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Björn & Lirr

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Tywin Traegur
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  • OOC Name: Soupi
  • Total Posts: 65 (Find All Posts)
  • Rank: Jarl of Arrhule
  • Age & Season: 11 (Autumn ☁)
  • Species Equine
  • Lineage: Settler
  • Height: 17hh
  • Sex: Stallion
  • Mate: None
  • Crystals: 285
  • Tag: @[Tywin]


he without sin never was

voice | moodboard | playlist

Scent: Dry leaves, fine wine, and virility
Voice/Face Claim: Mads Mikkelsen
Sexuality: Heterosexual

Outpost Items


powerplay allowed
within reasonable limits!

OOC & Character(s)


a sun become hole, black hold on consumption

Mottled with color, at a distance Tywin appears quite mudded. Deep navies, steely grays, bony beige, and icy blue throw themselves together in a hodge podge of marks that, in some form of luck, laid themselves unique and attractively upon his pelt. Upon closer inspection, the hues that make up his thin, sleek coat are faintly striped along the hindquarters and nape, but otherwise serve in a gradient along his dorsal. Charcoal lines his spine, before fading to titanium then steel, and along his ventral runs a vibrant navy. Speckling his hide are soft motes of frigid azure, reminders of cold and harsh winters. They litter his pelt haphazardly and without true pattern, though there is a faint bit of baring in this same hue upon his extremities..

It is this same stark contrasting sky coloration that marks his face with a haunting reminder of his father. Seemingly a family trait, the chilling ice decorates his face in an eerie skeletal-like mark that encompasses the entirety of his muzzle, the sides of his visage where his fanged teeth hide, and up to the eyes. Faint marks of the cold hue weep from his sharp cerulean eyes, causing them to pop against the darkness encapsulating them.

His tresses are thick and one could call nearly dreaded, but are kept as primped as possible despite the knots and wilds he survives within. They are at most times clean, and it is rare to find them dirtied and muddied too often. His tail is equally as thick, with locks toiling and spilling on one another in the same handsome mess his mane falls in. But, perhaps his strangest features are not his inherited coloration or the fangs nestled within his maw, but bony protrusions running along his spine. Inherited from his mother, like the intricate but aimless map of his pelt, these protrusions only raise several inches from his skin, and begin at the small of his back and taper down to the end of his dock. They are unable to be ripped off, for they are extensions of his spine, and it would be quite catastrophic.


that nature of the beast that feeds upon the will to numb it

True Neutral
ESTJ-A - Executive

Overcoming the surmountable odds of his lineage, Tywin is best described as a politician. A snake in the grass, the beast hides his ambition and desires from those looking in. Carefully he has constructed necessary walls to keep the multitude out, and himself within. His coupled reserve and patience honed him to strike only when the opportunities arise itself, and otherwise to quietly play the field.

Confident and direct, Tywin exudes a natural leadership role. When cast into a group and provided a problem, there is no hesitation to formulate a plan of action and instruct others rather than be instructed. Consider him inflexible in cooperation, the beast does not take kindly to being commanded or managed. Like a snake, he wishes to live by his own accord and goes where he pleases - sometimes unseen, an adept sleuth.

While he appreciates his stealthy behavior, Tywin is far from quiet. Secretive, reserved on personal matters, and somewhat enigmatic, yes. But he never shies from conversation, and loves a good game of out witting his company. He thrives in debate, and chooses the path of devil's advocate whenever possible. This, however, betrays his quite brutal social cues. Incredibly judgmental and boasting a superiority complex only readable through body language, Tywin effortlessly domineers any conversation. With ease he'll push himself into the forefront and shine the light upon himself as speaker. His innate charisma draws others in as well.

Tywin's most difficult obstacle is his own reservation. While attempting to guard himself from others, it is quite difficult for him to express any real emotion he's feeling. A smirk may play upon his lips, or a flick of his tail may indicate the slightest of agitation, but the emotion never bubbles to the surface more than that. A small tick, if it even manages to get to the point. He's even grown very unfamiliar with his own anger, sorrow, or joy. It would be a wonder to see how he would even handle them if unshackled.

He is also best described as atheist. He has concluded anyone can claim to be a God, and while their powers and art may be formidable or untouchable in nature, he does not agree that they are of a higher being. Refusing out right to worship any form of icon or follow any form of religious ceremony, Tywin maintains his own code of conduct, and its only rule is to follow his own desires at whatever means necessary.


let the spirits of my ancestors envelop me

Beatrice x Javik Traegur
Tywin Traegur

Half Sisters: Iracebeth(by Javik), Maren (by Javik)

Tywin Traegur, First of his Name and Firstborn Son of the Traegur Family, began his life as an enigma to others. His mother Beatrice was hallowed by the attack of his father, and as soon as the colt was capable of withstanding on his own he left the mare behind in search for his father.

And how he succeeded.

Tywin made himself known to the man but once while he was still in his youth. It had been a foolish bargain, but he was naive. He'd found the deranged stallion, chattering and gnashing to himself, in the wilds unclaimed and mostly untraveled. Though he'd loath to admit, but the young colt was paralyzed simply by the sight of the fanged beast. Any intelligible awareness lacked on Javik, and he lashed out at his son. Tywin escaped with narry a scar but bruised and bleeding nonetheless. Beatrice of course knew where the colt had gone when he returned, hardly satisfying her rapid heart and worry. While she forbid him from seeking out his sire further, Tywin's curiosity hadn't been dampened by the altercation. If anything, he was intrigued. How could his mother be so doting and affectionate but his father cold, unyielding, and heartless?

It became his dam's sole errand to instill manners and cordiality in her son. Tywin was a sponge for knowledge, far smarter than his mother, and soaked in all that she offered to teach him. From identifying herbs to assist in healing, to those who would make sinister poisons, all the way to how to nod ones head to show respect and not disinterest, Beatrice's days were consumed to snatching the young Tywin away from his frivolous and dangerous hobby of studying and trailing his father.

But Beatrice was an older mare. She'd already been well out of her prime by the time she'd been attacked by Javik. Tywin knew his time with her was short, and while he pursued his father despite her wishes, the young stallion always returned to their hovel in the night. Beatrice's health declined since having the foal, and not long after the first anniversary of his birth she met her peaceful but timely end in her sleep. No longer tied back to the briars and shadows of the thicket where his mother hid, Tywin set off to find his father again..

Observing from a distance for longer than any other may have had the patience to do, Tywin served as the only child of his father who knew anything remotely about him. He was the sole bearer of the family name that understood the unbridled power lingering beneath the deranged invalid's skin and smoke spewing breath. Tywin almost became... jealous of his father. From time to time while shadowing his sire he bore witness to the depth of Javik's necromanic powers, his absolute control over all of death. Young, impressionable, and still developing his own image, Tywin's desires steadily turned towards the phantasms. Nothing controlled his father, and all those who met him feared him (including Tywin). The First of His Name craved a skewed image of respect although it conflicted with all that his mother taught him.

But as a vagabond, Tywin held no respect, and had no worldly possessions to find pride in. So rather, he turned inwards upon himself. He groomed to ensure comely features for the fleeting interactions he had with others. He trained himself to listen, just as he had listened to his mother and now father, to everyone. His eyes watched them, noticed the twitches and adjustments in body posture and thus body language. He developed into quite the gentleman, one that was analytical and perceptive. But Tywin never lingered. Sure, maidens and whores threw themselves to the captive, hypnotic tone of Tywin's voice and other studs tried to recruit him for the efforts of an unknown crown, but Tywin always refused. He had a sire to follow, and inevitably, sisters to witness.

In this way, Javik's paranoia wasn't always unjustified. With a son lingering in the shadows, stalking along for most of his entire life, there truly was someone following him. Serving as a conduit for his sire's nightmares, Tywn bore witness to the atrocities that befell the mares he ultimately found while their presence plagued Elysium. While their were nights where Javik seemed almost blessed with moments of clarity - he'd witnessed his father take a mare without force, almost sensual, in the thorns of a rose adorned valley - and Tywin considered that, perhaps, his sire hadn't always been such a mad man. But, these moments were fleeting and rare, and ultimately, Javik served as a sickness to others. Though anyone else may have averted their gaze or tried to interfere with the attack upon Ezera, Tywin slunk in the shadows, close enough to know but far enough away to remain undetected and spared of the gory details. He wouldn't see her again until she was plump with child.

The rather family obsessed stud, now well into his years and thick with muscle and healthy of mind, shifted his focus. Long had he received all that he would on his father, and knew the beast quite well though never having shared conversation save their altercation of tooth and hoof while he was young. It was time to adjust his pursuits, perhaps come to forge a path rather than ride the tails of another, and for well unto a year Tywin burrowed himself into the courts of Elysium in wait.

Tywin used his adept skills of perception to locate the monarch he believed would be prime to work beneath. This brought him to Crucis, where he came to meet the Wolf Queen, Etain. Debate spurred despite her obvious distrust to the new face, and he was promised a chance to serve as her regent if he vowed his marriage rights to one of her daughters. Unabashed, he agreed, and served as Second in Command for a short time.

Not weeks after coming to settle into Crucis, thusly keeping him close to the mare Ezera and her daughter Iracebeth, a challenger approached the heavily pregnant Crucis queen. A proxy was sent in her stead, her own sire, and Tywin remained behind to watch the queen from the shadows as labor plagued her. It wasn't until morning that the mangled old warrior returned, ultimately collapsing and dying though victorious, and Tywin saw fit an opportunity.

Though abandon is a strong word, it serves true to the preliminary steps to Tywin's ultimate plan. Leaving after the death of Zuriel, the Traegur son sought out the only remaining queen - for he assumed the king, the challenger of Etain, also dead or incapacitated - and initiated a retaliating challenge. He recalls this particular time in Elysium with the utmost clarity. Witnessing Arete come before him equipped with the darkness of a betrayed heart, Tywin found himself quite unable to physically initiate the challenge. Rather, quipped, albeit cordial, conversation befell the two, and ultimately, Tywin retracted his call for revenge and bowed to the moon adorned lady of Carinae. In their very short time, he found respect and admiration for her resilience and strength.

Chaos ultimately erupted, and the herd where he had held his regency dissolved with the disappearance of Etain and her family. Others seemed to follow, disinterested in the oncoming rule, and in time Tywin decided that a new beacon would guide him through the wilds; his sister. Curiously, he pursued the golden child - resembling their father despite the influence of the mother, there was no denying her parentage - only to happen across the path of another. Where he'd thought the Golden Girl - Iracebeth - a rather marvelous embodiment of their father's genetics, Maren was quite the image. Her coloration was near identical save for the ghostly mask she wore and speckling of her rump. Her words chattered and clicked, and it took little deduction to diagnose her with some sort of mental instability. Maren found Tywin quite interesting, and played to his words like putty. He told her of their sister, speaking only of her golden marks and similar appearance, and found that this seemed to prick the ghostly femme. Aggression laced her voice at the knowledge of another sibling, and she became obviously distant in their conversation.

But Tywin had a way with words. He wouldn't lose this sibling in pursuit of another - both were far too interesting. Rather, he consciously fed the aggitation ingrained in Maren, and inevitably set her on the path of Iracebeth as well. A patient man, he set back upon his trail, willing to wait for their touched sister to find them in time.

And now, dear reader, we come to the present.

Haemopotent Replication


so know this is that armageddon coming

Haemopotent Replication: An arcanum born of mimicry, Tywin's abilities manifest with the medium of his blood and replicate the effects of other's magics. Exposed to a water manipulator casting tricks and sorcery he too could invoke crimson blood to shadow what he witnesses. If objected to an illusion of a mammal, he too could conjure a gory reproduction. And to this venture he also finds himself thwarted if he is not subject to others with arcanic abilities. For, without them, he too cannot cast.

Apprentice: Nosebleeds betray his manufacturing of replicating magic. Mostly, he can only mimic the apprentice powers of others, but the physical tax is draining and will plague him with light headedness if he tests his limits too dangerously.

Adept: Cloning of adept abilities unlocked, as well as a tolerance built to apprentice level magic. The taxation on himself does not waver, and the longer or more he draws upon the blood magic the weaker he physically becomes. Passing out or collapsing is not entirely unreasonable consequences.

Master: Replication of master abilities achieved, as well as another buffering in tolerance. Small mimics and clones (apprentice) come with little physical ramifications, but nosebleeds are ever present when his arcane is invoked. When conjuring copies of another party's master level, he may do so only once before he is crippled with headaches and must recuperate.

Virtuoso: Master level replications do not hinder him nearly as badly, and he may call upon magics he has previously seen without having to witness them first hand to invoke. The more he draws from these past productions, however, increases the intensity of pain and drain there after.



Full Body by ImmortalRevenant
Pixel by Soupi
Bust by Soupi
Manipulation by Magtox
Design by Gemma
Reference by Cecil/Ness
Bust by samuRAI-same
Illustration by The-Day-of-Shadow