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About Digital Art / Hobbyist RaeFemale/Australia Groups :iconfawnlings: Fawnlings
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Ashling | Hind | Herd Member by Ehetere
Ashling | Hind | Herd Member


Breeding is closed...she's a KID. Creepers.

Name: Ashling
Pronunciation: ASH-ling
Meaning: Dream, vision
Nicknames: Ash
Gender: Doe
Breed: Fawnling
Height: 11.1hh (projected)
Build: Light
Age: 2 Years (Born Y757 NA)
Colour: Black
Genotype: Ee/aa/nSty/Ff/Fwfw/nRx
Bloodlines: Silverthorne Grimbold x Caelan

Temperament: Playful, boisterous, competitive, proud, self conscious, haughty (on occasion)
Scars: None
- None yet
- N/a
Summarized History:
- Was born! More to come when history actually happens. 

Other Images

    None yet

Role Play

Affiliation: Silverthorne
Mate: None yet
Current Location: Silverthorne

Fight Stats: Basic
Speed: [7] (7)
Stamina: [3] (3)
Strength: [0] (0)

Experience: [0]

Herb Lore Level: Basic [0]
Fire Magic Level: Basic [8]
Fawn points: born with 8 magic

Role Play
It came from the mountains.

Feather, scale, tooth and claw, flitting here and there, a shadow among the trees. Insubstantial, or maybe not there at all. Dancing, skipping, gliding, falling, rising. From the mountains she came.

Somewhere high above in the trees birds sang, but the deeper she delved into the dark wood, the calls echoed and faded until they were muted entirely by the blanketing canopy, a blackness that swallowed the sky. The blackpines reached out with their branches, with their roots, pressing in and threatening to snare the unworthy or the unwary. The deep boroughs and scars in their bases concealed monsters. She could smell wolf. They could smell dinner, only they found a dark wolf looking back at them, a runt with too big ears. The runt curled its lip and growled softly, and the wolves shrunk back, whimpering. There was no food to be found here.

The wolf padded through the trees, over tangled roots and dried pine needles. It barely seemed to hold form, sometimes tiny, other times large enough to be mistaken for a bear, other times not a wolf at all. Only shadow.

She could smell the herd up ahead, more dark shadows moving among the trees, as much a part of the dark wood as the wolves or the ravens in the trees. The children of the wood. She would walk among them as she always had; something different, something strange. Witch. Halfling. Outsider. They could call her many things, but soon they would be saying another. Queen.

She walked among them as she had the first time, with a sureness in her dainty steps, her tail clutching a bloodied and broken stag’s antler. There were no charms woven into her hair any longer, which only just brushed the ground. She didn’t need them. Magic sang in her blood, filling her ears, whispering glorious purpose. The time of hibernation was over. The Mother’s word would ring true among these trees once more.

She stopped atop a rise, overlooking a depression, a grotto in the earth where some of the herd members had gathered. The witch surveyed them for a moment, looking over them with an imperious eye. Searching for someone. Someone with a golden hide marked by stripes.

“I came here to challenge the Queen of Blackwood,” she called out over the watching herd while eyeballing the striped doe with the twisted horn, huddled up against her equally golden mate. She lifted her chin in  “It seems I am to be disappointed. I see no Queen here, only craven filth. Little more than a Princess.”

She pulled herself up to her full height, which wasn’t much, but her vantage gave her more gravity. The eyes of the herd were upon her tiny form, watching on expectantly, as the natural arena began to clear. The striped doe glared back, seething and hide prickling and her ears pinned flat against her willowy neck.

“Why don’t you run off back to those gold-loving miscreants in the east where you belong?”

Claim your throne and crown of thorns.

Destroy her.
Shadow and Reckoning

Gráinne, mentioning Queen Sévérine

Summer, Year 758 of the New Age
Blackwood, Northern Grazing Grounds

Graw is challenging Sev for Queen, and boy has it been a long time in coming. I fear for the fully written out fight and conclusion after the judging, it will be bloody, and it will be awesome. 

Gráinne (c) me
Sévérine (c): BrindleTail
From The Ashes by Ehetere
From The Ashes

From the Ashes

The Legend of Aeveen, the first firebringer
Aeveen is the dark flame, wildfire, and is presented as a cautionary tale to fawns about using their fire with control.


For as long as anyone could remember, the river and the sea had been at war. Both would fight and argue over who was greater, mightier, more powerful, and both were far too proud to ever back down. The sea god was Miur, a great grey stag with seaweed in his mane and barnacles on his pelt, eyes wild like stormy waves. He was forever flying into a rage with foam at his mouth, coral antlers lowered as he battered cliffs and coastlines, his hulking form recognisable to all who saw him - the commander of the waves.

The river god Sruth was a more refined creature; rich deep bay with bony scales running along his back, metallic green and gold that matched his eyes. He was lither, swifter, with a single gold-touched horn upon his head. It was said that Sruth was cunning, while Miur was the brawn of the two. In combat they were equally matched; Sruth’s mind combatting Miur’s might so that none might best the other. Their clashes were frequent and violent, leaving the two gods exhausted and bloody at the end of them. When the conflicts occurred the lands flooded and there were great storms from the sea, and the mortal fawns were afraid. Many children perished in the floods and storms, and they prayed to Adhar to save them from the water gods’ wrath.

Adhar mourned for his people, welcoming each of the dead into his kingdom with much sadness. The earth was not his domain, the sky was, and he could not fight the warring gods nor make them see reason. And so he was forced to watch on in pain as the two gods beat each other senselessly, and the land suffered.

The fawnlings of the southern coast fled north to the hills, where they found small bands of other fawnlings who knew the forests, and how to survive the predators within. It was here that lived the sun goddess Grian’s children, fiery and golden of pelt as she was. Adhar’s blessing flowed through their veins, as did their mother’s vital life force, and when the water gods strayed too close to the mountains in one of their battles, these descendants of Grian stood heads raised at the edge of the fray, defiant.

The two gods stopped their fighting and looked in astonishment at the small band of mortals that stood in their way. And then the two gods laughed. Who were these fawns, thinking they could stand up to not one god, but two? Sruth and Miur walked towards them, intending to rain their wrath upon them, however these gods were on land, and there was no water here. It was Miur who charged first, intending to knock them down but he instead found he could not harm them, and there was a hiss in the air as they collided. It was the sea god who fell back, astonished as steam billowed about from their contact. Grian’s children were born of fire, though none of the gold coats could wield it. Together, they forced the gods back to the coast, and sent Miur back to the waves and Sruth to his rivers.

This defeat at the hands of mortals - empowered mortals but mortals no less - made the gods angry, angrier than they were even at each other. They set out to seek their revenge on Grian’s children, however they found once more that they could not harm them. They sought the help of a witch, an ancient old fawn with cobwebs for hair, to punish these mortals who might defy them. The witch broke off the two gods’ horns as payment for her services, before informing them she could not kill them. Before Miur or Sruth could fly into another rage at her trickery, she informed the pair that these were the children of the Sun, and carried the blessings of the sky, and no manner of dark magic could harm them, nor could their powers. However she produced a deep burgundy flower from the wisps of her mane and told the two gods, “This is a bloodflower, and a drop of its nectar will send each of the fire-children into a deep slumber, from which they will not wake.”

One by one, Grian’s children fell victim to the witch’s sorcery, never waking from their sleep, nor slipping away to the sky-kingdom, suspended in a half life. The gods were satisfied their might could not be defied, and that the sun’s children would be example for any who thought to doubt their powers. They continued to ravage the land without hindrance, and once more the fawnlings were afraid.

The herds retreated further and further into their mountain haunts, cowering in the foothills above the great lake which fed the great plain. Their territories by the sea lay in ruin, with the plain the last great refuge. Seeing the tell tale signs of the two warring gods approaching, the herds wondered whether they should risk tooth, wind and starvation in crossing the mighty mountain ranges, however all knew it was a suicide mission in winter. The lowlands by the coast got very little of the winter weather, however it was evident that a storm was brewing, a storm to end all storms.

The dark clouds boiled on the horizon, and the water gods continued their approach, battering and ramming and charging each other, the earth turning to mud beneath their hooves. As the mortal fawns gazed out from the treeline above the lake at their encroaching doom, it was a doe stepped out from their midst to look out upon the lake from an outcrop. She was as black as the night is dark, with the rising wind tearing at her mane and tail. Her single horn was touched with glowing embers and smoke wafted from delicate nostrils. The doe was small, the forgotten last-born daughter of Grian, and while her brothers and sisters displayed their fire in their coats, her fire was within. She was Aeveen, the dark flame.

The black doe with the flame licked horn stepped out onto the battlefield as the two gods clashed and the storm began to yield cutting blades of ice and snow from the south. The sun was obscured, and the and thrown into darkness as the clouds loomed overhead, and the fawns huddled closer to the trees, unable to tear their eyes away from the impending disaster. Grian’s daughter continued on as the ice cut at her hide and the wind howled and the gods roared. As she approached, unlike her siblings, she did not stand defiant, did not challenge the two fighting stags, but rather cried a keening lament for her sleeping brothers and sisters, for the loss of her mother dear, and the lives wasted by the gods’ selfishness and pride. Her voice was carried on the wind, a song of blood and pain and loss. And fire.

Her song was so haunting, so beautiful that even the gods ceased their battering and ramming to listen as the wind added its own harmony. Grian’s daughter cried again, and her voice sang of summer and heat and sunlight. At once, her ebony horn erupted in a burst of flame and light, blazing like a beacon of hope in the darkness that enveloped the landscape. Her eyes blazed like the sun as she reared, legs flailing and head held high before the gods. And then she returned to earth, and she ran. Dipping her horn to the golden grass that brushed against her knees, she danced a circle around the two stags, leaving a trail of gleaming stalks in her wake. The grass caught fire at the slightest touch and soon the stags were trapped within a wall of flame.

It was Sruth who recognised the danger first, golden-green eyes rolling as the light of the fire reflected his fear. Still the storm came, a rumbling, angry beast promising to devour all in its path. More snow, and wind-driven ice cut through the air, and on ran the daughter of the sun, horn still ablaze. Miur snorted and roared, trying to intimidate the hungry flames, only to flinch at their heat and kick out as an ember landed on his rump.

The black doe called to her brethren, fiery horn still alight as the flames continued to spread across the pale grasslands. Flee, she cried, to the sea! The inferno was quickly gathering momentum, and was advancing on the panicking gods. Charging through the flames, seemingly untouched by their burning embrace, she ran back to the treeline, calling desperately to lead the herds away to safety before the flames reached them, for while she could give birth to fire, she could not extinguish it. Half in a trance, half in blind panic, the mortal herds charged towards the coast, the black doe lighting the way as they galloped into the frigid winds.

Onward the herds raced, legs pounding and breath sobbing as the fire licked at their heels. Those who fell, perished, and none could look back lest they too be consumed. They ran and ran and ran for what felt like hours, as the elements tore at their resolve, and adrenaline willed them forward. Aeveen paused, untouched by the flames as she looked back upon the burning plain where she saw steam rising to meet the storm and the enraged screams of the gods. Then she joined her kind and dove over the shaly cliffs.

Even on the rocky sea shore, they were not safe from danger as the fire crackled angrily above them and the waves lashed the shore full of violence and the wind continued to batter them. Aeveen once more turned her gaze skyward, lament filled with frustration. “What is it you want of us, Sky Father?” she demanded of Adhar. “Will you not save your people?”

It was then the heavens opened, and a great torrent of rain hissed against the surface of the violent sea and hammered against their backs. The black doe’s horn returned to its smouldering state, hissing as water fell against it, her coat steaming. The herds took shelter against the cliffs, grateful for the freezing water to be falling against their hides and not flames. By dawn, the storm had broken, leaving behind a sky of brilliant blue. The waves were calm once more, and it was almost as if the previous day had been nothing more than a bad dream. However, when the herds ventured back up the cliffs, they were met with utter destruction. What had once been waves of soft grass was now charred and blackened, still smoking in places. The warring gods were nowhere to be seen, banished to their kingdoms by the flames.

The landscape had been reduced to ash and ember, the golden sea was no more. But from amidst this came golden shapes, glinting and shimmering in the morning light. Grian’s children, awakened by the flames, their curse lifted. Their return brought hope for life and rebirth.

The herds travelled for weeks, hungry, thirsty, and everywhere they went the fire had touched. They lived off seaweed on the coast, as more rain fell from the heavens, until spring dawned bright and clear. The earth had been cleansed, balance was restored and the land as it once was. Lush grasslands and woodlands returned as did the herds, ever thankful for the gift that Adhar and fire had bestowed upon their land. A kingdom reborn from ash and ember, the sea and river gods vanquished. Peace.


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CatelfKitling Featured By Owner May 17, 2015  Hobbyist Photographer
Your work is lovely Sweetie! :la:
lovebug-2 Featured By Owner Mar 28, 2015
I love your work!
Yumpy Featured By Owner Mar 7, 2015  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Hey Rae! Are you ever open to equine sketch commissions? :)
Spectoral Featured By Owner Jan 14, 2015  Student Digital Artist
BrindleTail Featured By Owner Dec 8, 2014  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Happy birthday!!!
EspressoOnTheRocks Featured By Owner Dec 7, 2014
happy birfday
byrch Featured By Owner Dec 7, 2014  Student Digital Artist
Happy birthday!
canadianbounty Featured By Owner Dec 7, 2014  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Happy birthday!
Sevslover6195 Featured By Owner Edited Dec 7, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist

Happy birthday!
ThrivingIvori Featured By Owner Dec 7, 2014  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Happy Birthday! 
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