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06-20-2015, 07:19 PM
Lochan
Lochan,
my little eye.
Happy birthday,
to Lochan and me.
ASHAMIN
BEAUTY IS PERCEPTION
It was to be another sleepless night. BEAUTY IS PERCEPTION
The night before, Ashamin had gazed into the mirror and communed with a God. Prior to that, he had protected the border with a fellow herdmate. Now, despite spending most of the day at rest, all he wanted to do--all he was trying to do--was sleep.
And this night was a special one indeed. For tonight was the anniversary of Ashamin's birth: four years ago, amid an evening winter storm like this, with the snow piling onto the branches of pines, the wind whipping through the coat of the traveller and the wolves howling out into the dark, Ashamin had been born and his mother had died. In the crook of his horn his father Veril had set a stone, the one his mother had worn, and begun to die, himself.
Now, Ashamin was alone. Alive, as he stumbled out of the storm and into the safety of his cave, but alone. His sarong, once slung over his chest, blew off of his frame and into the cave before him and scattered its contents, beckoning him inside. He cast a glance to the icy scorpion as his pace quickened and his hoofbeats carried him past the threshold of his new home. In the dark, he chased the silken cloth. His findings lay at the door, rattling with the wind.
Somehow it was carried to the back of the cave, and there it had settled to rest in that lonesome, warm place, between the rock and the mirror, where he had gathered dry grasses to make a bed for the egg that, for so long now, had lain dormant against his chest. He had left the egg alone to gather tinder in his sarong, in the hopes that he might find away to set the branches alight and keep himself warm. Those branches now rested unused, just inside the entrance of the cave.
Ashamin was about to say something. He was alone, he was always, hopelessly alone, but he still waited to speak. He wanted to tell the egg that it had left him in solitude for too long; he wanted to tell the creature it contained how much he loved him, even now, before his birth. But there was no time to speak. As soon as Ashamin's black eyes settled upon the egg-shaped lump beneath the silk, it began to change.
A dark mist, potentially sinister but hopeful instead, began to slither out from under the folds of fabric. Ashamin heard a cracking sound, followed by the sight of small pieces of shells scattering out form under the fabric. Beneath the white, a form began to take shape: the form of the innocent, the one he had seen in his few scattered dreams he had had in his daytime naps.
Ashamin exhaled, and from beneath the sarong, his newborn companion emerged.
He was magnificence. Pure black with little buds of horns already upon his brow, perhaps from spending so long a time trapped in that egg, and white dapples across his back. Ashamin took note of the black smoke emanating from his brow, and watched with awe as the little Cerndyr lifted his head and opened his eyes for the very first time.
There, set between two pure white, uninterrupted orbs, was the marking of an eye. It was rendered upon him in infinite beauty, and before him, already descending into tears, Ashamin fell to his knees.
"Lochan, my little eye," he breathed, letting the name he had known in his heart fall to the small, perfectly soft and delicate ears of the gentle creature. "Happy birthday, Lochan."
And with that, the little deer pressed its brow to Ashamin's black and white nose, sealing their bond for eternity.
[[All members of the Basin are welcome to come take shelter from the storm and visit Ashamin on his and his Cerndyr's birthday! A small celebration with Haruspex/herd stories and a fire (to come) will take place. An NPC will be stopping by as well at some point! I would like to keep this thread moving as it is important to his timeline, so please keep that in mind.]]
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Table by Jen, with help from Avis
See Ashamin's profile for more information about Lochan, Rakt, and his various items.
All magic and force allowed, barring death and permanent injury.
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