Atler, the Cherry at the Bottom of Your Manhattan Female Caprix
Bold #e90e3e
She's the saccharine sweet cherry muddled into your old fashioned, the sugar cube soaked in bourbon, the mint torn, crushed, and floating in your julep. In some ways, her straightforward demeanor and no-nonsense attitude can be just as refreshing as a mint julep in May. It's not that she's mean. She's serious, no honey needed cause she's not keen on catching flies. Her mannerisms are abrupt and often harsh, though they're usually impersonal unless she's been tossed onto that playing field by another. Where her bitterness comes from may hinge on her rank in the romp, but she’s since sworn them off to defend her brother from those who would do him harm. While they may not always get along – as he’s a sugary sweet puffball of purity and she’s, well, liquor splashed over an open wound – she is unwaveringly loyal to him. In turn, any who would protect, or just even accept him will earn her respect. While she’s acidic toward those she deems to be idiots, bigots, bullies, flirts, and all other shallow beasts of the Weyrd, she’s remarkably pleasant and amiable to those that get used to her. They might start to notice she never directly attacks anyone – unless provoked first – and always speaks to the action she detests and how they relate to her feelings. In all her brunt umbran mannerisms, she’s trying to make the world a better, more accepting place, mostly for her brother but also for everyone else. Whether she includes herself in that is unknown.
Atler’s internal beauty is hidden on the bottom of a martini glass full of acrid alcohol. For a caprix, it may be surprising to many other umbra just how pretty she is. She’s husky, with some bulk to her frame but not to the extent an Anu female would have. She’s also long, her ebony fur sleek and preened without much effort. Her white teeth are not stained nor cracked, and even if she says she doesn’t care about vain appearance, it’s obvious to the trained eye she puts time into appearing so effortless. She appears to be the opposite of her brother, a midnight sky drenched in clouds, with no hope for moonlight or starlight to brighten the night. But when that moonlight breaks through the clouds, her pelt is awash in swirling gradients of pastel pinks and blues, as well as neon reds and striking rusts. There is no one pattern nor color that takes hold on her, instead each few seconds brings to life a new color altogether. She shimmers gold one moment before fading to a sky blue until pulsing into a hot-rod sports car red. Her voice is high-pitched and cutesy for sure, a stark contrast to her huskier frame that could blend in with a crowd of males. Her mask is a point of both shame and pride to her. For starters, it’s a ram’s head, something she fought to claim as hers when the choices opened up for Caprix. The fur is grey, and fading darker with each passing month. Crafted mostly from woven grass with bits of fur tucked in, it’s a shabby looking thing, save for the horns. Those are what she cares about. Actual discarded ram’s horns, tied tight and woven to the top of the mask, and inlaid with flecks of golden gemstone. It’s unclear what creature the horns came from, but she does wear the mask with a bit more pride because of it.
She's the saccharine sweet cherry muddled into your old fashioned, the sugar cube soaked in bourbon, the mint torn, crushed, and floating in your julep. In some ways, her straightforward demeanor and no-nonsense attitude can be just as refreshing as a mint julep in May. It's not that she's mean. She's serious, no honey needed cause she's not keen on catching flies. Her mannerisms are abrupt and often harsh, though they're usually impersonal unless she's been tossed onto that playing field by another. Where her bitterness comes from may hinge on her rank in the romp, but she’s since sworn them off to defend her brother from those who would do him harm. While they may not always get along – as he’s a sugary sweet puffball of purity and she’s, well, liquor splashed over an open wound – she is unwaveringly loyal to him. In turn, any who would protect, or just even accept him will earn her respect. While she’s acidic toward those she deems to be idiots, bigots, bullies, flirts, and all other shallow beasts of the Weyrd, she’s remarkably pleasant and amiable to those that get used to her. They might start to notice she never directly attacks anyone – unless provoked first – and always speaks to the action she detests and how they relate to her feelings. In all her brunt umbran mannerisms, she’s trying to make the world a better, more accepting place, mostly for her brother but also for everyone else. Whether she includes herself in that is unknown.
Atler’s internal beauty is hidden on the bottom of a martini glass full of acrid alcohol. For a caprix, it may be surprising to many other umbra just how pretty she is. She’s husky, with some bulk to her frame but not to the extent an Anu female would have. She’s also long, her ebony fur sleek and preened without much effort. Her white teeth are not stained nor cracked, and even if she says she doesn’t care about vain appearance, it’s obvious to the trained eye she puts time into appearing so effortless. She appears to be the opposite of her brother, a midnight sky drenched in clouds, with no hope for moonlight or starlight to brighten the night. But when that moonlight breaks through the clouds, her pelt is awash in swirling gradients of pastel pinks and blues, as well as neon reds and striking rusts. There is no one pattern nor color that takes hold on her, instead each few seconds brings to life a new color altogether. She shimmers gold one moment before fading to a sky blue until pulsing into a hot-rod sports car red. Her voice is high-pitched and cutesy for sure, a stark contrast to her huskier frame that could blend in with a crowd of males. Her mask is a point of both shame and pride to her. For starters, it’s a ram’s head, something she fought to claim as hers when the choices opened up for Caprix. The fur is grey, and fading darker with each passing month. Crafted mostly from woven grass with bits of fur tucked in, it’s a shabby looking thing, save for the horns. Those are what she cares about. Actual discarded ram’s horns, tied tight and woven to the top of the mask, and inlaid with flecks of golden gemstone. It’s unclear what creature the horns came from, but she does wear the mask with a bit more pride because of it.
Alben, the Sweet as Amaretto, Smooth like Cream Male Caprix
#32633d
If any Caprix were to have a persecution complex, it’s this guy. In a contest of Who Has the Worst Self-Esteem, he would take front and center. He's a meek and timid thing, though mostly out of his experiences than his personality. He was cast out of his large family after the mask ceremony when they realized he wasn't a Zomuh and was just a freak of a Caprix.
Because his pelt is completely white.
Alben is albino, which would have earned him some sense of reverence if he had been born a Zomuh. He might even have become a local legend for other romps.
But no, he's just the freak no one can take out hunting during the day unless he'd be going out hunting in winter. And considering the rest of his appearance – a waif of an Anu, if he would have been one – the Ozyrn thought it best to make him truly expendable. And that's the day his sister fought three umbra all herself to take off after him. They'd been together ever since, her crusading for a better life for everyone and him doing everything he could to just not be seen. Which is difficult, all things considered. During night, there's some cruel sense of a joke. He has no coloration. Instead, his pelt just becomes black, with flecks of white that shimmer and gleam the brighter and fuller the moon is. On nights of the New Moon, his pelt reacts inversely and Alben becomes 'one of the pack' by being completely black, even without the presence of moonlight. This was a trait that came to pass some time after he was outcast from his family, but has been useful nonetheless.
Alben has been blessed with two masks, one he likes considerably far more than the other. The first is his given namesake, the left over mask from the pile no one wanted. It's a pure white sheep's mask, made by shaping mother of pearl over a woven grass frame. It has no horns and no expression, a bland mask of conforming into the ranks. But his other mask was given to him by the Zomuh Sararei. While initially he was disheartened it had no powers, he quickly learned it was weird enough to hide him. He knows he's not a Zomuh – he has no remarkable powers or perception of water – but he does pretend with the Weyrd Mask (a riot given it's the Mask of Truth). With that mask on, he's treated with more deference and respect, again people assuming he's a Zomuh and thus more entitled and allowed to be weird. This is his rebellion against those who wouldn't have him, wholly encouraged by his sister. If this would ever be found out, however, he'd be in a world of hurt from other umbra. As far as speech is concerned, Alben's voice is lower pitched and unsure, a gravelly voice that sounds like he's not breathing properly and thus forcing it out in something akin to a groan. He is quite adept at using ink to make art, however, and will use this skill of his to paint calligraphy level artworks to sell for him and his sister. His mental images are sketched in a similar pattern, ink dropping over damp rice paper, spreading out in tendrils to form what he lacks eloquence to explain.
What Alben wants, however, is peace. He wants to be comfortable with himself, but believes the only way to do that is to find someone who takes him unconditionally. Too bad his paranoia doesn't allow him to believe someone honestly accepts him. This has also been disproved by his sister's acceptance and refusal to back down when defending him, but she's his sister. She's supposed to do that (just ignore his other brothers and sisters who helped shun him). He'd rarely engage in a fight, going along with the flow of things in the sweetest and most compliant way possible, like fresh cream poured thick over ice. Any act of subversion is going to be subtle, like his display with the mask.
If any Caprix were to have a persecution complex, it’s this guy. In a contest of Who Has the Worst Self-Esteem, he would take front and center. He's a meek and timid thing, though mostly out of his experiences than his personality. He was cast out of his large family after the mask ceremony when they realized he wasn't a Zomuh and was just a freak of a Caprix.
Because his pelt is completely white.
Alben is albino, which would have earned him some sense of reverence if he had been born a Zomuh. He might even have become a local legend for other romps.
But no, he's just the freak no one can take out hunting during the day unless he'd be going out hunting in winter. And considering the rest of his appearance – a waif of an Anu, if he would have been one – the Ozyrn thought it best to make him truly expendable. And that's the day his sister fought three umbra all herself to take off after him. They'd been together ever since, her crusading for a better life for everyone and him doing everything he could to just not be seen. Which is difficult, all things considered. During night, there's some cruel sense of a joke. He has no coloration. Instead, his pelt just becomes black, with flecks of white that shimmer and gleam the brighter and fuller the moon is. On nights of the New Moon, his pelt reacts inversely and Alben becomes 'one of the pack' by being completely black, even without the presence of moonlight. This was a trait that came to pass some time after he was outcast from his family, but has been useful nonetheless.
Alben has been blessed with two masks, one he likes considerably far more than the other. The first is his given namesake, the left over mask from the pile no one wanted. It's a pure white sheep's mask, made by shaping mother of pearl over a woven grass frame. It has no horns and no expression, a bland mask of conforming into the ranks. But his other mask was given to him by the Zomuh Sararei. While initially he was disheartened it had no powers, he quickly learned it was weird enough to hide him. He knows he's not a Zomuh – he has no remarkable powers or perception of water – but he does pretend with the Weyrd Mask (a riot given it's the Mask of Truth). With that mask on, he's treated with more deference and respect, again people assuming he's a Zomuh and thus more entitled and allowed to be weird. This is his rebellion against those who wouldn't have him, wholly encouraged by his sister. If this would ever be found out, however, he'd be in a world of hurt from other umbra. As far as speech is concerned, Alben's voice is lower pitched and unsure, a gravelly voice that sounds like he's not breathing properly and thus forcing it out in something akin to a groan. He is quite adept at using ink to make art, however, and will use this skill of his to paint calligraphy level artworks to sell for him and his sister. His mental images are sketched in a similar pattern, ink dropping over damp rice paper, spreading out in tendrils to form what he lacks eloquence to explain.
What Alben wants, however, is peace. He wants to be comfortable with himself, but believes the only way to do that is to find someone who takes him unconditionally. Too bad his paranoia doesn't allow him to believe someone honestly accepts him. This has also been disproved by his sister's acceptance and refusal to back down when defending him, but she's his sister. She's supposed to do that (just ignore his other brothers and sisters who helped shun him). He'd rarely engage in a fight, going along with the flow of things in the sweetest and most compliant way possible, like fresh cream poured thick over ice. Any act of subversion is going to be subtle, like his display with the mask.
Kid, the I'm Just A Kid Trying To Survive Out Here Male Caprix Umbran
Underlined #3b1b12
A dangerous little umbran who spends a good portion of his day pretending to be as boring and dull as possible. He's not quiet, so much as the way he speaks is rather plain and beleaguered. Really, it's the content of his speech that is so troublesome.
He likes setting off chaos, taking a step back, and watching it unfold. It's usually in the form of something overly complicated. Setting out a trail of matches to light a rope and burn a net holding a rock that drops into a bucket that- well you get the picture.
Despite not being particularly artistic- most likely since he wasn't raised with other umbra but with his vargul family- he is very good with his little hands. The oddest thing he's picked up is being able to knit, specifically being able to knit rather life-like dolls of himself and his siblings in an attempt to escape their overbearing mother.
He also takes secret pleasure in ruining people's good moods, taking anyone with a positive outlook on life and trying to show them exactly why their optimism is misplaced. Despite his 'mother's' best efforts, he also swears quite a bit.
His mask resembles more of a little billy goat than a sheep- coming with a pair of tiny horns perched on top. The mask itself is made of unpainted wood, unsanded too- so that every headbutt comes with the risk of splinters. There are a few painted spots, but they're random, accidental. He's a little shorter than most umbra, but just as black in the sunlight. At night, his pelt lights up just a bit. Cyan stripes circle his eyes, neck and two unfinished ones wrap around his torso.
A dangerous little umbran who spends a good portion of his day pretending to be as boring and dull as possible. He's not quiet, so much as the way he speaks is rather plain and beleaguered. Really, it's the content of his speech that is so troublesome.
He likes setting off chaos, taking a step back, and watching it unfold. It's usually in the form of something overly complicated. Setting out a trail of matches to light a rope and burn a net holding a rock that drops into a bucket that- well you get the picture.
Despite not being particularly artistic- most likely since he wasn't raised with other umbra but with his vargul family- he is very good with his little hands. The oddest thing he's picked up is being able to knit, specifically being able to knit rather life-like dolls of himself and his siblings in an attempt to escape their overbearing mother.
He also takes secret pleasure in ruining people's good moods, taking anyone with a positive outlook on life and trying to show them exactly why their optimism is misplaced. Despite his 'mother's' best efforts, he also swears quite a bit.
His mask resembles more of a little billy goat than a sheep- coming with a pair of tiny horns perched on top. The mask itself is made of unpainted wood, unsanded too- so that every headbutt comes with the risk of splinters. There are a few painted spots, but they're random, accidental. He's a little shorter than most umbra, but just as black in the sunlight. At night, his pelt lights up just a bit. Cyan stripes circle his eyes, neck and two unfinished ones wrap around his torso.