Name: Ouray.

'arrow'

Age: Twenty-two.

Gender: Masculine.

Appearance: Ouray is an individual with a stature of 5"9. He's grew up being a rather lanky individual, and while he still remains somewhat skinny, he also has several muscles around him. Ouray appears weak, but he is physically strong indeed. In terms of appearance, the male has dirty blond hair. It's a mixture of browns with blond streaks splattered around, and usually sits rugged and messy upon his head. It remains short, but long enough to brush against his eyebrows or eyes, and is also slightly curly.

His eyes are a deep brown, almost black, and he has a defined jawline. Ouray is handsome indeed, but in a rugged, cute way, as if one were looking at a puppy. His nose has a small bump on the bridge, most likely from taking a fall as a child or breaking it. He has brown eyebrows and a small nick that had scarred on his chin and beneath his right eye. He also has several piercings on his ears.

Ouray has fair skin, but considering he spends most days outdoors, he has developed a more tan complex due to the sun. He has a welcoming aura radiating around him that is inviting and warm, but that aura can also warn others not to approach him. He walks with a prep in his step, as if he looks forwards to whatever destination he is heading towards. The male, given long legs, is also fast and resembles a buck. The deer, although peaceful, will attack when provoked or deemed in danger.

Given his witch abilities, Ouray has a small marking upon his wrist that takes the shape of a flower, a strong giveaway of his supernatural abilities.

Personality: Ouray, above all, is loyal and peaceful. He takes the calmer approach to situations and is a gentle thing. However, he also knows when to be strict. While he may be clumsy at times, he is surprisingly mature, even if he often radiates the opposite. Well, sometimes he does. Even an individual such as himself has a playful side, and unlike others, Ouray doesn't hide it.

He is very committed to his duties as a witch, often found foraging in the forest or trying to improve. He is also selfless. Never will you see him turn another in. He could be battered and bruised by an enemy, and even then he would stay silent.

Ouray is reserved when it comes to himself, but once he trusts another, he can become rather playful and talkative and doesn't hold back with comments. He is warm and welcoming, and tends to emit that aura. Sometimes, he emits another, warning others to leave him alone. It truly depends on the male's mood for the day.

He is one who preaches for peace and order. Anybody who begins chaos is automatically deemed unworthy in his opinion and will not gain his respect. Even if it isn't his place, he will speak out about a wrongdoing and isn't one to be easily persuaded to do something against the rules. Ouray often voices his opinions if he believes in something strongly, though he prefers to sit off to the sidelines. He can be extroverted at times and make small talk with others, but also likes spending time alone.

Ability:

- Can turn into a deer, as it resembles nature; wild and free

- Can create powerful potions, but sir is bad at it

- Can cast spells, but he is bad and it turns out wrong

- He is good at foraging and healing (and identifying herbs)

- kinda a botanist?

Backstory: (vague, but whatever) Ouray used to live within the heart of Devolra, a Kingdom powerful and large. It was peaceful there. A lovely community where he felt accepted, that is, until the Kingdom declared war. The Kingdom, knowing that with the supernatural beings on their side they could overthrow everything, tried to recruit them. However, many refused, including Ouray. As a result? All supernatural beings are being hunted and being taken as captives as punishment. Ouray was forced to abandon his home and take what little he could carry and leave. He found refuge to the nort in a forest, hidden deep behind foliage and twisted rivers. There, Ouray built a hut. There, Ouray lives.

Polly's Character

The man is one of a tall, powerful build, standing at 6’5”, and having a body to match. His limbs are filled out with muscle, the hardened tissue being plain to see on his back and abdomen when he is without a shirt. He has long arms and legs, although they are not gangly--they rather suit him, considering his height. He has proportionate hands, large enough to fully encompass a ‘normal’ heighted persons’ hands easily. He has this certain care-free way of moving and talking, as if he doesn’t have a single care, or anything to worry about. And, in truth, he’s a demon. He doesn’t have to worry about anything.

The demon, powerful and imposing figure aside, is of a handsome appearance. He has a defined jaw, accompanied by equally defined cheekbones and his tanned skin. He has a head of short, but a bit scruffy, brown hair, although it is rather interesting rather than a plain brown. It has shades and streaks of darker brown, perhaps something closer to black, and other shades of more auburn-gold. It falls around his ears, with a slight fringe across his forehead, but it tends to stick up at odd angles, as if he were but a child.

In the nature of aggression, he has a certain few animalistic traits. He tilts his head and moves in an animalistic fashion, often snarling or growling to show agitation rather than vocalising it. But then, in the underworld, snarls and screeches is how to get your point across more than mere words.

Chex is, perhaps, a bit arrogant or cocky. He is a creature of innate chaos, a creature of death and desctruction, borne of the very anarchy that makes up day-to-day life. He knows that he is powerful, knows that he could crush the skull of a human in his palm if he wanted, that he could rally armies of demons to his every beck and call. The only things that stop him are those above him, even if they are weaker than him--he enjoys being in the chaos too much to lead it. But, if something or someone gave him a reason? Chex could raise the underworld at his mere command.

It was a silly tune. An old one at that, and yet, Ouray couldn't help but hum the tune and allow the words to seep off his tongue. Now, Ouray wasn't a good singer, not at all, but the words strung together so well, it made even a male such as himself go from sounding like a crow to a nightingale.

He hummed the melody, drummed the beat onto his thigh as he knelt before a tree so great, it put all others to shame. It was there where Ouray foraged, picking mushrooms off of an elderly silver birch. It wasn't any normal mushroom. No, it was a chaga mushroom, a black, rotting looking mound of mushroom that grew, used for inflammation and immunity. In his small woven basket is where he placed it, right next to the cordycep, yet another mushroom used to speed up recovery and provide energy. Ouray was bad with many things, but not with plants. He was able to tell which were deadliest that even a trace of them could kill a fellow, to ones that could fight against infection and sickness.

Raising his arm, he wiped his brow free of sweat that had been created due to the blazing sun upon his back and wiped it on a light black hood he wore. It wasn't mandatory, the hood. In fact, if it were up to Ouray, he would have tore it up a long while ago, but it camouflaged him, and he needed to remain hidden. The guards from the Kingdom of Devolra - his previous kingdom - were getting closer and closer, trying to capture any being with even a minuscule amount of supernatural abilities in their blood. Ouray was one of those beings, so really, could you guess why he was so weary?

Brushing his hands free of dirt, the male, both tawny yet muscular, hoisted himself up onto his legs before pausing to simply take in the sounds of the forest. In ways, Ouray was a nemophilist - an individual that loved the forest for it's beauty and solitude. How he loved it indeed. It was easy to see his love, too. It was in the way he listened for the musical psithurism of the feathered foliage, in the way he observed everything with adoration, in the way he walked, as if he were one with the way the wind blew the trees. The verdant forest, the woods, it was so vivid in colour. Ouray loved every part of it. The imperfection of it, the dents, the dirt, and all the creatures that resided in it.

Whistling, Ouray made his way back to his hut. It was a logged, miniature cabin hidden behind vines and rocks that he had built himself. It was a single-floored structure with merely two rooms within it. Tiny, yet cozy. The main room held the kitchen, which one would see upon entering, and had a small table in the middle of it. A little farther down lay a small study where Ouray stored his potions and work, most upon a large bookshelf that looked intimidating with the way it was filled up. There were seats there as well, mostly with paper stacked upon it. Yes, Ouray was messy, but he was a witch. An inexperienced one at that.

He had the power, he just couldn't wield it.

The hut then broke out into a hall no more than three meters long. It was there where the second room rested, which was where Ouray slumbered when he wasn't asleep beneath the stars and safety of the forest; he spent almost every hour outside. The thought of being within something with walls around him made him uneasy, yet that was where he currently stood, right in the middle of his current shelter.

Propping the basket upon the small wooden table in his kitchen, Ouray released a deepened sigh as his arms rested on his hips. The hut was messy, more like a hoarder's nest, really. So, without further ado, he advanced forwards, intent on cleaning up. Reaching for a broom, the male was hoping to first sweep the ground. However, luck never seemed to be on his side, for the moment his fingers touched the broom, a slumbering squirrel that somehow entered his dwelling sprung forwards.

Ouray released a yelp as he stumbled back from fright, knocking into his bookshelf before wobbling back and tripping over one of the chairs. "I-" He began, watching the squirrel bound around like a crazed individual before he hopped up, staring at it before creeping to the entrance and nudging the door open with his foot. "This way," he sounded, and watched as the squirrel stopped, looked at him, and made a break for it. Ouray loved animals, until they popped up at him and scared him half to death. "Now, where was I?" He muttered to himself. "Broom," he continued, before ridiculing himself: "Stop talking to yourself, idiot."

Shaking his head, he returned to the broom before pausing, noting the books, paper, and upturned chair on the ground. Groaning, he knelt, prepared to clean up the mess he had made until his hands swept the cover of foreign book. It was a thick one, heavy and large, with a bounded red leather cover. It had odd decals on it in a language even he couldn't understand, and Ouray knew many. Out of sheer curiosity, he flipped it open, for it was a book he had obtained a long time ago, yet had seemed to have forgotten about.

Brushing away the dust from the pages, he blew on it, suddenly coughing as dust clouded his face. Waving his hand before his mouth, he hacked away like a cat with a hairball before finally inhaling sharply and squinting at the pages. This language he understood, but only three words.

"Chex, classified demon."

Staring at it, Ouray leaned in before snapping the book shut. He'd study it later on, for now, he'd-

Head snapping up, his eyes narrowed. The birds had stopped singing, meaning only one thing: there was a disturbance in the forest. Automatically, Ouray knew.

Intruders.

Jumping up onto his feet, he froze. Intruders this deep in the forest? He bet that he already knew the perpetrators. They would be guards from Delvora, out to capture him, along with others like him. Ouray would fight if he could, but he was useless, with his powers. That, however, didn't mean that he would give up. Grabbing a dagger from his boot, he held it in his hands, a random potion in his other. He fled his home once, he refused to do so again. Maybe this time, if he really put his mind to it, his powers would emerge.

It was preposterous! Was the Kingdom that desperate to track him down? Did they have nothing better to do than persue a mere, petty grudge? The Kingdom was dealing with one war, and now, they were dealing with another. For what? To force supernaturals like himself to assist them to victory? To slay lives for no true meaning? No, Ouray was a witch, one who preached peace. That was a nature witch's motive. They were calm beings unless provoked, and right at this very instance, Ouray was not calm.

Dark purple liquid sloshed around in the bottle he held in his hand. Even from a distance, he could hear it fizzing and spluttering, as if it were alive. Which, knowing Ouray's luck, it probably was. He had a certain knack for messing up when it came to his gift. He never did learn like the others had. How could he? His own mother, a witch herself, died far too long ago to teach him more useful things. Sure, she taught him how to grow a mere plant and about herbs, but the true powerful spells? Nothing, and his father? Out of the picture. Ouray never met him. He was told that he walked out. The reason? Unknown, but Ouray had a few guesses as to why he left. Perhaps he was unprepared for a child, or maybe he wished not to associate with witches. Who knew.

A small creak in the floorboards brought him back to the present.

Guards. Trying to capture him. Right.

His fingers began to ache from how hard he was gripping his dagger, and even then, Ouray stood his ground. He would fight this time instead of flee like a coward. This was his home, and they were the trespassers this time. This was his land. Slowly, he inched forwards before spinning and placing his back against a wall to prevent himself from being seen through one of the small windows within his dwelling.

Quieting his breath, his eyes remained fixated on the door, waiting. It was only when the door handle turned did he inhale sharply and took a step forwards, but something seemed to beat him to it. Before Ouray could comprehend what had happened, the guards were all slaughtered, courtesy of a dark creature with long claws and a misshapen face. "W-wendigo?" He guessed. What was that thing? That ugly, hideous creature that laughed as it was killing the guards? Who snapped a man's spine? Who crushed a man's skull? Who.. Who.. Who suddenly, just now, morphed into a man?

Ouray stood there like a corpse, his eyes widened and hands shaking. He made no movement, no sound. He hardly even breathed. This creature.. This man now in front of him looked like any normal individual, or so Ouray first thought. The man was tall. So very tall. What was he, six and a half feet? Maybe more? And he appeared large in terms of muscle and bulk, and his aura. Oh, Ouray did not like what darkness he radiated. Even his hair wasn't normal. It was brown, but different shades of it and, ye gad! His teeth! And-

The eyes! They were pure black, like staring into two black holes. They were colourless. Emotionless. Demonic.

Ouray stood there, like a child, eyes glancing from the guards, back to the man, unsure of what to do.. And he spoke! The man suddenly spoke! Oh, there was so much blood. How could humans produce so much? And.. He was still speaking? Turning to the man (Heavens even knew if that was what he was), he listened to the words spoken by him.

Demon? He was a demon?

Something snapped in Ouray as realization dawned on him, and he risked a glance at the open book upon the ground. Unsure of how to comprehend this newly found information, the male simply turned back to this demon, even as he further spoke. Something about receiving formal training? Ouray wasn't too sure. He couldn't even understand the words at the moment. All he knew was that he needed to run. To escape.

Staring at the figure before him, he glanced at the potion in his hand and back at him before raising his hand and whipping it at him. The potion - what it was truly meant to do - was paralyze the individual for several hours, but as it broke against the demon's chest, Ouray's face went white as it did nothing of the sorts. No, it simply formed a cloud of purple smoke.

Useless.

Staring at the demon, Ouray turned his head to the open door. "Pleasure to meet you," he managed before he suddenly sprang for it, pushing past the man and sprinting outdoors. He wasn't about to die today. No sir. He knew demons all had their price. They do a favour for you, and then you must do something for them. Was that even how it worked? Either way, Ouray wasn't about to find out, so on he ran, pushing past bushes and tripping over tree roots in the process.

He should have known something bad was going to happen. It always did to him.

"Ready or not, here I come!"

For a moment, Ouray was taken back to when he was a mere child, running through an open meadow whilst his grandmother picked flowers on the sidelines. It was a sunny day, only a few white, transparent clouds floated along the sky, providing little shade from the heat of the sun. Behind him, his mother ran, chasing him as they pursued a game of hide and seek. Well, it started it that way, and somehow transitioned into tag. Ouray remembered running until his chest felt like it would burst.. Like he could take off into the sky at any moment and soar through the trees. Well, he couldn't, but his grandmother could. So could his mother. Him? A deer was the best he could do. While he couldn't fly, he could surely run. He could remember it well. It was one of his core memories.

But that was a long time ago. Both were dead, Ouray was not a child anymore, and he wasn't being chased for fun.

Feet pounding against the ground, they soon grew lighter, stealthier, quicker. Ouray had deer-like qualities, and that meant that he had mastered how to move silently, even when running to whatever destination he was headed in. It wasn't new. It seemed to be a gift many nature witches had obtained. They had a way with the forest, with plants, with the world. They knew how to move along bushes without disrupting so much as the breeze around them. Their presence was difficult to trace. Well, that was the case with most witches. Ouray, on the other hand, was clumsy, his point proven when he stubbed his toe and tripped over a log, landing face-first in dirt before picking himself up again.

He could move fast and remain quiet, but he never said he was graceful doing it.

Using a bit of his speed (not all of it. He needed to conserve energy), he hopped over a boulder, nearly toppling over, almost swearing that he saw something run by him, but there was nothing there. And so, Ouray continued, right until he ran smack dab into the demon himself. How did he catch up? Releasing a yelp, he felt himself grow trapped. He couldn't even reach his blasted dagger and-

Dear god, his teeth.

Flailing slightly, Ouray raised his arm and wrapped his hands over the demon's single arm, attempting to remove its grip on him. How strong was this guy? Well, he was a demon, so it seemed that it made sense. "Kindly release me," he practically hissed, eyes boring into the demon's own before looking away. He didn't like the blackness of them. Sure, some may see a whole galaxy in them, but Ouray? He saw death and a void.

Slapping the man's arm, he tried to pry himself free from his grip before releasing a deep grumble, contemplating whether or not he should bite his arm. In the end, it was decided that it would be a fairly bad idea. "I was going for a nice, leisurely stroll," he responded as a snide remark to the demon's own wording. Where did he think he was going? Pah! "Where do you think? I was running for my life!"

He had read little about demons. His grandmother and mother never let him near it nor spoke of it often. "It's dangerous magic," they'd say. "Black magic. Powerful stuff. Always has a price." And that would be the end of the conversation. Off they'd shoo him to go play with some plants or other children while the grown up stuff was left to the adults.

As of now, Ouray was preoccupied to try and think of anything other than how to escape the demon. He was scared, petrified, even, but he wouldn't let it show. He wouldn't give the man the satisfaction. So, with a frown, Ouray glared at the demon, despite his nerves twisting themselves up in a knot. That, however, all vanished the moment that word was spoken. That one mass of letters combined.

Tanith.

Remaining silent, Ouray's frown twitched, as if he were deep in thought. How did this demon know of his grandmother? Unless it was a trick. Demons did that. They pried into your mind and used ways to manipulate you, but, the more the demon spoke, the less Ouray believed it to be a trick. "You know of Tanith?" His voice quieted, and he had stopped struggling for a moment. The witch pondered a moment, about to keep his words to himself, but as he looked at the demon, something just told him that he could speak, and that his words wouldn't be used against him. "Tanith had Airlia, and Airlia had me," was all he spoke, clarifying the demon's confusion. Gods know why.

Staring at the demon as he asked more questions, Ouray proceeded with caution, answering them all. He didn't really have a choice in the manner regardless. "The witches don't tell anything anymore, and if they did, I wouldn't know where to find them.." Trailing off as the demon grinned, Ouray couldn't help but suppress a shudder. Must he always flash his teeth?

"Chex? That is your name?" So that was what he read from the book. How marvelous. Could he have summoned Chex if he read in his head, he wondered. Not offering a name in return, (how could he, he was suddenly spun around), Ouray released a huff when he was suddenly being guided like a mere pet. "I know how to walk," he said, swatting at Chex's arms before inching away. No, he didn't like his aura indeed.

Ouray had questions, but he didn't know how to ask Chex or if he even could. He did just say he liked nature witches, but what if he liked them to eat? Maybe it was another trick? Regardless, Ouray submitted and began to walk. "What's your purpose here?" He finally asked after moments of long silence, his tone rather, to be frank, pissed off. "How do I send you back? Do I need to give you a favour in return? I shouldn't, right? I mean, I never asked for your help or told you what to do. You killed those-" Gah! The guards! All slaughtered and dead in his hut! The blood! How could he forget?! He needed to clean it up right away. If anybody else came across it-

Picking up his pace, Ouray began to speed walk back to his hut. He'd figure it out there. He'd figure it all out.

This Chex, it seemed, wasn't as bad as Ouray initially thought. Yes, he was a demon, and yes, he could probably die if he said the wrong thing, but he seemed almost.. Peaceful? No, that wasn't the word.. Normal? From ancient texts, Ouray had seen drawings of demons. Some had horns and disformed figures. Why, they were hideous, and their personalities matched. They were tricksters, murderers, con-artists. Chex, however, didn't entirely match the criteria expected. Not in personality anyways. That didn't mean Ouray would automatically trust him. No, his guard would remain up and-

Gah, what a bad choice of word, considering a whole group of them had just been slaughtered.

Padding ahead, Ouray risked a glance from the corner of his eye. Peering at Chex for a moment, his eyes shot forwards at the mention of his grandmother. Of his mother. "That's what I said," he spoke, responding to Chex's sentence about being Airlia's son. Why was he so shocked? So.. Surprised? He knew them, that much Ouray could figure, only he underestimated just how well. "You met them?" It was clear in the demon's words that he had, but still, Ouray asked. Why had they never mentioned knowing a demon? They had told him that black magic was bad, that.. But they did smile after speaking those words. His mother and grandmother exchanged a grin, as if they knew something. As if they had an inside joke.

It seems that they did.

"My mother had me twenty-two years ago." Ouray spoke short sentences, hoping to clear something up with the demon. Something about Chex knowing his family made him trust him a small amount. This couldn't be a trick. It wasn't possible, was it? "My mother and grandmother helped you?" For a moment, Ouray felt a pang of annoyance within him. There was so much they didn't teach him. Didn't tell him..

The witch continued walking, until his shoulders tensed and his posture grew rigid. How are they? Had the demon truly just asked him that? "You really have been gone for a long time," Ouray said, his tone rather angry, but not at Chex. No, he was angry at the Kingdom. Completely furious at them. Staring straight ahead, his frown increased. "They're dead." Ouray couldn't even get their bodies.. Couldn't even bury them in the forest. The Kingdom took them, probably discarded them like garbage.

Tears formed in the corners of his eyes, but that was as far as they would go.

"They've been dead for a while." How long had this war even gone on? Shaking his head, he continued, hoping to drop the conversation, but didn't Chex deserve to know how they died? If it was true, and if he actually befriended them, shouldn't he know? Yes, he supposed he did. "You know of the Kingdom of Delvora? There's a war now, and us supernaturals are in the middle of it." Filling Chex in, Ouray's own tone shifted. "Delvora wished for us to fight, and I, well, my mother and grandmother, refused to. We weren't the only ones with that answer, so one night, out of pettiness, the Kingdom invaded all the homes of supernaturals, capturing them, and those that struggled would be slaughtered like animals. We were powerful, but the kingdom was ready."

This war had been going on for years. How long exactly? Six years? Seven? He wasn't sure, but Ouray remembered being ushered out of the hut with his mother while his grandmother held the guards back.

She was the first to die.

His mother and him ran then, headed towards the forest with cloaks covering his head.

He was the only one that made it.

Just as they reached the edge of the woods, just as his mother was in the middle of shifting into a deer like him, she was shot with an arrow. Ouray watched the life slip away from her eyes, her last words telling him to run. So he did. He left. He knew healing, but not enough to help her. He couldn't help any of them.

Eyes glossing over, Ouray blinked away the memory and silenced himself. He knew some captured individuals agreed to help the Kingdom, afraid to be killed. Some did it just for fun. Those were the ones to avoid. Now, the Kingdom was at war with the supernaturals, and with its surrounding neighbors.

"I have to relocate," was all Ouray spoke after several minutes. The Kingdom now knew where he was. He'd have to go deeper into the forest. His mood remained quiet until it shifted into something full of disgust. "Of course they eat humans." Shuddering, he grew slightly at ease when Chex mentioned that he didn't like it. "Well, that's reassuring.. Slightly." Glanced at the demon, he narrowed his eyes. "What kind even are you? Demon, I mean." He seemed almost nice. Then again, Ouray didn't forget how he massacred the guards.

Reaching the hut, he eyed the dead bodies, staring at them. He should feel bad. It was lives that were taken, but Ouray's only thought was that he hoped the blood wouldn't stain.