[hider=Ophidatl]
[center][img]https://www.filterforge.com/gallery/267.jpg[/img]

[color=cadetblue][b]⟡        ⟡        ⟡[/b][/color][h3][color=cadetblue][u]    <  OPHIDATL  >    [/u][/color]
[sup][sup][color=cadetblue]❰ FEMALE    [b]⟡[/b]    VAGRANT ❱[/color][/sup][/sup][/h3][/center]
[color=cadetblue][sub][u][b]	A P P E A R A N C E				[/b][/u][/sub][/color]
[indent][indent][color=CCCCCC]A ductile doctrinaire of firm, fixed, inflexile figure; at once all curves and right angles. Her sultry swells suggest the sensual scenery of the female form so much as they can, each obscured beneath an obfuscating wreathe of unmelting ember-ice. Preserved within this pristine prismed prison her prim and preening personage presents a vast and vaunted vain veneer, itself an air she holds unchallenged--both sacrosanct and insincere. Beautifully boreal. Falsely fragile. A hypocrisy of hoarfrost huddled beneath the faded banner of a great forgotten house in hidden hope of warmth; that distant and disturbing longing that lingers like a livid and estranged lover within the savaged annuls of her mind. [/color][/indent][/indent]

[color=cadetblue][sub][u][b]	B I O G R A P H Y					[/b][/u][/sub][/color]
[indent][indent][color=CCCCCC]Fractals. Scars. A Lichtenberg figure formed from the passage of lightning. Bits. Pieces. Enough of her past remains to call it by any name but that which it is. Too close to be lost, too distant to be known. A collection of conundrums. A stranger in stranger's skin. Ophidatl: that is the who, a creature convoluted by colliding 'whats'. Rightly proud, but wronged. Betrayed? Betrayer? There is no why. A bittersweet pang of guilt guts her, guides her; flensed of the forbearance atonement oft affords it exists only as an infuriatingly ethereal notion. Certain only that she was either the victim of some great grievance, or its architect. Suspicion abounds: an insidious shadow, the all eclipsing moon. [/color][/indent][/indent]

[color=cadetblue][sub][u][b]	P E R S O N A L I T Y				[/b][/u][/sub][/color]
[indent][indent][color=CCCCCC]Swaggeringly vainglorious and as enveloped in paranoia as she is ice Ophidatl never the less stands at odds with the inclination that she should be loved. Not as something to be self obtained but as an esteem to which she is owed. Adulation is her birthright, though the whys elude her there is a surety to savor in feeling so and an indignation to be had in its absence. Dulled though they are her eyes behold others as much more paltry things than herself, their means and merit markedly beneath the standing that has slipped from her foremind.[/color][/indent][/indent]

[color=cadetblue][sub][u][b]	E Q U I P M E N T					[/b][/u][/sub][/color]
[indent][indent][b][color=db4b30]⟡ [/color]<Remains of a Scepter>[/b]
[indent][color=CCCCCC]An eroded haft of indeterminate material once etched with graven imagery. Now only tactile inspection infers that any engraving at all ever twined o'er this hefty heirloom of office.[/color][/indent][/indent][/indent]

[color=cadetblue][sub][u][b]	M I S C							[/b][/u][/sub][/color]
[indent][indent][b][color=db4b30]⟡ [/color]<Material Zenosyne>[/b]
[indent][color=CCCCCC]A faceted effulgent sorrow in light of which the sands of time sift faster. In her hours of reflection Ophidatl stares into this all consuming mote.[/color][/indent][/indent][/indent]

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