ARathlial
Total - 01
North - 01
West - 00
East - 00
Zephyr - 00
South - 00
Mistral - 00
Tempest - 00
Chinook - 00
Boreas - 00
North - 01
West - 00
East - 00
Zephyr - 00
South - 00
Mistral - 00
Tempest - 00
Chinook - 00
Boreas - 00
NORTH
Soli
Soli
One I Can't Fool North Soli
Italic #49298f
Staggering in size, or so it seems. It's her very presence that makes her larger than life, as if she stands near any of her brethren she looks, well, big still, of course, as a North would, but nothing out of the ordinary. Dark plum feathers cascade down her head and back, fading in a smooth transition to wisteria, lavender, and that rare icy blue painting her tail feathers. She's sleek, not strong, at least in musculature; this was a leader made for speed and quick decisions, not barreling her way through by brute force. For all that most of her doesn't stand out, there is one thing that does. A mask adorns her face, curved over the top of her iron-grey beak and neatly sweeping back the plume feathers atop her crest. The mask itself is literal iron, or some weighty metal of similar stylings, and locked in place by chains around her head. She will suffer no one to touch it; no, not even you, Junho; and attempting to meet her eyes shows only a velvety black covering.
Her presence though, is nothing but raw power. It's a borderline smothering and overwhelming attitude of I am here, and don't fight with me. She doesn't ask for respect, but demands it, and deals ruthlessly with those who don't comply. Those who do, however, will find her oddly… Merciful. In return for the loyalty of her subjects, she will grant them just about anything they ask for and spare anyone at their behest, although her loyalty to them is as fickle as theirs is to her. Betray her, and she will turn instantly with no remorse. The past is the past. The present is now. She plays everyone like a symphony, moving on from note to note as necessity dictates. And when she's alone, and has no one to play, and has to write her own melody and can't rely on the crowds around her to supply it? … Well. She doesn't like to be alone.
The Harvest Festival - Gats & The Admin
Italic #49298f
Staggering in size, or so it seems. It's her very presence that makes her larger than life, as if she stands near any of her brethren she looks, well, big still, of course, as a North would, but nothing out of the ordinary. Dark plum feathers cascade down her head and back, fading in a smooth transition to wisteria, lavender, and that rare icy blue painting her tail feathers. She's sleek, not strong, at least in musculature; this was a leader made for speed and quick decisions, not barreling her way through by brute force. For all that most of her doesn't stand out, there is one thing that does. A mask adorns her face, curved over the top of her iron-grey beak and neatly sweeping back the plume feathers atop her crest. The mask itself is literal iron, or some weighty metal of similar stylings, and locked in place by chains around her head. She will suffer no one to touch it; no, not even you, Junho; and attempting to meet her eyes shows only a velvety black covering.
Her presence though, is nothing but raw power. It's a borderline smothering and overwhelming attitude of I am here, and don't fight with me. She doesn't ask for respect, but demands it, and deals ruthlessly with those who don't comply. Those who do, however, will find her oddly… Merciful. In return for the loyalty of her subjects, she will grant them just about anything they ask for and spare anyone at their behest, although her loyalty to them is as fickle as theirs is to her. Betray her, and she will turn instantly with no remorse. The past is the past. The present is now. She plays everyone like a symphony, moving on from note to note as necessity dictates. And when she's alone, and has no one to play, and has to write her own melody and can't rely on the crowds around her to supply it? … Well. She doesn't like to be alone.
The Harvest Festival - Gats & The Admin