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About Varied / Student Official Beta Tester MelonFemale/United Kingdom Group :iconharpg-tgvr: HARPG-TGVR
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I'm toying with the idea of having Aytan learn a bit of earth magic as his physical strength begins to wane -- what level do you want to see him rise to? 

2 deviants said Medium -- might be able to remove any silt build-up from swollen rivers, clearing paths of overgrown roots etc.
2 deviants said Master -- GOLEMS TO BEAT THE CRAP OUT OF IMPOSTERS, manipulating the earth etc
2 deviants said He shouldn't learn magic, he's not that type.
1 deviant said Basic -- bit of a flower show to amuse Elysia.
1 deviant said Advanced -- creating shelters from plantlife, healing the forest, vines to ensnare raiders/intruders.


Early Autumn, Year 760 of the New Age
Blackwood, Central Blackwood
Aytan and Brutus

There was a slight chill in the air as Aytan moved through the dark trees, his steps muffled by the thick layer of pine needles covering the forest floor. He sighed out a steamy breath as he came to a halt besides a rock, dropping his head to peer at the thick moss that covered one side of it. Two long, jagged lines had been scraped through the deep greenery, revealing the bare rock below, and Aytan bent his head lower to compare the distance between his antlers with the distance between the two lines. The distance was, of course, the same, as Aytan had been the one to scratch the lines there in the first place. He’d suspected that he’d been running in circles for days, but this now proved it.

“Where are you, Thalia?” He muttered into the dark trees, peering into the darkness with narrowed eyes. He was beginning to regret coming to Blackwood, and was now more worried about whether he could find his way out of the trees rather than finding Thalia -- the doe had survived here before with the help of the herd, surely she could do it again?

He stamped his hoof and tossed his head in frustration, trying to figure out how he got so lost. The trees here all looked the same, and the thick canopy meant that it was impossible to navigate by what little light made it to the forest floor.

The sudden snap of a twig a short distance away made Aytan whip his head around, ears perked towards the sound. Whatever it was sounded big and heavy, and that was never a good thing, especially in Blackwood…


His patrol was routine and boring and he was glad to be done with it. He’d been paired with one of the older witches who always gave him grief about being scared of magic. Why shouldn’t he be scared of magic? It was unnatural.

Now, having been relieved of duty, he was heading back to the dugout den he called home. Normally he’d stir up one of his buddies to hang out with- Brutus hated being alone- but that witch had really fouled up his mood and he just wanted to sleep forever, or until he was next on duty. 

He was so preoccupied with the various ways in which he’d smash the witch’s skull in that he didn’t notice the smell of another stag until he nearly bumped into him.

“Augh, sorry,” he grumbled, and nearly kept moving until he got a closer look. This stag was a big old hairy bear, like he was, but he was short. On first glance Brutus had mistaken him for a youngster, but the size of his rack and condition of his hooves seemed to disprove that. Besides, he was red. Not red like Brutus was red, but red like the rump of the pretty birds you sometimes see in the mountains close to Glenmore.

Was this.. was this a foreigner? A foreign stag, in the heart of Blackwood, during rut?

Brutus thought about summoning the nearest guard, but no. That would be the stupid witch and Brutus wouldn’t let him take credit for bringing in this prisoner. No, Brutus would do it himself. The guy wasn’t that big.

“I think you’d better come with me,” he grumbled with his most authoritative voice, which he’d learned from one of the soldiers who’d trained him. Sometimes if a prisoner got intimidated enough they wouldn’t even fight you, he’d said.


Aytan had smelt the lumbering stag minutes before he’d suddenly materialised through the trees, though hadn’t been able to pinpoint where he was before it was too late. The dark red stag almost walked straight into him, and both stags’ ears pinned back against their skulls as they realised the situation they were in.

The Blackwood was far taller than Aytan, and his shoulders and neck were covered in thick fur that made him look even bigger. An immense pair of antlers were perched between his ears, and two dark brown eyes glared down at him from an unfamiliar height -- Aytan wasn’t used to being the shorter stag in a confrontation.

“I think you’d better come with me,” the stranger rumbled angrily, and Aytan’s ears flicked backwards again, his tail swishing in irritation.

“And why should I do that?” He found himself saying, taking a step back to square up against the huge stag. If it came to blows, they might be even strength-wise, but the Blackwood would never be able to dodge or turn quickly, so Aytan might have a small advantage. “I don’t even know who you are.”


Brutus blinked in confusion as the stag declined.

“And why should I do that? I don’t even know who you are,” the fuzzy intruder told him.

Who did this short rufus puffball think he was?

“Because I’m a Blackwood warrior and you’re intruding in our territory?” growled Brutus. “Because I could crush you to the ground if you don’t do as I say?”

Where was he even going to take the stag? He couldn’t remember the last time a bloody stag- and a Glenmore by the earthy smell of him- was stupid enough to charge into the heart of Blackwood. Were there protocols for this?

He could run him off, but escorting him back to the border would take days or maybe weeks if the mountains were iced already and he had to be back on patrol the next day. No, it would be simpler to take him prisoner.

Normally he’d take a prisoner to the General, but he wasn’t rightly sure where the General was. He could take him to the Queen, but she really gave him the creeps. No, he’d take him to the King. Skoll was an old buddy, and also his cousin. Skoll always knew what to do.

“I could give you a good thumping if you’re not convinced. Just so that you know I can,” Brutus added as an afterthought.


Aytan almost laughed as he watched the stag think of a retort -- he could practically see the cogs turning slowly round as he processed Aytan’s answer. He snorted to himself at the stag’s confident response, though regretted it as he once again glanced at the hefty Warrior.

“There’s no need for violence,” Aytan said, swallowing his apprehension and raising his head high to meet the dark stag’s gaze. He played through how a brawl might play out in his mind, reckoning that the brute in front of him would never be able to turn or move quickly, and thinking that he might tire quickly hauling all that weight around with him. “I simply need to find Hagen, I believe my daughter has come to find him.”

He immediately kicked himself for mentioning that Lia was in Blackwood too, though tried not to show the concern on his face as he kept his eyes on the Warrior’s. He wondered if that stag would realise what he’d just said: the Blackwood hardly seemed to be the sharpest stag he’d ever met, though what he lacked in apparent brains he made up for in clear strength.


Brutus considered what the strange little intruder was saying. He was looking for Hagen. He had a daughter, who was also in Blackwood and was also looking for Hagen.

That didn’t make any sense. Why would a bunch of Glenmore softies come into Blackwood looking for Hagen? The old witch was a bit odd and sometimes he kept odd company but having a Glenmore cross into Blackwood to find him was a bit more than Brutus could process.

Was this stag trying to confuse him? Trying to trick him? Brutus scowled in warning. “I don’t care what you want. You’re an intruder, trespassing and breaking the law. I have to take you to the king to dispense justice. If he sees fit to take you to Hagen he’ll do it. If he sees fit to have me squish you, he’ll do that too.”

Brutus lowered his rack and flicked it forward in a gesture of ‘start walking that way’. He’d begun to move forward himself when another thought struck him.

“Don’t try to run and find Hagen yourself. He lives out in the mountains and trust me, you wouldn’t make it that far even if you knew where you were going.”


Aytan flicked his ears back a little at the stag’s response -- the brute clearly had little desire to trust or help him, despite his plea. Then again, that was understandable… he was a stranger in his territory, during Rut, no less. Aytan would have done the same had he been in the Blackwood’s position, though he would have chased him back across the border, not further in.

“Your King is highly likely to order either my execution or that I be escorted back to Glenmore, two things I’d rather avoid…” Aytan said sternly, standing his ground. “So it would seem my only option is to try and get away from you…”

Aytan took a small step back and stood tall, puffing out his chest and lifting his head high. He knew how slim his chances of winning were, but if he was taken to the King, he would surely die… He squared up his opponent, tossing his head and flicking his tail as he waited for the Blackwood’s response.


What was this idiot even doing? Announcing his plan to run and then standing there? Even Brutus would never be stupid enough to do that.

Not one to pass up an obvious opportunity (and perhaps taking out a bit of his frustration and annoyance), Brutus dropped his head and rammed the damn interloper.

If he’d been looking to drop his opponent, like he did in a real fight, he would have aimed to crush ribs or snap a neck. Fortunately for this strange stag, it had been made very clear to Brutus that he was not authorized to make decisions about things without consulting someone higher up the chain. Brutus wasn’t all that good at decisions. Besides, this guy was from Glenmore and King Skoll might want to talk to him. Maybe get some sneaky sneak political information on the enemies. Even Brutus could see the advantage in that. And he felt a little out of sorts about crushing a stag who hadn’t initiated a fight and was so darn short.

So, instead of crushing bone, Brutus swung his rack into the stag’s own set, noticing for the first time the roped muscle and sinew just under the red fur. Tines locked, and Brutus began leveraging his height to try to force his opponent to the ground.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” he asked. Brutus didn’t mind a good fight, but this stag didn’t seem to be in the mood for one.


The impact of the Blackwood’s tines slamming into Aytan’s own made him stagger for a moment, before he regained his balance and began to shove back, digging his hooves into the earth for more leverage. It was difficult though; the stag clearly knew that his height was an advantage, and was using it against Aytan as much as he could, leaving Aytan to fight from below -- something he wasn’t at all used to. Pushing up onto his back legs, Aytan pushed down on the back of the stag’s antlers, until the brute gave in and stepped back, huffing angrily.

Aytan danced sideways, hoping what little speed he had would be enough to evade the Blackwood’s heavy-hitting attacks. “I’m not sure I want to do this, no,” Aytan said breathlessly, shaking his head to get rid of the pain that was already starting in his neck. “But it would seem I have to if I want to get away from you.” He dove towards the stag, antlers aiming for just behind the shoulder.


What was wrong with this stag? Despite Brutus’s superior height and mass he just wouldn’t give up! And he just kept talking! The only good reason to waste your breath talking to your opponent during a fight was to confuse or intimidate them and this red stag was doing neither. If anything, he was revealing his plan to get away.

When the stag managed to wrestle Brutus back a few steps, he had to admit a bit of grudging respect. Not many smaller stags could do that! Evidently this Glenmore wasn’t as soft as most he’d met.

Now Brutus started paying attention. He saw the stag dive forward, aiming towards his shoulder. In return, he pivoted gracelessly on his hindlegs so that as the tips of the stag’s tines met Brutus’s shoulder, Brutus’s more blunt rack was meeting his ribs with great force.

Brutus backed up a step to survey the damage, ignoring the blood trickling down his shoulder. If nothing else, the stag should have the wind knocked out of him and probably be less immediately interested in running away.


Aytan only saw the blunt tines swinging towards him in the last millisecond, and the impact of them hitting his ribs sent him sailing sideways, landing heavily and stumbling to the ground, hitting the back of his head on a tree. Almost instantly he felt warm blood soaking into the pelt just behind his head, and he snorted in disgust. He paused on the ground for a moment, struggling to get his breath back and steady his swirling head, before hauling himself unsteadily to his feet.

He attempted to step sideways out of the Blackwood’s reach, but tripped over his own feet and barely remained standing as the world pitch around him. He shook his head and snorted, blinking as he tried to focus on the stag who was watching him silently.

Vision still blurry, Aytan threw himself towards the Blackwood, tilting his head to point his tines forwards. He could barely distinguish the stag’s dark form from the trees, and his chest was screaming at him in protest, but Aytan couldn’t give up without a fight.


He had to admire the little bull’s pluck. Even staggering back and forth, his opponent wasn’t ready to give in. Brutus almost admired him.

Then Brutus shifted and the gouge in his shoulder plucked at his attention. He grimaced, though not outwardly, and his admiration turned to annoyance.

Though he wasn’t exactly in pristine condition, the stag still had his rack up and wasn’t backing down. Brutus walked over to him and shoved with his own shield-like antlers, in the general direction of the King’s glade. It would take a long time to wrestle this lug all the way there a step at a time, but not as long as it would take to drag his dead weight if he passed out.

“What would it take to get you to walk?” Brutus growled. “The king probably won’t kill you right away. He’ll probably want to question you first. Maybe you could save your strength and we could both save some trouble and you could wait until we get there to make your brave stand?”


Aytan barely heard what the stag was saying thanks to the ringing in his ears, but he could tell the Blackwood was trying to save himself the bother of continuing to fight. Aytan wasn’t about to give him that luxury, and responded to the shove with a hard kick in the dark stag’s general direction. His hoof collided with something soft, and he smirked slightly.

A particularly painful throb from behind his eyes wiped the smile from his face, and he shook his head in an attempt to dislodge the pain, though the effort was futile. He had to squint against what little light made it through to the forest floor, and moving his head to look around made his vision swim and blur.

The shove made Aytan stumble, and as the Blackwood began to speak Aytan -- slowly -- turned his head to stare at him, eyebrows furrowing as he -- slowly -- processed the words.

“I’d have to be half-dead to go with you willingly, Blackwood,” Aytan spat as menacingly as he could with his squint, raising his head as high as he could without visibly wincing. It wasn’t very high, granted, but he felt more powerful having done it. He knew what he’d let himself in for with his last statement, but dying on the way to meet the King seemed a much better option than being torn to shreds by the entire herd.


The kick caught Brutus in the gut but the stag’s lack of balance meant there wasn’t an impressive amount of power behind the desperate flail. Still, it was impressive that he’d managed to land a blow at all from the way he was weaving of his hooves. Brutus grunted, half from the impact and half from surprise.

What was it with these Glenmores and their honor? Couldn’t they see it was better to survive to fight the next fight than to die unnecessarily? It was a wonder any of their fighters lived very long with how eager they were to throw their lives away.

“I can make that happen,” Brutus said, and obligingly aimed one more solid blow at the Glenmore’s knees.

One more blow wouldn’t kill the stag (he hoped) but might just take him out of the fight. Or take the fight out of him. Either one was fine with Brutus.


The final blow sent Aytan sprawling to the ground again, his head slamming into a small rock with a faint crunch. Immediately, white-hot pain spiked out from just above Aytan’s eye and made him groan in discomfort, while blood began to trickle down and blur out his vision. His leg burned where the Blackwood’s horns had slammed into it, and a glance down showed a decent-sized gash was already bleeding heavily.

His face burned with shame as he looked up at the Blackwood, who seemed almost bored of the events, looking down at him with an unimpressed expression. The Glenmore’s ears flopped backwards as he realised he would have to concede defeat -- his head was swimming and he could barely see well-enough to land a blow, never mind put any power behind it. He had no chance of defeating the hulk of a stag stood in front of him.

He climbed to his feet once again, keeping his weight off the now injured leg as best he could. Dropping his head and keeping his eyes on the Blackwood’s hooves, he drew in a shaky breath.

“I concede,” he said quietly, admitting he’d lost for the first time in many years. “Take me to your King.”

The Brute and the Bear

Early Autumn, Year 760 of the New Age

Blackwood, Central Blackwood
Featuring Aytan and Brutus

[Total word count: 3,142
Aytan: 1,629 words
Brutus: 1,484 words]

And here we have Aytan getting into a spot of bother with ol' Brutus in big-bad-Blackwood... :giggle: Who knows where Thalia is right now, but you can sure her experience is going quite differently to Aytan's, bless him :') Poor Aytan, this is one of the first times he's even lost, poor kiddo :giggle:
Anyway, Aytan's off to meet the King of Blackwood.... ;)

Literature, characters (c) me and bovidaeloony


I'm toying with the idea of having Aytan learn a bit of earth magic as his physical strength begins to wane -- what level do you want to see him rise to?
2 deviants said Medium -- might be able to remove any silt build-up from swollen rivers, clearing paths of overgrown roots etc.
2 deviants said Master -- GOLEMS TO BEAT THE CRAP OUT OF IMPOSTERS, manipulating the earth etc
2 deviants said He shouldn't learn magic, he's not that type.
1 deviant said Basic -- bit of a flower show to amuse Elysia.
1 deviant said Advanced -- creating shelters from plantlife, healing the forest, vines to ensnare raiders/intruders.
Flynt | Stag | Aspiring Firebringer/Soldier by MelonHeadGirl
Flynt | Stag | Aspiring Firebringer/Soldier
I'm so proud of this pose.... no references used as well! :D Flynt will grow up to be quite the Mr. Attractive when he's fully grown, I'm excited to RP with him a lot more now he's older a little more able to do major things.

NB: He's pictured above when he's fully mature, somewhere around 8-10 years old.


(format based loosely on Ehetere's Fawnling info forms)

Name: Flynt
Meaning: Play on 'flint'.
Pronunciation: 'Flint'
Nicknames: Flyn, Flynty
Gender: Colt
Breed: Fawnling
Height: 11.1hh
Age: 2 years [Born late Summer of Year 758 of the New Age]
Colour: Liver chestnut roan partially restricted fawn
Genotype: ee/aa/nRn/fwfw/nrz
Markings: White nose with small stripe going up face, and white eyeliner around eyes. White marking on chest. Back half of back feet are white. White spots across rump, dark spots across body.
Eye colour: Brown.
Build: Medium
Appearance: Quite muscular, slender but still retaining some chunkiness. Long tail and neck, with a majestic head and relatively small ears. Antlers are a single horn bending back between ears, with three tines spiking off on either side. Can act as a vicious weapon in combat, easily drawing blood.
Mane/Tail: Takes after both parents and has grown long and silky.
Trinkets/Decorations: None.
Parentage: Naykhornn X Aiyanna
Bloodlines: 100% Silverthorne
Personality: Being an adult suits Flynt quite well, and he handles himself easily when talking to anyone, whether his age or many seasons older. He's still fixated on being either a Soldier or a Firebringer, though he can't decide between the two at the moment as being both a good fighter and a master fire-wielder both appeal to him greatly. He does not, and will not, tolerate fawns -- they irritate him beyond belief and he'll be damned if he sticks around to help raise any of his own (he'd much prefer to watch from afar then take the more promising ones under his wings once they're older and less snotty). Generally quite easygoing and patient, he'll talk to anyone and everyone, though loves learning from masters in the herd as they can teach him something to help with his future. He's already found that he has an aptitude for getting other fawns to do what he wants
Discipline/Use: Western Isles RP.
Aqauintances/Companions: None.

Role Play:

Affiliation: Silverthorne
Role: Herd member
Mate: None
Aiyanna: His mother, she is the closest friend he has. Though he knows little about her other than that she gives him food and takes care of him, he loves her dearly. dont shoot me for that pun
Naykhornn: His father, who he has met on a couple of occasions. They aren't massively close, but Flynt respects his father and holds him in high regard.

Skill Points

Speed: 8 [No Level]
Stamina: 7 [No Level]
Strength: 4 [No Level] (Build Cap: 19 points max)

Magic: 0 [No Level]
Herbs: 2 [No Level]

Experience: 0


+3 speed - base bonus
+4 stamina - base bonus
+3 strength - base bonus
+2 herbs - hereditary bonus

Notes on Magic/Herb Lore:
Fire Magic: While Flynt has little inherited experience with fire magic, he is already showing a little potential, leaving small scorch marks occasionally and even once or twice setting a twig or patch of grass ablaze, though this generally only happens if he's spooked or startled, he can't control when it appears quite yet.

Magic/Herb Lore/Fight Stat Images:

Shaky Legs
+1 strength - art - Shaky Legs
+1 stamina - lit - 400-999 words - Shaky Legs
Fights and Friendship
+3 speed - collab lit - 1000-1999 words - Fights and Friendship
+2 stamina - training/sparring with a Fawnling of higher level
Snow Race
+2 speed - lit - 1000-1999 words - Snow Race

RP Images:

Winter 758: Snow Race with SeriMae's Nierka.
Spring 759: Fights and Friendship with blaine-rr's Sethoro.

Timeline Images:

Autumn 758: Shaky Legs [art][story]
Winter 758: Snow Race [story]
Spring 759: Fights and Friendship [art][story]

Art, character (C) me
Naykhornn (C) Utakame
Aiyanna (C) SugarItch
Design (C) me [design sheet]

Baeric | Stag | Loner/Witch by MelonHeadGirl
Baeric | Stag | Loner/Witch

...guess who got a Blackwood!?!?!? :la: Meant Baeric, another grumpy-man ;)


(format based loosely on Ehetere's Fawnling info forms)

Name: Baeric
Meaning: Derivation of 'Baer', meaning 'Bright'.
Pronunciation: Bare-ick
Nicknames: Baeric, 'The Bear' occasionally.
Gender: Stag
Breed: Fawnling
Height: 14hh
Age: 25 (Born early Spring of Year 735)
Colour: Black Restricted Fawn
Genotype: Ee/aa/fwfw/nRx [design sheet]
Markings: Chest and stomach are a little lighter than rest of coat. White patches on tail-base, belly, chest, nose and around eyes.
Eye colour: Dark brown.
Build: Medium
Appearance: He's a big stag, though his muscle-mass is more built for speed and agility than brute strength. He's skinny as a result of his magic and failed attempts at herb lore, and his ribs are clearly visibly, especially in Spring or Summer when he doesn't have the hormones of Rut to beef him up. He's got plenty of scars from foes he failed to possess, though has some more serious ones along his shoulders/chest, and a couple on his ribs. The ice bear managed to catch him round the head with a paw, leaving him partially-blind and partially-deaf on his right side, and as such that eye is slightly more milky than his left.
Mane/Tail: Mane and tail are thin, straggly and tend to fall out whenever he's especially stressed/active with his magic.
Trinkets/Decorations: Large ice bear pelt
Parentage: Unknown Blackwood.
Bloodlines: Blackwood.
Personality: Baeric is a sick, twisted soul. His obsessive use and practice with his magic has sent him half-mad, and while most of the time he appears normal -- where to the untrained eye he could simply appear to be a foul-tempered recluse -- he does sometimes have violent, paranoid outbursts -- where he perceives every living thing as a threat to him and is more than likely to try to kill you on sight. He's got a keen sadistic streak, and will often possess animals just to watch them hurt themselves.

Immensely sarcastic and with a dry, dark sense of humour, Baeric's not very good at making friends, and if he does find himself in a conversation with someone he will talk as little as possible until the conversation ends. He's very concious that his lapses make him prone to attacking anything around him, so he tends to avoid other fawnlings simply to ensure that he doesn't harm them, though in the process he isolates himself from others.

He doesn't get on well with anybody since he can never bring himself to truly trust them, and he barely even interacts his closest acquaintances (if you could even class them as that, they're merely fawnlings he'll let through his territory without kicking up a fuss and will occasionally talk to briefly). Underneath his fiercely stormy exterior is an equally stony and un-giving heart, so he's not one to give favours or show mercy if it's not absolutely necessary. His only true companion is a female raven that he treats more like a curse than a friend, who watches him silently from trees, though he never hears her make a sound, or sees her come or go -- Baeric's never been able to possess the bird, and so tries to ignore her, though her presence more often than not leads to a mental lapse, so the bird has become something of an ill-omen for him.

His magic is his greatest skill, and the thing he is most proud of himself for. His skills with possession are something he practices daily, inhabiting and controlling anything and everything from a fieldmouse to a wolf or even a full-grown fawnling. Rather grotesquely, he has a habit of burying the corpses of the beasts he kills (more often than not making them dig their own graves) then returning later to dig up the skulls and add them to his collection -- quite a few hollow trees around his territory are filled with various skulls and bone fragments. The strain of fighting the ice bear means he's never attempted to control anything so big since, though he wears the victory as a badge of pride, even if he is the only one who knows of his success. He's also keen to improve his herb-lore skills, though without a teacher his explorations are more experimental than successful, and he's nearly killed himself more times than he can count by eating the wrong berry or leaf.
Discipline/Use: Western Isles RP.
Aqauintances/Companions: None.
History:  Born to a sire and dam who had long been struggling to conceive a fawn, Baeric was far from the perfect son. Grouchy and insatiably-curious, his parents had half the herd in uproar trying to find him more often than he stayed by his mother's side. Thankfully his mother managed to get him to stay by her side by the time he discovered his magical abilities - something he told his mother by way of sending a mouse scampering up her tail and scaring her half to death. After that his curiosity vanished, and the only reason he would leave his mother's side - something far easier now thanks to the arrival of a younger brother - was to practice his new-found magic. His sire attempted to find him a tutor, but Baeric couldn't get on with any of them and in the end ended up practising alone. His magic began to affect his sanity from an early age, and by the time he turned eight his lapses were so severe that he was concerned for the safety of those around him, and so left to live alone. Around this time the raven first appeared, though he thought her simply curious and ignored her as best he could. Later he realised that his magic didn't work on the bird, and so feared her instead, considering her a servant of Uir sent to watch him, and so her presence was a great contribution to his dwindling sanity. 

Jumping forwards a good few years, Baeric was much more skilled at his magic -- which had already begun to eat away at his sanity --  and had become almost obsessed with the idea of trying to possess a fully-grown ice bear that he had heard so many rumours about. His trip through Blackwood to the mountains took a season, and seeking out and tracking a bear another. Though he had found a target, he made the grave mistake of picking a female with newly-born cubs without realising, and so the bear's resistance to his magic was much stronger than he had anticipated. After focusing himself though, he gained enough control to send the bear tumbling down the mountain and over a cliff-edge, then pitted her cubs against one another for good measure while the raven watched on from a perch above the scene. The fight had essentially magically crippled him though, and after taking the bear's fur as a trophy he fled back to his home to recover.

Since then he's gotten a lot more paranoid, a lot more defensive, and a lot more powerful, though now he sticks to his own territory and only possesses creatures he knows he can handle. His list of victims has grown considerably since the bear incident -- such strain on his powers meant his mental state weakened considerably -- with multiple fawnlings being added to the death toll as well. The raven still stays with him, watching silently from her perch.

Role Play:

Affiliation: Blackwood
Role: Loner/witch
Mate: None.
Relationships: None.

Skill Points

Speed: 2 [Basic Level] (Build Cap: 15 points max)
Stamina: 4 [Basic Level]
Strength: 4 [Basic Level]

Possession (inborn): 11 [Medium level]
Necromancy (learned): 0 [Basic level]
Herbs: 0 [Basic Level]

Experience: 0


+2 speed - base bonus
+4 stamina - base bonus
+4 strength - base bonus
+11 magic - starter bonus

Magic/Herb Lore/Fight Stat Images:


RP Images:


Timeline Images:

* - indicates that he only features in the story, the events are not from his perspective.


Art, characters (C) me


Any of my watchers got a Blackwoood stag I HAVEN'T RPd with before?


Artist | Student | Varied
United Kingdom
British lass from the depths of Yorkshire who is a big fan of tea and sarcasm. I live for art, music and books - always up for a good suggestion if you have 'em.

Harpg 09 by Hymnsie

Long time no see!

Journal Entry: Thu Mar 20, 2014, 11:56 AM


So as you may or may not have noticed I haven't been at all active on here recently... ^^; save for some fawnling RPs and the odd image I haven't been up to much either, to be quite honest :giggle:

I have a pretty interesting plot planned for Aytan and Thalia coming up so do look out for that coming at some point, but other than that there isn't much else planned. I've kinda lost a bit of interest in HA-RPG tbh, I barely interact with other users with my characters anymore so it feels very much like I'm in my own little art-bubble, whereas with Fawnlings I have little option but to chat and RP with others, which is great! So... I don't really know what I'm going to do... I might have a big sale of my HARPG horses and cut back to bare bones in terms of horses so I don't have as much pressure, but who knows!

IRL I've got university applications to sort out and Universities to visit and a portfolio to sort out - if anyone has any advice/tips please do let me know, I'm struggling a bit! So the amount of motivation/time I have to do online art is severely limited atm.

Hope you're all okay,


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MoonyArsaraidh Featured By Owner Sep 10, 2014  Hobbyist Digital Artist
MelonHeadGirl Featured By Owner Sep 10, 2014  Student General Artist
Dezzy-Sky Featured By Owner Apr 25, 2014  Student Digital Artist
Thank you for paying the points :) glad you like it
MelonHeadGirl Featured By Owner Apr 26, 2014  Student General Artist
It's gorgeous, thank-you so much!
BurntCentury Featured By Owner Feb 26, 2014  Student Digital Artist
Hello! I'd like to invite you to come and compete in the Signatum Opening Gala! All breeds are welcome!

We hope to see you there!
birthdays Featured By Owner Jan 11, 2014

:woohoo: :iconcakelickplz: :iconballoonsplz: !!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY !!! :iconballoonsplz2: :iconcakelickplz:  :woohoo: 

On behalf of the birthdays team, I sincerely apologise that your greeting has arrived late this year.

birthdays would like to wish you a happy belated birthday for January 10th
We hope you had an awesome day with lots of birthday fun, gifts, happiness and most definitely, lots of cake! Here's to another year!

Many well wishes and love from your friendly birthdays team :love:

Birthdays Team
This birthday greeting was brought to you by: hiddendelights
MelonHeadGirl Featured By Owner Jan 11, 2014  Student General Artist
Thankyou very much! :giggle:
TheWyvernAndTheFox Featured By Owner Jan 10, 2014  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Happy Birthday, Mel. :)
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