Absinth X Aresenn Hellspawn

Out-of-Character Name: Virgil <3
Character's Name: Indica/Ordos Umbra Praetor-Inferos  (derived from A. indica or A. ordosica)
Gender: Male
Adult Height: 40"
Build: Light

Appearance:
A blemish of ink caught in the corners of the eye, gone when you blink. The raven prince, clad in the same obsidian as the raucous harbingers. A hint of charcoal scattered at the edges of his ruff, trailing along the sharp form of his shoulders to meet between his forelimbs. Muzzle, chin, throat all pale as bleached bone, with a rosy pink nose. Warm cream tones paint across his biceps and thighs, spreading inwards and swallowing up his chest and underbelly- lightest in hue over the pointed joints of his elbows and knees. A streak of stark alabaster between his shoulders, trailing downwards along his ribs to form a facsimile of a wing in shades of kohl and ash. The end of Indica's tail is a gradient of onyx to hematite to ivory at its tip, providing a very convenient flag for his volatile emotions.

Indica is slender. Designed to slice through the air with each sweeping stride, his movements airy and elegant. The raven prince is more a dancer than a brawler, with the narrow wrists and sleek musculature of a creature meant to be seen and admired. Which is somewhat counterintuitive to his vested interest of inhabiting the fringes and gray areas of life. As maturity develops him into the willowy slip of a man that he is destined to become, one thing is for certain. Indica is barely more than a blade in the dark, all sleek curves and slicing edges. The highlights of pale hues upon his silhouette no more than the glint of moonlight on a dagger as it rushes to greet your heart. 

Eyes like stars. Set against a dark backdrop, the silver of his gaze is stark and demanding. "Look here. You'll find all that you need, right here." they say. The closer one might dare to step, they'll find a hint of green mixed in to better resemble sagebrush. At the right angle, perhaps even a flicker of gold around his pupils. But that could be a trick of the light, a figment of the imagination. His voice is a deceptively airy creation, each syllable a beckoning croon that draws in his prey. It lacks the bass and power that is typical of his kindred, and so he favours the sultry purr that soothes the soul of any who'd dare to step close. By the time anyone can pluck the threads of carefully interwoven scents apart as they adorn him, they're already too late. The sharp, green scent of sage. A clinging aroma of mint. But underneath it all, the loamy smell of petrichor. 

Mutations: n/a (nakey boi)

Personality:
Cunning Tactician: first and foremost, Indica is a planner. He lives in a world of variables and possibilities, and so he has to take as many of them into account as possible. In an ideal world, he would know each and every outcome of his movements before he made them, but he'll have to settle for most of them. The raven prince is nothing if not prepared for the worst of anything, at any time. So he plans and he plots and he schemes, and most of all he endeavours to arrange things so that they work out in his favour. Those who find themselves in his good graces should be so lucky, he'll include them in the circle of protection he seeks to form around himself.
Charming Liar: there's a certain kind of silky softness to his movements and his speech that reeks of intellect and self assurance. He wields this debonair lilt to his own advantage, readily shifting himself to fit whatever kind of scenario he might find himself in. Indica does not shy away from deceit, and instead seeks to wrap himself in a cloak of white lies in order to get his way. He's all smiles and fluttering lashes in one moment, and the next he is a weeping waif who's safety depends entirely on whoever he's chosen to become his latest saviour. This kind of chameleon instinct produces a creature who thrives in subterfuge. In the same breath, it also makes him an awful little monster who cares little for who he might throw under the bus to get his way. (What's a bus? That doesn't matter right now.)
Possessive Collector: while not as incessantly driven by primal desires as many of his relatives are, Indica relishes conquest and domination. Thus, he finds himself occupied with a not so insignificant hoarde. Trinkets, mementos, trophies. Whatever strikes a chord while he seeks to memorialize something, he will take. Sometimes it's a bone, lovingly cleaned of flesh to serve as a shining beacon of sentiment- other times it's jewelry, adornment. Pulled from the treasury of the conquered, or torn from their personage as it catches his eye. His little collection is not to be trifled with- regardless of their real-world value, they are precious to him. Indica will not part with what is his, unless it is pried from his paws before rigor can set in. If he chooses to take on a Sidi or two (though he will be painfully picky about this), they are not to be shared. Hardly a gaze can be spared to them without his interpreting this as a direct threat. Perhaps a fatal flaw, but one that is ingrained in his very bones.
Vulgar Hedonist: self-indulgence is arguably his worst trait. Far before his cohorts express interest in debauchery, Indica is there. A bad trip or two pave the way to a creature who can hardly tear himself away from the gruesome sins of this mortal coil. He has a fondness for foul language and exceedingly vulgar descriptiveness, which he is quickly forced to reign in as he grows in order to maintain the type of propriety that is expected in polite society. Which is somewhere he spends more than his fair share of time, in the interest of accumulating alliances, bonds, truces, and so on. However, nothing settles the soul quite like impairing the mind on a Saturday night. Lounging on a soft bed of furs with the stars just a little too bright, and the wind blowing through the trees as inaudible whispers. Once maturity finds him, there's nothing Indica won't try once. And there are many things he will try every other night, if he can get away with it.
Alluring Socialite: the quickest way to get what you want is to have friends in high places, who don't know about your friends in low places. Indica is the one who knows a guy whose cousin can get whatever you need done by the end of the week. A shameless flirt and easygoing socialite, he welcomes any kind of interaction. There's that chameleon instinct again, making itself useful so he can adapt to whatever the situation needs. Sparring partners, hunting parties, crafting groups. He worms his way into all of them. Perhaps it's the ease with which he carries himself, and the calm affect of his voice when he speaks. Indica is never hurting for company, no matter the kind. The raven prince hardly spends time at home, and even less in his own bed. Crashing with someone else is the easiest way to find out what their home looks like, and who their neighbours might be. After all, it's all about keeping an eye out to see whose friends are your enemies, and whose enemies might be your new friends.

Alignment: Neutral Evil
Skills: Healing (poison master OR cosmetologist) & Intellect (Professor)
Intended plots: probably be a little bit concerning for his parents, spend a bit too much time learning about death and decay and stuff. Learn how to tame the ravens with his mom. Make a lot of friends, probably get into trouble with the parents for being a ho before he turns two. Ya know, normal kid stuff.

Definitely tiered training, and also very tempted to have him forced out on a little pilgrimage just for the character development? A nice little inferiority complex seems kinda fitting somehow?