NAME Icarus
AGE 22
ELEMENT Dark
PRIDE Formerly Dar-Vatta.
RP STATUS Open to plotting.
BREEDING STATUS Open to plotting (with RP).
PERSONALITY
Pre-Tainting: Icarus used to be very playful and mischievous - rather normal for a young Corleo. He could be forgetful at times, to the frustration of his friends, but was known to be compassionate and kind toward those around him (when he wasn't pulling some prank or another, that is). Ever curious and outgoing he made friends easily and never seemed to have a positive outlook on life. He preferred to live in the moment, living through opportunity and whatever fancy took him at the time.
Post-Tainting: Losing his best friend wrecked Icarus in more ways than one. He was drawn into the despair of his grief, and matters were only made worse after he was cast out from his friends and family. Alone, he became bitter and angry at the cruelty, the unfairness, of losing everyone and everything he held dear when all he'd ever done was try and stop someone he loved from dying. He is still unable to forgive himself for that failure, and carried the guilt of Decan's death with him into the harsh desert.
His experiences have left him sere and cold, and he no longer seeks the company of others as he once would. What encounters he's been forced to endure have been brief and lacking in warmth -- he makes no effort to share anything about himself, or to learn about the strangers around him. Perhaps it's his way of protecting himself from further hurt -- or perhaps he's merely too scarred to open that door again.
HISTORY Info pending...
THE TAINTING
Every beginning must have an end.
So it was with Icarus on that day – the day when his world was changed forever.
~*~
He is still considered quite young, despite his full mane, and most know him to be a sort of free spirit -- never content to rest in one place for too long. His soul longs for open skies, for vast plains to run over and new places to explore. It is no great surprise, then, that when the humans crash upon the shores of Dar-Vatta that Icarus is one of the first Corleo to the scene, eager to learn more about these strange, fur-less, spider-paws.
It's difficult, at first, to cross the language barrier, and there are a number of embarrassing slips of the tongue from both parties, but his own persistence, and stubbornness, pay off in the end. After only a few weeks of hard work he's managed to learn a surprising amount of the human vocabulary. It's not perfect, by any means, and there are still moments where he finds himself at a loss to properly translate his own words into the thick-tongued, halting, speech of these strange new people.
One human, in particular, helps the process rather nicely. A sort of rivalry is formed between them, these two young males, though all in good sport. Mostly.
He doesn't think Decan has entirely forgiven him for the feather-tarring trick he'd pulled a few weeks back. In retaliation the young human had promised he'd pay him back by showing him up in a hunting competition. They'd decided on a rare, natural, inhabitant of the lands and Icarus, being a Corleo and thus confident in his own greater strength than the human, had readily agreed. He'd show Decan a thing or two about hunting.
By now, the two are fast friends, often passing quick tongue-in-cheek remarks (some of which are lost in translation) as they happen upon one another during their hunt.
At least, this is how they spend the better part of two days, with a chill just beginning to n** at the air, flocks of great birds often whirring overhead as they head south for their winter migration. Icarus often watches them pass in the golden light of morning and dusk, wondering what if his newfound friend does the same.
The track of their quarry takes them closer and closer to the Lotus, but it's not until he spies the dome of it, in the distance, that a darkness settles inside his heart and quickens his step. Decan is faster than he'd given the two-legger credit for, and Icarus curses his arrogance as he rushes to catch up. He can't afford to lose after making those comments about how the human would, once more, have to bow to his obvious superiority. Icarus' pride does not allow him to imagine what Decan's face might be like, smug and gloating.
So he rushes on, even through the dusk, until he pauses, suddenly, at the perimeter of the forbidden zone. His eyes, sharp even in the dark, scan the earth for signs of a trail, some alternate path – but the only path that lies before him is the unmistakable print of hooves and boots, the latter more fresh.
Doesn't Decan realize what this place is? It had clearly been explained to the humans that the air in this area is fatal, and Icarus' heart suddenly slams into his chest as he rushes to higher ground and stops, aghast, as he stares down at the sight before him.
There, in the distance, not quite yet within the mist, he spots the slight form of a young man moving unmistakably closer to the mist.
“Decan, no...”
Had his taunts, his tricks, his playful, meaningless, pranks had a greater effect than he'd realized? Is Decan doing this out of a sense of pride and anger? Or has he really forgotten the risk? Icarus' mind feels thick and slow, even as the blood pounds in his ears like the heavy blows of a drum. He rushes forward a few feet and stops, suddenly, wavering. A low sound of distress escapes him, and then he roars, hoping the sound might reach his friend – his only real friend who he has had in such a long time – and rushes forward. He will pay the consequences, should there be any.
In the end, it makes no real difference.
He doesn't remember much of the events past that point, only vague half-images of memory and sensation. He remembers the Harbinger. Decan's pale, drawn, face contorted with pain and tears and a horrible, terrible sense of confusion and loss, and the low, deep, keening which came from his throat seemingly with a will of its own.
He remembers shouting when his spells hadn't worked, and the numbing absoluteness that had filled him, afterward, as Decan had looked up at him, somehow peaceful – which had been far worse than the drawn expression of his pain – and smiled.
Then, nothing.
He'd had no choice but to fall into the darkness as it consumed him. Resisting it had been futile, and in some ways he hadn't wanted to – not then. What was the point?
But there had been one thing he'd been able to take out of all of it, besides the painful memories, with which to remember Decan by. It was the strange metallic wings they'd found with him, tied to his back. Some relic he must have discovered while passing through the ruins on their hunt – and the scarf, the one Icarus' young friend had always been so fond of. The feathers he'd gathered, later, from the quarry he'd eventually found, and killed, as a closure to their story.
Wings for a spirit that could no longer fly.
