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Description
Winter, Year 756 of the New Age
Blackwood, near Widow's Hollow

Blackwood winters were always hard on the land. They siphoned the life from the very earth, which bred for sparse vegetation and a hardy, ravenous population. Even now, snow drifted down all around the black stag, blanketing the earth in a thick, downy layer of white. It was a mild storm for now, but would get worse as the snow started piling high and drifting. Corvus was relatively safe in his travels – the snow that crunch underfoot barely came to his fetlocks – so he was in no desperate need for shelter. In an hour or so, though... well, he’d see how the weather went before making any decisions. He had a long ways to go, and not a lot of time to get there; the snow was the least of his concerns.

Rumor had spread of the new Blackwood King. It was old news by now, but Corvus had been slumming in Windborne when he’d first heard the whispers of the handsome golden stag that’d fought his way to a crown. Although he styled himself as a lone wanderer, leal to no leader, Corvus understood the importance of being on the good side of any royalty – especially when his very livelihood depended on his good relations with the various herds. So he’d picked himself up and made the arduous journey across the isles, with the intent to meet this new king and offer his services.

The snow was coming down harder, now. It muffled all the senses, and made Corvus feel as though he were being smothered. Finding shelter pushed itself up his list of priorities.

The black stag paused at the top of a snow-covered hill and surveyed the thick forests below. He searched quickly, knowing he would stand out like a sore thumb on the barren hummock – and he would rather introduce himself without being dragged unceremoniously before the king by Blackwood ruffians. Thankfully, he spotted a narrow cave not far off and began navigating his way down the steep, snowy incline. He helped himself to a mouthful of dead branches off the skeletal tress as he passed them.

The ‘cave’ was little more than a crack in a pile of boulders, barely wide enough for his large rack to press between. There was no way he could enter and turn around, so instead Corvus shuffled into the constricting quarters backwards. He curled his legs beneath him and rested, happy for respite. He’d wait out the storm here.

To prevent being snowed in, Corvus nosed his collection of dry sticks towards the entrance of his temporary home. With a small effort of will, the branches smoldered and cracked before growing into a proper fire – one, he hoped, would keep the snow just outside his cave melted, while also provide a little warmth and comfort to the stag wedged within.

+2 Magic for image and story.

#Fawnlings

Description
Winter, Year 756 of the New Age
Blackwood, near Widow's Hollow

Blackwood winters were always hard on the land. They siphoned the life from the very earth, which bred for sparse vegetation and a hardy, ravenous population. Even now, snow drifted down all around the black stag, blanketing the earth in a thick, downy layer of white. It was a mild storm for now, but would get worse as the snow started piling high and drifting. Corvus was relatively safe in his travels – the snow that crunch underfoot barely came to his fetlocks – so he was in no desperate need for shelter. In an hour or so, though... well, he’d see how the weather went before making any decisions. He had a long ways to go, and not a lot of time to get there; the snow was the least of his concerns.

Rumor had spread of the new Blackwood King. It was old news by now, but Corvus had been slumming in Windborne when he’d first heard the whispers of the handsome golden stag that’d fought his way to a crown. Although he styled himself as a lone wanderer, leal to no leader, Corvus understood the importance of being on the good side of any royalty – especially when his very livelihood depended on his good relations with the various herds. So he’d picked himself up and made the arduous journey across the isles, with the intent to meet this new king and offer his services.

The snow was coming down harder, now. It muffled all the senses, and made Corvus feel as though he were being smothered. Finding shelter pushed itself up his list of priorities.

The black stag paused at the top of a snow-covered hill and surveyed the thick forests below. He searched quickly, knowing he would stand out like a sore thumb on the barren hummock – and he would rather introduce himself without being dragged unceremoniously before the king by Blackwood ruffians. Thankfully, he spotted a narrow cave not far off and began navigating his way down the steep, snowy incline. He helped himself to a mouthful of dead branches off the skeletal tress as he passed them.

The ‘cave’ was little more than a crack in a pile of boulders, barely wide enough for his large rack to press between. There was no way he could enter and turn around, so instead Corvus shuffled into the constricting quarters backwards. He curled his legs beneath him and rested, happy for respite. He’d wait out the storm here.

To prevent being snowed in, Corvus nosed his collection of dry sticks towards the entrance of his temporary home. With a small effort of will, the branches smoldered and cracked before growing into a proper fire – one, he hoped, would keep the snow just outside his cave melted, while also provide a little warmth and comfort to the stag wedged within.

+2 Magic for image and story.

#Fawnlings