Izar'a Yhundo

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⟡ izar'a yhundo “& all I could hear was hunger, sainted, / stretched between the shrines of my teeth.” A waning figure, dreadful and standing only on the edge from which their matchstick limbs hang like flesh-wrapped wires, a creature hailed from the thick boughs of the Southern woods where the water seeps into the clothing, marsh-misted, murky. They’re a strange sight to look upon; a dancer in the corpse-light when the moon reflects its illuminating gaze over the red lines that paint their face, their neck, their chest. Carmine-smudged and evoked with a cadence to their heritage: the lost people of the fen, the snake-worshippers, hollowed and wide-eyed and starved. Race miqo'te Clan keeper of the moon (mostly) Age indeterminate. perhaps early twenties. Nameday 15th sun of the 5th astral moon Deity polytheistic; the ‘ritu’ Marital Status single Occupation clairvoyant Height five fulms, seven ilms Weight 115 ponz

IntroductionPersonalityRelationshipsOOC

☽ General

A wandering wisp whose lissome presence frequents along the swamps of South Shroud and bears the bright red tattoos native to the customs of the Yhundo shamanism despite the denial of their blood. Orphic, arrogant, and rarely the type of being familiar to pleasant company; they are a walking array of scars and coldly calculated interactions, their entire life painted in the ridges of marred skin over the planes of their body either in the form of scars or in the strange, ominous drawings of crimson that betray a dark heritage. What was once a body that spoke of youth and agile strength has more recently become malnourished and lithe, painted with a hunger that curls against the ribs.

They are pale-blooded, austere, cut along the cheeks in a way that is not natural, as if it were their inclination to appear soft and malleable once, as if there were a time where they might have been called delicate or demure had it not been for the burrs that found themselves along their face, the incisions to an eye, a lip, a jaw; and yet there’s an androgyny under that burden of scars that lends them the appearance of something ephemeral and twilit.

☽ Clothing

Once, Izar’a might have belonged to a practical people, a people who wore the bones of their fallen upon their skin, who dressed only as much as was logical to in the humid air of the marshes. They are wont to loose-fitting cloth, more often choosing the lightweight dress of simple, black garments and wrappings around their ankles but nothing more, nothing that stands out against the gleam of their form save for the glint of the occasional circlet or array of intricately carved jewelry: rings and necklaces and embellishments of teeth and bone and queer jewels.

☽ Voice

The lack of Common as a first language has adapted their tone into an accent that tumbles off the tip of the tongue like an etching of voice; the r's spoken are rolled, and while they are fluent in Huntspeak, the accent pertaining to the way they speak it is not akin to anything home to the Shroud.

'“The truth is if I keep forgetting I may scratch myself to pieces. // The truth is don’t touch me.”

likes The Wood Nature Singing, music Gifts of any kind

dislikes Physical contact Boisterous noises Cities / Cityfolk

fears The Unpredictable Large Bodies Of Water Intimacy

♥ Romantic Attraction ♡ Platonic Love ▲ Good Standing ▼ Poor Standing

Fayre’a Tayuun | ♥

“In a field. With the moon. And the dark. And the dirt. With your mouth. And just one word: god god god.”

In another life they are not plagued by the wolf at the river, by the coarse rush of blood in their veins from which the hunter draws them from.Theirs is the companionship of beasts: driven by hunger, by thirst, by this persistence of want that leaves their bones hollow, as if every attempt to sate it leaves them emptier.

Izar’a had never meant to give him their heart. But they feel how it beats and how it yearns, and is that not the choir? Is that not sacrament?

G’Larhaya Tia | ▲

“Find me tonight, in the old forest. we shall dance with moths around an ever-glowing fire.”

The last man they'd thought themself capable of befriending; and yet in the moonlight they walk, and yet in the gloaming they find the steady tempo of their souls entwined like something of blood or fate. A witch and a serpent whose tongues would cant to each other the rituals of fire.

Gahto’ra Yhundo | ♡

“So the boy is not a wolf– but he bites like one. When you tell everyone he has teeth, he just smiles and smiles.”

Blood of their blood, flesh of their flesh, the communion of the soul which binds itself to nothing but the cursed blood of their ancestors. The closest thing to a brother Izar’a has ever found, and who they would split their heart to protect.

Ezo’to Rahtuxi | ▼

“...”

A man whose friendship with Izar'a has been born from pure rivalry; and yet, despite their outright refusal that they enjoy the knife-wielder's company, Izar'a finds a strange understanding in their interactions.

☽ Notes

• I will play most everything, as long as it makes sense for Izar'a to engage in such activities.
• Ask about long-term/permanent injury & disfigurement. While I am always up for these things if they make sense for story or character progression, attempting to do these things on my characters without asking first will set in stone that I won't be roleplaying with you again.
• I won't play rape plots, non-consensual sexual scenarios, or anything pertaining to graphic depictions of child injury.
• This character is trans. If you've somehow a problem with that in any way, shape, or form, don't bother trying to interact with me.
• As such, I am not interested in interacting with characters that identify with fetish terms, either. (i.e; F*ta, C*ntboy, etc.)
• My time zone is EST.

☽ Contact

• In-game: Esoteric Recluse (Balmung)

☽ Outgoing Links

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Template	Bancroft Gairn
Layout reference	D'lyhhia Lhuil
Other fiddling	Misik'a Rahsi