Toyhouse



A large, lithe beast, unassuming and yet strong not unlike the serpent he was named for. A gossamer, even feathery, wispy pelt, more smooth than it is soft; blue-greys in many shades kissed by dusky rose at the points like dawn rising beneath a dark horizon. Especially dark fur rims his mask, splotches his tail, covers his ears, diamonds his forehead, and blots about his eyes like smoky (emo) eye makeup.
Dark grey pads, black nails. A crimson ring surrounding plum for iris'.

Scars:
-Several long, straight slashes horizontal across his inner forelegs, 4 on each side (ritualistic blood-sacrifice via bloodletting / autosacrifice)
-A jagged, knotted scar in a line down the lower-front of his chest (Tried to cut out his own heart, sacrificed himself)
-Deep, clean bite at the back of hind left thigh, mostly hidden beneath fur (Metz flight part 1; Midge fight) SCABBED
-Deep ripped bite in scruff / back of the neck, left with some scarring half-hidden by fur ( " " ) SCABBED
-Lacerations along right ribcage (Metz flight part 1; Selkie fight) SCABBED


Once when he was a young man, Quetzal wondered if he would've grown -could still grow- to be different if those around him had not told him all his life, so many times that he came to truly believe it, that the Feathered Serpent itself was a part of him.... If that thought still remains, he shows no signs of it.

The eldest son of an influential family always expected to find importance in order to heighten their status as a whole, one who never failed to do his duty or refused an order. A proud beast, a warrior suited to their harsh way of life, a priest ready and willing to bare the obsidian blade and send their sacrifices to the gods himself. A man in tune and unbothered by the cycle of life and death in all its beauty and darkness alike. A vicious opponent and even a fierce rival to those who know him well! A sweet and gentle soul to those he cared for, to be sure, but a softer side doesn't erase a dominant and vain nature. Doubt is poison to the mind, mercy sometimes has a strange face, and thus to swerve him from his path would take great effort; enemies must be eliminated in the same routine-but-ritualistic way prey must be hunted for sustenance, and sacrifice is merely the price paid by all to keep the world functioning as it should. Intelligent, cunning, but patient.
He was perfect. He was happy. He had friends, family, admiration - and the chance to claim a beautiful woman in the name of the future.

Until he fell in love.
Not with his betrothed.... But the girl her very existence scorned: despite favor, despite the level of suitability, despite kindness and beauty of her own. Her twin sister. His friend. The woman who should've had it all.
And he killed her.
Just by turning his gaze upon her in favor and looking too closely, the tides of their lives were irrevocably changed. He fought the command that came, yet he was intimidated into remembering his duty so he told himself it was kinder.... for him to do it himself. If love had to be her end, let it come from the one who had accidentally sentenced her to it. But she was dead all the same, the look in her eyes burned into his soul, and Quetzal was never again after that moment the man he had been. She never even knew; he should've told her, he often lamented, but for the first time in his life fear had consumed him when he realized what his fiancé meant to do... and he failed his beloved.

Never again, he told himself. No more fear. No more doubt.

Quetzalcóatl never really changed, per say. At his core, he is the same as he always has been! But he grew, he evolved, he soured. In all he came to chase, pieces of him rotted in payment.

His obsession grew softly, between droves of grief and rage and guilt. He prayed for forgiveness, for absolution, for a sign that he'd done the right thing. He grew restless and jaded, and bitter. He claimed his wife and his place by her side, did his duty by her as a husband: giving her kingdom, children, his unquestioning support.... and for it he suffered. His reverent prayers turned dark over the passing months: wishing for his sweet rabbits return, or to forget what he had done, and failing all else a way to follow her. Trying to be a good man, a good member of the tribe, a good husband, a good father! Quetzalcóatl grew frantic, desperate, when the heavens remained silent he delved into forbidden rituals and dark ceremony held in secret; he murdered many in his haste to find balance within himself again, prayed and prayed and prayed till his eyes dulled and his pelt matted and his strong body fed on itself. Withdrawn, consumed by wrath, eerily quiet, many believed him simply ill.

When all else indeed failed, over years later, he wielded the sacrificial blade once more.... this time to carve out his own heart -- not for the gods, not for his people nor his family, not even in search of the parts of himself long lost, but for Metztli.



Fun Facts:

-Speaks: Nahuatl, Spanish, Latin, and a small amount of English

-Wont --cant-- hunt or bring himself to harm rabbits.