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 fabled, nils holt, elf, played by frey
years old 0 posts PM
hey brother nice and steady

put down your drink, you ready

it's hard when things get messy
NAME(S) Nils Holt, officially. given name Nilryn, 'Nil' to certain friends and family not that any of them are around, callsign: Kestrel GENDER male, he/him AGE 453 years BIRTHDAY December 11th SPECIES Elf (Winged) OCCUPATION Pandora Field Agent FACE CLAIM
<fc>[b]Marvel[/b], [i]Bucky Barnes[/i] - @[nils holt]</fc>


You were always a wild child. Your family recognized it from an early age-- hell, the whole damn village did-- and as you grew older you came to understand it, too. They spent decades trying to 'fix' you. To calm the energy that blustered in your heart like the great winds you so loved to glide on, high above the mesas of your home. They plied you with faith, and manners, and rules, but to you all the restrictions felt suffocating.

Finding outlets became easier as you grew older, at least. You might have been stuck with a strict flock, but at least you were still allowed to practice with the rest. Hunting was your favorite. There was something about staring down the shaft of an arrow that seemed to pull everything else into focus. The others were just happy you had at least found something productive to throw yourself into every now and then.

Routine set in for several decades. You hunted and helped, and otherwise did your own thing as you pleased. Everyone got used to it, eventually. Or maybe they just resigned themselves to it. The specifics of it never really mattered to you.

Nothing lasts forever. While the tribes your village occasionally dealt with the human tribes around you, mostly they all left each other to their own devices out of a mutual understanding. Then new people came, very obviously outsiders who spoke a language you didn't understand and bore shining armor and strange weapons that roared like thunder. Eventually, you learned they called themselves Spaniards.

Your village became something of a nomadic caravan not long after. The elders didn't like the look of these new humans. Didn't trust them. As it turned out, they were right not to. These outsiders were very intent on taking, wether what they wanted belonged to someone else or not. By all counts, it was better to maintain distance and stay hidden from them, save for the occasional spy sent out to watch and learn. You were among the volunteers for this duty.

Blending in wasn't too hard, once you got a feel for the language. You did your best to avoid meeting the same groups twice, and never left without a disguise. To these explorers and conquerers, you were just some trader, or maybe a curious wanderer, and so were the other elves with you. It was around this time that you began to learn about the things they called guns, although you wouldn't get your hands on one of your own until much later.

Eventually when the elders decided they knew enough, you and the other scouts were brought back in to isolation with the rest of the flock. You were restless then, and it only grew worse as the decades trudged on. Every year saw the flock's range grow smaller, as people came, and spread, and settled. You started acting out again, sick of it all as you were. Arguments became more frequent, and relationships withered. Even your lover at the time saw trouble with you.

The worst of it culminated around the middle of the 19th century. You got into a dispute with one of the elders' kids, which quickly turned into an altercation. Considering you'd had them before, it came as a shock when the other man didn't get up again. You didn't understand, at first, but that changed soon enough once word got around. You took off that night, fleeing your guilt and inevitable punishment for the death, and did not look back.

It was a scramble to learn the ways of the human world after that. Once you did, you picked up a stint as a gunslinger for a while, finding that the work suited you surprisingly well until the Wild West was all tamed and there was no more purpose for men like you. Bounties, though... those never really died out in the same way, so you took to relying on those to put bread on the table, as it were. It wasn't as though you were good for much else, anyhow. And if you had to be honest, you kind of enjoyed the work. You drifted in and out of places and lives alike for quite some time.

Then about fifteen years ago, Pandora found you. Or, rather, you found them. It was all kind of an accident, really. But you got to talking regardless, and damn if what they did didn't sound like something you could get behind. A real purpose for once. You took up with them as soon as you were able, even if you did occasionally clash with the instructors you were saddled with, and have been working under their direction since. They named you Kestrel, their eye in the sky, and you named yourself Nils because... it kind of sounded like your old name, and worked better for the sake of blending in besides.


  • more fluent in sarcasm than in English; also fluent in Spanish, and a very particular dialect of Elvish
  • somewhat high energy, and tends to fidget without realizing
  • rather talkative, and has trouble knowing when to shut up at times, on top of a poor filter
  • rarely appears to take anything seriously
  • likes his job because it lets him shoot things legally; may have a bit of an ongoing love affair with firearms
  • could not give less of a shit about being ‘refined’, as his kind are known for
  • about the only time he can seem to focus is when he’s staring down the sights
  • what is impulse control?
  • will pretend not to understand the language when faced with an interaction he would rather not have
  • not religious in the slightest out of a general apathy toward gods, elven or otherwise
  • somewhat erratic sleep schedule
  • persistent as all get out once he's set his mind to a particular goal
  • tends to favor more direct solutions, as opposed to elegant ones
  • a little forgetful; has left his arm behind more than once in a rush to work
  • has mostly kicked it by now, but still speaks with the hint of a southern drawl
elf lore page

As elves go, Nils is near the top of the scale regarding physical capabilities due to consistent training. His speed, strength, and durability are all closer to the upper end of enhanced, not quite superhuman, but beyond what even peak human condition might achieve. Years upon years of dedicated practice have given him experience with a variety of ranged weapons (mostly firearms, but there are some bows in there too), as well as varying forms of melee and hand-to-hand combat-- although when it comes down to it he prefers to keep his distance regardless. He's more of a sharpshooter than anything else, and he likes it that way.
His wings grant him flight, and he enjoys dabbling in aerial acrobatics when he can. It's fun, and a useful skill besides.
Overall, Nils is not much of a magic practitioner. He knows a bit of wind magic, which he mostly uses to bolster his speed and maneuverability, and occasionally to assist when he's lining up a shot, and a few basic healing spells, but that's about it. In theory he could learn more, but the interest just isn't there.

Nils isn't exactly what people tend to picture when they think of elves, and he generally prefers it that way. He's more on the rugged end of the scale than most, occasionally leaning more toward scruffy depending on the day. He's around average height at just under six feet, with a very fit build if you ignore the missing left arm. On the bright side, he was able to get his hands on a replacement with the help of an enchanter, who built him a replacement that works just as well as the original (if not better). It doesn't do anything particularly special, but a bit of runic magic ensures that it at least won't break easily. Usually he'll leave it off if he doesn't need it.
His dark brown hair is about shoulder length at its longest, though he usually keeps it tied up in some kind of ponytail or loose bun. His eyes are a lighter shade of blue, and he doesn't have any particularly notable marks or scars to speak of. As for the wings his kind are known for, Nils' resemble a burrowing owl's; mostly brown and covered in white spots. Due to the structure of the feathers, also owl-like, his wingbeats are more muffled than most, affording him a little extra stealth while in the air.
More often than not, though, he keeps all his inhuman features hidden with the help of an enchanted wristband. As long as he wears it, he can appear perfectly mundane-- he just has to be careful about people touching or bumping into him from behind.
years old 3 posts PM
PLAYED BY salt and vinegar

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