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Cearul Micha Murtagh

"If I never had it, how could I have lost it? Sanity, what a charade."

0 · 527 views · located in Roinnte, Ireland

a character in “The Fair Folk”, as played by toajojo




"There are many things that he did not mean to do, but he can not change the fact that they have already been done, and that he might have enjoyed it."


Cearul Micha Murtagh

Cearu, Dick, Headless

299, almost 300 years old.

Unseelie, the Unblessed.

Kenyan, German, and Indian

Bisexual, aromantic

Dialogue: #488957
Thoughts: #69b079

Originating from Irish mythology, Dullahan are headless horsemen. They sit upon the saddle of stallions black as shadows and ride under the cover of night. Nightly, they will journey across the land. Every stop taken pinpoints the area one will soon perish, and only then are they permitted to speak. Their disembodied head held underneath their armwill utter the name of the victim. Then, move on to their next stop.

As a Dullahan, Cearul has supernatural eyesight. Seeing as well during the night s during the day and detecting the faintest of disruptions from miles away. Gifted with Death Sense, he instinctively knows exactly when and where someone is fated to die as long as it is within the next few days. He can sense their fading life force. Cearul wields a whip formed from the vertebra of a human and uses it to lash out the eyes of humans who spy him on his trek. His stallion is said to be unstoppable and snort embers from its nostrils. Their are only two ways to deter a Dullahan. One, gold. As a species they have an irrational fear of the metal and even a pin dropped in their path will send them back to their realm. His other weakness is his severed head. If one, most likely not a human, could get it away from his body he would be at a disadvantage. His head guides his body, so taking it from its side will discombobulate him, and crushing his skull would effectively kill him.

Cearul has an appearance that invites lust. Many are entranced by his sharp features. Rippling muscles coat his bones yet he is not considered bulky. Just the right size to give off an impression of intimidation and brutal strength. Tattoos that hold no real significant meaning paint his skin, and he makes no attempt to hide them. He is enticing and he knows it. Knowledgeable in the fastest of ways on how to tempt a men and women into his bed. The way he smugly smirks, and raises his arched brows in jest. The way thunderous laughter overpowers others, and easily given smiles. Keep many off of their guard. If one were to really observe, they would be blindsided. Dark eyes that seem to promise rebellious fun, hold undertones of hatred. Soon one can not help to see the darker ways about him. The once simple smirks now are cruel and rugged. The canines that peek through in his smile no longer endearing but animalistic and demonic.

A corpse. Dark like the shadows of the night he rides through, rigor mortis seems to have set in yet, could not have as he moves seamlessly and with an unnatural swiftness. Body chilled to the touch possesses the texture of stale bread dough. Dry and firm but still smooth. A mighty odor accompanies him. The smell of death undoubtedly. Long wavy locks fall untamed. The white pallor of the strands a scary contrast. Gnarled fingers hold the ghostly mane loosely, his head swings back and forth menacingly. An idiotic and hideous toothy grin splits the face from ear to ear and lips twitch anxiously awaiting to speak to chosen name. Large and wide eyes glow a bloody red, shedding light like a lamp post. Tiny black pupils of his dart to and fro reminiscent to flies.

Crazed | Self-Confident | Boisterous | Irritable | Lustful |

Cearul is a man with many faces, but he has never once in his life considered himself complex in any sort. Things he does not care for he will not do, while things he enjoys he will make time for. Simple as that really, but only the oversimplified basics. Glossing over Cearul's less than admirable tendencies.

Instincts and the fear of boredom drive him. The spotlight calls out to him and he thrives being the center of attention. Cearul is always easily and quickly spotted even in a crowded room as he is most likely the loudest one there. Roaring laughter rumbles like thunder and infectious grins ease his company. He is often seen as blithe and and affable, but not without a hint of rebellious danger. That is just part of his allure though. He is seductive and lustful, going after whoever he deems good enough for the night. Seductive and flirtatious without a qualm. He enjoys having people hanging over him, laugh and smile and blush at his words. Making people crave and desire him is just a pastime. Seeing how far they are willing to do and give up for him is his goal. Bending them to his very whim is amusing. It can not be so wrong if they are willing. Cearul is not one to force himself on another.

He enjoys being in the company of others, but he tires of people very quickly. Their antics becoming swiftly irksome and he does not have the patience to deal with annoyances.Nor does he have to set boundaries, or maybe, he just chooses not to because the aftermath can be quite entertaining. He does not really care about the people anyway. There is no shortage of them and he was going to move on in a day or two anyway.

Cearul's mood shifts from extreme to extreme. Despite how inviting he appears at first sight, Cearul has been known to turn demented and bloodthirsty at the drop of a dime. For the most simple and foolish of reasons. His list of annoyances is extensive and ever expanding. Things he dislikes he will make known. Sometimes with his words, more often with violence.


•Horses, especially Arabian Horses • Minty gum• Parties • Stories, telling and listening • Eating, he can easily eat enough for four men • Long hair • The full moon • The woods and forests • The spotlight • Sex • Fighting, literally anyone • Fires, from candles to forest fires • Spooking others • Humans, in a more morbid sense • Lightning • Mangoes •

•Being clung to • Children, under the age of about twenty four • Stupidity • Sour food • The cold, can not function in snow • Gold • Mornings • Obnoxious noises, screeching and crunching and smacking • Uselessness • Elves and Pixies • Wearing Belts • Silence • Boredom • Cats • Small cars • Revolving Doors •


• Tends to run his fingers through soft hair when he is bored. It does not really matter whose, if it is soft and within arms reach, he will probably fiddle with it. • He never puts ice in any of his drinks • He is always chewing gum the flavor varies but spearmint is his favorite • He will only eat his dark meat rare. The more blood the better. •Throughout the day he will change his hairstyle at least twice • Eats his food as hot as possible like some sort of challenge • Absolutely can not stand it when people touch him, when he is not the one to initiate the contact •

Sight | Blessed with supernatural sight. He sees everything. Priding himself on the fact that nothing has ever and will never escape him unnoticed. Miles around is his field of view. He sees far and wide. Able to focus on the smallest of movements and details. Seamlessly and without thought storing it away in his mind for future reference. Nights are no different to him than the day.
Seduction | Not on the same level as, say an incubus, but comparable. His sculpted frame attracts lingering glances and he uses it to his advantage. Sly smirks, soft yet heated whispers, electric feather-like touches. He knows his way around all the tricks.
Combat | His duties do not often require that he engage in any sort of violence, really. He wishes it did though. He is quite skilled with a whip he will admit. But fighting with his bare hands is his true passion. Hearing the slap of flesh against flesh rings melodiously in his ears. Feeling the snap of bones underneath his fingers. Seeing bruises color and blood pool bring grins to his face.

Temper | Cearul can not and does not try to contain himself. When things irritate him he can not help but get irrationally angered. Touching him. Ignoring him. Gross noises. Taunting him. Stupidity. They all serve to give him cause to lash out in the most violent of fashions. Senselessness grips at his mind invading from the edges. Muddling his thoughts and actions. At that point he will do anything in his power to remove the disturbance.
Gold | It is instinctive to Dullahans. Unlike many other fae, Iron has very little affect on him. Instead Gold does. Contact with it will burn and blister his skin. Burning at his flesh even days later. The sight of it will make him recoil in disgust. Even just the smallest amount, a gold coin or pin, will stop him in the midst of a rampage and send him in the opposite way.
Head | The one known way to kill a Dullahan. Their severed head that they carry by the roots of their hair so confidently, grinning as it waves in the air. He is strongly doubts that anyone can get it out of his possession, but if they were to, he would be hellbent on getting it back. Their head directs their body and without it they would wonder dazedly. Crushing it would destroy him.

Vulnerability | Cearul is strong, not just in the physical sense, and the fact is a source of great pride. He is rarely knocked over and when he is there is nothing that can keep him down. The fact that one day he might encounter (and foolishly engage) one many times stronger than him, is something he dislikes to dwell on. Someday someone might just manage to break him so fully and completely that he will be forced to satisfy their own whims is a frightful thought.
Alone | Rarely ever on his own, Cearul actively seeks people out. He craves company and measurable affection. Solitude brings silence and with that comes loneliness.

August 22, 1716,Terror filled pained screams shook the wooden boards holding the aged cabin together. Dark skin damp from sweat. The young woman heavy with child shrieks as she watches her unborn thrash against the walls of her womb.

August 30, 1716, Ainmire stared curiously upon the scene. His newborn son. Nestled underneath the left breast of the days old corpse. The man found himself quite pleased as he plucked the infant from the decay. The woman had served her purpose and he now had what he needed. A successor.

The years 1716 to 1861, Ainmire may have been Cearul's father but they shared merely a professional relationship. He provided the boy's basic needs, he was not negligent. The man taught him the ways of his inherent nature as a Dullahan. They lived on the outskirts of Ireland. Moving around the more quiet and rural towns and villages. The never stayed in one area for very long, Cearul's father was the restless sort. Other than teaching his son, the two did very little together. If asked, Ainmire might even go as far as saying he disliked Cearul. Their bloodline and the potential he saw in his son was the only thing that kept him around. Cearul was not a big fan of Ainmire either. The two had personalities that clashed dangerously. The disciplined, and austere Ainmire rather hated the way he could only barely handle the rebellious and uninhibited youth.

Janurary 2, 1862, Cearul is not positive how he knew, but he did instinctively. Ainmire did not return after two days. Of course, he could have just been abandoned but he doubted that. Cearul chose not to think about the sudden emptiness that bit at him. He was not one for introspection after all.

Until 1879, He wandered. It was what he was raised to do. Stick to the outer regions of Ireland. Draw little attention then leave. He always acted out around his father, but it did not click until years later that he was actually free to do whatever her pleased.

1879 to Present Day, Roinnte is where he ended up ultimately. He decided, this city suited him spectacularly.

Played by Toajojo
Faceclaim is Cykeem White

So begins...

Cearul Micha Murtagh's Story