August 13, 2016 by Lyn
Ofir cy’ Valerian
“You want to know what happened to Ofir?” Rowan didn’t talk much, and when she did, she rarely sounded this terse. “Go ask Agatha.”
As with Bowen, Ofir is one of Addergoole’s walking wounded; like Rand and Ardell, he turned his anger and humiliation of a year under Agatha’s thumb into bully-boy tendencies and a hair-trigger temper. Genetics suggests that he ought to be rather bright – he is, after all, Regine’s grandson – and it’s unclear whether that potential was destroyed by Agatha, whether he’s simply a genetic sport, or whether his temper and the pressures of Addergoole are masking an otherwise-fine intellect.
Physically, Ofir is not all that tall, at 5’6” (168cm); a slender build at the beginning of Year Four has turned into a more muscular physique over the summer. He’s not a fighter, but now, at least, he doesn’t look like the ninety-pound weakling he appeared in his first year. His hair is curly and black, kept cropped rather short this year; his eyes are dark brown, his lips full and his face long and narrow. His skin is a dark golden-brown.
The scars are another addition over the summer between Years Four and Five, although some of them lay hidden behind long-sleeved shirts; they have at their base little pinches and pokes and jabs from Agatha’s claws, which, as very few materials do, scar Ellehemaei skin. He’s had those small scars worked into wild, elaborate patterns over his newly-more-muscular-arms.
With his Mask down, the scars look more in place; he has stubby black bat wings which, while flightless, give him an air of creepy menace. His ears stretch upwards and downwards, into elongated earlobes and pointed tips, and he gets a faint glow about him.
That glow can turn into a room-lighting luminescence at will, his innate power, or, if he really concentrates, a blinding flashbulb effect (he really is, as someone said once, an overgrown lightning bug).
Phelen is so defined by his trench coat that for several chapters, this is how Jamian thinks of him – “She disentangled an arm from Trenchcoat…”
Under the perpetually-there trench coat (he has several for different occasions), Phelen is a skinny boy of about 5’10” (177.8 cm), narrow throughout and a bit on the bony side, his slouch making him seem both shorter and wider than he really is. His clothes are loose on him, but not baggy, adding a bit of bulk to his frame as well; he dresses nicely, and, despite the slouch, with an eye towards the impression he can give off; when he stands up straight and smoothes his clothes, he looks semi-professional despite his youth.
He has a long, narrow nose, flared at the bottom, hazel eyes (with his Mask up, at least), brown eyebrows that are not quite bushy, and a pointed chin. His hair is the same brown as his eyebrows, and falls in a shaggy fringe, often into his eyes, down to his shoulders in the back; he can pull it back into a smooth ponytail when he wants to look less disreputable. His skin tans easily and is generally a light brown over his face and arms, although the rest of his body never sees the sun.
His Change and his innate power are intertwined: the Change gives him solid black eyes and a cloak of shadows which usually lives under his clothing, pooling out when he’s agitated. The pool of shadows is chilly, and more than a little spooky.
When not agitated (and he is very, very rarely agitated), he has control over both his shadows, and, through them, other shadows, using them like arms to pull things to him or push them away. Aside from the intimidation factor, it gives him an edge in hand-to-hand(-to-shadow-tentacle) combat.