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Iborcand Svenghouli

  • To say Iborcand is anything but massive would be an oversight, a towering hulk of banded musculature meticulously designed to scream into the minds of the living: Danger! Stay clear!. It is plainly evident that he is a creature that pushes himself to the brink and beyond, every muscle visible through his fur, but also that he will be slow. His entire physicality is designed purely for power, like that of a crocodile he is designed to clamp onto his prey and sunder it without chance to escape. Every movement he makes is measured with this limitation in mind, closing distances to uncomfortable levels to prevent himself from being out of range, and with the intent that every interaction could end in violence.

    Huge straight antlers jut from the top of his skull plate and back far beyond the edge of his head, paired with curved horns that wind over his brow and point upward in an impaling posture, designed to facilitate brutal goring wounds and shattered bones and protect his cranium. Between large shoulder blades protrude what initially appear to be severely malformed wings, which are truly disguised spines that he can raise and lower to suit his needs. His bestial paws are pairs of equally garish display, the front ones are dexterous and long designed to manipulate objects, and wield massive raptor-like dew claws that can be manipulated in any direction like a thumb. The hind set appear more like a dragon's taloned stamp, with a mostly flat paw and a large oposable talon that rests on the ground like a massacre's stiletto. Each remaining toe is adorned with elongated claws.

    His face is much the oddity as is the rest of his body, with over-wide jaws that can open to dragon-like angles and musculature to support an unreal clamping force while doing it. Elongated fangs jut from the top and bottom of his jaws, giving him a demonesque profile and are slightly thicker than normal fangs to support a tight and unbreakable hold upon prey. Trapped within his teeth is a thick tongue that to first glance appears almost normal, though a dragon-like forked tip can slither free to sense the air at will and hide away to protect it as well as enable better speech. His cornea are deep black, with a vivid orange iris and startling white inner-iris that pin-point with a black pupil, giving adding even more to the demonic facade.

    His body is covered in thick luscious fur from his shoulders, ankles, and backside, and cuts shorter through the remaining portion of his body. About his neck is a thick mane that tapers off before his shoulder blades, hanging down from his throat with mouth-clotting length that he almost looks moderately comfortable to lay on. A frock of fur rests between his ears and antlers that often time falls onto the bridge of his nose, kept clear of his eyes by his tightly pointed horns. Four extremely long tentacle-like protrusions slide like magma-hot ribbons from his shoulders and at the base of his tail and move autonomously as if they had a mind all their own. A short goatee-like beard completes the ensemble and hangs from his bottom jaw, and is so often covered in viscera it generally ends in a sharp point.

    In color scheme he is deep charcoal with ashen-grey undersides and huge swatches of red patterning inlaid in almost every part of him. Abyssal black striping begins at his shoulders and covers his body with the intent to break up the solid imagery and aid somewhat in stealth. Throughout every "seam" of his body, bright glowing magma-colored pin striping is visible, cut through to his flesh to give an appearance as though he is splitting at the seam and beneath his skin is boiling metal. Heavy scarring covers his front legs, sides, and nearly everywhere that isn't covered in the longer portions of his fur.

  • To put one word to page that fully and entirely encompasses Iborcand's mentality is a difficult feat, but one mostly accomplished by these two words: Volatile Psychopath.

    Iborcand is unpredictable, and without any real negative enforcement in his youth, completely lacks the understanding of failure or punishment. This absence of moral and physical grounding, paired with a muted form of congenital analgesia(inability to perceive all but the most intense pain/pleasure) creates a unique platform for unbridled psychopathy. He doesn't understand the concept of boundaries, and mentally has never experienced fear. Without these fundamental constructs, he has developed a complete lack of empathy, which in turn leaves little to stop him from getting what he wants, however he wants. He doesn't care if he has to lie, or if he has to beat you half to death to get his way, he will get his way or you will have to make him stop.

    The volatility comes into play due to his "extreme" based emotions. His psychopathy stops him from empathizing and from having any real semblance of a "conscience", however he feels strongly each and every emotion. Where a normal being would feel anger, Iborcand feels seething murderous rage and will strike without hesitation, remorse, or fear of retribution. Love becomes obsession, jealousy turns to possession, and joy turns to complete and utter euphoria. These feelings make him socially defunct, and paired with not really being able to feel minute sensations in his body, some really uncomfortably close encounters. Though he feels emotions, he actively prevents himself from showing them physically, either to screw with someone for his own gain or to for the element of surprise in a combat situation. He actively controls every single fiber of his body, until he can't stand to do it anymore. By that point however, to invoke such a deep emotion to snap him, he will want you dead. Or in his bed... Either or. Probably both. Sexuality wise, he doesn't care as long as he can feel it intensely, and doesn't really care who it comes from so long as its alive.

    On top of all this is a deep and impenetrable obsession with an entity he calls the Black. He believes that everything rises from an abyssal pool, and will return to this same amalgamous void once this purgatorial existence is ended. This thought process/borderline religion is a heavy pillar upon which he's developed himself, and he believes that when he falls asleep he can get a glimpse of his one true love. His veneration for this entity will always outshine everything and everyone else even if he somehow finds someone to truly love in the corporeal world. It is also his belief that everything is forfeit to the Black that enables his complete and utter disregard for his own death. He is not suicidal, as he believes he must impress the Black by ensuring as many fall before he does, but the threat of death will do nothing but make him laugh in ecstasy at the mere idea of returning to the void.

    He is obsessed with the concept of more, he must be more, he must have more. He is compulsively kept in shape, and consistently pushes his body to the absolute limits of its abilities in order to drive himself even further. He is not competitive by technical standards, as there isn't anyone who can compete with him in his mind, he must reach to the limit. Though this is a common concept to most, what they lack is an inability to feel failure. Even if he technically doesn't succeed, it is never seen as a failure, merely a step that must be repeated until perfection. Once perfection is achieved, he will push it further until he dies, or someone kills him.
  • He was born of the Black, blind and deaf to all things aside from the dark. To exist in nothing was one of the only things the cretinous child knew to be comfort. Touch of Mother came first, jarring striking strokes on his skin that left him wet and cold. Sight came second, blinding blaring light that stabbed through his eyes and made him go mad. He had wanted to return to the Black, but it was stolen from him by his sight. Smell and sound came too, a barrage of mewling noises from Brother as he shoved him away from food. Weak pitiful Brother always crying always howling, Iborcand did not reply. He was quiet, so quiet Mother often nudged or bumped him from his course. He did not care, all he wanted was food and the Black of sleep, but Brother never stopped howling.

    Silence was all he wanted, the quiet of the deaf and the darkness of the blind, to revert back to the before. Only in his dreams could he revisit the Black, and even then Brother always always awoke him with mewling cries of the starving. Mother tried to move Iborcand from her belly, wanting loud Brother a chance at nourishment that he was denying him. Once or twice she would succeed, just enough to keep Brother hanging on by a thread. It was too late, Iborcand was growing larger while Brother waned to bones and cries. Soon Iborcand would not be moved from Mother's teats, and when he tasted his first meat he sunk teeth and claw into Brother until he never dared to try.

    His first taste of wolf-blood came during the night. Iborcand had returned to the Black, having hidden himself away from the den to finally get some peace. Brother was sure to die, his body blank and bland like Mother he couldn't compete as Iborcand's horns and antlers began to grow, it was only a matter of time before Silence could return to him. In a fit of desperation Brother struck in the middle of the night, driven mad by starvation his brittle body clawed and ravaged at Iborcand's body, trying to pluck any piece he could get from his sibling. Iborcand only knew of this assault by the vague tugging at his mouth, the covering of jaws over his nose interrupting his dissolution into the Black and awakening him to a blood-covered den. Simple weak little Brother was trying to eat him, Iborcand Svenghouli in his own den. Rage swelled and Iborcand hooked his horn up through Brother's jaw and pinned his skull to the ceiling, immolating him in flame and ending him then and there.

    Brother tasted good, cooked flesh was bitter but still succulent, Mother tasted better. Father, bigger and stronger and bearing antlers and horns was tougher, and Iborcand nearly died in the fight that followed Father seeing his remaining son eating Mother. Father was tougher meat to chew, but delicious all the same. Finally Iborcand was able to return to the Black in silence, free to wander betwixt and whim and want he wished when he awoke.
  • DAM: Flesh-womb

    SIRE:Sperm Donar

    SIBLINGS: Loud Food


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JOINED: Feb 4 2018

LAST ONLINE: Feb 23 2018, 7:30 pm 7:30 pm

LOCAL TIME: Feb 25 2018 at 4:46 am



DISCORD: Riorach#3209

Portrayed by Riorach