Appearance

Image credits to me.

Standing at 6'5, he is on the tall side of things, and his physique is a hardy, muscular one. While he is still considered lean, his frame is one made for strength and endurance rather than speed and nimbleness. He is quite agile, but he lacks flexibility and is much better at quick movements with a weapon than he is doing parkour. Ivan is all muscle and sinew, and his chiseled features accentuate as much, giving him a carved-from-stone appearance. This man has an assortment of scars, but his most notable -- by far -- is the massive chunk missing from the middle of his left ear. It is now held together by a piercing that acts as a brace, and he never takes it out; when/if he does, the further end flops over, and he thinks it looks ridiculous. He has half a mind to just cut the rest off, sometimes.

His round, stormy gray eyes hold a hint of green, contrasting slightly with the regular whites and the blood vessels therein. They are places beneath straight, furrowed brows and rimmed with creases. His skin is a warm, golden-bronze whose shadows and highlights change dramatically depending on the lighting. It is interrupted by the pinker, slightly paler colors of old scars. His hair is a deep, deep red-brown -- almost black -- and turns to a slightly lighter maroon or blood color in the sunlight. Ivan keeps the sides and back of his head closely shaved or otherwise short, and the top hair is pulled back into a short ponytail. It would only reach his jaw if let down, but he prefers to keep it up. .

He has a strong, confident voice that is fairly low and and a silky bass. He walks with purposeful, firm strides, and generally appears sure of himself. Some may see it as arrogance, but he does not intend it to be so. His presence is cold and foreboding despite his warmer coloration, giving him an air of unpredictability. When he fidgets, Ivan will twist one braid between his pointer finger and thumb, or he'll work his jaw (the stronger jawline may very well have originated from this habit).

As a werewolf, his height rockets up to nearly eight feet tall, and he resembles more wolf than man. He prefers to be quadrupedal over walking on two legs in this form, since he is more awkward on his hind legs. His body is larger and much more muscular with thick, soft (don't touch) russet fur. Ivan's eyes become a startling ice blue.

Personality

Charismatic || Leader || Ambitious || Strategic || Smart || Stoic || Decisive || Loyal || Observant || Stubborn

He has a convincing way with words, able to use them in a way that makes him an excellent public speaker. Ivan knows how -- and when -- to stir an audience and push them in any direction with his eloquence, and he uses this to further his own devices at times. He is quite charismatic and charming. However, it never quite seems to reach his eyes; he has never been one for making close friends, and while he is friendly with most in the clan, there is no one that he will confide in. Not even his own family.

Ivan keeps his personal worries and insecurities to himself, outwardly displaying a poised, calm front. And, generally, it is not a false face. He is an honest man, though he is not above telling white lies here and there. He is good at maintaining the peace, whether that be through physical or verbal means. He is a leader, as he has been brought up to be, and strives for perfection. Too much is on the line for him to fall short in any way. Ivan is ambitious and strategic, concerned with keeping the students thriving and at the top of the food chain. They may have lost the powers of the school, but that does not mean they are weak or ripe for destruction.

He is a stubborn creature, and his stoicism is borderline self-destructive at times. He has a habit of ignoring his injuries of any kind and will overexert himself at times, but he refuses help until he can't hide his situation. Ivan is also very observant of others, making him a bit of a hypocrite when insisting others rest or otherwise take care of themselves at the same point that he would not. Despite being a cold, mule-headed grump, Ivan is an altruistic and loyal individual. Even if he doesn't particularly like someone in the kingdom, barring traitors, he will fight for them. His competitive and ambitious nature often gets in the way of friendships and familial relations, but he still cares for them even if he sucks at showing it.

He is also not afraid of doing what must be done. Hunting, battle, or otherwise (justly) ending a life has never upset him, nor is it ever likely to. He respects life, but death is a path that is central to mortality, and he doesn't mind that fact. This man sticks to his morals, though, and scorns murder or subterfuge. He's a good lie detector, too, and tries to prove himself trustworthy to others, as his own lies -- however small they may be -- irritate him the most.

Other

He is capable of magic. However, unlike his father, who could wield many different types, Ivan can only produce and control fire.

Ilyana is a quiet and secluded woman, spending most of her life hiding away in the dark shadows of the forests. At the beginning of her life she was hunted, her power scaring most everyone. As time has passed now, people seek out her power and help, wether it is for true good or evil.

Ilyana has a kind and loving soul deep within but over her years she has learned to hide and protect it. She has learned that in this world, the only thing to help you survive is to hide your emotions and build a strong wall.

Ilyana's appearance is one that comes to quite a shock considering many see her as a witch or a beast. Ilyana stands just at 5 foot 7 inches and weighs roughly 134 pounds. Her frame is a slim form with just a slight curve to her hips. A flat but toned stomach seamlessly forms her torso. Her legs are a bit long compared to the frame of her body but are thin and toned as well, her steps precise and quiet as if trained. No matter what she seemes to carry herself with a bit of grace, even in tough situations.

Her skin holds a natural glow over her sunkissed color, freckles dotting the bridge of her nose and upper cheekbones. Small dots of birthmarks and freckles litter her skin here and there. Her face holds a near symmetrical diamond shape with a slim nose, upturned just slightly at the end. Her lips are a soft pink, full and plush. Her eyes are the most enchanting feature about her though, long, dark lashes frame her pools of bright, icy blue. Her eyes a kalidescope of light and dark shades of blue. They seem to almost glow if it were possible.

Finally, long, thick curls of deep ebony cascade down her back. A deep shade of black that somehow holds no other tones. She normally keeps it tied back in braids and out of her face.

When she is wielding her powers, her eyes change and begin to glow a bright white, the skin on her fingers and finger tips gain a blend of black that seems to slip down to about mid-palm.

“The king is dead!”

The acrid tang of burning blood swirled around the flaming castle, and charred stones lay in heaps next to burst walls and collapsed turrets. Tattered flags twisted and writhed in the breeze that wafted up with the smoke. Among the wreckage, Ivan stood in a daze, staring down the broken corridor at the end of the hall where several guards were emerging from his father’s chambers. Their faces reflected the prince’s own grim expression, and their words echoed in his mind.

Wiping the blood from his nose, Ivan crossed the distance to the hanging doors with a slight limp. The sight inside was much as he had expected. Dark flashes on the walls suggested that King Agerion had attempted to fight off his attacker with magic – albeit unsuccessfully. The king’s body lay beneath a smashed column, his unseeing eyes boring holes into Ivan. The dead king’s neck snapped sharply to the side and a flash of pale eyes and long, ebony hair danced across the prince’s gaze–

Ivan jolted awake, fists clenching bunched up sheets. His hair was plastered to his damp forehead, and his shirt likewise clung to his skin. He shuddered and blinked hard to rid his mind of the dream’s lingering image, then got up to accost the wash basin. As he splashed himself with the cold water, he allowed himself to tentatively reflect on the dream. Every night since the assassination had taken place, the events replayed in graphic detail, but the addition of the vision of a young woman was new. It could very well have been his mind playing tricks on him; after all, she was Ivan’s prime suspect.

It was no secret that Agerion had been feared, loathed, and wished dead, but the crazed king had been too formidable an opponent for just anyone to have killed him. No, even the Assassins’ Guild hadn't been able to touch him. The deed had been done by someone powerful enough to withstand the king’s magic, and either the fight had been terrible enough to rock the foundations of the entire castle, or there had been a creature present large enough to break stone. Rumors had long held that the witch rode a black beast, a dragon darker than the depths of the sea. Some even said that she was the dragon, and, if her skills were as legendary as people were made to believe, Ivan wouldn't have been surprised if a dragon shifter of such caliber had escaped his father's sword. Few even knew her name or what she looked like. The prince himself only had a rough idea of her appearance, but everyone knew about her eyes.

The murderer was the first of Ivan’s preoccupations, but the knights had had no luck in finding her or her dragon. Not even a trace. He'd heard a few of them muttering that she wasn't even the culprit, but if not her, then whom? It had to be her.

Ivan’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the basin's edge, and he wondered with a wry smile if he was already going mad. It did seem to run in the family, but to lose his mind only a month after his father’s death felt a bit too soon. Then again, fate was cruel that way.

He dressed himself and moved to the adjacent room that had been designated a temporary study while the king's section of the castle was being repaired. Tugging his coat collar into place, Ivan slid into the stiff chair and snapped his fingers, sending the sparks from his fingertips into the oil lamp to light it. The sun had not yet risen, and judging by how dark the windows were, not even the servants would be up for a few hours. Scattered across the desk were several stacks of letters and papers, but one stood out from among them. Black wax sealed this particular envelope, and the crest embedded in the wax was that of the imperial family of Eloria. Ivan frowned, slicing the letter open and reading its contents with growing wariness.

“...most sincere condolences… There is the matter of the disputed mines… multiple refusals… Thus, we formally announce our intentions to overtake the leaderless and failed kingdom of Caler… for the good of her inhabitants,” he mumbled aloud, voice hardening near the end. His father had indeed left the kingdom worse off, and the late king's execution orders against the magic folk of the land were now coming to bite the prince in the behind. Eloria had a plethora of sorcerers, shifters, and creatures at their beck and call. Ivan had battle-hardened, well-trained armies, but against the empire? His father had killed the entire council, their allies had deserted as soon as the iron grip had died, and what magic users were left in the kingdom had nothing but contempt for the crown; there was no-one for Ivan to turn to. Only a faint, resentful idea lingered, and it was likely going to kill him. “For the bloody good of her bloody inhabitants- ugh; Aaron…! Aaron!”

At his second sharp call, a very disoriented and obviously weary man stumbled in through a side door, rubbing the dark circles beneath his bleary eyes with a weak, “...’majesty?”

Ivan stood, fingers resting on the letter and eyes remaining locked on Aaron. “Have my horse and a small armed guard readied.”

Now more awake, the alarmed attendant repeated, “Your Majesty? Whatever for?”

Ivan buckled his black sword around his waist and pulled a cloak off the wall. Throwing it around his shoulders, he growled, “I'm going dragon hunting.”

A life of solidarity was one that Ilyana lived. A life of deafening silence and loneliness, a life she had become far too comfortable with. One she had lived with almost her whole life. The shadows and darkness had held a comfort no other could give for it was the only place she was safe. The thought of one day living amongst people left an ill feeling of disgust in her stomach. Being separated for so long and being able to observe without being noticed had sharpened her mind, realising how miserable a life it was. Humans cared for nothing but themselves, if that. Ruining everything in their path whether it be themself or another, it was pitiful. Even those that had once called themselves wielders of magic were a joke, and it proved to be true now that almost all were extinct. Ilyana had tried to help in the past, but it was clear that it was not appreciated. So, she had stepped back, forming into the shadows to just sit back and watch everything crumble while her life stayed…content for the most part. That was until the fateful night that the King of Caler met his demise.

Yes, Ilyana had been there that night, but to what extent? The only witness was the man who was crushed under a stone column. Any eyes that had bore witness to the truth hadn’t lived to speak. The rumors had spread like a plague through the streets, so many whispers forming into a wave across the lands. The White Eyed Witch killed the King. Or did she? It was so easy to pin it on her, for a terrible beast could be seen in the strands of moonlight. The stone walls of the castle crumbled as if it were made of sand. She was the only one known to have a dragon as a companion, so it had to be her. But, no one had truly witnessed her there, the only reason she had not been chased down with torches and swords. Also the fact she could destroy them with just a flick of her wrist. She was feared by all, she was a creature so powerful some, hidden deep in the shadows, worshiped her as if she was a god.

Even though Ilyana may have been innocent, there was no use in trying to prove it. Everyone wanted and needed someone to blame, and who was better than the one they feared the most. Ilyana did not feel sorrow for the King’s death, the man was travelling a dangerous path to demise anyway. In the end she saw it truly as mercy, for the man was going mad. His actions had consequences and it was showing its face. Ilyana knew for years the man truly did not care about his kingdom or the people that inhabited it, only for himself. His slowly dying mind was just the bait, the line of executions was the final call for the predator to make its move. He had spent so long worrying about his safety just to open the doors wide open for the enemy to attack. He killed himself.

Now, a month after the fall of the Kingdom of Caler, Ilyana continued her life as it always had been. No one truly knew her, but if they did, if they knew nothing of her power, they would see an ordinary young woman. One that cared deeply for the nature around her and the animals. One that kept herself secluded from the poison of the inhabitants beyond the forest. She lived her life like anyone else. There had always been rumors that the White Eyed Witch lived in exaggerated places. A cave, an abandoned ruin of a castle, and overgrown, mossy hut. All just hilarious jokes to her. In truth, she had built a lovely stone and wood cottage to herself, just beside a large, plentiful pond. She tended to a small plot of crops and hunted for her meat and hides. Foraged and lived off the land around her. She seemed…normal.

Her life was peaceful living far from humanity. She could be herself instead of hiding her identity. There was no one to judge her, to spit on the ground she walked. Ilyana had a few years of a “normal” life when she was a child, before her abilities began to show. But only a few, since she was seven she had called these woods her home, fending for herself, overcoming so much. This was just how her life was and ended up being.

As Ilyana continued to live her life as normal, little did she know an unexpected guest would be paying her a visit, someone she did not think would be searching for her. That was if they could make it past her protection. Diaval was not one to let anyone get too close, he always made sure of that. So when a small group of armed men had ventured off the main road that led through the dark forests, it was quite a shock for Ilyana. Diaval was close to them, his pitch black scales blending him perfectly into the shadows as no light could pass through the leaves. Ilyana and Diaval had an impeccable connection, and once she knew who these men were she wanted to see why they had come, it had been quite some time since she last had a guest. Of course she was not going to let them anywhere near her home though. They were not that lucky.

As the men lost sight of the main road, the darkness enveloped around them. Only a few strands of light peaked through the tapestry of leaves above. It was eerily quiet, as if nothing lived out there, no birds, no wind, just silence. It was a disorienting feeling, as if everything was closing in. They had gotten quite a good ways in without a sign of anything, that was until they got as far and she would let them. Their horse’s ears flicked rapidly, their hooves quickening as an uneasy feeling passed through them, they could sense something their riders could not. That was until the ground below rumbled, a deep, low growl echoing through the darkness around them. It swirled around them as if coming from every angle, getting closer and closer and closer. Soon a bright pair of golden eyes flicked open, so large it seemed as if it was a dream. The heat from Diaval’s breath was like a torch against skin, blowing stray strands of hair out of the men’s faces. Another deep growl emitted from his chest as he finally stepped out of the shadows and into the miniscule amount of light before the men, his eyes locked onto the man incharge.

The darkness was suffocating. Ivan could feel it in a thick, tangible way; the air itself was trying to kill him. Beneath him, Wraith’s hooves danced with unease, sending uncomfortable chills up the prince’s spine. Even the massive, bombproof fire-horse was wary of the woods, and Ivan couldn't blame him. The sun was blotted out by foliage and mist soon after leaving the road, and his men’s chatter had died with it. Everyone was now on high alert. Even if the witch was not here, something was, and it felt sinister. Wraith’s black coat seemed to blend in with the ground now, and the jingling of harnesses and armor were the only sounds after Ivan pulled the company to a halt.

“Ho–” Ivan was cut off by the angry rumbling of the ground. Horses reared, soldiers shouted their alarm, and the guttural snarl echoed through the twisted trees. Tendrils of fog seemed to morph together into the form of a dragon. Ivan’s instincts reacted more quickly than the logical side of his brain, and a half second later, his sword was drawn and wreathed in flames. Sensing the combative shift, Wraith tossed his head and his own mane and tail lit up with defensive fire.

“There you are,” Ivan muttered under his breath, eyes flashing defiantly back at the beast towering over them. The moment of fight-or-flight passed and he flicked his sword down and back to signal the men to hold off. Even for a man endowed with the power of fire, the heat radiating from the aggressive dragon was sweltering, but Ivan didn't have the choice to back away. It wouldn't make a large difference, anyhow; as the prince studied the dragon, it became painfully obvious that his life was practically in its claws. It made the tall, uncanny trees look like a child’s playthings; deadly spikes protruded from a head bigger than Ivan, and countless wicked teeth jutting up through heated gums like a hundred daggers. A long neck extended into the thick fog accompanied by the faint outlines of huge, leathery wings. What light managed to reflect off the midnight creature revealed thick, close-knit scales. A flaming sword would do nothing against a flaming dragon.

Wraith continued to dance back and forth as Ivan kept a steady eye on the dragon. What he had previously diagnosed as aggression seemed to be more of a… a territorial air. Defensive. Protective. The appearance perfectly mirrored the sightings his scouts had brought back, though he had originally thought they'd exaggerated the beast’s size. Apparently not. So, either the witch was a dragon shifter after all, or this dragon was guarding her. Even the old blood creatures wouldn't just risk dying for nothing. The fact that he and his party were still breathing was enough to suggest that they'd piqued someone's curiosity. Now the challenge became interrogating a beast he wouldn't be able to understand.

“We are here to see your m… your friend,” he announced. No creature liked to be regarded as an underling, and Ivan didn't quite feel ready to become a kebab. Despite the wary attempt at a truce, he did not sheathe the sword; if he was going to die, he'd die armed. In a tone that was a mixture of dry, bitter, and snarky, perhaps laughing in Death's face, Ivan added, “The prince of Caler requests an audience with her.”