NAME: Morfin
GENDER: Male
APPEARANCE: Morfin's most distinguishing feature is his natural black and white hair; a remnant from his past life. He has dark brown eyes, is tall for his level, and pale. He is not traditionally handsome, though he is not ugly; it is the odd darkness around him that people find most attractive.
AGE: Sixteen
PERSONALITY: Morfin is has a bleak personality. He prefers not to get attached to anyone or anything; especially after his relationship with Kennedy. Since losing her, he has found it hard to relate with others - he likes his own company. He is rather pessimistic, hating the world for leaving him alone and heart-broken. He still grieves, and spends too much time moping. When not pining for her (which is rare) he wonders at this new body, confused.
HISTORY: Originally a zebra on Beqanna, at first Morfin preferred to lead others on before ditching them and moving onto his next 'victim'. However, after joining the Chamber of Evil he met Kennedy, and they fell deeply in love. Their relationship was rocky at the best of times, and destructive at the worst. He never wanted to get attached to anything, and being so in love with Kennedy was hard for him. He often left the Chamber, only to return because he missed her. Their only child together - Melissa - had a twin, whose father was Buonarroti. Morfin resented that Buon had any part in Ken's life, but disappeared soon after the twins were born because he wanted the girls to have a proper family, and he doubted that he could give them that. However, he eventually returned once more, just before Kennedy died. Her death affected him more than he liked. Shortly after, he found another mare - Nekana - but she was never more than a friend and he left before long. Kennedy is in his thoughts daily, and he hates that she still has such power over him.
SAMPLE POST:
He should be asleep.

He doesn’t understand why he is here, living, breathing. But he almost doesn’t care.

His body is numb but his heart is more so – it has been ripped and worn, taken between Love’s calloused hands and twisted, torn into unrecognisable parts, too many to count, unfixable. He thinks of her (he always thinks of her) but it doesn’t sting anymore; only a dull ache worms through his veins now. Her face in his thoughts (always in his thoughts) - deep ruby eyes in a coat of cream – stirs something inside him. He opens his eyes but the image remains – is she here, too? Is his darling Kennedy alive and well in this desolate land? He flicks his head and it vanishes.
She is not here. He shall never see her again.

He appears to have fallen. He frowns lightly, delicately, stretching out a dark hoof only to find that something pink has replaced it, warm and soft. He flexes this new appendage, turning it and staring. He looks to his other hoof only to find that it, too, has gone. Dark striped legs have gone, replaced by arms that bend the wrong way in the middle. He sits up now, stretching new legs out in front of him to see that they also bend differently. Dark material covers them – too heavy, too coarse – but his feet are bare. Like his hands, both feet have five digits on them, and he wriggles them, confused.
He doesn’t feel right.

He stands up, preparing to use all four limbs but soon realising that he needs only two to balance. He does not move, for fear of falling again; instead he stares over the ground before him. His face feels cold, and he touches it tentatively with one finger to find that it has changed shape, changed size. There is a small puddle, only a little way in front of him – he knows from his time before that it will do as a mirror, so that he can see himself, see this new body that feels weird around his mind. He risks a few steps, pale hands stretched out to catch him in case he topples again.

He reaches the shallow water without incident, but is afraid to look. Afraid to see what he is now. If he has a new body, who is to say that new memories may not arrive soon? He cannot forget her (he has tried and it aches too much, serrated edges on healing wounds) and he does not want new memories. He takes a deep breath – brisk winter air into small lungs – before leaning over gingerly, scared that he will fall, scared of what he may see.

He catches a glimpse of himself and pulls back, startled. Where he once had a long face, broad and flat, he now has a shorter, rounder face, with a nose sticking out the middle and eyes set around it. He looks nothing like who he was, bar the hair; the only physical reminder of his previous life is the thick locks of black and white hair that rests atop his head, not trailing down his neck like it should. He peers over the edge again, frowning – black brows knit together as he stares at this stranger, this new species that has captured his mind and placed it inside this weak body. He doesn’t like it; he wants to go back to his old life, to Beqanna, where he felt right.

He is certain that nothing about this is good. He glances around once more, bleak eyes skimming bleaker surroundings, and he moves, slowly, awkwardly, towards the shaded fringe of trees. He feels safer in the dark.
OOC: Innocent