Mauja the FrostHeart
ice cold man watches earth die, eternal winter takes its reign

He was moontouched.

Where he went, the shadows deepened, the breezes calmed and touched with soft, cool hands; the stars somehow seemed brighter and sharper. It was both darker around him, and lighter - and in his eyes a silvery reflection resided within his pupil, hemmed in by the wintery shade of his irises. It gave him the appearance of being blind, of having cataracts, yet should one look closer they would see that it was not a uniform, dull gray, like fog, but rather silvery-bright, reminiscent of the ridges and craters of the moon. Mauja was moontouched indeed, two long raven feathers sitting just behind his ears, three more in his tail - gifts from ravens she had sent to darken out the sky one day. Now, it was dark, her powers full, and he felt lighter. Colder.

A call cut through the peaceful Edge night, a call meant for him, a call originating within a sleek, black stallion - Ambrose. Mauja knew little of him, except that Cineviam had taken him home and he seemed to have his heart in the right place. Curious as to what it might be about, the pale King shifted his path, flowing like the now-absent fog across the ground; his tail streamed behind him, held high, as he closed the distance to the stallion at a high-kneed trot. Soon enough he'd located the source of the call, and through the trees he came, shimmering softly like some alabaster ghost. With the silver light causing him to glow, the moon-shadow across his eyes and the raven's feathers behind his ears, he seemed ethereal, not quite real and yet too solid to be an apparition. Without knowing the way his eyes were in the dark, Mauja blinked, peering at the black Ambrose. The King's defining feature seemed to be curiosity - wherever he went, it plagued him. When someone called him, it tugged at him to answer; when he traveled, it was with eager eyes he drank the world in. Even when someone had a bone to pick with him, he was curious about the reasons, and what it was. Curiosity made his life easier.

"Hm, Ambrose?" he said by way of greeting, walking now - drifting, more like it, feathers whispering across the ground and nearly hiding all of his frost-bathed striped hooves. He seemed to glide, and had the fog still come at night, it might've been hard to tell if he walked on the ground or not. But alas, the Sun had taken even that from them, and Mauja thought that maybe the only thing he hadn't taken (yet) was their lives, but he was sure trying, treating his poor Seer like that, not to mention the way he dried up the grass. But the day the blood started boiling in their veins, that was the day this war was lost.