For Forever I'll be here Whispering

OMG OMG OMG! I won him! Gonna start his reference right away before heading to work!!!!!!! WOOHOO *runs in crazy circles!*

EDIT: changed a bit of history, very minor, just about his antlers

put in his full history updated with his fight stats. He will know no magic, he's all about being physical!

WOOHOO! First fawnling pic I've done! So, I'm trying to get a fawnling to get into The Western Isles. And there's an art auction, so here is one of my entries. [link] trying for number 2, so handsome! Also, featuring Nuala's tail [link]
And his history is only if I get him and he is placed in Blackwood.


Name: Brynmore (means Great Hill in Welsh)
Nickname: Bryn

Gender: Stag
Age: 7 years
Type: classic
Height: 13.1 hands
Color: Blue roan fawn (EE aa RnRn fwfw nrz)
Use/Discipline: WESTERN ISLES! Hopefully Blackwood!

Fight Stats
Overall=11
Speed: 3 (limit is 7)
Stamina: 3
Strength: 4
Experience: 1

History: (short version) His mother is a common doe from Glenmore. She was stolen/kidnapped by Blackwood raiders. She had a fawn by a blackwood stag in blackwood. That fawn is Brynmore. She told him stories about Glenomore's gods, Glenmore's magic of having things grow, and of the stag's that are knight. Bryn doesn't care about the knightly stories, but is fascinated by magic she tells. As he grows older, he fights more, is picked on and teased, until he comes to blows with another stag his age, where he tears his opponents ear. The ones his age give him a bit of respect, but it cost Bryn his mother. He no longer goes to her, and goes off exploring away from the herd in the woods.

During his third year, his mother dies. It makes him really nervous and anxious for some reason, even though he has seen death before. To get away from the herd, he joins with a small group of raiders. He's loved it ever since, and has an obsession with gathering Glenmore does to bring Blackwood to a glory it has never known.


Personality: Has a tiny sense of honor, ingrained in him from his mother. Hates being teased, even in the slightest, and is quick to anger when he thinks he is being ridiculed. He likes to run and explore the woods, and fighting. Has obsession with Glenmore and Glenmore's magic.

(long version of History)

Bryn’s story starts with his mother. A common doe from Glenmore, pretty enough, with a dazzling night sky coat with starlight spots along her spine and snow tipped ears. She had soft, gentle eyes, all for one stag in particular.

Just before her third rut, a small group of Blackwood raiders invaded the borders of Glenmore. A small group of does were off away from the main herd, gossiping about who did what, when the Blackwoods materialized in silence, surrounding the does. Only one stag was with the does, and he was quickly eliminated. The Blackwood stags drove the does with their massive antlers, away from home.

Bryn’s mother was with this group of does. Each step gave her heartache, she would never see her two children again, nor the stag she had stood with. The small group skirted the Ridgeback range, steering clear of the tall mountains. None of the does tried to escape, having been raised to rely on stags to provide protection. The stags treated them roughly, but that was better than being eaten alive by wolves or ice bears.

***

The rut found Bryn’s mother with a large stag, almost the same color as her, but with scars decorating his body, like dark nebulas against a starry sky.

On a starless night, the winds blowing through the pines, whispering, she birthed a son, with the same starry sky as her and his father, and white ears. Naming him Brynmore, her heart rekindled as she cleaned him, her eyes drinking in the sight of him. She might never see her other two fawns ever, but she would have him.

His first few weeks were filled with stories of Glenmore, of knightly stags who were courteous and defended the weak, of the light colored royal does and dark colored stags, of the magic that held Glenmore in an almost perpetual summer. He is fascinated with them all, more particularly with the royal does and magic.

When he was brought back to the herd, it was much different from his mother’s stories. Everyone bullied everyone else, no matter the age or size of the victim. His mother was victim to some of the does toying. Staying near the other Glenmore does, who were also picked on, Bryn grew up with their fawns, sharing in adventure and stories. His mother had grown weak with the small pickings and constant injuries, but still had a soft smile for her son.

As they grew, the rest of the herd integrated the fawns into their training. Bryn was bullied by some other stag fawns, about his mother, about the fawns he had grown up with, all considered weak in his tormentors eyes. He would run away into the forest, running from the tears that showed weakness, running from his own weakness. He was bullied for this, running away from his problems. He stopped playing with the Glenmore fawns he had shared so much with; he was slowly accepted into the tyrant bullies ranks, though they still insulted him about his mother.

When he was a yearling, he heard an insult about his mother, this one more terrible than all the others combined, he would not stand by and hear such insolence. Ramming into the gossiper, the wind knocked right out of Bryn from the weight of his opponent. The larger stag fought back, giving Bryn small scratches along his flank, while Bryn swerved away, keeping his head low. Ramming into his opponent, he knocked his down. Sparing no time, his mind somewhere else, the rage consumed through Bryn, he took hold of a delicate ear, and pulled up with all his might.

The next moment he remembered, he was on the ground, one of the soldiers had pushed him off before he could do more damage. He receives a minor scolding, and runs off to the woods to escape. He is shocked with himself, that he would stoop to their level. *They deserved it* he thought to himself.

After dark, he snuck back to the herd, and visited his mother. Her quiet smile welcomed him, and he told her of his troubles, not caring if the others would tease him about showing weakness.

He was surprised the next day, when the others gave him a wide berth, some congratulating him, others giving him hateful stares. He had earned respect, if only a little bit, it was a start.

***
As he aged, he garnered new respect and fear among his peers, but at a cost. He didn’t get as much time with his mother, and while a part of him knew it was natural to drift away, he still yearned for her soft eye and gentle smile among this sea of grim faces and cruel words. He buried it deep down though, never showing his weakness to his peers. They had stopped picking on him, about his mother and his adventures in the woods away from the herd, but he knew they could be cruel in an instant, and never gave them the chance.

Throughout his life, his mother had grown weaker and weaker. This life of meager food and violence was never meant for her. As his third year approached, she grew even weaker, the does using her as a scapegoat for their frustrations. He had to watch from a distance, not showing a reaction in case his superiors were watching for weakness. But his heart broke at the sight of her; she was no more than bones with skin to hold them together, scars patterned along with fresh wounds decorating her starry sky hide.

On the night of the full moon, he went to visit her. She laid under a small pine, her eyes not as bright as they once were, but when she saw him, she perked her ears, the light coming back for a second. She didn’t try to get up, Bryn lay down beside her, asking for a story, nuzzling behind her ear. She told him one of a knight and princess of Glenmore, of forbidden love, afterward telling one of the magic of Glenmore, her voice scratchy from disuse.

Once she is asleep, he leaves her, to go back to his small group. A few days later, he hears some does gossiping, and once he hears his mother’s name, he stops in his tracks, listening. “Dead, and good riddance, she was taking up so much food, slowing us down.” Bryn’s heart nearly stopped. How could she? He had just seen her. “I heard she died with a smile on her face, I wonder why. She always made it so clear she hated it here.” The rage came up again, but instead of taking on the two does, he ran, running from his troubles again. He ran to the small pine he had last seen her. Her small delicate body lay under it, with a true smile on her face. Oddly, no scavengers had come to feast on her. However, a large stag stood nearby, his antlers sweeping in a large arch, his coat another starry sky.

Regarding Bryn cooly, he asked, “There’s nothing for you here. She's gone, no use gawking at her body.” Tears almost welled in Bryn’s eyes, when he was interrupted “Don’t show weakness, otherwise I’ll have to teach you strength, and you won’t like it.” Walking past the younger stag, the old one paused, adding, “Join one of the raiding parties, it’ll take your mind off of her. I’ve seen you running through the woods, so being a raider will suit you.”

He sought out the recruiter, and after his first raid, has never looked back. He loves the adventure, the danger of not only the predators, but also the enemies of Blackwood. He especially loved going into Glenmore, thinking of his mother, how she had been there. He treated does with a small sense of respect, and asked them all about their home, knowing he was opening fresh wounds, but could not sate his curiosity with just looking at the scenery.

His curiosity turned into obsession with Glenmore, and he now only goes on raids to Glenmore. The stories his mother told him and his own experience feed the flame to capture Glenmore does, to bring Blackwood to a glory it has never known, a perpetual summer where non would starve as his mother had.


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