Name: Fantasy Script
Gender: Male
Age: Adult
Species: Unicorn
Pelt Colour: Dark Yellow/Gold
Mane/Tail Colour & Style: Blue Mane, tied in a ponytail, same shade of tail, knotted
Eye Colour: Blue
Clothes: Usually wears the pelt of a feral Ice Wolf and leather armour, the skull of the beast as a helmet and a chain of wolf teeth around his neck. A large sword, easily one and a have ponielengths and two hoofs wide, sharpened on one side and ending in a curve that forms a point, is always at his side, either slung across his back or hovering somewhere close to his person. He rarely if ever lets truly go of it.
Heavy saddlebags rest on his back and contain some simple tools and a flask of cider that he nips from occasionally.
Cutie Mark: A ring of runes around a stylized magical weapon. Special Talent is enchanting.
Residence: Originally Stalliongrad, currently wandering
Occupation: Soldier of Fortune, Odd jobs
Talents, Skills:
- Enchanting (natural talent)
- Good Telekinetic Control
- Very basic Swordplay skills
Likes:
- A good cider
- His pet Snow Fox Albion
- A decent book, usually fantastic fiction or the more fictionalized recounts of historic events.
- Solitude, at least once in a while. Script isn’t exactly anti social, but certainly an introvert who needs a bit of solitude to recharge his batteries.
Dislikes:
- Crowds, he is uncomfortable in crowds and dislikes tightly packed masses of ponies.
- Nosy busybodies. Script’s past isn’t something he likes to share and his reasons for being gruff and unfriendly most of the time are his own. He is willing to share, in time, his hardships but he has great hatred for those that can’t leave well enough alone.
Character Personality:
Fantasy Script is a gruff fellow who says it as he sees it. He isn’t much for flowery speech and won’t sugar coat the hard truth, except for fillies. Any adult and teen should beware his foul temper though. Easy to anger, slow to trust and hard to get along with are usually what people will tell you about him, though really it is fools and idiots who don’t know when to quit that truly irritate him.
If you get past that gruff, thorny exterior, either through friendship or enough cider you will find a brilliant enchanter who would like nothing more than to study each and every relic on this earth that has ever existed. He has read a lot of fiction and likes to speculate on the possibility of recreating some of the artefacts mentioned in some of the stories, particularly the weapons.
He is a curious stallion and a loyal friend.
He is also stubborn like mule. If he needs to scale a wall to advance his goals then by the Princesses he is going to scale that wall and Tartarus won’t stop him from trying. It also means that if he is convinced that he is right, anyone will have a very hard time to convince him otherwise. He does listen to reason, but those better be bucking good reasons to convince him once he has formed an opinion. A bad first impression is a sure-fire way to get on his bad side and remain there for quite a long time.
Digging deeper, beneath thorns and beneath gleaming curiosity there lays a child that had to grow up too fast. Beneath his exteriors lies a pony who failed, in his own mind, too often. He takes failures hard; if he loses it is a most bitter defeat. He has lost much already and isn’t too willing to give any more ground. Fearing attachment yet craving company of a few good, steadfast friends usually has him conflicted and leads to his gruff nature that pushes away all those that wouldn’t remain by his side. Those that do stay will find a very sad pony underneath all the layers. The death of his parents and sister still weigh heavily on his mind and to this day he blames himself for their demise and wonders what could have been done differently.
In the lonely hours of the night, when nightmares won’t let him sleep he contemplates their death and their live. He misses them terribly.
His greatest dream is, to one day, unravel the mysteries of the enchantments of old, the Prismatic Dragon’s enchantment, the gem enchantments of the Diamond Dogs and the Equiterian ways of enchantment. To unravel those, if possible and produce a weapon that could stand up to these artefacts of old, like the armour of the Sky Titan or Blackmane was his ultimate goal. A lofty ambition, he knows.
Bio (optional) : He was born the first son of the unicorn Curled Scroll and the earth pony Oak Leaf. His father was a writer of poetry and fiction and is the one who named him Fantasy Script in the hopes that his son would inherit his talent for writing and forging mythical stories. A hope his wife did not share, but her husband was too gentle a soul for her to raise much of an argument. While Stalliongrad wasn’t much a region for poetry and books he made small earnings from his writing and had even a few contacts in Canterlot that brought his books to a more interested market. Even still, it wasn’t much money that he made thus his wife had chosen to work as well, as a dockworker and deckhand for trading ships.
It was a simple life they led on the outskirts of the city, not rich enough to afford a home closer to the centre.
Script grew up with stories his father told, though the most prominent was that of the foundation of Equestria, of Harmony and of Ponyville, which he called a true symbol of Harmony. He would often describe the wonders that this small hamlet must be, a truly peaceful harmonious town of all three tribes joined together in tight friendship. It was something he admired greatly. Surely there were other towns and mayor cities that had all three tribes combined but there was something special about Ponyville that fascinated Curled Scroll and this fascination was inherited by Fantasy Script.
When Script was still a foal his sister joined their family a small earth pony filly with bright silver coat and mane. Her mother named her this time, insisting on the Silver Leaf. A fitting name and keeping with her family’s tradition. This wonderful moment though, would mark the beginning of a long tragedy.
It was only a year later that Fantasy Script fell ill. A doctor was expensive and something the family couldn’t readily afford which led his mother to agree to a more shady deal on the docks. She would be paid up front but she’d have to board several tours of a trading ship without asking questions or raising a fuss. She agreed, brought home the money and saw her son healed before she left.
She never returned.
It was later found out that she had been hired by a pirate ship and died in a raid they conducted on the high seas. Script’s father took the death of his wife rather hard, his writing slowed before he ultimately stopped altogether, the only source of income the family had dwindling. Script began, at a young age, to take on any job he could, asking anyone who cared to listen to hire him, be it messenger work or delivery. He managed to scrape together at least a few bits, kept the family alive for just a bit longer. Angry at his father he was glad for the work as it kept him away from home. Arguments broke out and he would often rage at his father for the neglect. The horror he felt was indescribable as, one day, he found his father dead in his home, his sister crying beneath him, a rope around his neck.
The frost that hard started to enclose his heart now became a thick sheet of ice that only his baby sister could get through at times. It was around this time, as he was hired by a local enchanter, when he found out about his talent for enchanting which earned him an apprenticeship at last, as well as his cutie mark.
His first ever enchantment encased a simple knife in flames that could be fed by the unicorns magic, it was good solid work and he was allowed to keep it. It would save is life one day.
The last strike against him happened a few years later.
An Ice Wolf separated from his pack and hungry had come dangerously close to their region and was stalking around, searching for prey and raiding the trash. Script had work to do and had come home rather late, his sister, worried by his lateness, had decided to meet him on the way, but the wolf had found her first.
He doesn’t much remember what had happened when he found the wolf over the dead body of his baby sister. He only remembered his knife flashing into life, the flames forming a long sword of fire that he guided with his telekinesis. The wolf didn’t survive. Neither did the knife, melted to slag.
To this day he wears the skull and pelt as armour, a chain of teeth around his neck. To remember the day he had failed for the last time.
When he heard of the news of the destruction of Ponyville he decided to leave Stalliongrad and join the forces in Canterlot. He wasn’t a soldier but he had some fighting ability and managed to forge and enchant a sword that he tended to carry with him at all times.
He was close enough to see the terrifying force of the Sky Titan and the destruction it wrought on Canterlot. It only strengthened his resolve. He would be part of the army that would face this terror, he would free and help rebuild, he would see Ponyville, his father’s city of dreams.
