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SA | Kaisar | Noble

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  Kaisar 002 by manabuns  Kaisar 001 by manabuns Kaisar 003 by manabuns


THERE'S BLOOD IN THE WATER,

BUT IT TASTES SO SWEET.


Name:
Kaisar of House Ignissa, a branch of the Great House Kalama.
Nickname: Kai, Grumpus.
Age: 40.
Gender: Stallion.
Breed: Unicorn, brown agate horns & hooves.
Colour: Seal Bay.
Height: 17.2hh
Orientation: Bisexual Polyamorous.

Voice Actor: tba

Herd Affiliation: Aodh.
Rank: Noble.
Involved heavily in Valorian Politics, owns a Vineyard in Oppulence which produces Red Wine and Tea Houses in Bloom, also heavily involved in the opiate trade.
Familiar: n/a
Relatives:
Nicator — Son.
Coatl — Nephew.
Significant Other: looking!
Lovers: Lilith, Juliet.
Children:
n/a.

Slaves: Qiang, Snake, Clythus.
Business Associates: Ceto, Saphira, open for more.

Patron God: Ignacio.
Talent: Mediator [LOCKED]
Second Talent: Perception [LOCKED]
First Blessing: Shadow Manipulation [LOCKED]
Second Blessing: x
Teke Color: Wine Red.

Theme Song:
Zodiac: The Dragon.


Personality

Amiable but often Stubborn. Ambitious but Cautious, in it for the long game and willing to wait.
Serious with a penchant for Sarcasm. Shrewd and Politically Savvy.
Conniving and Ruthless. Passionate without reserve. Loyal, but absolutely exclusive with whom he owes his loyalty to.

The ease in which he enters the room astounds you, the presence of a man born to power, a man hewn from the texts your tutor used to read, hoping desperately to impart even a sprinkling of it upon you. There is controlled power rippling beneath his scarred pelt, a rugged charm with bleeds into the air as he settles. He is striking in the low light of the room, the candlelight bathes the ruddy hues of his coat and makes him look like he's on fire. Filled with it, and you could believe it. He is molten, his bones must be blackened and smouldering. Such is enough to hitch the breath in your throat, startled and enraptured — caught between retreating from the furnace of a man, or drawing closer at the risk of catching fire. 

Just for one moment, you think, the burn will be worth it if he turns his attention on you like that.

It's intense, like the heat of an inferno at the height of summer, like looking into the jaws of a dragon as flame licks along it's maw and illuminates it's sword-like teeth. Or perhaps it's the look in his eyes which captivates you so. They are after all, a window into the soul. A glimpse into secrets and words you'd wish you'd said long ago.

One is the same as he is. It bathes you in it's fiery gaze with hunger. Within it's slitted iris is a man who has seen much, and bellowed his own song of defiance in return. A man who grins and sends sparks up your spine and turns your bones to lead, the feeling comes rushing back as you stare into those predatory pits. Dragon's jaws, but does it part to unleash flame to erase you from this life, or does the maw close and press close? Let you feel the heat without burning, even if you wouldn't mind. You cannot tell, such is the nature of fire. Ever changing, a comfort in one instance, the enemy in the next. It is a passionate element, it's volatility is it's beauty.

The red of his eye is he rich rumble of his voice at sunset, the usual tone of authority has loosened it's grip, gone with the lowering of Solis magnificence. This side of him you could fall quickly for, others would admire with great envy and pride. He is amiable where he had been stubborn, humorous where his barbed tongue had been coated in acid. When he gives an inch you take a mile, running gleefully with it and he laughs. A laugh so bright that you feel your own bones ignite.

The blue of his other, however, is like a blizzard in deep winter. Glacial. You would not expect such a colour to exist alongside him. Yet it does, for there must be balance in all things, even if you only wish to see the warmth he radiates, both the gentle and all consuming. It is in this eye which reflects the ruin of a man. The cold nights and troubled thoughts which hang like jagged icicles precariously overhead. It happens so easily, so quickly — the fire burns out and in it's place is the screaming arctic winds which whip your skin and shear your cheekbones. There is no warmth when he laughs, it's bitter and cruel. Mocking, severe — it's made to dig deep and prickle your nerves and shred your core to oblivion.

What made that eye so blue? you wonder one night when the chill nips at your heels. Out of sight, you watch him as he lingers on the balcony, like one of the statues in your story books. Rigid, eternal, tormented. You remember the sketches that accompanied the inked words, the ones immortalized in stone always looked so sorrowful. Even with their crowns of gold, their medal addled cloaks, stood on the field of victory, with skulls and broken swords of their enemies at their hooves, their faces are carved with nothing but grief. Even the ones whose thrones are nothing but gold and glittering gemstones.

Nothing radiates from him, at least nothing pleasant. He is stone in these hours. He would spear you if you came too close now, wield those ice lances with expertise and precision that comes with being intimately acquainted with such weapons. He is absent of everything that takes you back to the night where you laughed, just the two of you — he is not so willing to reveal that side of himself to anyone. He must remain a dragon, with a belly full of searing flames. This is the man who stands over the crumpled form of his foes with bitter satisfaction, sometimes it's less bitter and more sweet, or so he's said.

Years, the howling wind sings in answer.



History


His life has been one of obscure but profound accomplishments. No one knows the true reach of his shadowed grasp, only that rumor says it expands far outside Eithne, that he rubs shoulder with rich and poor like. Rumors? he has them in abundance, his scars and experience leave little room for question each sordid, fabricated and truthful tale that is spoken from sober and inebriated lips.

Kaisar has lived a tumultuous life, as many who are under the capricious whims of Aodh. He's felt the unfortunate knife on his back, and the plush, luxury beneath him. He could indulge many with tales of his life, but he feels as though it is a waste of breath. One merely has to mention his family, and the pieces both fall into place and fade away — after all, it is hard to see the other fires if there is one bigger inferno already sweeping ahead to swallow the land greedily.

'You look like a Kalama' some say, over the rims of crystalline glasses, 'but you don't act like one' another piped, thinly veiled curiosity and excitement swimming in the depths of their heavily lined eyes. 'he doesn't even wear the name' is the third chirp of the evening, and soot colored lips pull into a dangerous smile.

The man started life as the smaller, second brother in an otherwise ill-fated pair. Relegated to the spare part of the age old rhetoric 'an heir and the spare', young Kaisar positively chafed at the notion of being no more than a wispy footnote in an already dreary saga. While he never truly disliked his elder brother, he couldn't quite say he harbored any sort of feeling that touched upon love. A loyalty perhaps, but as the years saw them grow from babes to young colts, the youngest son of House Kalama could only eye his brother with a mixture of irritation and exasperation. Certainly, home life did little to improve the relationship between brothers and neither of them could ever say they went out of the way to lend a hoof.

Kaisar found reprieve in the lessons given by aged tutors, and reveled in the training given by ex-chevaliers. In insatiable thirst overtook his growing frame, none which musty books and a droning and dull voice could sate. Watched by the cool, collected eyes of his mother, who had chafed under a name she had dreaded to wear, where one might have spied the first tell tale signs of madness which gave Kalama it's blackened name, she spied hope.

While the father bothered his heir, the mother would take the spare and pour every ounce of her hopes and dreams, even if it killed her in the process.

And all that started with Court.

Court life was perilous, and Kaisar loved it.

In the battleground of intrigue he blossomed. Whilst his family lay in squalor, Kaisar remade himself and rooted himself in connections outside of the poisoned name of Kalama. Within court he established ties with Dorjan, solidifying a bond that would linger throughout the entirety of his life. Within these precious young years he would acquire the skills that would aid him in his ascension, to shed the skin of Kalama and craft himself into something entirely new, and it became imperative to distance himself from the soiled name of his house.

As Kaisar grew into adulthood he set his sights on independence and sought out any means that might help him attain this. He quickly became deeply entrenched in the opium industry(among other things) to establish a fortune and secure himself a place among the more reputable forces of Eithne. Kaisar gained a reputable network of contacts ranging from Briem to the far reaches of the Isle of the Dead. With this independence he was able to separate himself even further from the shadow cast by his house of origin but there was still one final step on his checklist, marriage.

It would not take long for him to discover a house with aging heads and a doting daughter. Kaisar began the courtship with the fellow emin and it seemed the roads to success were paved even smoother for him, but the matriarch seemed to see through his smoke screens, but his fiance’s father seemed to overlook the status of Kaisar’s birth house for his enterprising nature and ingenuity. Still though, the mother-in-law to be would not so easily sell of her house to a sham and began formulating ways to dispose of her daughter’s fiance.

It began with a simple slip of poison into his drink but it didn’t seem the second-son of Kalma would be so easily ensnared so she resorted to more barbaric methods. The second attempt on his life would come in the form of a knife pressed to his throat and though blood was spilled he’d survive yet another attempt on his life. Incompatibility became apparent, so Kaisar sent a fruit basket with a red bow declaring the dismissal of the engagement.

After attempts at his own life, an unexpected twist in his life would unfold. Within the Kalama manor, his elder brother would suddenly take his own life in a catastrophic fire, the man who had sought to repair the damaged reputations of his house finally gave into the plague of his own mind. In the wake of his brother’s death, Kaisar’s nephew Coatl would take the mantle of his house, a cripple youth with little grasp on politics or finance. Despite the distance between both brothers Kaisar couldn’t shake the bitter taste left in the wake of his brother’s death that came without a goodbye. There had been some level of comfort throughout the years, that he had a sibling, and while they were not so close, their goals had been similar in a fashion. Both of them should of weathered the storm of House Kalama, but only one had come out of the fire, so to speak, in the end.

Not one to let the public or strangers see him mourn, he simply had to watch a young crippled eminent take the helm of his home, a boy who hardly seemed capable of functioning without drowning himself in substance.

Despite his distance to the Kalama house, Kaisar seemed to frequent in his nephew’s life despite the endless stream of disappointment Coatl seemed to bring. The young emin’s disregard for political standing did little to repair the damage to their house’s reputation, showing only the wasted potential in Coatl. A potential the Elder Emin would lecture the younger Noble on to no avail.

Still, for all the frustration and irritation Coatl's general lack of disregard and over indulgence brought him, time and time again Kaisar still invested his effort into the comings and goings of the Kalama household — if only for the fact, who else?

For all the ups and downs, at the end of the day, Kaisar wouldn't want his life to be any less than what it is.




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its-just-business's avatar
what a badass. would you ever be interested in Verity?