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Description

WIDOAstral Tracker | Moodboard

Eventually they're gonna know who's right
To make a stand you got to win the fight
Can't stand the heat then just stay out the light
For you might never make it out alive
You gotta live without a compromise
Let everybody hear your battle cry

Yeah, we're gonna be legends

Name: Wido
Originally named Widald
Age: 38
Gender: Male - he/him (just for reference, Wido himself doesn't really see genders differently)
Orientation: Bi
Breed: Kirin
Build: Warmblood
Height: 17.2 hh
Coat Color: Mealy flaxen liver chestnut w/ somatic

Herd Affiliation: The Heralds of Ash
Rank: General
Original rank: The Commander
Patron god: Ignacio

Talents: locked
Blessing: Resurrected with Shadow manipulation
Familiar: locked

Appearance key points:
x Balanced, athletic warmblood build, straight face
x Somatic is a batch of darker liver chestnut
x Neck and back covered in scales that slightly change color depending on his mood (darker/lighter and more tinted towards red/yellow)

Personality:
Vehement | Staunch | Dedicated | Valiant | Resourceful | Serious | Obscure | Vigilant | Instinctive | Obdurate | Combative | Overwrought

Wido remembers himself. Glorious. Fearless. Cloaked in glory and graced with the ability to lead and inspire others with his presence. So certain in his purpose.
A terrible purpose.
But to what end?

He remembers now, yes, but the memories bring him no peace or satisfaction. They feel whole, yet fractured, a director missing from the narrative. New memories, old memories, and experiences between them that do not gap the fissure.

Despite the uncertainty, Wido’s soul still burns like the very flame it was crafted by: passionate, fierce and unable to accept defeat. His passion for simply being alive drives him to survive and thrive. He wants greatness for his people; he will lead them to greatness and reclaim their destiny. Wido never allows himself to rest or look back, even when he knows, he knows he should. Near sickly is his fervor, relentless and stubborn his pursuit of goals that seem too terrible to name, yet he goes. Goes with glory, with heart and doubt in his heart of hearts.
For Wido would do his duty, even against his better judgement. He is still a stranger to himself, and he is afraid that he truly is as monstrous as he remembers.
That they all are.

Doubts fuel him. He is less solemn now, more fire and fury. Being angry is easier than being unsure, and so he hides his disgust, his concerns, his conscience behind a ruthless facade. Being a general again is easier than being just a man. Being an icon is easier than being a mere mortal.
Stern as always, humorless even, he finds his joy in a having a purpose and excelling at it. Wido prefers not to share his inner thoughts and feelings. He lets his actions speak for him. A certain decisiveness governs his approach to all things, from simple daily routines to the art of war. Leadership comes naturally to him, with an effortless ease. He wordlessly expects his kin to yield to him the right to make big decisions, so he may guide and protect them.

Like his other trueborn kin, Wido is suspicious of other breeds. He sees co-existence as an option, but pursues Soleil’s vision regardless. What else can he do? He loves his own, for they are all that makes sense, even when they seem just a shadow of better days.
His suspicion remains. Wido approaches strangers with caution, mind and instinct in perfect tandem to allow snap decisions. Assesses each encounter like a battle, with calculated moves of words and actions. Battles of dominance and wit. Interactions are often superficial, or even hostile, commandeering. Only the few he knows from a life long ago see the heart within the scaled shell, but even with them, Wido has his doubts. His reservations.

He goes to war once more, because the King wills it so.
God have mercy on them all.

History:
TW: xenophobia and acts of war
Among the ancient kirins, during their years of pride and glory, a new spark was born into a family of farmers. Widald was a bright soul, born healthy and strong. During his early years he led a simple life of a farm boy, having no care in the world. The wealth of kirin nation guaranteed basic comforts for all, and he was content. Widald was a diligent foal, accustomed to work from early childhood from helping his parents in their tasks. And he grew beautifully, too. His muscles and joints developed into their prime from movement and appropriate amount of strain, making him somewhat bigger and more mature in build than many in his age group. And he was hungry, too. Hungry for more.
At the threshold of 10 years of age, during a visit to the magnificent metropolis of Valore, Ignacio laid eyes upon him. He recognized the fire that burned peculiarly bright in the soul of the young kirin, and soon approached. Widald received invocation from the Fire God himself; a recruitment for Hoplite training. Widald’s heart sang - he was ready. It was a dream come true. Trusting in Ignacio, his parents agreed, and so the youngling joined other youths at the compound of Mt. Oriel, leaving his family and the simple farm life behind.
The training was not only hard, it was brutal. It pushed many past their breaking point, sending them home or crushing their dreams of being a dragon hoplite. But Widald thrived. The more the lot thinned, the more determined he was. Finally, at 16, he was ready to receive his egg. It was a beautiful, dirty gold wyvern egg, and Widald nurtured it with utmost care in solitary. It felt like the culmination of his training, even though it was truly the beginning; a step up from basic training – a promise of a future as a dragon hoplite.
As the dragon hatched, their souls bonded. It was the most beautiful thing Widald had ever experienced, or would ever experience. As his dragon grew, he continued living and training at the compound. During the following two years he honed his skills and the liaison with his dragon, the two working together inseparably. At 18, he was finally finished with his training and able to become an official Dragon Hoplite. He felt at the top of the world; unbeatable. Superior. It was a great honor being part of a greater plan, working to keep his glorious kin safe.
Widald lived and breathed the Hoplite life, always volunteering to stay even during his leave if anyone was needed on duty. There was very little time or energy for anything else, but Widald didn’t need anything else. If he had spare time, he was likely to spend it conversing with Heralds visiting or staying around the compound. There was one that drew him towards them like a moth to a flame, and he would keep visiting unable, and eventually unwilling, to resist that pull. They were married one bright and beautiful day, a short glimpse of festivities amid the busy warrior lifestyle.
In general, Widald was devoted, his soul entirely committed to serving as a Hoplite. His tireless efforts and immaculate track record didn’t go unnoticed, and when the old Commander decided to retire due to old age and old injuries hindering them, he was chosen for the position. It was a decision made by King Soleil herself, advised by Ignacio. Called forward during the King’s ceremonial visit, Widald accepted this duty and swore to do everything in his power to keep Valore and his kin protected. His power to command just below the regnum and divinus, his desires for the kingdom synced with those above him. It was at this time he received his blessing as well, the ability to manipulate Shadows. It became a signature tactic for him to manipulate the huge shadow his dragon would overcast as it flew, inspiring awe in his allies and those he hunted alike.
Widald, too, felt the overabundant pride over his kind. They were the greatest, and not only should they stay that way and continue to flare brighter and brighter, they should spread it. The poisonous bond fed in between the mortals and the Fire God, until one day they marched to war; Widald, as the Commander, proudly leading the troops. The world would know their majesty, or burn.
And burn it did.
First, it was Sirith. Blasts of fire and smoke broke their towns, cities and spirits. The shocked horses were faced with either slavery or destruction. Even the eruption of arcane as Argus shifted and destroyed the very ground under them couldn’t deter them from the glorious goal they all shared. His coat covered in ash and blood, Widald rallied his kin and led them under the burning blaze of Ignacio’s will. Their will. Inseparable glory. Towards Onea they continued. It didn’t matter that they had committed unspeakable atrocities, or that they left nothing but destruction behind. Their purpose burned bright and unquestioned.
They met the unicorns with equal force, continuing forward, ash and death in their wake. They pushed, until it came to the battle on Mt. Skeldr. They were met with the rage of Earth and Sky, and the mountain stood. And just like Widald had led their advantage, he would eventually lead their retreat. Momentarily, zeal was replaced with doubt and rage, the bond interrupted. The bond had carried them this far, kept their minds focused in unison. Widald, too, felt the fear deep within the core, and couldn’t help losing ground despite fighting against it all he could, despite wanting to stay attached to the blazing will of all his kind. Surely they would all be rewarded in the end. There was glory to receive.
In the end, tricked by arcane and pushed to Valore, they still fought. Ignacio’s scream carrying their strength, they chose to be victorious. And for a fleeting moment, they thought they would win, conquer everything. Ten heartbeats. Ten heartbeats of pure glory. And then everything went dark.
His life ended in the abrupt violence unleashed by the gods, snuffed out like all others. The great Commander Wildald was wiped away.
And so he was no more.
For a long time, he was nothing. His soul a mere wisp in Hireath, a whisper of times long past.
Years turned into centuries, and the soul laid dormant. Then, a sudden violent surge of energy that pulled him back to being; filled his lungs with air and granted vision for the eyes that had seen nothing for so long. And it hurt. The large kirin practically crashed onto a tavern table, staring at confused equines of various species in shock as he scrambled to his feet, out of balance and coordination. He felt a deep terror within his soul - his mind was a blur and the only thing he could gather was that he was surrounded by a bunch of foreigners. Enemies. He stumbled out under the cover of the confusion his appearance had created, but did not make if very far. The air was cold. Why was the air so cold? He shivered as he looked around and could recognize nothing. It was at this moment he met a curious filly with a weirdly screechy noise. The little common horse did not seem afraid, and was so small that despite his suspiciousness, Widald didn’t feel afraid either.
“What’s your name?” Avella asked.
“Wid… Wid… I don’t remember”, was the only thing he could manage to get out.
“Wido it is!”
Avella looked at the shivering, confused kirin curiously. It was apparent that the scaled equine was altogether unprepared for a northern winter. For reasons known only to Avella herself, she decided to aid the kirin, suggesting they return to the tavern they came from. The Kingfisher Inn’s owner Ike wasn’t exactly thrilled at the return of the kirin that had left a mess behind, but soon decided the poor guy clearly was very clueless, even traumatized, and unlikely to make it on their own. Wido received a bunk for the night, and then continued to pay for his stay with various gigs Ike deemed him capable of doing. Wido was appalled at the mention of slavery, and thus received the benefit of the doubt. And on the plus side, Wido didn’t seem to require micromanaging in his duties, which was just as well, since Ike would have had no time for such bullshit.
It was soon obvious Wido had a talent for shutting down arguments and fights with scary accuracy, and had cat-like reflexes when it came to combat, but that was about the only thing he excelled at. Due to this he ended up with work of violent nature for anyone who was willing to pay him - he did need to get by, after all. He found it slightly humiliating, like the work was beneath him, but he couldn't place why.
No matter how hard he tried to recall things, his memories were mostly just torn flashes. He felt a deep loss within his soul, a loss he couldn't place, a bond to his dragon friend that was supposed to be there. But the dragon was not there – there was only the phantom pain at the edge of his consciousness.
He could remember that he died, and that it was violent, but not the exact details. And he had his blessing. It was like the thinnest thread of connection to Ignacio. He remembered the god, but struggled to understand the state of things. Sometimes it made him sad, other times angry, downright furious. The rawness of the fury frightened him.
Sometimes it made him think he was just mad, and that scared him even more.
The worst part were the flashbacks. They were memories of a war he didn't remember fighting in, flashes of terrible atrocities. It was like a puzzle with most of the parts missing, and while Wido did try his best to suppress the thoughts, he couldn't suppress his dreams.
The nights were bad – the dreams vivid and horrifying. The mornings were perhaps worse still, as he tried to grasp onto the memories as they withered away from him, leaving only the ache of loss and a feeling of deep guilt.
He was riddled with a strong sense of homesickness, to where, he had no idea. From what he remembered of his dreams, he wasn't sure it would be a home worth finding.

Weeks turned into months and seasons changed, and Wido almost got used to this strange life and his new work as a Mercenary. He could not help the unease crawling under his skin, but he was making it day by day. And then... Then the call came. All the memories flooded back in, crashing through whatever gates had been holding them in. Once more having a purpose, Wido headed to Soleil. He ran like he hadn't ever ran before, kneeling before his King and then taking back his rightful place at her side.

Trivia:
x Very confused by 'gender norms' and genders, in general
x Teke color is ashen, but is fast fading into see-through as it once was.
x Voice actor Torrance Coombs (Reign - Sebastian de Poitiers/Bash)

CREDITS
Character/design/art (c) me

Description

WIDOAstral Tracker | Moodboard

Eventually they're gonna know who's right
To make a stand you got to win the fight
Can't stand the heat then just stay out the light
For you might never make it out alive
You gotta live without a compromise
Let everybody hear your battle cry

Yeah, we're gonna be legends

Name: Wido
Originally named Widald
Age: 38
Gender: Male - he/him (just for reference, Wido himself doesn't really see genders differently)
Orientation: Bi
Breed: Kirin
Build: Warmblood
Height: 17.2 hh
Coat Color: Mealy flaxen liver chestnut w/ somatic

Herd Affiliation: The Heralds of Ash
Rank: General
Original rank: The Commander
Patron god: Ignacio

Talents: locked
Blessing: Resurrected with Shadow manipulation
Familiar: locked

Appearance key points:
x Balanced, athletic warmblood build, straight face
x Somatic is a batch of darker liver chestnut
x Neck and back covered in scales that slightly change color depending on his mood (darker/lighter and more tinted towards red/yellow)

Personality:
Vehement | Staunch | Dedicated | Valiant | Resourceful | Serious | Obscure | Vigilant | Instinctive | Obdurate | Combative | Overwrought

Wido remembers himself. Glorious. Fearless. Cloaked in glory and graced with the ability to lead and inspire others with his presence. So certain in his purpose.
A terrible purpose.
But to what end?

He remembers now, yes, but the memories bring him no peace or satisfaction. They feel whole, yet fractured, a director missing from the narrative. New memories, old memories, and experiences between them that do not gap the fissure.

Despite the uncertainty, Wido’s soul still burns like the very flame it was crafted by: passionate, fierce and unable to accept defeat. His passion for simply being alive drives him to survive and thrive. He wants greatness for his people; he will lead them to greatness and reclaim their destiny. Wido never allows himself to rest or look back, even when he knows, he knows he should. Near sickly is his fervor, relentless and stubborn his pursuit of goals that seem too terrible to name, yet he goes. Goes with glory, with heart and doubt in his heart of hearts.
For Wido would do his duty, even against his better judgement. He is still a stranger to himself, and he is afraid that he truly is as monstrous as he remembers.
That they all are.

Doubts fuel him. He is less solemn now, more fire and fury. Being angry is easier than being unsure, and so he hides his disgust, his concerns, his conscience behind a ruthless facade. Being a general again is easier than being just a man. Being an icon is easier than being a mere mortal.
Stern as always, humorless even, he finds his joy in a having a purpose and excelling at it. Wido prefers not to share his inner thoughts and feelings. He lets his actions speak for him. A certain decisiveness governs his approach to all things, from simple daily routines to the art of war. Leadership comes naturally to him, with an effortless ease. He wordlessly expects his kin to yield to him the right to make big decisions, so he may guide and protect them.

Like his other trueborn kin, Wido is suspicious of other breeds. He sees co-existence as an option, but pursues Soleil’s vision regardless. What else can he do? He loves his own, for they are all that makes sense, even when they seem just a shadow of better days.
His suspicion remains. Wido approaches strangers with caution, mind and instinct in perfect tandem to allow snap decisions. Assesses each encounter like a battle, with calculated moves of words and actions. Battles of dominance and wit. Interactions are often superficial, or even hostile, commandeering. Only the few he knows from a life long ago see the heart within the scaled shell, but even with them, Wido has his doubts. His reservations.

He goes to war once more, because the King wills it so.
God have mercy on them all.

History:
TW: xenophobia and acts of war
Among the ancient kirins, during their years of pride and glory, a new spark was born into a family of farmers. Widald was a bright soul, born healthy and strong. During his early years he led a simple life of a farm boy, having no care in the world. The wealth of kirin nation guaranteed basic comforts for all, and he was content. Widald was a diligent foal, accustomed to work from early childhood from helping his parents in their tasks. And he grew beautifully, too. His muscles and joints developed into their prime from movement and appropriate amount of strain, making him somewhat bigger and more mature in build than many in his age group. And he was hungry, too. Hungry for more.
At the threshold of 10 years of age, during a visit to the magnificent metropolis of Valore, Ignacio laid eyes upon him. He recognized the fire that burned peculiarly bright in the soul of the young kirin, and soon approached. Widald received invocation from the Fire God himself; a recruitment for Hoplite training. Widald’s heart sang - he was ready. It was a dream come true. Trusting in Ignacio, his parents agreed, and so the youngling joined other youths at the compound of Mt. Oriel, leaving his family and the simple farm life behind.
The training was not only hard, it was brutal. It pushed many past their breaking point, sending them home or crushing their dreams of being a dragon hoplite. But Widald thrived. The more the lot thinned, the more determined he was. Finally, at 16, he was ready to receive his egg. It was a beautiful, dirty gold wyvern egg, and Widald nurtured it with utmost care in solitary. It felt like the culmination of his training, even though it was truly the beginning; a step up from basic training – a promise of a future as a dragon hoplite.
As the dragon hatched, their souls bonded. It was the most beautiful thing Widald had ever experienced, or would ever experience. As his dragon grew, he continued living and training at the compound. During the following two years he honed his skills and the liaison with his dragon, the two working together inseparably. At 18, he was finally finished with his training and able to become an official Dragon Hoplite. He felt at the top of the world; unbeatable. Superior. It was a great honor being part of a greater plan, working to keep his glorious kin safe.
Widald lived and breathed the Hoplite life, always volunteering to stay even during his leave if anyone was needed on duty. There was very little time or energy for anything else, but Widald didn’t need anything else. If he had spare time, he was likely to spend it conversing with Heralds visiting or staying around the compound. There was one that drew him towards them like a moth to a flame, and he would keep visiting unable, and eventually unwilling, to resist that pull. They were married one bright and beautiful day, a short glimpse of festivities amid the busy warrior lifestyle.
In general, Widald was devoted, his soul entirely committed to serving as a Hoplite. His tireless efforts and immaculate track record didn’t go unnoticed, and when the old Commander decided to retire due to old age and old injuries hindering them, he was chosen for the position. It was a decision made by King Soleil herself, advised by Ignacio. Called forward during the King’s ceremonial visit, Widald accepted this duty and swore to do everything in his power to keep Valore and his kin protected. His power to command just below the regnum and divinus, his desires for the kingdom synced with those above him. It was at this time he received his blessing as well, the ability to manipulate Shadows. It became a signature tactic for him to manipulate the huge shadow his dragon would overcast as it flew, inspiring awe in his allies and those he hunted alike.
Widald, too, felt the overabundant pride over his kind. They were the greatest, and not only should they stay that way and continue to flare brighter and brighter, they should spread it. The poisonous bond fed in between the mortals and the Fire God, until one day they marched to war; Widald, as the Commander, proudly leading the troops. The world would know their majesty, or burn.
And burn it did.
First, it was Sirith. Blasts of fire and smoke broke their towns, cities and spirits. The shocked horses were faced with either slavery or destruction. Even the eruption of arcane as Argus shifted and destroyed the very ground under them couldn’t deter them from the glorious goal they all shared. His coat covered in ash and blood, Widald rallied his kin and led them under the burning blaze of Ignacio’s will. Their will. Inseparable glory. Towards Onea they continued. It didn’t matter that they had committed unspeakable atrocities, or that they left nothing but destruction behind. Their purpose burned bright and unquestioned.
They met the unicorns with equal force, continuing forward, ash and death in their wake. They pushed, until it came to the battle on Mt. Skeldr. They were met with the rage of Earth and Sky, and the mountain stood. And just like Widald had led their advantage, he would eventually lead their retreat. Momentarily, zeal was replaced with doubt and rage, the bond interrupted. The bond had carried them this far, kept their minds focused in unison. Widald, too, felt the fear deep within the core, and couldn’t help losing ground despite fighting against it all he could, despite wanting to stay attached to the blazing will of all his kind. Surely they would all be rewarded in the end. There was glory to receive.
In the end, tricked by arcane and pushed to Valore, they still fought. Ignacio’s scream carrying their strength, they chose to be victorious. And for a fleeting moment, they thought they would win, conquer everything. Ten heartbeats. Ten heartbeats of pure glory. And then everything went dark.
His life ended in the abrupt violence unleashed by the gods, snuffed out like all others. The great Commander Wildald was wiped away.
And so he was no more.
For a long time, he was nothing. His soul a mere wisp in Hireath, a whisper of times long past.
Years turned into centuries, and the soul laid dormant. Then, a sudden violent surge of energy that pulled him back to being; filled his lungs with air and granted vision for the eyes that had seen nothing for so long. And it hurt. The large kirin practically crashed onto a tavern table, staring at confused equines of various species in shock as he scrambled to his feet, out of balance and coordination. He felt a deep terror within his soul - his mind was a blur and the only thing he could gather was that he was surrounded by a bunch of foreigners. Enemies. He stumbled out under the cover of the confusion his appearance had created, but did not make if very far. The air was cold. Why was the air so cold? He shivered as he looked around and could recognize nothing. It was at this moment he met a curious filly with a weirdly screechy noise. The little common horse did not seem afraid, and was so small that despite his suspiciousness, Widald didn’t feel afraid either.
“What’s your name?” Avella asked.
“Wid… Wid… I don’t remember”, was the only thing he could manage to get out.
“Wido it is!”
Avella looked at the shivering, confused kirin curiously. It was apparent that the scaled equine was altogether unprepared for a northern winter. For reasons known only to Avella herself, she decided to aid the kirin, suggesting they return to the tavern they came from. The Kingfisher Inn’s owner Ike wasn’t exactly thrilled at the return of the kirin that had left a mess behind, but soon decided the poor guy clearly was very clueless, even traumatized, and unlikely to make it on their own. Wido received a bunk for the night, and then continued to pay for his stay with various gigs Ike deemed him capable of doing. Wido was appalled at the mention of slavery, and thus received the benefit of the doubt. And on the plus side, Wido didn’t seem to require micromanaging in his duties, which was just as well, since Ike would have had no time for such bullshit.
It was soon obvious Wido had a talent for shutting down arguments and fights with scary accuracy, and had cat-like reflexes when it came to combat, but that was about the only thing he excelled at. Due to this he ended up with work of violent nature for anyone who was willing to pay him - he did need to get by, after all. He found it slightly humiliating, like the work was beneath him, but he couldn't place why.
No matter how hard he tried to recall things, his memories were mostly just torn flashes. He felt a deep loss within his soul, a loss he couldn't place, a bond to his dragon friend that was supposed to be there. But the dragon was not there – there was only the phantom pain at the edge of his consciousness.
He could remember that he died, and that it was violent, but not the exact details. And he had his blessing. It was like the thinnest thread of connection to Ignacio. He remembered the god, but struggled to understand the state of things. Sometimes it made him sad, other times angry, downright furious. The rawness of the fury frightened him.
Sometimes it made him think he was just mad, and that scared him even more.
The worst part were the flashbacks. They were memories of a war he didn't remember fighting in, flashes of terrible atrocities. It was like a puzzle with most of the parts missing, and while Wido did try his best to suppress the thoughts, he couldn't suppress his dreams.
The nights were bad – the dreams vivid and horrifying. The mornings were perhaps worse still, as he tried to grasp onto the memories as they withered away from him, leaving only the ache of loss and a feeling of deep guilt.
He was riddled with a strong sense of homesickness, to where, he had no idea. From what he remembered of his dreams, he wasn't sure it would be a home worth finding.

Weeks turned into months and seasons changed, and Wido almost got used to this strange life and his new work as a Mercenary. He could not help the unease crawling under his skin, but he was making it day by day. And then... Then the call came. All the memories flooded back in, crashing through whatever gates had been holding them in. Once more having a purpose, Wido headed to Soleil. He ran like he hadn't ever ran before, kneeling before his King and then taking back his rightful place at her side.

Trivia:
x Very confused by 'gender norms' and genders, in general
x Teke color is ashen, but is fast fading into see-through as it once was.
x Voice actor Torrance Coombs (Reign - Sebastian de Poitiers/Bash)

CREDITS
Character/design/art (c) me