Neutral Equine Warrior of Mokosh Novice
Alignment Species Rank Buff
36 Stallion — he/him 17hh 1,055ʜs
Age Sex Height Currency



take a breath, hold it in
start a fight you won't win

pronunc. mehl/oh
the star-crossed, schism

Crafted by an impossible union of beckoning stars and unfathomable darkness, Melot is the abyss of space itself manifested 'midst the living.

His pelt is blacker than pitch, which seems to devour the touch of the sun with nary a glimmer, yet in pale moonlight catches a shine; in opposition to this hide of hungry onyx is a limb lacking any sort of pigment, the hind left, a crisp and pallid stretch of white painting its way up to his stifle. The solid separation between black and white give the illusion of patchwork, as though the stallion is made up of more than one beast, particularly in regards to his skull, as the entirety of it is equally devoid of colour. That is, excluding the fine, peculiar spattering of minuscule black freckles which decorate the equine's features, just below the eyes and no further than the cheekbone. Though they are dormant upon his arrival in Nordlys, once upon a time they glimmered, as though each had been a tiny passageway into space itself- black stars, black holes, a connection to the sky and those orbs of flame above.

Beneath an unkempt, almost curly forelock of black, often littered with leaves, grit and other debris, lie two contrary eyes: the left, a vivid cerulean blue, and the right a blade's-edge silver. The rest of his mane tumbles past his withers, just long enough to reach his elbows, although the edges are typically jagged and split, a by-product of his habitual attempts at tearing the hair from his neck. His tail is no different than his mane in regards to colour and curl, though it drapes far lower, quite nearly dragging through the dirt behind him.

All of this colour- and lack thereof- cloaks an impressively daunting frame built for war, withers sloped, haunches angled and muscles toned by the rigors of battle and hardship. He is not nearly as stocky nor thick as his coldblooded cousins, yet what he lacks in brute strength he more than compensates for with stamina and tenacity.



He is frigid waters and chiseled stone, hot blood splashed across a once-righteous blade turned black from the rust of wrongdoings committed in its name; where once existed a whimsical and carefree naivete now stagnates a suspicious cynicism, Melot's mind tortured by both his own demons and those of others, forever burdened by the corruption of reality.

There'd been a time when the star-crossed stallion had known wonder and laughter, the ability to genuinely connect with others and strive to be a greater soul than he was. In the end it turned out to be a rather short-lived portion of his life, a childhood far more akin to a dream than something from his own past; disillusionment struck him at a young age and an irrepressible seed of hate, rage and bitterness began its growth deep in his chest. Ever since, he has known little more than turmoil, mistrust and resentment, suffering a perpetual headache of melancholy as he battles with himself and others over even the smallest matters.

He is unafraid to speak his mind, and bears a tongue laden with oft provocative opinions, but the stallion is essentially incapable of concocting a lie; unkind and aggressive as he may be, he is, if nothing else, painfully honest. Similarly to this staunch faithfulness to truth and sincerity, however, his emotions are entirely legitimate, in that whatever response is triggered by an external or internal factor is never an act. Fettered to his emotions with ball and chain, he makes no attempt to restrain his reactivity, making him not only believable, but inherently unpredictable.

Buried covetously beneath the build-up of years' worth of anger and hurt lies a heart utterly shattered, but aching to repair, housed by an innocent enough yearning to experience comfort and care as he had in his younger days. Lovelorn in a way, Melot craves intimacy as much as he resents the need to depend on anyone but himself, his constant contradictions serving to agitate him more than aid him. The male has dealt with loss countless times throughout his life, and there remains a persistent fear that someday, somehow, it will catch him unawares yet again.

For all this darkness, there is some light that shines through him even still, occasionally breaking the surface in the form of gallant or compassionate behaviour, the stallion harbouring a gentle protectiveness to combat his otherwise possessively defensive nature. Even the faintest flair of humour has been known to appear during a perfect storm, and only in front of those he has come to infallibly trust.

all in all, you're no good
you don't cry like you should


and you turn the tide on me
'cause you're so unkind

Chapter One

Born seconds before his twin sister Sirona in the paradisaical grasses and moonlight of Asrai, home of the self-proclaimed Lights, Melot was immediately introduced to the comforting embrace of a doting mother. She, kissed by constellations and empowered by the stars they depicted upon her pelt, did bestow a garnish of stars unto both he and his sister, so that they too might one day conjure magic from those glimmering markings mirroring those in the sky above. Sirona was laced with stars pale and bright, yet when Melot received his own, they did not shine, did not thrum with the energy of Light and purity- no, instead they tarnished his moon-white face with black sparks, aglow in their own abyssal way, humming with a resonant power far different than that of his mother's and sister's. Dismissing this as harmless, his mother thought nothing of the peculiar variation of starlight upon his face and neither did his father, when they finally met.

As the colt grew, he was given the privilege of teachings by the dedicated scholars and scribes of the herd, most notably his own father, the philosopher who went by the cognomen Formaldehyde. For a time, these studies provided invaluable insight and wisdom, quelling much of his hot-headed and intense emotions, molding them into something positive and helpful for the betterment of both himself and the Lights. However, being force-fed doctrines and told what it was to think 'properly', to act in righteousness, soon took its toll on his temperance, and the colt soon felt an insatiable yearning to experience the far less sophisticated field of battle and warfare.

Conflict was quick to follow the young male as he hounded his less peaceable dreams, regarding his father with growing disdain and a budding belief that those who chose philosophy over war were simply cowards, and his ever-absent mother with a resentment born of bitter longing. It was during a meeting with his father to discuss the path he had begun to travel that a true distaste formed, Melot mistaking his father's insistently overbearing nagging as sanctimonious, when in truth the stallion only wished for his son's safety and well-being. As any moody, disobedient teenager would, he soon forsook his father's ways and officially took the mantle of warrior in the name of Asrai. With his power over the stars, he was able to summon falling stars and use their metals to forge unbreakable weapons, which he used in combat.

As a young stallion with a handful of victories in battle under his proverbial belt, Melot found himself quite alone even among the rest of the herd; his father had taken wary distance, his mother had all but vanished, and his sister had abandoned the herd without a word, breaking away on an excursion she never returned from. Already starting to feel the twistings of resentful anger and confusion by this point in his life, the star-crossed was blessed with a meeting he would take to heart, one involving a filly a year or two younger than he. Indre, she was named, and her pelt was as fair and pale as his was abyssal, her impudent yet genuine air a refreshing wash to the dark nihilism of his own. It was over the many weeks they spent playing, sparring, musing and dreaming that he vowed to protect her, even bringing down a star from the night sky to present to her as a gift, and after a year, it became apparent that the stallion had fallen for the spirited young mare.

Fate never had happiness nor kindness in the cards for the pair, though, and by the cruel whim of Chaos, the deity of the lands in which they lived, the continent was rent in pieces, devoured by the maw of the unforgiving sea. Nearly drowned and with sprains and a rattled mind from the impact of hitting water from on high, Melot would wake upon the shores of a nameless land that natives would come to inform him was known simply as 'Four'. Little did the stallion know that several of his fellows from Chaos' land had also wound up in this cursed place, each of them, himself included, stricken with maladies which detracted greatly from their health- some with permanent famine which never actually killed them, others with contagion, and worse. Melot himself experienced a torturous separation from his star magic, the pain warping into an elemental manifestation of fire and heat, as well as an irrepressible and gut-wrenching rage which seethed through his very blood. Wrath had claimed him in the name of War, snapping any sense of self in half as he succumbed quickly to the neverending hate and anger, losing what remained of his innocence and morals.

Chapter Two

This new, cruel world broke him into many a piece, and though he spent the months living there attempting to salvage himself, he remained a breathing fracture by the time he met one equally hateful, shattered mare. Tainted with the poison of Famine, leaving her nought but skin and bone, the antlered Eyouna would pick him apart like one splits hairs, and in return Melot cast her into his shadow; between them soon grew a mutual disgust and obsession, a foul mixture of love and hate which took them by the throats, each of them as unwilling to be delved into as they were willing. Violence was their lover, abuse their sustenance, a whirlwind of cruel remarks, brutal beatings and sensual trysts making up their toxic relationship as they spent the years struggling through the pain of their curses by using one another as a crutch, with neither admitting their dependence. As fate would have it, however, irony came into play when Indre discovered him with his new muse, for the palomino had reached Four as well, and after a handful of telling meetings, she turned her back on the fallen knight and all he had done. Turning his broken-hearted rage upon Eyouna, he fought her tooth and claw until there was no more fight left- at least for that day. Little did he know that it was to be the same day Eyouna would conceive his child as they reconciled in the way they always had.

Whether for better or for worse, Melot broke his bonds to the doomed lands of Four, and before he ever had a chance to be made aware of his future child, he fled, abandoning Eyouna, Indre, and every other damned soul he had come to know. Several lands did he wander since then, wearing no banners nor proclaiming any allegiance to those who inhabited each, opting to bypass their petty troubles and ideals with an indifferent coldness. With Wrath no longer wielding his heart and his magics of flame and stars gone, the stallion's temper had mellowed somewhat, but not nearly to what it once was- the damage done to heart, mind and body was permanent, leaving him a beastly wretch with morals skewed at best. He had believed in too much, had lost too much, had felt too much to do so again. Or so he'd convinced himself.

Yet here he lingers, now, upon the soil of Nordlys; there is an unmistakable pull to the land which keeps him here, and though he might deny a sense of belonging, he knows he is here for a reason.

Within Nordlys


Iaoel Acquaintance.
Aylin Friendly acquaintance.
Maxence Herd Warden. Acquaintance.
Euryale Acquaintance.

i will always be here
for the rest of my life



Untouched by time, literally grasped by the Nordlysian dead within the Mires of Grimnodas and granted- or cursed- with everlasting life.

Black stars upon his face may glow or appear to shift if one looks too long; in the sunlight, they are abyssal, whilst in the moonlight they seem to emit an impossible shine, much like oil.

It begins much like the formation of a star: delicate, a unity of space, time and the perfect storm of elements which then spark and coalesce. At first, the power is weak, rather a burden as opposed to a gain, yet it is a power all the same; a connection with the stars is rekindled as it once was in his past, allowing him to coax stars of the smallest, youngest variety nearer to him from the skies. They cannot however be brought down from the heavens, nor can he harness their essence at this stage, and the price of exercising this flimsy birth of magic is near-blindness for a day or two after its use, along with severe headaches and exhaustion.

Growing accustomed to the revival of his magic, Melot is now capable of beseeching the stars not only to draw near, but to shed some of their precious elements so that he might reel them into the world. Precision is lacking, however, and the star fragments are as likely to fall halfway across the earth itself as they are to reach him. Should they even come close to where he is, they would be of no use save for decorative, much like a found geode or seashell, as he cannot yet mold the star-metal to his will. The cost of using this is no longer as punishing as the beginnings, though it does take a toll, still instigating bouts of nasty headaches and even fatigue. Near-blindness would only occur now should he attempt to force his magic beyond its present potency.

He has finally rediscovered control and precision with his magic, and is now fully able to bring a portion of a star of his choosing from the skies to his exact location. Not only this, but the elements within the star fragment have begun to respond to his whim, malleable in his proverbial hands yet stronger and more durable than any known terra metals. At this stage, he can craft rather simple, unpolished wares such as neck plates/necklaces, face plates, shields, maces and other such items, though they do not have an artisan's polish and appear rather crude despite their incredible durability. Additionally, Melot has found the ability to summon any star-metal present in Nordlys should he wish, meaning he could very well 'retrieve' his wares from those he's given to, unless a magic of their own should interfere. Molding the star-metal is a tiring endeavour, but not nearly as much as drawing the star-metal from beyond in the first place. Botched attempts might lead to headaches or near-blindness for a few hours, but this has become very uncommon.

Melot has remastered his starforging craft, no longer fettered by inadequacy and weakness; he may draw stars from the sky at will, albeit with consideration of the fact that doing so is still a tiring endeavour. Molding the star-metal has become as easy as thinking and breathing, allowing him to bend it entirely to his will, and thus smith incredibly ornate, eye-catching platinum-hued weapons and armour such as javelins, swords, headgear, back plating and so on, with unmatched strength, durability and stainlessness. There is no battering nor rust able to mar the star-metal, meaning it will retain its pristine appearance well after its user has returned to the dirt. In addition to holding sway over the form of star-metal, he can also wield it as easily as one might with a hand, meaning he is a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield, usually employing a javelin to swing, jab and hurl with his mind's grasp.


Arms & Armor

Trinkets & Accessories

5 8.5 8.5 65 Novice 1
5 4 9 5


Battle VP: 1


Alchemy VP: 0


Stealth VP: 0


Avatar by Veradaine
Banner by Dozymare


OOC name: Formaldehyde
Characters: Antioch
Plotter: link
Threadlog: link
Table Tracker: link


Discord: Pandalanda#7922
Deviantart: panderkat