• domhnall
    Welcome to the kingdoms of Morbourne, Fallhaven and Valcoast. These cities of Domhnall are unique but tied together; Trades occur, merchants travel and treaties are reviewed, signed and broken: it's a way of life. The population is a mix of humans and mages, with the ruling bodies of each kingdom the latter: super powered and deadly. Though for now there is peace, a stable peace, as each depends on the others to maintain the delicate chains of life. What all citizens of every country have most in common however is their védo, a beast that is bonded to them and protects them from the dangers of this world. In a world where loyalty is everything, which side will you choose?


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Age: thirty-two
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Nationality: Fallhavener
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berek dane oliver

Fallhavener

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Jan 20 2015, 10:18 PM
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Berek Dane Oliver is a man with the wilds of Fallhaven in his blood through and through. He is known at times to be more feral than human with the temper of Mother Nature to match, and despite his position of relative authority there wasn’t anyone quite so “wild” as he was… except maybe the queen. He’s passionate in all he does, though it’s his passion that sometimes expresses itself rather violently. <p>
He’s a cold, dark, and moody type of man, with decades of hardship scrawled into his flesh in the form of burns and scars – each one with a story to tell that would forever remain untold. He does not place his trust easily and tends to rely more on his herds than other humans for support. Where humanity was steeped in greed, selfishness, and cruelty for personal gain, the herds relied on the protection and comfort of eachother to remain alive and thriving. Horseflesh was just so much more honest than humans, and he prefers the company of his equine companions to that of humans on a regular basis. <p>
A past rooted deeply in loss and desperation, he keeps himself closely guarded where his emotions are concerned. His past – and hands – are stained the blood of those who had hurt him and taken away the one true light he’d had in his life. Brutally they had taken her from him in fire and flames, and he’d delivered them back to their maker with the mercy of a swift death. But the truth of his past is hidden well beneath a stone façade.
<p>
Because of this, he can be seen as off-putting or overly stiff. He survived among the forests and the wild herds of Fallhaven for over a decade – settling back into human society took some time, and even now he finds himself often wandering the paddocks instead of among the freeriders. That’s not to say that he avoids human contact completely, however. Every spring when the new recruits are brought in and sized up he’s there in the yards with a critical eye on their every move. Though the training masters whip the cubs into shape, ultimately it’s him they have to impress. He personally saw to it that each and every rider had a mount perfectly attuned to them, and his word was final. <p>
<b><u>Friends</u></b><br>
A somewhat small category, restricted to those whom have proven to earn his trust over his years of service to the Queen. Mostly of the four-legged, equine variety, or those who share his love and respect for nature. He’s tied to the earth very deeply, so those with an affinity for the wild will find a feral kinship with him. He doesn’t trust easily, but those that have earned it will find a loyal and devoted ally why would give his life if need be. <p>
<b><u>Enemies</u></b><br>
Likely of Morbournian descent due to the mercenaries that killed his love decades ago. He does not forgive lightly, nor does he forget easily. His body is littered with the scars of old pacts betrayed and mistakes made, many the likes of which he has no intention of reliving. Those who show little regard for life or nature will also find themselves on the short end of an even shorter fuse. The rumors about what he’s capable of may be exaggerated… but some only slightly. <p>
<b><u>Lovers</u></b><br>
Basically non-existent since the loss of Ingrid decades ago, as far as an emotional level is concerned. Emotionally the only people who have seen intimately into his thoughts aren’t even people at all – the herds provide the support and comfort humans have lacked in offering him over the past years and he’s managed to seclude the deeper emotions away from the light of day. That’s not to say that he doesn’t indulge in the pleasure of the flesh. He is human, after all, regardless of what the rumors say about him and his penchant for running with the herds instead of in the courts. But his urges are nothing short of animalistic, and often satisfied with the rough and feral dance of the primal instincts that humanity had seemed to have long forgotten. Whatever true intimacy he <i>is</i> capable of will take some chiseling to find it buried beneath decades of guilt, regret, anger, and sheer will to survive… but part of him yearns for that again – like he had with Ingrid years ago.

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berek dane oliver

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thirty-two

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fallhavener

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<div class="info2">occupation:</div>
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royal master of horse

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<div class="info2"> playby:</div>
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tom hiddleston
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<div class="info2">played by :</div>
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roo

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You were once free – don’ let them tame you

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<center><i>The mystery</i><p>
-----------</center>


<b>”They say he doesn’t speak,”</b> claimed the first. <p>
<b>”<i>I</i> heard he made a deal with the Queen for amnesty,”</b> chimed another, eager to share their theories. <b>”Heard there’s blood on his hands the likes of which <i>nobody</i> should be pardoned for… but she did.”</b> The young rider’s head nodded matter-of-factly as though to emphasize his point. <b>”Begs the question of <i>’why?’</i>, don’tchya think?”</b><p>
<p>Another young rider rolled her eyes and prodded at the small campfire with a long stick to reignite the embers that had begun to wane. <b>”That’s absurd,”</b> she scoffed. The small fox curled at her feet chirped in agreement. The young rider pointed the charred, glowing end of her stick at the other one that had just spoken and shook it vigorously, narrowing her eyes and scrunching her nose in distaste. <b>”What makes you think the Queen would trust her herds – <i>our</i> herds – to some kind of murderous sop? Doesn’t make any sense.”</b> <p>
A few of the other riders laughed and the young male bristled at the obvious dejection. The osprey perched just above his shoulder was visibly ruffled. He pushed the pointer away from him and stood, turning on his fellow riders for support. <b>”Look, I know what I heard, alright?”</b> he stated firmly. <b>”I heard Loran talking about him to one of the Alpha Wolves and he seems… <i>off</i>.”</b><p>
<b>”Have you ever even <i>seen</i> him?”</b> the female rider teased. <p>
<b>”Have <i>you</i>?”</b> he snapped back, and the girl’s face fell slightly in humility. <p>
<b>”Well… no,”</b> she admitted sheepishly. The other riders surrounding the fire also fell silent in contemplation. Each one struggled to remember a time when they’d actually met the Royal Master of Horse face to face, and each one came up empty. <p>
The boy turned with smug satisfaction to each of his companions. <b>”And isn’t that odd to you? Come to think of it, have <i>any</i> of you ever seen him?”</b> The group was silent for a moment, until a deep voice echoed across the campfire from somewhere in the back. <p>
<b>”I have”</b>, it said, and all eyes turned.<p>
A tall man built of strong, lean muscle stepped forward. He was older than most of the riders by a handful of years, and the coarse, thick mahogany hair he had was already tinged with premature grey at the temples, no doubt due to the stories he’s lived rather than his age. He was dressed simply as a rider would be, but even in the plain leather breeches and simple tunic there was a sense of unchallenged authority about him.<p>
He sat near the fire, his gray-green eyes surveying the conclave of young riders that watched him with curiosity and – for some – suspicion. <p>
The female rider was the first to speak up. <b>”So…?”</b> she drawled, forming the question they all wanted answered. <b>”Who <i>is</i> he?”</b><p>
A twitch of a smirk flickered across the man’s thin lips. <b>”That…”</b> he started slowly. <b>”…begins with a story.”</b>


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<center><i>The truth</i><p>
-----------</center>
<b>”They say the pounding stampede of hooves precede him, and follow in his wake,”</b> the stranger stated calmly as though it were fact. And it was. The tale of Berek Dane Oliver began – and would likely end – with the stampede of hooves. Within his first moments of life the keeper of his soul – his vedo – flourished into existence with the clumsy clatter of hooves against the stone floor of his parents’ small home. It was the first sound he heard before even his father’s voice, and the sweet smell of hay and earth came before ever recognizing the gentle smell of his mother’s skin. <p>
<b>”<i>I’ve</i> heard skeletons follow in his wake,”</b> piped one of the younger riders. The man’s gaze turned from him, to another who spoke up quickly after. <p>
<b>”They say he’s done some terrible things,”</b> the second rider supplied with hesitance. <b>”There’s all sorts of rumors about him, about what he did before the Queen.”</b> The uneasy nodding and agreement amongst the riders made it evidently clear that despite the Royal Master of Horse’s authority in the field, the young trainees were easily influenced. <p>
<b>”Do you know?”</b> another rider finally asked the stranger with unabated curiosity. <b>”What have <i>you</i> heard about him?”</b> <p>
The man lifted a hand to scrub at the stubble on his jaw thoughtfully. They were the hands of a skilled rider – calloused from a lifetime of mastering leather, dirt stained into his fingertips from even longer of living from the land. A small web of scars spread across his knuckles also, weaving a tale the other riders may never know. He gave a slow, thoughtful nod, his green-gray eyes drifting somewhere just outside the fire, and beyond the present day into the past. <b>”Everyone has the scars of their past,”</b> he remarked idly. <b>”Some and just a little more… fatal… than the rest.”</b><p>
<center>-----------</center><p>
<i>The pounding of hooves echoed the pounding of blood in his ears. The acrid taste of smoke stung the back of his throat and burned his eyes , and the bitterness of bile threatened to cause upheaval. The panicked braying of the horses deafened him and the scent of burning flesh and hair sickened him. He opened his mouth, but nothing but a shrill, gasping cough came out. <p>
An upheaval of blood followed and another cry tore at his throat, this time yelling a name through the choking smoke. <b>”Ingrid!”</b> Flames licked his skin, singing flesh and hair but doing little to halt his pursuit forward. A heavy, familiar warmth pressed itself into him with a pleading bray. The Friesian pranced around the flames that licked at the pair’s legs, stamping and kicking desperately to keep them from crawling up further along their skin and hide. <p>
<b>”I-Ingr-“</b> he cried again, but found the name died on his lips as smoke replaced it in his lungs. Blackness began to set in around the edges of his vision as the white-hot flames seared the flesh at his back. He remembered thinking that fire didn’t move like this, and lightning didn’t strike as it had. He remembered thinking that fire didn’t naturally act the way it was acting right then, and just before he succumbed to the blackness he saw a glint of silver catch his eye. Armor, to be exact, with the sigil of a salamander emblazoned on the front.<p>
He also remembered thinking what an odd thing to see right before he died. </i>

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<center><i>The survival</i><p>-----------</center>
<b>”I recall one of the Alpha Wolves telling me a story once about how they saw him runnin’ naked through the paddocks with the horses,”</b> claimed a rider with a look of amusement. <b>”Like he thinks he’s one of them, or something.”</b><p>
A few of the rider’s barked out in laughter and one female rider even hurled a piece of her apple in his direction. <b>”You’ll believe anything!</b> she laughed, but the solemn nod of another rider interrupted her. <p>
<b>”It’s true – I’ve seen it!”</b> he cried, and the group fell silent with interest as they all turned on the young rider, expecting answers to the questions they pounded him with. <p>
<b>”You’re lying!”</b><p>
<b>”He was <i>naked</i>?”</b><p>
<b>”What did he look like?”</b> <p>
The young rider shook his head sheepishly in response. <b>”I mean, I didn’t get <i>that</i> good of a look at him, but I saw <i>somethin’</i> runnin’ through the paddocks… and it wasn’t no horse.”</b><p>
<center>-----------</center><p>
<i>The pounding of hooves in heavy, wet dirt beat rhythmically alongside the sound of his deep, heaving breath. With each lengthened stride of the massive beast beneath him, he found his own muscles becoming more in tune with him. The separation between rider and mount had melted away long ago, and the two were a single, fluid entity. <p>
Mud kicked up behind them as each pounding hoof beat at the earth, the herd following closely behind. The few rays of light that made it past the heavy canopy of the forest streaked past him in a blur and struck against the bare back of his skin with brief flashes of warmth. Where others would find themselves lost in the labyrinth of the forest, this was his home. He knew every root, every rock, and every blade of grass in the deepest, thickest parts of the forest to every inch of open land in the plains.
<p>The people of Fallhaven had their queen, but </i>he<i> was the king here.<p>
The tight, corded muscles in his legs kept him glued to the massive Friesian as he dove through the forest, smoothly gliding between trees and obstacles with the masterful grace of a dancer. When you and your mount’s thoughts were one in the same, there was no need for spoken words. The ability to speak to the herd with his thoughts had at first been for comfort, then out of necessity. The lack of human companionship made speaking aloud unnecessary, and dangerous. Predators often preyed on the herds in the thick Fallhaven forests – a voice was little more than a beacon to draw them directly to them. He could hear the thoughts of the herd directly in his own head in the same manner that they could hear his. Why waste your breath with words when a thought could do the same, and often over greater distances? His connection with the herd waned with distance, but he’d not strayed far enough yet from them to find himself out of their reach.<p>
The beams of sunlight glistened on the stallion’s ebony hide and his companion’s pink flesh, a fine sheen of sweat rippling across the lean muscles beneath. There was no creak of a leather saddle, no jingling of a harness – just the rhythmic pounding of hooves and the solid slap of skin against horseflesh.<p>
His humanity had abandoned him long ago, in its place instead a wild and feral nature had taken hold. It had always been there, he supposed… it had just been waiting for the moment to surface.</i>
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<center><i>The revenge</i><p>-----------</center><p>
<b>”You’ve heard the stories, right?”</b> a young female rider inquired nervously. A few pairs of eyes fell on her. <b>”About what he did to a group of traders back before the queen found him? My aunt told me that there hadn’t been hardly anything left of them, just pools of blood. And some of them had been strung up and burned to death… <i>alive</i>. Somebody said the queen <i>hired</i> him to dispatch them, and that’s why she hired him.”</b> <p>
A murmur of rumors spread quickly among the group, and all eyes fell to the stranger whom had been oddly silent. He was leaning forward on his knees, hands clasped so tightly together that even in the dim firelight his knuckles were white. His eyes remained focused on the small fire as it licked at the logs lazily, casting shadows dancing across the ground. <p>
<b>”There is truth in all rumors, at lease by some measure,”</b> he started slowly, his voice steady with purposeful caution. <b>"But even some truths are better left buried.”</b><p>
<center>-----------</center><p>
<i>The pounding of hooves was a death-call, a final bell tolling for those who deserved it. The sickening crunch of bones and the tell-tale squishing of flesh beneath hooves were deafened by the cries of shock, agony, and fury that thickened the air. The heat of flames – unnatural and angry – licked at his skin as they had so many years ago the last time he’d encountered them. It had been a decade, at least, since he’d seen them, but he’d never forget the way they smelled, the way the heat danced across his skin and singed the flesh that was already scarred with burns. They had not been nature-made before on that day years ago, and they were not nature-made now. <p>
And that’s how he knew he had found them. <p>
He’d found them secluded among the brambles and gnarled roots of the forest. It hadn’t been through searching that he’d found them, but perhaps fate had felt he’d suffered enough in the ten plus years since he’d lost everything, since he’d lost… her. <p>
It had been easy to surprise them – they were strangers to this land, mercenaries on foreign soil with little regard for the forest or the secrets she possessed. Tierrah had heard his pleas. The forest they depended on for hiding betrayed them. Their clumsy feet were used to hard, Morbourne soil and struggled to find purchase on the gnarled roots and shifting earth of the forest. The cries for help were smothered by the thick vegetation and ignored by the ancient trees as they watched on in silence as one by one they paid their dues to their gods. <p>
The last of them he’d chased down on foot. There was a necessity for him to feel the crunch of bones snapping, the warmth of blood spilling into his hands. The predatory satisfaction of watching the man run was almost as euphoric as catching him was. The two bodies came crashing together with such a force that he felt the wind disperse from his lungs as the two men grappled in the mud. His skin was slick with the blood of his enemy’s comrades and made it difficult for the mercenary to get a good hold of him, but the armor the other man wore made him slow and clumsy and easy to trip. <p>
Silver armor with a salamander emblazoned across the front. <p>
Body leveraged against his in the dirt, a few droplets of blood rolled down his long, thin nose and onto the mercenary’s cheek, his grey-green eyes inches from the other man’s face. Teeth bared, he pressed his weight against the pinned man.<p>
<b>”Her name,”</b> he croaked savagely. His voice was cracked and raw after almost a decade of disuse, but the ferocity was here all the same. <p>
<b>”Wh-what? I don’t-“</b><p>
<b>”Say her name!”</b> he roared again, this time pressing the tip of the broken arrowhead against the man’s throat so that it drew a sliver of blood. The mercenary struggled in panic but was held firm.<p>
<b>”WHO?!”</b> he cried desperately. <p>
His hands found little resistance as the arrowhead pierced the skin and slid through the flesh at his throat, a sickeningly satisfying crunch as strong, calloused hands crushed his esophagus and snapped the head back with precision. For a long moment, the woods were silent. Finally, he stood, gray-green eyes burning with disgust at the mangled body on the ground. <p>
<b>”Ingrid.”</b></i>

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<center><i>The reality</i><p>-----------</center><p>
<b>”Rumors or not, the fact of the matter is that the Royal Master of Horse is what he is – the <i>Royal Master of Horse</i>. The queen obviously knows what we don’t, and I’ve never seen a Freerider with a horse that isn’t right for them,”</b> chimed a young girl. <b>”He’s obviously good at what he does, otherwise he wouldn’t be here – right?”</b> <p>
The other young riders nodded silently. <b>”Guess it doesn’t matter so much <i>how</i> he got here as long as he’s on our side,”</b> another piped up. <b>”Still… makes you wonder if he <i>is</i> on our side, considering all we’ve heard about him.”</b> <p>
<center>-----------</center><p>
<i>Tierrah had a sense of humor, of that much he was certain. <p>
In all the hundreds of miles of vast, open land in Fallhaven, she had to send the queen into his neck of the woods. Looking back on it now, he only mildly regrets letting himself be bought by Cordelia’s sharp tongue and even sharper wit. The instance she’d stepped foot in his territory he knew she was there. The gigantic black direwolf at her side had made it difficult to ignore her. Within moments of the herd catching wind of the predator, her ushered the herd to safer lands, but the direwolf and her mistress were hot on their trail. <p>
What was she seeking? He’d not seen another human in months since he’d relinquished the mercenary camp of their bond to this earth, and even then it had been a decade since he’d properly spoken to one. He was more feral than human, and that showed when the she-wolf and her companion finally caught up to them. <p>
For a long moment the four of them stood sizing eachother up. The raven-haired mistress and her mirror counterpart in the form of a direwolf, and he with the massive stallion of a horse near the same size. When she spoke, it took his brain a moment to translate, and his tongue a moment longer to relay his own thoughts. His voice croaked from lack of use, but the all the authority and ferocity was there. Perhaps that was why he appealed to her as he did. They were very similar in that regard. Though her title and name bound her to humanity, he knew a child of the wilds when he saw one – they shared a kinship in that. <p>
And perhaps that was why he agreed to help her. His ability to communicate with the horses made his appointment as Royal Master of Horse a necessity. Despite his dark, callous nature with most humans, he fell into the role easily enough as the majority of his pupils were of the equine variety. Part of him still yearned for the wide open plains or the forests again to run free and wild with the herds, but a greater part of him found comfort in human companionship again. It was something he’d not realized he’d been missing until it was presented to him again. <p>
He’d never forget the words Cordelia told him years later when he struggled to adjust to human life again. <b>”You were once free, don’t let them tame you.”</b><p>
</i>
<center>-----------</center><p>

The stranger stood and brushed his palms against his backside, his grey-green eyes falling to a patch of darkness just beyond the light of the fire where his vedo waited patiently.<b>”Fallhaven would have crumbled years ago if I wasn’t,”</b> he rumbled softly. Somewhere beyond the edge of the darkness a soft whinny answered. <p>
<i>Was that necessary to scare them like that?</i> Argo inquired sternly as the giant Friesian and rider lumbered away into the night, leaving the group of stunned and befuddled rookie riders behind. Berek felt a heaving sigh of exhaustion escape him. <p>
<b><i>That’s the truth, and that’s more frightening than any story. </i></b>

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