CSS by Mis, with help from codes from Unplugged and Alisonrobin; layout and all art by me. Music: 'Song' by Max Richter & 'The Ruins and the Serene' by Kammarheit. 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 rp. Email me at or add me on skype: 'apeldille'. Written roleplays and in-forest interactions are always welcome! |
Calls himself EPHIRÉ; others have named him | The stag’s |
Spending time with Verve and enjoying the cooler weather. (Also, new bio!! Much thanks to Mis for doing this amazing css magic) ... |
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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 and hooves fade into a deep black while belly and neck is 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; he tries to avoid it as much as possible, 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). When actually engaged in a fight, his technique depends very much on his opponent and his intentions. Fights tend to either be very static (protecting someone) or very quick-paced and active (when defending himself). He will, as a general rule, not attack anyone unless attacked first, or if someone he really feels he should protect is attacked or almost so. In that case he is mostly defensive, using antlers and hooves as a shield more than as a weapon. If attacked himself, he won't do much, merely try to avoid being hit and at most try to impair the attacker's ability to hit -- this intention may be clouded by strong emotion, though. But in a real, dirty 'let's see who dies first' fight, he can be a terrifying opponent. Long, nimble legs make him fast and able to quickly pivot away from danger, 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. So far, he's only been in one such fight in the forest, and is not very keen on experiencing another. |
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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. He protects those dear to him, but only if they need or want it; there is no possessiveness or jealousy in him. 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. Sexual orientation is something Ephiré never talks about (and nobody seems to ask, either). The most fitting label would probably be something along the lines of 'asexual panromantic'. • Kind, calm, patient, respectful, accepting, protective (Would not hesitate to protect one of his friends or companions, but only if they want or need it), caring, supportive, rational. • Distant (a coping mechanism. Eventually, everyone he knows will pass away or disappear... better to keep the distance and not get attached. He often fails, of course), passive, detached (always more of a spectator than an actor on this world's stage; events and happenings, things and ages, all come and go in the blink of an eye), powerful, proud, awkward, conflicted. • An acute fear of rejection (an old, deep-rooted fear, and one big reason he tends to keep his distance. Better to be lonely than heartbroken, right?), indifferent, brooding, cynical, cold, bitter, hidden madness (a private kind of madness, seldom seen or noticed; only fully lived out when alone, truly and certainly alone. Very few in the forest has seen even the slightest sliver of the blackness that sometimes seeps into his eyes, showing a very different side to the calm and collected stag). |
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 long time, and has the scars to show for it, both physical and mental. One of them is 'Mother': a silent entity created unconsciously, likely as a coping mechanism, in a time of great need and desperation. 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. Her influence over him has gradually lessened over time in the Forest. |
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. |
• Ephiré came to the forest in early 2009. 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. • ... • He had an important part to play in the great tale of Iaurdagnire's fight against the seasons: I: Jack to the King | Catalyst (By Iaurdagnire) II: Overthrow | Catalyst (By Iaurdagnire) III: Start Your Descent | Catalyst (By Iaurdagnire) ...aftermath (By me) • 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. • Eventually, it was clear that Iaurdagnire's story was yet to be finished: II: Dandelion Hill | War Drum (By Iaurdagnire) III: Warrior Hysteria | War Drum (By Iaurdagnire) • But Iaurdagnire did not come back despite their efforts. • He was involved in a terrible event that left another of his close friends almost dead with the help of his own tines, further driving him into black mood and dark thoughts: [5.] For the Gift of Hands (By Mis and Calinka) • Verve survived, but it was close. Another half-year went by, this time with light on the horizon. Iaurdagnire's fight was not over yet: V: Your Supremacy | War Drum (By Iaurdagnire) The Fortress and The Raven | Epilogue • and more, whenever I manage to remember and find the things. |
The land was not generous there; the farmers had to work hard for their crops, and the woodworkers in the forest wore down their axes on the knotty toughwood trees. The hills were dry and the river was grey and cold. The people who lived there was of few words but with large hearts, and they loved songs and tales more than fights and bloodshed. There were the silver-eyed river people, the brown-skinned forest people, the bead-adorned city dwellers, and the tall and proud farmers on the plains, and all of them bowed down to the same ruler 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, hot summer, and now the grey autumn had come. '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 loved ones die. We need a new god for the lonely', and the ruler heard this. One peculiar thing about this tale's people is 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 created 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', they said. The ruler were 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 ruler, a fair woman of the plains farmer people, held out her hand and called for silence, and every person who had gathered there held their breath and clenched their loved ones' hands, while their ruler 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 the one to be sacrificed this day. The man still did not weep. His hands were still bound with the red rope; not tight, 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 was at its zenith 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. There was clouds on the horizon now, great dark clouds filled with the promise of bad weather, but it was still some hours until it would come. 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, and no heartbeat in his chest. There was nothing in the darkness; he was nothing, he was everything. They chanted and sang, and the priests summoned the 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 new legends of the new god, and everything they said would become true. His head ached and his hands hung limply fom 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 mere newborns, and how long and dark the 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. |
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, ... |
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