Nomad - 28 years
Played by LixyLime

He hardly bothers to keep track of time as it passes him by steadily. It mattered little to the man as he wanders, permitted feathered obsidians to carry him wherever they so desired to. While some were concerned with where they were going or who they might find on the way, Fynnic was not. What was there to be concerned for? The scents of his kind were faint here in this unknown forest, and so he drew the conclusion that the likelihood he would encounter another would be slim. Ah, but the fates certainly had a strange an affinity with something known as unpredictability. Anything could happen. He could go on for miles through the dense overgrowth of vegetation and find no one, or he might only venture a few strides further and somehow find himself face to face with a stranger. Though he would always prefer to former rather than the latter, the universe has proved to him time and time again that it cared not for what he wanted. After all, was it not the gods that stole away nearly everything the man loved? Was it not the fates who had stripped him of his proudest moment, made all that he'd worked for worth less than the very dirt beneath his hooves? So, why should the beast care what would come? With his tall stature of eighteen hands high and thick warrior's build, sporting seasoned and well-defined muscular with lethal potential should such odds come to be, the stallion of mismatch color was hardly concerned about whatever predators might stalk these grounds. And, if he could not rise to the challenge, it would just put him out of the misery that plagued him each and every day. So, really, what else did he have that the gods would want to take from him?

The faint clinking of metal links as they collide with their brethren ring out for only the forest-dwelling wildlife to hear, the fading light of the sun barely managing to break through the dense trees causing the chain settled around his thickly muscled neck to gleam weakly as he walks further into the unfamiliar. Twin harks swivel to catch the sparse chattering of what few birds still dared to let loose the song of their kin into the cool air, just as uncaring as the stallion that the sun has already set beneath the western horizon. A gentle gust brushes against his face, toying lightly with his sabled forelock and brushing unruly strands away from strange silver-hued eyes that seemed to glow ever so slightly in the shadows that draped themselves over his strong back. And yet, none of this pulls any sort of contentment from the beast. There is no soft sigh that ushers softly past his pale lips, nor is there a soft smile to be found upon his face. His eyes are so very distant, almost cold as they take in the world around him out of sheer habit, knowing better than to ignore even the slightest shifting of a shadow or sudden stirrings of a bramble. He could not remember the last time that a smile has graced his features... but, again, that hardly mattered when he always went out of his way to avoid others. His strong heart beats steadily and without signs of racing in excitement at the prospect of the unknown which lays ahead of him. Bliss does not find him in the serenity of this forest where it might find those who were lovers of such things. There is only solemness as he watches the landscape begin to change, the trees starting to thin and allow for his gaze to slip between their trunks to see something that almost awakens a memory within Fynnic.

Stepping from the forest, the stallion finds himself before structures of stone. It is clear by how the greenery growing within their unkempt cracks and crevices that nothing has called them home in decades, perhaps even centuries. And yet, they were not too unlike the very structures that his clan would build to keep themselves dry and sheltered from mother nature's many moods. They were ancient, these temples... A younger Fynnic would have mused the civilization that resided here, wondered what might have happened for them to leave this place. Maybe they'd perished at the cruel hands of sickness, or perhaps war driven by strife had befallen this forgotten place left for nothing but fungi and flowers to make their homes now. As he ventures further, each step sounded by a dull click as obsidians struck the smoothed stones beneath him, silvered eyes can see tree roots breaking through the very surface laid down to prevent their overgrowth, their resilience worn by time and many years void of care. Brambles and blackberry bushes grow wild here where once they would have been unable to survive. He reaches the heart of the ruins now, and it is here that a proud and ancient tree whose trunk is vast and twisted towers above even the tallest temple. Its silhouette stands ever-enduring against a twilight sky, the heavens painted gradient shades or darkening pinks and purple as night encroaches upon the earth. Still, Fynnic's features remain solemn, unwavering in the breathtaking scenery laid out before him that so many would have swooned over as he stands there amidst a forgotten place, where forgotten souls once lived. He wonders then if he has found this place for a reason, if there was any meaning to this discovery of his. Perhaps, perhaps not...

Maybe he would simply stay here to be just as lost and forgotten as the very stone structures which surrounded him and the ancient tree.

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- 25 years
Played by Paperclips
Zephyra looked around as she explored her new home. She wasn't sure what home was supposed to feel like anymore. All of her family had been either killed or lost in the chaos that the blaze left behind. The young appy mare wanted answers but knew she'd never get them. It was simply best to keep moving on. She was raised to be strong and do whatever needed to be done and hold her family together. But now what? All of them are gone, what was a young mare to do? Maybe she would hold up her own land and band a herd together? Or maybe lead alongside someone else and carry on her family's legacy?

Zephyra had a lot to think about as she wandered through the ruins. She honestly wasn't sure she'd see anyone else until she nearly bumped into a drafty looking stallion. "Oh! I'm deeply sorry! I've been so lost in my own thoughts. Forgive my clumsiness. My name is, Zephyra, princess Zephyra." She gave a faint smile and gave the male some space. Her dark brown eyes stayed focused on him, noting his scars and unusual markings. She took the time to admire his strong looking build and tried to get an idea of what kind of stallion he was. Zephyra wasn't really worried about love, but she thought this stallion at least had the potential to be a strong leader. For now her main interest was learning his name, being able to see and talk to someone else since the disaster was a good distraction.
Nomad - 28 years
Played by LixyLime

There is something about this melancholy place, swallowed by mother nature and the passing of year upon year, that somehow offered the beast the smallest sliver of... contentment. He can feel his gift sweeping across the worn and tattered structures effortlessly, the thick concentration of the minerals beneath his heavy and feathered obsidians almost completely consuming the alchemist's senses. It was almost like the sound of tumbling ocean waves, the rhythmic thundering as they would crash against soaked, sun-bleached grains. Though there was only the fading symphony of songbirds within the canopy of the trees standing at the edge of the ruins which was slowly surrendering to the chirping choir of crickets hidden within the wild blades and thick vegetation, the sensations borne of being surrounded by countless minerals such as the abundance of quartz, granite, shale, calcite, limestone, and marble he can feel here act very much like the soothing sound of ocean tides so many found peace and contentment in. In a way, the minerals buried deeply within these abandoned structures was very much like the ocean to the chimera stallion, providing a sort of white noise that drowned out the whispers of a past the man never seemed capable of escaping despite his best efforts. He has always found a perhaps unusual sense peace when he is surrounded by the very minerals he had studied and crafted with for so many of his young years. Then again, Fynnic has always found a strange contentment in working tirelessly to craft ore and mineral into the armor and weaponry that Brannis had been known - and envied - for. Like many kingdoms, it was something that was used as currency or something of deep value one could use in trading and bartering, levying many other resources that perhaps were not as easily found.

In a way, this made The Sloan Clan an asset to the high council of Brannis. While most within this realm were known for their abilities to find and craft minerals into useful resources, even beyond armor, it was the Sloan family that was among the more talented of alchemists and crafters. They could not only make titanium armor for the warriors safeguarding Brannis, but they were also capable of building strong structures such as shelters for families and walls to divide the outside nations from their own. So, it came as no surprise that there would be several members of the chimera's clan in the high council. The stallions were desired blacksmiths and architects as well highly respected teachers of the alchemy magic for those born with a similar gift of elemental transfusion. The mares were just as capable of this alchemy magic as the stallions, and yet they were sought after as brides and home-keepers, treated perhaps with even more respect than the men. It went without saying that the Sloans were just as respected for their wisdom and abundance in alchemists as they were renowned for their strength and will to match the iron and steel they made. It was why Fynnic was the way that he was, why he was both powerfully built and capable of strength as he was capable of crafting structures and armor. And, perhaps, it is why the betrayal of his family and his nation that has made the beast a bitter and loathing creature who wanted nothing more than to forget what the scarred-over mark upon his left shoulder once meant. Everything that he had worked for, all the countless hours and days spent studying and bettering his alchemy magic... it had been ripped away from him without cause as the high council passed their blind judgement upon the man who would have proudly perished serving his clan and their kingdom until his last dying breath.

Fynnic feels that small sliver of contentment stolen away from him as relentless memories are dredged up from the memories that always seem to find him. He can feel the familiar anger within his slowly beating heart at the center of his broad and powerful chest as strange silver-ed eyes continue to watch the darkening sky. Within this rage that is only betrayed by the pinning of twin harks against his skull and an agitated flick of mismatched whipcords, there is something more... and it is this very thing that that separates him from those who sought release in destruction and setting fire to the world in their wake. Flickering within those strange and faintly glowing silvered eyes, is a fierce defiance against the turmoils of his past life. As purposeless as his life was now, the alchemist wanted to build something better. Though he was so grasped by bitterness and melancholy that he cannot feel the defiance which is so very faint within the flames of his loathing of the injustice he has suffered. Still, there is a nearly forgotten ambition to make a purpose for himself out of the figurative ruins he has wandered through each and every day. Brannis may have stripped the alchemist of his family name and reduced him to nothing more than some wayward beast wandering across the earth aimlessly and without caring as to where it was he ended up, but neither his treacherous country or their false accusations they'd saddled him with for the rest of his lifetime on this mortal plain of existence would ever be able to steal from him the pride he would always have in his own talents and strengths. Wounded and bitter did not a weak and broken man make. He would not allow his past this privilege, nor would he allow the rest of the world a chance to wound him further if the chimera had anything to say on the matter. And so, he has built the strongest of walls within himself.

He hears the sound of another's obsidians against the stones of this place, and yet he does not move from where he stand. Instead, he merely swings his large, proud head slowly towards the sound, and soon, a splashed and spotted femme appears from around one of the temples. She must have been lost within herself as well, for it is only just before her much smaller and slender frame collides into Fynnic's that she suddenly stops, surprise falling freely from her expressions. An apology is the first thing which falls from her lips, confirming the chimera's suspicions, once pinned harks now forward, silvered eyes resting firmly upon the woman. And, just like that, she introduces herself with a faint smile as she retreats a few steps away to allow some sense of personal space between them. A princess? How... unexpected. And yet, her scent is not of this place, and so he knows that she does not belong here just as he does not - at least, not yet. The alchemist does not bow to the femme, but he does at least turn to face her, his own expression solemn and lacking the same casual warmth he can see within her own."It's fine", husky tones answer fleetingly, his tenor voice coarse from lack of use. It is hard to tell if he truly meant what he said, that it was fine and he had accepted her apology, but he does. He does not miss the way she studies him, the skin upon his shoulder twitching as her dark gaze settles ever so briefly upon the scars there. He in turn takes this moment of relatively awkward silence to study her, seeing her refined beauty and elegance, the confidence she seems to carry herself with. It took little effort for the man to draw his first impression of her, neither a good or bad one. Rather, it was an indifferent one. Remembering customs, he is hesitant, and yet he is not uncivilized or barbaric."Fynnic", he says then, offering his own name as payment for hers.

It was deafeningly clear the alchemist was far from socially adept, as he now stands there with the appaloosa femme silently, unsure of how it was someone like her found their way here to this forgotten place.

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