J o r a h   C a l d e r

Species: Neck. Water Fae

Sex: Male

Age: Unknown

Birthplace: Hornavan, Sweden 

Name: Jorah Calder

Nicknames: Näcken, The Neck, Spelkarlen, Water sprite
Merboy, Merman, Selkie, Fish Sticks 

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  • Anzu barely noticed the frost as it crept in around him, even though his hair and fine eyebrows were white with it.  And it turned his short cloak stiff, visible in a thin, sparkling layer on the surface of his hood.  Although it nibbled on his lower lip, threatening to turn them purple, and his cheeks and nose red, it didn't, and he felt nothing, and he walked, synonymous with the animals and old trees of the forest, which somehow seemed familiar, though he's certain he'd remember if he'd been here before.

    Eventually, he comes to a field of yellowed, high grass.  Pausing, he reaches behind him with his right hand to grip the ivory hilt of his blade, tempted to draw it from it's engraved hilt; I could clear it in one stroke.  

    In the end, he decides against it and plunges into the grass, which is about waist-high.  Swaying and dancing like the sea, they whisper and murmur on the wind.  But the only sound he cares about is a distant one, seeping between the trees at the other end of the clearing.

    A distant song, woven with magic almost as familiar as the trees, but he can't imagine why until he finally reaches the lake  already freezing as the seasons change, as the balance of power tips from one side of the scale to the other.  Soon, he thought.  There would be war, and soon the only scale that will matter will be left to whoever comes out on top.  He shakes his head, chasing the thoughts from his mind, his eyes on the spirits as they dance, and dance, and dance, slaves to the music and magic.  The taste of pity was bitter and sudden in his mouth.  And he wondered, quietly, why he was feeling bad for them? He had more cause to feel bad for himself.  So swallowing it down, he turns away.  Having been able to sense the Näcken all along  his body moves without his brain behind it, eyes fixing on the creatures naked form as naturally as if he'd been looking for an old freckle.

    Instead of interrupting, he wanders closer.  And then, once the song is over, he spares a glance at the icy mirror that is  was a lake.  Then, thoughtfully, and as gently as he can manage, since he didn't want to scare the creature off, he said in his lilt;

    "Wind has arisen, fierce winter has slain us;

    it has come across the sea,

    It has pierced us like a spear.."

    An icy wind howls towards them as the sun rises higher, throwing Anzu's golden hair all over his head and making his previously stiff cloak billow at his back, flapping like the wings of a bird.

  • Cassius merely watched as the lissome creature slid from the rocky island and into the water, his pupils chatoyant slits among seas of icy blue. He exhaled heavily through his straight nose, brows furrowing and ears twitching as he caught the snap of the twig, not even having to turn to look to knew that the lynx had emerged from the bucolic forest. His gaze remained under lock and key as he watched Jorah emerge from the lake, beads of water running down over his thin, sickly pale, naked frame. A naked man. Cassius had only seen a naked person before him a very select few times, never in a sexual way, but the Wild Beast could not deny it almost did something to him...something he didn't quite understand. Almost. He watched as the Neck took intrigued steps toward him, Cassius remaining in his place, pupils narrowing so thin that they barely stayed visible. A deep growl rumbled in his well muscled chest, and he looked over his shoulder to the lynx. His blue eyes flashed gold, revealing sharp, porcelain white fangs and snapping them.

    No, it wasn't Cass's intent to scare the lynx away, it was a mere warning. As a normal leopard, he was twice the size of a lynx, and in his true form....the lynx would be reduced to a domestic cat compared to him. As a cat, Cass conveyed this message clearly to the gray-brown creature. He turned slowly back to Jorah, arising to his full height of six feet, eyes still narrow. "Well, I'm a long way from Arabia, that's for sure." He murmured to himself, almost unbearable to the other male. His icy gaze wandered shamelessly over the Neck, before the rugged looking Arab glanced to the water- which he was now at height enough to see into. As if the Beast had seen a ghost, he flinched, stepping away from the edge so he would not catch another sight of his reflection, letting out a disturbed growl-like chuff. He wrinkled his nose, eyes brimming with anxiety and apprehension before looking back to the Neck standing in front of him. And Cassius, despite his true nature, deemed it wise not to attack. This boy only seemed intrigued by him, after all. "...you play beautiful music." The Beast murmured, his voice just as rugged, gruff and masculine as his appearance. "...I have never seen a creature of water before."
  • "We are nearly there, Gallowglass." The sound of the Phouka's voice is reminiscent of embers cracking in a fire-pit.  Low enough to vibrate the ground, the branches of low hanging trees shivering; he glanced up, a lazy smirk on his mouth.  Releasing the fistful of charcoal black mane he was holding to reach up and pluck a leaf from an ash tree.  He twirls the thin stem between his thumb and index finger, and the seven small, green leaves begin to curl on themselves, yellowing, and then drying completely.  Then, he closes his fist around it and crumples it into his palm, grinding the remains to ash, courtesy of the name. 

    "I see that," Anzu murmurs, holding out his hand to let the ash slip from between his fingers, back to the forest where it'd come from in the first place. "this is far enough.  As far as I'm concerned your debt to the Queen has been paid in full." The horse  which only just looks like a horse, but is far from it  whinnies through it's large teeth, tossing it's mane.  He knew it's hooves weren't touching the ground, but it scuffed them through the bramble and weeds, tearing them away with bestial strength.  Slowly, he swung off and to the ground, reaching out with one hand to lay it on the steed's side  

     and finding a bare, feminine shoulder.  He gripped it firmly, looking into the face of a young woman with long, wild hair that reminded him instantly of a horses mane.  She was bare, her milky flesh startling in the murky darkness that hung in the forest around them like wolves between the trees.  He felt her fear, and squeezed gently, then let her go and took a step back, only allowing his moss green eyes to rake over the white flecked set of equine ears that sprouted from her messy hair for a split second, before he meets her eyes.   

    It would be so easy to put his blade into her, pull out the spark that made the Phouka what it was.  After all, he has orders..

    Anzu sighs, and takes another step away from the creature. "Focáil leat," He hisses through his teeth, and it  she  does.  Shifting into a black cat, and darting between two trees.  Disappearing into the vast forest surrounding the lake, that up until this point, he'd only heard about two, three days ago.  Apparently the domain of a faerie his Queen had seen one night in a dream.  Curiosity sunk it's claws in deep, and she sent her best blade to scout the area.  Like a common pawn.  Not that he minded, it was nice to get away.  He waits a few moments..

    Then, once he's sure she won't come back, he turns and stalks through the brush.  Forgetting that he looks  for the most part  completely human.  Glamour so strong it might seem totally impenetrable, but he'd had nothing to do while he rode on the back of the Phouka but focus on adding layer after layer, so it hung around him something like a suit of armor.  And he was clothed from shoulder to toe in black.  Long, durable leather boots that ended just below the knee.  And thicker, engraved leather plates fit to his legs, buckled all the way up to the thighs.  There was a vivid red shash tied around his waist, with a length of material dangling down his right side, frayed and torn at the end.  Thorn riddled vines crept up and down it from all angles, stitched through with fine gold threads.  On his left side, a curved drinking horn that ended in a round, silver pommel.  Fastened on by thin leather chords, wound about his waist three times.  And he was wearing something the Blacksmith called a 'Jack of plate' which was basically a three layered vest, leather on the outside, segments of armor on the inside, and white fur that still smelled of the wolf it was cut from on the inside.  And to top it all off, a short cloak that stopped at the middle of his back, hanging slightly shorter on the right side than the left, and covering the latter.  Finally, since he hates armor more than words can describe, he'd rebelled and left his right arm totally bare-- and because the Blacksmith doesn't give a damn, the left was completely covered.  With a long bracer, all fingers exposed to the night air but his index and thumb.  

    A long, sheathed blade hung horizontally at the low of his back, uneven.  The hilt and sheath made from ivory, or so it appeared.  And with every step he took, deeper into the forest, the more and more alive it would become.  Birds stirring in their roosts, and rabbits leaping from their burrows.  Wolves began to howl in the distance, and he laughed, throwing his head back to howl loudly with them.  The sound of his song, human and ugly compared to theirs, carries a long ways off.  

    He knew, in the way he just so happened to know things, that he was close to finding the lake Hornavan, and it's guardian.  Yes, so he let his power seep into the natural world, infecting it, and it wasn't only the animals.  But the plants, too.  Which began to grow, and twist, and reach for him as he passed.  

    When he stopped singing like a wolf, he threw his head back and sang for real, his Irish already musical, and inherently masculine.  Poetry without trying;

    "Nach bhfuil tú ar an caomhnóir an áit?

    Ní thaispeánfaidh tú féin domsa?

    Seinn le liom, oh caomhnóir de Hornavan!"  

    He had a hard time imagining a creature of this land being able to understand him, but then again, Ireland wasn't too far to the West from here.  Stranger things have happened.  And he didn't need them to understand his singing, anyway, even if it was a good voice that deserved a better audience.

  • -Casually accepts the invite, then lunges a few steps forward, hurling a net after the mer's fleeing form.-

  • Sweden seemed to be worlds away from the Middle East and the Mediterranean Sea. Legions. Light years. The dunes and deserts used to be the only land that Cassius knew, but he refused to return to that forsaken land. God knew how he ended up in Northern Europe but he had been wandering for days after all, and leopards did not inhabit any of this part of the world. So to a mortal eye, seeing that speckled golden pelt slip through the woods would be more than a bewildering sight, but to anyone who knew any bit of information about the supernatural, would know that this was an indicator of something otherworldly.

    Cassius pushed his way through the bracken and lichen, his maw open to drink in the unfamiliar scents of this forest. Soon enough, he caught a whiff of a nearby lake as sun stroked mist rolled in. He chuffed, ears pricked with intrigue as he stalked his way out of the woods, the mist parting as if it sensed the powerful aura of the leopard. Cassius soon neared the lakeside, but stayed back away from the edge, lowering himself to the ground. Another scent and sound hit him- something woodsy, earthen, and the sound of a violin dancing on his ears. Instead of relishing the tranquil beauty of this scene, Cassius only tensed, muscles beginning to morph as he shifted back into the form of a human.

    Even in this form, he was a strange sight. Most inhabitants this land were pale skinned and light haired, however Cassius had rugged, mocha brown skin and the beginnings of a black five o' clock shadow. His ebony hair was shaved on one side and thrown to the other, thick and sleek. Yet his eyes were a piercing, soul stealing icy blue. Well muscled, broad shouldered and tall in height, Cass was more than a striking masterpiece of a man, rugged and stoic looking, with an unpredictable look in his blue eyes. As the mist parted, he caught sight of a lean, pale figure sitting atop a rocky island, his fingers dancing along the neck of his violin. Yes, he should've been enthralled, but instead the Arabic man was only alarmed by the sight. He remained frozen in place, his gaze as hard as stone and muscles tense. Silent.
  • Image result for alexis ren water aesthetic

    *Boops snoot back* 'Ello!

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"Many hours later..."
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"(Hope that works for now. Fish-sticks out)"
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"                   Hornavan, the birthplace of Näcken. And at 725 feet (221 m), it is the deepest lake in Sweden. Surrounded by forests and meadows, and speckled with islands, the place looks nearly magical. And the looks aren't deceiving. From the…"
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Λnzu and J O R A H are now friends
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J O R A H and Oʀɪᴀɴɴᴀ Vᴇɴɪʟɪɑ are now friends
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"*Casually drops friend request before hopping away like a motherfucking Crane fly*"
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J O R A H left a comment for Cassius J. Nazari (The Muses)
"                       Tears begin rolling down his moon pale face, dripping like diamonds from his chin. For a while, he seems completely unaware of the beholder. His lean fingers, dancing on the silver strings of his violin. The bow, gently stroki…"
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