Personality

Due to a series of rather unfortunate events, Atlas has become reserved and withdrawn, doing his best not to draw any attention to himself and showing very little interest in others in the hopes that it will negate their own questioning of him. This only grew worse after the events that have caused him to be regarded as a ‘legend’, a title he does not believe he earned.

It takes a while for him to let his guard down and allow others to break down the stronghold he has built around his heart, but once he deems you a friend there are no lengths he will not go to in order to ensure your safety and wellbeing.

Even as friends he can be untrusting, his motivations often coming across as selfish even if that is not the case for he believes that he is better off alone and does not wish to encumber others with the weight of his secrets. Boy, does he have a lot of secrets.

Troubled, brooding and emotionless are all words that have more than likely been used to describe the Camelid at least on one occasion when other folk are detailing their encounter of the ‘legendary hero’ as often pranks and attempts at humour will just fly over his head and he tends to socially interact as little as possible, settling for a subtle nod when dealing with merchants and the like and refusing all attempts at any dreaded small talk.

Incredibly studious, when not moping around, Atlas can often be found with his head buried in a book, craving intelligence like oxygen. Secretly, once he is finished with the informative books he likes to use them as a cover for when he is reading romance novels in public, one of the real reasons why his ‘emotionless’ facial expression has become so perfected over the years.

If someone is really hell-bent on befriending this bookworm, they would do well to learn a bit of astrology - for Atlas loves nothing more than star gazing in the night time, he loves to look up at the stars and know that no matter where in the world he is they will always be the same stars he once wished on when he was younger and he always feels more rejuvenated after a full moon, inspired by childhood memories.

[Word Count: 390]

History

Born in a small fishing village, one wouldn’t expect much from a common family of sea-faring horses. A family of nothing. Sure, there were rumours that the midnight black family had once been respectable figures within the order, but that piece of history was lost when the lone heir married a poor fisherman. When the midnight dark little foal was born, nobody thought anything of his dark coat, however as he grew older his black as night pelt began to fade to blue hues, a constellation of blue scales appearing to glitter through his topline. The youngest of seven brothers, Atlas was already the black sheep (er, horse?) of the family, but the more his appearance began to change as he went through puberty; the more they seemed to grow distant. On one unfortunate occasion, a few of his siblings had been roughhousing and had decided to include Atlas in their games, ignoring his protests. As they jokingly lifted him and attempted to slam him down onto the floor; the little foal had unconsciously panicked, his body buzzing with electricity and causing a small jolt to pass through the siblings holding him, dropping him with a short ‘YELP’.

Often, when he had a nightmare and woke up with a cold sweat in his shared room, the little foal would make his way quietly down the stairs, so that he would not wake his siblings, with silent steps as he narrowly avoided the creaking floorboards to make himself a calming draught of warmed nourishment. One night while he was on his way down the stairs he could hear his parents whispering and although he couldn’t make out the full sentences he had known it was about him. As he pressed his ears to the cracked door, he could make out broken sentences from within.

His heart pounding in his chest, the foal made his way quickly back up the stairs taking two at a time and narrowly avoiding the one creaky step that often was the downfall of his siblings late night escapades. Upon returning to his room, he quickly hopped into bed, ignoring the grumbling moans of his brothers as he ducked down deep under his covers.

The next few days went by as normal, and Atlas had thought that perhaps he had just dreamed the whole occurrence, until they had a visitor at the house. The equine was unusual, unlike anything that Atlas had ever seen and even now he struggles to describe him. He was an elder, that much was for certain, and as the little midnight foal pushed open the door he had swivelled his head around to stare at him with a scrutinizing gaze. The equine beckoned Atlas over, walking around him in a circle before he turned to his parents, and the sentence he said next will forever haunt the blue equine.

The unknown equine arranged to come back for him the next day, allowing him to say goodbyes to his family, and his life had never been the same. Over the next few days, Atlas learned that the equine was a mage and he had an assumption that Atlas was as well, he was taking him to a place named The Order who would teach him how to control and utilize his gifts. At first, the idea was laughable at best but it quickly grew to awe as he had heard distant tales of mages and the abilities they had.

His room at The Order was far nicer than anything he had ever owned, there were no hand me downs and everything seemed to be perfectly made with him in mind. It was heavenly. Upon his arrival, the equine had introduced him to another student of The Order, Orla. The two got on greatly, helping him to settle in well and before they knew it they were as thick as thieves, attending lessons and practicing together.

During his stay in The Order, he was often visited by the equine, who was someone of high importance within the channels but alas, he was unable to remember much about it as for some reason, his memories including the elder were foggy at best, as if someone had stuck a filter over them. The equine often asked him questions, asking how he enjoyed his time at The Order and, on one occasion, asking if he’d like to be a part of something bigger. Something better.

Of course the midnight blue equine had agreed, for he wanted to give back to The Order for all it had done for him, for unlocking his hidden potential and giving him the opportunity to make his family proud. To be something, rather than nothing.

It wasn’t until his late teens that he had learned the truth, after his mind had already been polluted by the equine's corrupted teachings and his magic formed into something else, something sinister by his teachings.

By that stage there were a small group of them; the Chosen. All handpicked by the equine, their magic reared in his image as he took notes of what made them tick, of what horrors could occur if they were pushed. He studied them, using them for his own gain and then eventually, he broke them.

He often gave them small trials, to ‘prove their worthiness’ but Atlas knew now that it had just been to see the power he held, to take advantage of the control he held over their feeble little minds. The biggest red flag should have been the mage’s own power, for he was able to manipulate memories, but of course they had never thought of it - or if they did, he had decided they no longer knew about it.

On one particular test, he had paired them against each other, pitting Orla against Atlas and watching with greed in his eyes as they faced off against one another, shouting down commands from his perch outside the pit. Atlas can’t remember the full of what happened, whether the equine mage had distorted his memory of the occasion, or his mind has hidden it in an attempt to save him he can’t recall; but when he woke up, safe in his bed, the very next morning, Orla was nowhere to be seen and nobody knew where she had gone. A few of the tutors muttered something about her returning home to her family, but Atlas had been her friend and was sure she would have left him a note… right?

Eventually, The Order had requested the equine mage’s presence elsewhere and as he had grown tired with his toys, the corrupted elder left. The longer he was away, the more his hold on the small group fell away and some memories began to slip back through the cracks. They had to get out. They had to leave. A few of them prompted the others to tell the Order’s tutors, but the others argued that they didn’t know who was corrupt and who was not and so they kept it to themselves. It was obvious that the mage’s magic had corrupted him, but someone had to be helping him hide it.

They didn’t know where they would go, as much as Atlas wanted to head home he knew that he wouldn’t be safe there. His family wouldn’t be safe there. The group had split up, for it was too risky for them to be travelling together, for them to be aware of each other’s presence for if the mage were to return then he could just as easily round them all back up again.

Over the next few years, Atlas did his best to hide away his abilities and the memories they often brought to the surface, completing mediocre tasks for a few coin in order to survive, shutting himself off the from the world and refusing to make a scene, for it was best he stayed hidden At least, that was until IT happened.

He had woken up in a field. Disgusting, filthy. His midnight pelt crusted with mud and his bones aching. He knew that feeling. He knew that feeling too well. Panicked, he worried that the mage had found him and forced him to utilise his magic, but he had no recollection of the event. There was evidence of a fight, a might fight by the looks of it. Atlas had walked back to the village, his eyes scanning the crowd wildly as they stared at him in awe, their mouths gawking open and he could hear their whispers.

Even now, a few months later he will still hear those whisperings. Haunting him. He retreated into himself, into recluse and has been hiding out ever since, waiting for the mage to track him down for his stupidity. So much for staying hidden. They cannot know. They can never know. Each time, he leaves the village and he does his best to never return, moving on further into the countryside and attempting to erase himself from history.

Word Count: 1518]

Eldritch Energy

Atlas is able to manipulate and control orbs of crackling energy. In its most raw and simplest form it looks like a current of blue energy, but when controlled it can shape and bend to create beams.

The energy is drawn from living organisms, usually himself however this makes him fatigue quickly and so for large impactful uses it is best to use willing hosts.

‘Basic’ Usage: The ability to throw orbs or bolts at opponents, energy is absorbed from his own body, able to summon 1-5 bolts individually without growing fatigued.

‘Medium’ Usage: Atlas is able to shape the bolts, this can include creating a barrier between himself and his opponent - almost like a ‘wall of fire’.

‘Intermediate’ Usage: Summon multiple bolts at once, the more he tries to control and manipulate at the same time then the more fatigued he gets. If drawing upon them in orb form then he is able to summon more without growing fatigued but the bolts will take more energy and more concentration.

‘Expert’ Usage: Atlas’ ability will cause a blue glow to surround him, almost as if the magical energy is just seeping out of him and his crackling energy begins to grow more frantic. It takes a lot more effort and concentration to control it in this form, which is why he prefers to feed it through his magical weapon and allow him to have more accuracy over the aim of the pure energy.