CSS by Mis, with help from codes from Unplugged and Alisonrobin; layout and all art by me. This bio may contain occasional swearing, mentionings of violence, emotional trauma and death. Generally pretty heavy themes but usually nothing explicit, mostly just subtly implied. Ephiré is a character and his views do not always match mine; please do not take his actions personally, but don't hesitate to contact me if you have problems, questions, or want to interact in some way. Find me on Discord: Apel#9645 Written roleplays and in-forest interactions are always welcome! |
EPHIRÉ; others have named him | The stag’s Toyhouse, Spotify |
Many calm months. I need to get better at updating and Eph needs to have more adventures. Updated some ties Updates Archive |
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Reference Antlers reference The first thing one would notice is the stag's immense height; he stands over seven feet tall at the shoulder. His slightly awkward-looking body shape is that of a bull moose, with long legs, a strong neck, prominent withers and powerful muscles. He moves with a certain long-legged grace, surprisingly agile for such a large being, able of sharp turns and sudden stops. Sitting down is usually a tangly, awkward business, but he can rise to his feet with one swift movement. Generally he tends to keep a slow trot or fast walk when moving about, but can achieve impressive speeds if he sets his mind to it. His pelt is a midnight blue so dark its almost black; where hit by light it has a almost iridescent blue sheen. His legs, hooves and underside of neck fade into a deep black while his belly and parts of his sides are a greyish white. On his back, a single black stripe goes from his neck down to his rump. He has the face of a human, with a long nose and deep-sunken eyes that seem to change with mood and weather from a silvery blue-green to almost black. His eyebrows and long eyelashes are the same colour as his pelt. Skin is very pale, almost white. Hair is very long, almost down to the ground, and it is black and mostly straight. Ephiré isn't a "real" deer; he resembles one but lacks some natural instincts, hormones and behaviours of one. He does not shed his antlers and his scent is radically different from a real deer's. He smells faintly of cold stone, old cellar, dried heath and natural human hair. His antlers, blue-ish black in colour, are large with numerous tines; they look like a cross between the in-game great white antlers and an elk's. He has a large, nasty-looking scar on his throat, one of the reasons for his gravelly, hoarse voice. Unless asked directly, he never talks about how he got it, and he has never revealed the whole truth about it. The mask he usually wears is a large, meticulously black-polished skull that seems to come from some sort of giant bird of prey. Subtly shimmering feathers and paint adorn it in a simple pattern. It was a gift from Verve and is very precious to him. He also owns a simple, stylized black raven mask, made from some unknown hard material and with no visible decorations. It has a very sharp beak and can be used as both protection and weapon in combat. ♦ |
Harbours a strong dislike for getting the devout pelt casted on him. Reacts violently if casted upon; will likely run away sneezing, coughing and shuddering. A painful, almost allergic reaction, but likely psychosomatic, as no "real" damage is done. Is very wary around recently devouted deer, will not come too close and will be ready to run at any given moment. Isn't fond of being touched by strangers. Sometimes accepts it anyway, for the sake of being polite. Can find it stressful even with trusted companions, but generally only when in a dark state of mind. Usually not a problem when among friends. He has always been more of a spectator than an actor on this world's stage; old habits are hard to break. He often watches and observes other deer -- one could almost call it stalking, sometimes. This might be because he doesn't dare approach them, or merely that he finds them interesting in some way, or because he feels that someone perhaps should keep an eye on them. Similar to this, but slightly more natural sounding. Stone scraping against stone, screeching black iron, great cities crumbling by the hands of earthquakes and behind it all the echo from the great void, the cold and silent universe of black stars. It's a broken voice, hoarse, unpleasant, gravely and deep. It hurts to talk for him, and one could assume this is a consequence of the large scar on his throat. He tries to speak in a whisper as often as possible, or prefer to not talk at all. You can usually find him somewhere in the Birch or around the Ruins, where he often sits on Dandelion Hill or in front of the big pagan statue. But he's a wanderer and likes all parts of the forest. Lately he has been a lot in the first forest. This spot is considered 'home'. At times, the so often calm and collected stag can be coaxed into a bout of play. Jumping, running, play-fighting, water-splashing, all kinds of games are welcome at these times. Ephiré is incredibly bad at dancing though. Ephiré is a herbivore by choice. He is able to eat most things if he wanted to but is content with his vegetarian diet. Often found browsing around bushes and grasses, searching for all kinds of edible things. Pond weeds, tender shoots, berries and mushrooms, fruits and seeds. ♦ |
Ephiré generally comes across as very reserved. He talks little, and shows even less facial expressions, often covering up his face with a mask; it is a sign of trust if he removes his mask in the company of someone. His movements are deliberate, calculated, and often he relies on sparse body language to get a point across instead of talking. He loathes to disturb people, preferring to watch from a distance instead of walking up to someone. If interested enough, he might come closer, but it is rare that he joins a group uninvited. Playing the dominance game with Eph can be a futile activity. It seldom shows, but he dislikes when others tries to dominate or humble him. He will either just stand and stare at you, or play along for a bit. He never takes such activities seriously and find them slightly amusing, unless it's taken too far; then he finds it annoying. Territories and claimed places hold no meaning for him - he walks where he pleases and bows to those who deserve it. When among friends, the game of giving and taking control can be something he enjoys. Ephiré does not like to fight; it is generally something he avoids, often hesitating to jump into situations and instead being a passive watcher. Fairness is very important, as is intention, and he tends to avoid fights that are between matched opponents or fights that he doesn't know anything about (e.g, who started it and why). He is very unlikely to start anything himself, but if the situation calls for it, he can be a terrifying opponent. Long, nimble legs make him fast, able to quickly pivot away from danger or turn to charge, while a powerful body, sharp hooves and numerous tines can cause a lot of damage on the run. His size can be both a weakness and a strength: while fast, he is not as fast as a smaller deer would be, but on the other hand, he has a lot of power on his side. He is faster than most equally large creatures, since he isn't very heavy, but this also means that in a head-on antler-lock attack a heavier opponent will have the upper hand. He is an experienced at sparring and doesn't mind some good-natured play fighting. Dark, heavy clouds in horizon's arms tell of a storm A slowly waking tempest in the summer's warmth - Nest, Summer Storm ♦ |
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• Kind, calm, patient, respectful. Accepting and open-minded. Protective, caring, supportive; a voice of reason. Tranquillity and stillness. • Quiet, distant and detached. Powerful and proud, yet awkward; deeply conflicted. Passive. Apathy and cowardice. Dominance and submission. • Cold and indifferent. Brooding, cynical, bitter. Unstable. Intense self-loathing. • An acute fear of rejection. Hidden madness; seldom seen or noticed, only fully lived out when alone, truly and certainly alone. ♦ A first impression would likely be that he is calm and collected, polite and patient, but rather quiet. He doesn't talk much with those he doesn't know. He often comes across as cold and reserved; distant or detached, depending on the situation. Metaphorically, the closer you get, the further away he will move, until a line is crossed and then he will gradually warm up again. To his friends, he is caring and supportive, a rational adviser when needed. Protective of his close ones, but neither jealous nor possessive. He is hard to rile up, taking most things in stride, and it takes a lot to wake any sliver of aggression in him. Behind his calm and collected facade, there lies a deep and old fear: rejection. He is often lingering in the distance, seldom approaching others. Loneliness is something that has formed and shaped him through his years; it forms the core of his being, the foundation everything else rests on. He loves and hates it in equal measure. Always more of a spectator than an actor on the world's stage; events and happenings, things and ages, all come and go in the blink of an eye. Few gets to see a more intimate side of the stag. Mostly asexual, with such matters garnering little of his attention, and yet... sometimes there are glimmers of interest, though it is slow to form and coalesce. Dominance and submission, giving and taking control; such matters only a select handful gets to see. ♦ There are dark depths within the stag; and many old regrets sometimes weigh heavily on his mind. Ephiré knows what could have been - he has seen it a thousand times in his mind's eye, that different road he could have walked, if it hadn't been for that one single moment in time. He is thankful. There are few things in his existence he is thankful for, but this is one of them: whatever spark of grace that made him see that path and firmly turn away from it before it was too late. Regret weighs heavily on him, but that other mirror image has no regrets at all, and that scares him infinitely more. If he is cold, then that other - Ephiré has no name for that being, the Ephiré-that-could-have-been - is freezing. A wind-blasted, frozen wasteland where Ephiré himself is a calm, endless sea. The Other knows only quiet rage and pain and the will to wreak vengeance on an unjust world. Superficially, they would be similar - the Other one more unkempt, older-looking, but with staring eyes cold as the unending arctic night. But Ephiré also knows there are remnants and fragments of the Other hidden in the depths of himself. Go down into his mind, and where the lights fades and the dark shapes move inorexably, and maybe a pair of cold, cold eyes stare back. ♦ Bring me your soul, bring me your hate In my name you will create Bring me your fear, bring me your pain You will destroy in my name I am dark matter Your road to ruin I am dark matter I'm your undoing - Les Friction, Dark matter |
His refuge, his prison; his mind is everything. The stag has honed his mind’s eye into perfection, constructing a vast mindscape to retreat into whenever needed. Usually visualized as an endless ocean, where sky and sea stretch and go on forever. The surface is mirror-blank, perfectly still, but in the murky depths there are strong, dark undercurrents, large things inorexably churning and moving. The further down one goes, the darker it gets, and who knows what things are hidden from view down there. He has lived for a very, very, long time, and he has the scars to show it - both physical and mental. Deep, deep down, there is a glimmer of something else. A presence so old and alien that Ephiré barely is aware of it himself. He calls her 'Mother' and she is always silent. Ephiré sometimes talks to her in the Forest, where she (in his mind) has taken the shape of the largest of the pagan statues beside the Ruins. A source of absolution and forgiveness, but also shame and guilt and self-loathing. She never answers his pleas or acknowledges his words. Whether she is real or not, Ephiré doesn't know. But in every drop of blood, a sliver of a vengeful wild god's mind: reaching out from beyond the chasm of time and death to call her children home; to exact revenge upon the world all who wronged her. |
In the forest, the most spectacular of magic you might see is his shapeshifting ability. His most favored shape is a raven, slightly bigger than usual, with one blue eye. Other, less obvious talents include dreamwalking and being able to slip through the cracks and rents of Reality’s weave; he walks between worlds with ease. It is said there is a certain sort of tranquility permeating the air around him; some are able to feel it, some are not. In the sanctuary of his homelands, his powers are almost limitless, a consequence of his distant past. What little blood he has left is saturated and exchanged for magic; it fills his body and soul. Storms and thunder are elements closely tied to his existence; the name Stormbringer is not merely an empty moniker. Soaring on the vanguard winds of great thunderstorms, Stormbringer is a strange amalgam of moose and raven, his wings bringing claps of thunder and hooves striking lightning into the sky. |
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If you wander through the mountains and become lost, you might find a path where no paths should be. It is a thin line of worn-down grass, winding between lichen-covered rocks and little cold-as-ice streams. You follow it, since you have no idea where you are and figure there must be something at the other end of the path. No trees grow here. It's too cold, too high up; lichen, tough grasses, heath, moss and many other small plants grow instead. The snow have yet to fall -- where you are right now, the snow can be seen on the highest peaks, but in this valley the ground is bare. It is cold, though. There is frost in the air and the wind howls around the rock walls. Cold mist -- no, you think, clouds -- whirl around you. After a long, cold walk, you see some kind of structure in the distance, on a hill at the end of the valley. It seems to be a ten minutes walk away, but as you begin to go towards it, it does not seem to come closer. An hour, one and a half; your sense of time is lost -- but at last, you are almost there. You now see that the structure is some kind of great cathedral. Its high belfry seem to pierce the sky and the statues above the great entrance stare down at you with cold unseeing eyes. The doors are made of wood, weathered and old and grey. Large iron handles and decorations adorn them. You stop for a moment. Why is there a cathedral in the mountains? No people lives here. Who built it and why? ♦ The Endless Forest is not Ephiré’s original home. It is a place he stumbled upon on one of his journeys; a safe haven, a place suspended in time, a place where he has found a measure of peace. His real homeland, the one he always returns to eventually, is a bleak, barren place. At the end of the world it sits, the old stone building he calls home. Here, Eph takes the form of a large midnight-blue deer, most similar to a moose. He wears a black-polished skull of some large bird of prey, and his tines reach high into the sky. In the world of Athu, spends his time disguised as a human in the modern city of Roang Idala, working in a library and helping Verve with odds and ends at her club. Keeps a watchful eye on the boundary between worlds. His old homelands. Situated in the northeast of Emnes, in modern times known as Ikran or Chatera. A ruined empire long gone. |
• Came to the forest in early spring. He was an elusive figure at first, unsure of this new land, and mostly spent his time in the birch, away from any prying eyes. • 'Virgil' (the Red) became his first close friend a few months later. • Was briefly involved in the events surrounding the deer Baal and a murdered fawn. • Was introduced to Gehirn through Virgil. • Met Herla for the first time. • He had an important part to play in the great tale of Iaurdagnire's fight against the seasons: I: Jack to the King | Catalyst II: Overthrow | Catalyst III: Start Your Descent | Catalyst ...aftermath • The event influenced him greatly, and the year that followed was not a particularly good one, guilt and the ever-present question of "did he do the right thing?" piling up on him. • Virgil died: Forever • Despite the dark times, there were lighter happenings; he was asked by Herla to be godfather to her two unborn children. He also ventured home to find stones as wards before the birth of them. • He also met Verve again; hadn't seen her since she was very small. Was given one of her first crafted things, a dreamcatcher to use against his nightmares. • Eventually, it was clear that Iaurdagnire's story was yet to be finished: II: Dandelion Hill | War Drum III: Warrior Hysteria | War Drum But Iaurdagnire did not come back despite their efforts. • Aurora needed an escape from the forest; took her and Verve on a trip to his homelands. • Verve left him a large skull mask as a gift. • The great tale of Iaurdagnire's fight was almost at its end: Waiting V: Your Supremacy | War Drum • He was involved in a terrible event that left Verve almost dead with the help of his own tines, further driving him into black mood and dark thoughts: [5.] For the Gift of Hands Verve survived, but it was a close call. • There was a bittersweet reunion: The Fortress and The Raven | Epilogue • Verve took him on a trip to her homelands in Africa. • Helped save the fawn Neela from her would-be kidnapper. All I ask? • Heard whispers of Virgil's return. Unsure what to think of it. • Met Virgil in the grasses of the Birch a few weeks later. Very hesitant at first, but eventually, accepted the Hart as the old friend he once was. Things may never be the same, but there was the seed that could grow into what their friendship had been. • At the end of the year, he and Verve managed to slowly work their way together. Fools • After a stressful winter, decided to travel for a while. Verve joined him, and in spring, left the forest with her. Neither would return until much later. • Returned to the Forest during the Rut, after a chance meeting with the angel Altijd in another world. A strange experience - a thousand years had passed for Eph, while the forest was the same as always, three years later. Many of those he knew had gone. • Helped Verve regain her Forest memories. |
I. Prologue Barely more than a flutter of consciousness in the wind, it was nameless and shapeless. Soon it saw the forms of wild boars in the valleys and the purpur bison on the plains; it saw the mist and the rain and the colour of endless dry tall-grass; and it took all these shapes to make them its own. The bison named it after their fashion, and the wild boars too, and the wind and the rain and the mist also gave it names, but what they were we can only guess. After uncounted millennia, the first human tribe came to the plains. They saw the wild god, and named it the Old Mother, Roko'a, and they revered it. It brought the warm mists and the spring rains, they said, and where it tread, the earth flourished. Eventually, the humans turned envious of Roko'a and its power. It did not come when they asked for it, and neither did it answer their prayers; it was still a wild and untamed god, guided only by the deep earth and its own erratic whims. Sometimes it left the valley plains, and no rains fell and no grass grew while it was away, and the people starved. One day, the tribe had enough, and they hunted down and killed the wild god. They wanted to capture its power, and so they saved its remains; the blood was poured into large stoneware jars, and the bones were buried under a great black stone. Around it, they built the village of Ka-Theraan: a place that would prosper and grow and eventually turn into the beginning of a mighty empire, for its people had found the secret of making their own gods. They did not make gods to pray to, anymore, instead they made gods to bear their hardships - reviled and hated gods of death and illness and despair; of war and storms and famine; of wild animals and anger and freezing winter nights. They were created, and cast aside, cursed to carry their burdens away from the people of Ka-Theraan. The old rites required a cup of a dead god's blood, the dust of its bones, and a willing participant: sacrificed to die and rise anew. But in every drop of blood, a sliver of a vengeful wild god's mind: reaching out from beyond the chasm of time and death to call its children home; to exact revenge upon the tribe and all its descendants. ♦ II. Genesis It was not a generous land; farmers had to work hard for their crops, and the woodworkers in the forests wore down their axes on the knotty hardwood trees. The hills were dry and the river was grey and cold. The people who lived there were of few words but with large hearts, and they loved songs and tales more than fights and bloodshed. There was the silver-eyed river people, the tough-skinned forest people, the bead-adorned town dwellers, and the tall and proud farmers on the plains, and all of them bowed down to the same queen and they all knew the same gods. Our tale is of a man who lived among the river tribe; his name is as forgotten as his people, but we know that he collected stones and driftwood and other things the river brought, and life was sometimes cruel and sometimes kind, as it generally is. He wore his black hair long as was their custom and he had neither a wife nor a husband. He had some friends and perhaps he had been close to someone earlier in his life, but of that we can only guess. ♦ There had been a long, sweltering summer, and now the grey autumn had come, promising a harsh and cruel winter. 'We need a new god', some of the people said, 'the winter will be long and cold and many will be left alone when their companions die. We need a new god for the lonely', and the queen considered their words. A peculiar thing about the people of Ka-Theraan was that they created their own gods, because they had not been chosen by a god when the world still was new and fresh. The people still held bitterness in their hearts for this, and so they did not pray to the gods they made but left their burdens in their hands instead. There would never be a god of joy nor a god of life there, but for night and death and despair and many other terrible things they had gods: 'Let the people prosper and be joyful! Leave sadness, death and famine to the gods', the saying went. The queen, a woman of the plains farmer people, was fair and just and so a great drawing of lots was held, and every woman, man and child had their name on a small piece of paper, and every piece was laid down in a great stoneware pot. The queen held out her hand and called for silence, and every person who had gathered there held their breath and grasped the hands of their loved ones, while their queen reached into the pot and took a piece of paper, and read the name aloud. ♦ They came for him in the evening, when the sky had turned gold and red like blood; the man did not weep nor did he cry out, but closed his eyes and held out his hands and they bound them with a strong red rope. They led him to the middle of the city, to the great building of the gods, and there they dressed him in the ceremonial long black clothes and gave him a cup of thick bitter liquid, and he drank it and slept a dreamless sleep. At dawn they woke him, and made him walk to the great mountain beside the city. Many people followed, singing and chanting, all of them grateful for not being in his place this day. The man still did not weep. His hands were still bound with the red rope; not tight, as his guards held no ill will in their hearts against him, and sometimes they gave him water to drink. The road to the mountain was long, and the sun had reached its highest point when they reached the top. The priests and the people gathered around, and the man was led to a great stone altar; there he lay, unmoving, and for the first time tears ran down his cheeks, for he knew what lay ahead. Clouds had gathered on the horizon, great dark clouds filled with the promise of bad weather. They slit his wrists with sharp knives, and red blood ran on the altar stone, and silver tears ran down his cheeks, while life slowly left his body and pooled on the ground. The chanting of the priests and the singing of the people slowly faded, and at last he laid there cold and pale, eyes unseeing, with no heartbeat in his chest. In the darkness there was nothing, save for the echo from the great void: a cold and silent universe of black stars. The people chanted and sang, and the priests summoned the old magic to replace his lifeblood with, and when he woke he was alone. His mind was reeling and his body did not obey him when he tried to rise, but eventually he managed to sit, and then he looked out over the mountaintop. There was his blood, soaked into the gravel, and far away down in the valley, the people were back in their homes. It was a sickly twilight in the sky and the storm would be soon upon the valley; in his heart he knew what they had done and he wept bitterly. Never would he walk among his friends again, but they would sing of him and spin the legends of their new god, and everything they said would become true. His head ached and his hands hung limply from the pain in his wrists, but all he could think of was the new memories that flooded his mind: how he had come into existence when the stars were newly born, and how long and dark the endless years had been. And so he closed his eyes and turned away from the valley, and began to walk away from the place that had been his home, into the mountain labyrinth, while the storm began to rage above his head. The people in the valley never saw him again, but they sang of their new god, and spun their tales about him. He lived far away at the end of the world, they said, where the land was barren and no man thread, and he had taken all their loneliness with him when he left. ♦ |
Tumblr Toyhou.se Spotify playlist Cold, snow, winters, stone, mountains, unknown depths, the ocean, endlessness, reimagining the idea of gods, loneliness, storms, hidden madness, undesirable immortality, raging storms beneath silence and tranquility, withholding and suppressing emotions, corvids, dark and cool colours, thunder, glaciers, deep dark sounds, existence without a goal, ... |
Fifth page! *Licks* It was
It was nice sitting with Eph this morning. <3
♥
Mishka found a nice peaceful
I hope he didn't mind ^^;;
Oh no, Ephiré didn't mind! He
Oh, track. I'd everytime
Avatar by Awentia, signature by Wildflowerdeer
I just d'awed pretty
Thank you both for the company. ♥
Edit: Also, I apologize for suddenly leaving. Everyone froze, I disconnected, and now the pictograms will not spread... How disspointing.
Thank you, again. ♥
Thank you, Solaya
Serenai: ♥
You are so talented,
I like your signature a lot, too.
This is just a beautiful
Illutrea felt very honored to
Saosin: Thank you. I feel the
Afruz: Thank you, it means a lot.
Illutrea: She is an interesting character. Eph liked to sit with her, so thank you too :)
Late Track Is Late BC~
Epppph.
Such a nice story I think.
Yay ♥ was excited to
I have always loved Ephiré,
Love his bio layout as well ^^
"Your efforts are insignificant! I carry you to your deaths!"
Aihnna: Thanks! Vee:
Vee: ♥!
Iaurdagnire: 'twas fun to meet Iaurdagnire in the forest :D
Graveyard: Aw, thank you, it makes me happy to hear :)
-nom- *gently biting the
*gently biting the ear*
<3
"I am glad to be back
Hello Ephiré! ♥
I didn't realize he was
I adore seeing him in the forest. He's such a quiet and mysterious yet serene character...♥
By Leuvr ♥
Beautiful layout already. I
I love how you described his
Holy sh- the coding and
Wow Apeldille, this is
Forget Your Perfect Offering.
There Is A Crack In Everything.
That's How The Light Gets In.
(A part of the lyrics of Leonard Cohen's Song "Anthem")
Omg...♥
By Leuvr ♥
(No subject)
^ Omg2
By Leuvr ♥
Dag...that is...wow! 8D
Forget Your Perfect Offering.
There Is A Crack In Everything.
That's How The Light Gets In.
(A part of the lyrics of Leonard Cohen's Song "Anthem")
Aw, thank you everyone. I'm
and asdfghhfh Iaurdagnire! Thank you so much <3 Those antlers, omnomnom.
I have a lot of beautiful
(the secret way of tracking)
Oh :D That will be
BEAUTIFUL bio. You're art is
Thank you! ^^ Makes me happy
I love this bio so much
Thank you Nopje :)
...
Here. Couldn't make it
Couldn't make it transparent.
Since you drew my deer the other day I've made countless attempts on drawing Ephiré.
It's just a sketch, I know... But also something I'm finally satisfied with.
♥
010: ...! Estme: Oh wow,
Estme: Oh wow, thank you! Mwah, I love his hair and his face... and how the light from his picto shines on his antlers. Omnomnom, thank you again ♥ I have to admit I don't remeber the picture of Estme you're talking about... unless it's the one I did a long time ago 8D;
Yup, it was very long ago :'D
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/apeldille/nine_estme_rf.jpg
I still love it though ♥
Ah, I thought it was that
I don't understand why I
Such an amazing character. My goodness.
I track this now. ♥
Was very nice meeting Ephire
I've made the terrible error
Wetterhound: Mwah, thank you
Krystal: 'twas nice meeting you too! :)
Hraeth: :D I do that all the time, go to biographies without tracking them. Thank you!
Quote:If you remember the old
Ah yes, I remember that one,
I wish to continue the old
So. Incredibly. Gorgeous.
Woah, this looks amazing!
Gah, this is great. Very
Hraeth: Thank you
Vee: Thank you! I thought it was time for me to write something a little more detailed about him.
Saosin: Thanks, makes me happy to hear :)