead of those who sought him. Eventually he came across a tree so large it threatened to blot out the sky directly above it. Curious about its overall size, he took to the air attempting to circle it, but the branches attacked. They dipped and swung no matter which way he tried to fly, herding him back to the ground and numerous caverns created by its root system. Annoyed but simultaneously amused, he acquiesced to the sentient tree's demand and landed at its base. On a sigh, he stepped into the pathway closest to the right and entered Fimbulvetr.


He lived, for a time, in Elysium but did not care for the place that stole his immortality and his magic.

He met Arete, neither will tell the story of how and when they met, and developed an extremely close bond with the woman who soon became his queen. This bond is one sworn in blood and through the magic of his Fallen nature, is unbreakable.

The bond he shares with Arete stretches to include her offspring and he watches over her daughters much like an uncle would; he knows she does not share the same level of affection he possesses for her.

Shadow Caller


Apprentice: The shadows curl and caress him, drawn to his side easily to mask his presence from detection. He cannot control them for long and it leaves him quite tired.

Adept: At this stage, he can control the shadows longer as well as shadow-step, meaning he can enter a shadow in one place and exit from a different shadow in another place. Holding control over the shadows comes to him easier but stepping through them leaves him drained and he can only jump through twice per day. One other creature can pass through with him, but he can hardly stand upright afterwards as the drain on his energy and strength is extremely taxing.

Master: Ozereus has mastered the shadows and can control their movements with ease; he feels no drawbacks any longer and often has bits of shadow clinging to him as though sentient. Shadow-stepping is remarkably easier to do but still leaves him extremely exhausted should he make more than five jumps per day. He can take no more than two passengers with him through shadows at this point, but the drawbacks are doubled (fatigue, nausea). He feels a stirring of more and begins to draw on shadow to form weapons; the normally intangible substance becoming impenetrable and deadly. These weapons last only seconds and the after effects leave him sweating, tired, and nauseated.

Virtuoso: He has persevered to become more than a master at his craft. At this point, Ozereus can now shadow-step seven times per day before he feels his body begin to shut down and taking passengers with him does not cost him extra. Wielding shadow constructed weapons is an easy matter for him and they last minutes before dissipating; the after-effects are diluted to fatigue.



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