1


fortitude

7


agility

5


influence

7


arcane
Pathfinder

Evette Morn

RankPathfinder
LevelOne
ClassSorcerer
Gender & HeightMare, 16.1hh
Age & Season5 Spring ✿
Crystals130  ✦
WriterSpoupi, 13 posts

Appearance

blessed be the fruit

Once upon a time she was a graceful, lithe, palomino mare with curves and shine in all the right places. Friends, family, and strangers commented on her beauty with comparisons such as "angelic". Her mane was silken and smooth with rarely a thread out of place and she took care to make sure that despite her low standing she was comely. Unremarkable in other aspects, it was her beauty that she doted upon as her only blessing.

Unfortunately that beauty has faded. Where supple curves and glistening pelt used to live now gaunt angles and dull hides remain. The once golden hue of her coat has tarnished, as if a fool's gold, and is tawny at best. The depth of darkness around her eyes and muzzle has deepened, providing an eternally melancholy and fatigued appearance. Even the once cream of her mane is stained, just a shade or two lighter of biege than her body. Unlike much of her former self, they retained their former length despite their lack luster appearance. Darker shades stretch and fade along her legs in mock dunalino markings, but otherwise she remains a blank slate of wheat.

Additionally, two horns stretch from her forehead in a visual reminder of the deal she made with daemons. Their bases are smooth, the color of ossein, but quickly they become ridged and umber. Most striking a change of all is the open rib cage in her abdomen. Her very bones gawk through an oval opening. Typically, Evette will cover her rotten innards with flowers in an attempt to shield others away from the horror and cover the stench, but it is not always successful

Personality

i used to be happy

Evette is subject to development via in-character interactions, this is simply a bare bones personality.

Much of the former Evette remains in this new, undead version of her. At her core she is an empathetic and caring individual who was more likely to give you the clothes off her own back than watch another suffer. While these qualities remain in her, and some instances just as strong, she isn’t as inclined to practice them. There is a new bite to the woman – not in the spitfire sort that lashes out unprovoked, but like a bite of too dark of chocolate a bad taste lingers on her tongue. The sour and distaste for her former life bleeds through the once innocent woman.

She holds a distrust in all, but mostly men. After Dillion’s betrayal and manipulation Evette is under the impression very few speak truth and there are always ulterior motives. Her former self battles with this darkness, and will for the rest of her days, as she misses a carefree life where everything once seemed so bright.

History

it was a flameless, flicking, fake love

What is there to say about Evette? This unremarkable girl came from no land’s of legendary tales nor did she belong to a family of privilege. The day to day was monotonous and dull. Sights seen so commonly nowadays with fantastical equine and magical prowess seemed nearly vacant from her homeland. Well, save for her own inclinations. But as she grew among the common folk she kept her bloom secret for it wasn’t revered as a blessing but the work of daemons and devils. But with arcanum so powerless and so peaceful, how could it ever be considered malevolent and bewitching?

Regardless of being somewhat different than her kin, Evette kept her secret close to her heart and had an average childhood and adolescence. Her story didn’t go awry until her early adulthood when she caught the eye of a young lord, Dillion. While Evette may have been of little standing and claim she had remarkable beauty that seemed to outweigh the other unremarkable qualities of her life. Dillion was a handsome stallion with a finely chiseled jaw and expressive eyes and had caught many an eye himself, although he’d never taken the time to pursue anyone until he witnessed our palomino beauty.

Their courtship was fleeting. Dillion was charismatic and suave and our innocent Evette was quickly swept from her hooves. She had started to dream of a life above that which she lived, where she ascended to the alpha role besides her beloved. But fickle is one’s judgement when they wear the rose-colored glasses of love. Their relationship was kept as secret as her magic. Under lock and key, they visited and for some time Evette remained hard to get. Dillion was persistent with his desires – what some would call the “only desire of men”, and eventually Evette relented to his soft whisperings and false promises.

If others knew, she would be labelled a ruined mare. To give ones self prior to union? Blasphemy! But Evette whole-heartedly believed all of the golden lies Dillion promised her and more and more frequently found herself entangled with him.

Their relationship lasted a long time with little to show for it. With each month that stretched Dillion grew more and more stern that their time spent in Evette’s lovely floral hovels were to be kept a private matter, that was, until he could convince his parents of his affections. Blindly, Evette listened until Dillion’s eyes were eventually snatched by another. A neighboring herd’s leadership visited, bringing with them an equally beautiful daughter. The chemistry between she and Dillion was instantaneous and public. Evette’s disapproval and heartbreak was immediate, until in the night Dillion returned to her for physical pleasure, still weaving sweet nothings into her ears that she was the one for him and all else was simply a public display.

Foolishly, she continued to believe him.

While publicly Dillion courted and wooed this new mare he continued to visit (see use and abuse) Evette in the night. Eventually, the palomino woman became desperate. She pleaded to Dillion to call of his new engagement to the lord’s daughter. “If I could, I would, Evette. You know I love you, but my status demands things of me I cannot refuse… you’ll always be here for me, won’t you?” She remembers the words as clear as sterling bells, to this day, but where they had wrapped her in resolution then they offer only bitter, false sentiments now.

Despite the views of their herds Evette sought out the only one person who could help her: a witch. She was rumored to stalk the woods around their homelands living a solitary life of occult magic. Time and time again there were stories of desperate individuals seeking her out for help in a problem; whether it be poverty, starvation, or lack of recognition. Love seemed trivial in comparison, and easy bargain. So, Evette searched until she found the croon.

For some time the witch refused. She didn’t think Evette had entirely considered the life she desired, or understood the one she claimed to be the love of her life. Enraged by the rejection, Evette told the witch that she demanded a spell to make Dillion love her “at any cost”, because in her heart she knew their love to be true. With a sad shake of her head, the witch obliged.

Evette does not recall the ceremony. Only that she was instructed to drink an odious and pungent brew that slowly blackened out the world. She awoke dirt covered and scared, clawing through the shallow grave to a moonlit night. She could still smell the putrid mix on her breath, as if her very pores leaked it’s odor, but was too excited to consider what cost (besides memory loss) she’d paid for her love. Returning to the herd, everyone was in a bustle. She could hear Dillion yelling her name with ardor. The gathered crowd parted for her as if from a fairytale as she ran to him. But she was not met with undying devotion but immediate revulsion. Confused, Dillion (and others she’d realize upon later reflection) ran from her. It wasn’t until she wandered to some water and spied her reflection that she understood and let out a bone-chilling scream.

Both unofficially exiled and self-castaway, Evette left her homelands with a sick in her stomach that spelled embarrassment, rage, and sorrow.

Arcana

is not all magic a cruel joke

Evette has the unnatural ability to support the growth of foliage – primarily flowers – in the most extreme of locations. What she can grow relates upon the environment (she cannot grow succulents or cacti in arctic regions, or vice versa) but no matter the weather in those regions she can populate an area with plant life. She can promote growth verbally, through gestures, or with her consciousness and no outward display of conjuring.

Apprentice: Reawakening a long mastered ability, Evette finds that the perimeter of her bloom touch has exponentially decreased. Within a yard/meter around her she can promote the growth of flowers. Only the aforementioned respond to her at this stage, although some small fern and underbrush growth mingle now and again. The control is spotty, and in times of great turmoil or emotion flowers bud at her hooves without provocation.

Adept: The perimeter of her magical reach increases and she can control the growth entirely to eliminate unconscious blooms. If desired she can help promote bushes or trellised plants.

Master: She Evette can lay eyes upon a plot of land she stretch her invisible reach and institute plant growth there. Now, she can encourage trees to grow but cannot bring them to full growth in a single day. Additionally, she can help repair and heal injured forest areas or damaged foliage, such as bringing a once burned tree back to life. Virtuoso: At the blink of an eye or a wordless command Evette can spring forests at her hooves and raise them in a single day. Wherever she can plant roots she can sprout bloom, essentially making this undead mare a master at terraforming.

Additional

what is dead may never die

Her personal blooms within her ribs cannot grow in the winter unless she magically promotes seasonal flowers that can withstand the cold, leaving her hallow. Additionally, Evette is "immortal". She is not of the living but not also of the dead. She is suspended in a limbo between the two plagued to live the rest of her days without the pleasantries mortals can have (growing old with loved ones, having friends, etc).

unremarkable, unloved, underground
(eh-vet mourn)
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Scent: Putrid rot, damp soil, and wisteria
Orientation: Heterosexual
Pronouns: She/Her
Face/Voice Claim: Yvonne Strahovski

Credits

it was a flameless, flicking, fake love

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