MONSTER, cerul d'amore

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neurotic, they called you, even for the creature that you truly are. obsessive. whimsical. no one had nice words for the feyfolk that spent all their time wasted on the affairs of humans, the matters that you found amusing. they told you to do better. they told you you weren't living up to what you could be. what do they know? you'll live forever but never have lived at all.

you could topple empires. entice wars. sex, riches, the thrill of power. devour the hearts of the young and virile in a giddy display of blood and giggling. instead, you use your magic to read fortune. to help toy with fate. you leave your pestering kind and take up place in a small human village, a shack on the skirt of town that didn't take you much time at all to conjure up. you conceal your monstrous features through illusions and thin clothing.

you deal the cards and you keep your voice hushed, speaking of doom and love and strength and despair. you tell of the then and the now and the what may come; and all you ask for in return is the secrets of the common men. gossip. petty tales of adultery and shameful prayers. you love perspectives, you love knowledge. you love getting a glimpse inside the minds of the mortals, seeing things in a way you'll never be able to comprehend.

you've been around for over a century, maybe even more before your current being, and nothing has ever given you such a shuddering thrill as man does. you don't care for the poor souls as anything more than toys, machinations with laughable goals and ambitions, but oh gods do they play that part so well.

you're living vicariously through senseless creatures-- but you're living.



the feyfolk are an old group of monsters from the dawn of the Goddess' creations, blessed with magical properties and spoken of as both angels and demons. generally neutral, selfish creatures by heart (though whether they have hearts or not still being open to debate) feyfolk are beings of mischief and malice, using whatever trickery, manipulation and spells they can come up with to get what they want and keep themselves happy and safe. they are all immune to death from natural causes regardless of whether they're tied in a contract or not, meaning some original feyfolk still remain in the world and time today.

the human forms of feyfolk are generally androgynous as they do not have genders in their true forms, fair skin and soft features further adding to their toying natures.

the actual appearances of any one feyfolk is a terrifying amalgamation of intense light, heat, magic and various bodyparts. limbs and limits are not a concept to the horrendous creatures, with multiple arms, legs, eyes, sets of teeth, even things such as wings and handfuls of thrown together animal parts; feyfolk are not natural humanoids. their presence is taken more as a feeling than a physical concept, mortals unable to gaze too deeply on the race without having the eyes burned from their sockets by the pure energy that make the monsters up. regardless, feyfolk shed their human guises when in the company of themselves and no two look alike.

cerul has a serpentine body that exerts a harsh violet light, ram like horns jutting out of his head with eyes, at least eighteen in total, set in various positions over his face. the wings of a bat make up both his arms, able to move them the same and use them for flight should he require; two sets in total, with two on each side. his human form is a great deal less disconcerting, a young individual with long, soft black hair, warm hazel eyes (reflecting his true colors) and a lithe physique topped with his selfsame horns.

illusions, transmutation, conjurations; even divination, cerul is able to tap into the well of magical energy that make up his immortal soul to perform these feats and more. his illusions generally focus on altering the perceptions of people, harmless scenarios, hiding his horns when in town to all those that look upon him or having mortals suddenly decide not to enter his home when they come too close to the doorstep. furthermore, should he conjure food, anyone outside of him and his race to take a bite will find that it's poisonous; quickly and painfully burning through their remaining life energy if their body cannot sustain the magic within the conjuration.

[attr="class","appname"]CERUL D'AMORE

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AGE: 108 YEARS
SEX: M (?)
RACE: FEYFOLK
HOMELAND: Thebes
CONTRACT: Y