Personality:
Furfur, known to many unsavoury sorts as simply the 'Fallen Angel', is a seemingly emotionless manipulative informant on his own agenda, known as a socially incapable Kiamara with a particularly dark mindset, the ability to mimic personalities and a rather bizarre love of manipulating people. He delights in adapting to potential dangers, whether through gathering information, manipulation or perhaps as far as causing harm, though he's not usually the type to carry out what he considers the dirty work, leading most Kiamaras to label him a psychopath. With his calculating mind he seems to be able to talk his way out of any situation, though with his habit of annoying powerful people one can only wonder how long his luck will last.
History:
The night he receives his feathers is much the same as any other; he dreams of falling.
The sky was dark at the time - empty, starless - snow fell alongside him, though the flakes were large and seemed misshapen. It ended, as always, with a sharp rush of consciousness on the floor of a large forest in winter, surrounded by snow and with a sudden feeling of familiarity. Awakening on the floor of a snow-devoid forest, he quickly shook off the strange feeling it had left him.
It had been a long time since he had last let himself ponder the nature of the dream.
'He' is the one known as Furfur, a pale-furred teen, now nearly an adult, who wandered the forest alone. Those who had raised him had told tales of how a lone Kiamara found him as a child in the depths of these woods and brought him to them.
Perhaps it was the dream that had drawn him back here, or perhaps the formless rumours of the one fitting the description of that lone Kiamara from his childhood that had somehow, mysteriously, wormed their way into his circles. He couldn't really say, but from the way the older Kiamara seemed to have predicted his arrival and now stood before him, he was beginning to doubt either had been a coincidence; he hated being manipulated.
"You've come for them." Their voice was gruff and knowing, holding no trace of fear like many of those he made contact with. It was almost refreshing. What the other knew he had come for though, he did not, and the confusion must have shown clearly on his face, rather unusually, for they began to speak again.
"When I found you, you were camouflaged amongst the snow and almost hidden by your surroundings; these brilliantly white feathers. I thought them important, kept them for you since I thought you'd be back, but it is strange. I've stored many feathers over my lifetime, but these... There is something different in their nature. Over time they darkened, some even crumbled away to ash, and now... Well, you see." The Kiamara held out four matte black feathers, each tipped with white.
Carefully, perhaps even hesitantly since the other gestured for him to take them again, Furfur took the feathers offered him — and the feeling of familiarity from his dream resurfaced, causing him to stumble. A smirk began to play on his lips as he gazed almost reverently at the tainted feathers so dark against his white fur.
Something told him these were perfect.
Occupation: Informant
Furfur, known to many unsavoury sorts as simply the 'Fallen Angel', is a seemingly emotionless manipulative informant on his own agenda, known as a socially incapable Kiamara with a particularly dark mindset, the ability to mimic personalities and a rather bizarre love of manipulating people. He delights in adapting to potential dangers, whether through gathering information, manipulation or perhaps as far as causing harm, though he's not usually the type to carry out what he considers the dirty work, leading most Kiamaras to label him a psychopath. With his calculating mind he seems to be able to talk his way out of any situation, though with his habit of annoying powerful people one can only wonder how long his luck will last.
History:
The night he receives his feathers is much the same as any other; he dreams of falling.
The sky was dark at the time - empty, starless - snow fell alongside him, though the flakes were large and seemed misshapen. It ended, as always, with a sharp rush of consciousness on the floor of a large forest in winter, surrounded by snow and with a sudden feeling of familiarity. Awakening on the floor of a snow-devoid forest, he quickly shook off the strange feeling it had left him.
It had been a long time since he had last let himself ponder the nature of the dream.
'He' is the one known as Furfur, a pale-furred teen, now nearly an adult, who wandered the forest alone. Those who had raised him had told tales of how a lone Kiamara found him as a child in the depths of these woods and brought him to them.
Perhaps it was the dream that had drawn him back here, or perhaps the formless rumours of the one fitting the description of that lone Kiamara from his childhood that had somehow, mysteriously, wormed their way into his circles. He couldn't really say, but from the way the older Kiamara seemed to have predicted his arrival and now stood before him, he was beginning to doubt either had been a coincidence; he hated being manipulated.
"You've come for them." Their voice was gruff and knowing, holding no trace of fear like many of those he made contact with. It was almost refreshing. What the other knew he had come for though, he did not, and the confusion must have shown clearly on his face, rather unusually, for they began to speak again.
"When I found you, you were camouflaged amongst the snow and almost hidden by your surroundings; these brilliantly white feathers. I thought them important, kept them for you since I thought you'd be back, but it is strange. I've stored many feathers over my lifetime, but these... There is something different in their nature. Over time they darkened, some even crumbled away to ash, and now... Well, you see." The Kiamara held out four matte black feathers, each tipped with white.
Carefully, perhaps even hesitantly since the other gestured for him to take them again, Furfur took the feathers offered him — and the feeling of familiarity from his dream resurfaced, causing him to stumble. A smirk began to play on his lips as he gazed almost reverently at the tainted feathers so dark against his white fur.
Something told him these were perfect.
Occupation: Informant