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Description
Skuldafn

Summer, Year 749 of the New Age
Silverthorne, Somewhere in the Silverwood

“Fire. Its wild and uncontrollable, running through your veins like blood - involuntary. Destructive, painful, and sometimes evil - but used by the steady of mind, it is a life force. Capable of bringing new growth and fresh starts”.

Those were the words of his mentor, the first words he told the young anxious three-year-olds. He had chosen them carefully, but not like it mattered - the pupils he looked at were more eager to throw flames than to study them. The training of this magic was said to be the most tedious of all magic on the Western Isles, or at least the most troublesome to deal with. Placing fire in the care of young fawnlings could only lead to disaster if the mind was left uncultivated - so it was the duty of the herd that when the youth would first show signs of their inner abilities, that they would be taken to train. Skuldafn was among his peers here, learning from the same teacher, working from the same materials, with the same mindset.

“Now” his teacher began, “without control - destruction is guaranteed. You must learn to accept patience and discipline into your lives - or else immaturity can plague your minds. Once it stains your thoughts, it is a long process to undo its corrosive influences”.

Skuldafn could hold on to only bits and pieces of his mentor’s lecture, as he was much too excited to comprehend the real meaning. The imagery the older stag spoke went in vain, for it did anything to truly warn the students, but instead it merely “entertained”. As a three year old, learning the skill of magic was the first step of many to becoming a soldier, or even a General for those that aspired high enough - a sign of growing up out of their childhood. The first day, all that could be thought of by many was what they were leaving behind, what they were heading towards, and how fast they could get there - or rather, if there were any shortcuts to take.

When the first lessons came around, many of the students were confused,frustrated, and lost - for the instructions to their assignment had been hidden in their mentor’s lecture. Skuldafn was no different, and received the same scolding his peers received as well.

“You all have such large ears - you think your mothers would have made it clear to use them” he criticized, looking at each stag with a disdainful glare, “I expect getting to the point of actually using fire might take months at the rate you sloths go.”. Groans of protest came from around Skuldafn, and while he too was upset with the result of todays lesson - he had learned quickly to listen and would dare not complain.

“Come on!” one stag complained, stepping forward. He was roughly a bit smaller than Skul, but much more filled out at the shoulders and hindquarters. His coat was a dirty gray shade, darkened by the presence of dirt and mud - caked on by a recent storm, but never washed off. This stag must have been born in a different part of the Silverthorne, or raised somewhere else in the territory - for Skul did not seem to recognize him, but there are things one can infer from a first impression. Perhaps he thought filth was a way of showing strength, as pointless and irrelevant that was. Skuldafn didn't know, he just figured that the filth was a reflection of his personality. Even if he had never talked to him once in his life, all Skul could get from this strange stag was that he was a supercilious fellow indeed. “We all came across Silverthorne to learn magic, not to listen to lectures. When are you going to get to teaching? We waited three years to get to this point, none of us want to wait any longer!”

As if something in his words satisfied the teacher, he simply huffed and replied, “This is my point, students. Patience is key to wielding the flames - keeping a cool head and sound mind will help you down the path to your futures - but if you rush these sorts of delicate processes, you only set yourself up to failure”. With a disappointed crowd, the teacher paused and continued, “alright, I want you to reflect on today - and come back tomorrow at the crack of dawn to continue training. Not one minute late, understand students?”. A mumbling chorus of groans sounded, “yes,sir”, and with that they were dismissed for the day - a feeling which struck neutral to Skuldafn.

So Skuldafn headed home to the vale as the sun set behind him, his thoughts pacing around the lesson from today. He had felt rude not to listen to his teacher originally, and that he had been so fooled as to fall into the crowd of his peers. Overall he had remained quiet, but his silence was broken when a familiar face crossed his path.

“Hey look fellas, its Goldey-boy” he jeered, joined soon by several other young fawnlings. It didn’t take long for Skuldafn to realize him as the muddy grey stag from earlier, and a few of his friends seemed familiar - but he couldn’t put names on them. In total there were two with him, a shorter, fat bay stag, and a tall, skeletal-like chestnut stag. They were all equally unfamiliar to Skuldafn.

“I have no quarrel with any of you” Skuldafn spoke, “I need to return home, my mother is expecting me back before nightfall”. He tried to step by them, but the grey stag cut him off with a haughty laugh, “is your mother the ugly one? Heard about her all the way from the Iron Hills, word travels fast. Anyways, the story goes that this god awful infertile doe finally gets taken by some poor soldier, and she just happens to throw a golden stag, and that must be you. Not many goldies were in training today, and you seemed to fit the description I heard”.

Skuldafn tried to ignore the punches made towards his mother, and held his tongue when he answered, “So what? What is it that you want?”. The grey stag chuckled lightly, circling around him, “oh, nothing - just simply wanted to see what all the fuss was about. I hear soldiers talking about you, but you’re not worth anything. Your blood must be filth, with all that ugliness and disproportion you get from that hideous mother of yours. Why are you even alive?”.

“Are you trying to pick a fight?” Skuldafn asked, still biting his tongue, “You talk a lot of words, but I don’t see anything except a couple of morons behind you to back you up. It takes a low man to insult someone’s family, especially when he knows nothing of it.”. Skuldafn’s response must have irritated the grey stag, because at that moment, he got up in his face, “you’re nothing - you’re only a lucky mistake, you may be loved on the outside but the inside of you is garbage. Step out of the way so the real soldiers can do their jobs, we got bright futures ahead of us - you’ll do nothing just like that ugly mutt of a mother you have”.

While his response came with anger and immaturity, the insults to him and his mother were enough to set him off. At the time, he had held back fighting as it was against the herd law, but now a strange feeling had come over him. It was painful, but did not burn - rather, his skin glew against the darkened forest, the ground at his feet began to smoke, and sparks quite literally began to fly. As this was happening, the look on the grey stag’s face quickly turned to fear and confusion, leading his already fleeing friends away from the scene. Skuldafn did not follow, because as this was happening he too was confused and frightened. Never before had anything quite like this occurred to him, or any other fawnlings that he knew of.

Apparently, for the time he stood there, it was long enough for the brush around him to catch fire, and he was afraid for he was caught in the middle of it. Unable to turn himself off, nor was he able to run - for everything he touched was set ablaze. What would he do, who would he hurt, the young fawnling was so frightened now. Would he be punished for something he didn’t even voluntarily do? He didn’t even want to think about that.

Then, from the direction of the fleeing stags, he heard yet another familiar voice. It took awhile to make it out in his confusion, but Skuldafn soon realized him as his teacher. He came to Skul, face to face, but his expression was not mad. “calm yourself” he ordered, “relax and calm down”. His words were stern, but comforting to Skuldafn. Taking a few deep breaths, his skin returned to its normal golden color, and his feet ceased to burn. The forest around him still did however, but before Skul could even worry about that his mentor rushed him out of the forest.

“Sir” Skul asked, panicked, “I am so, so sorry - how do we stop this fire, I didn’t want to hurt anyone, please -”. His teacher cut him off, “The fire has been contained, I have my finest soldiers controlling the burn - It is not your fault”. Skuldafn caught his breath, tired and confused, “No, it was - I was angry, and I let my anger and impatience rule over me, what -”. He was cut off yet again, “I understand who made you mad, and you did well resisting to fight for the most part, especially against an idiot like that - I saw him run out, and I saw the smoke, Its easy to assume what you felt was a surge of uncontrolled magic triggered by a rogue emotion. It was not your fault, and that is why I am here - to teach you and your peers to deal with this. Can you imagine if this happened to all of you, how big of a fire that would be?”. He paused, allowing Skuldafn to register what he was saying and think about it, “It would be a catastrophe, which is why you must listen and understand how careful of a process both learning and teaching is.”

Skuldafn slowly nodded, “I understand, thank you sir”. His mentor nodded and slowly began to walk off to return to the fire, but was stopped by his student, “wait though, can I ask you a question?”. The teacher turned around and looked to Skul, “you already are, but go on”. Skuldafn took a breath, thinking of how to ask what he was thinking, then replied, “About what was going on back there, with how I conjured up that fire, my glowing skin and burning feet - was that normal?”.

His mentor paused, thinking about it as well. It took him a moment to respond, “I can’t say for sure. The first use of magic by a fawnling can be unpredictable, crude, and definitely without shape or control - yours fits that description. But about the glowing skin and such, I can’t say for sure that I’ve seen something like that before. But don’t worry, you are only at the beginning, and you’ll always have me to guide you down the path if you are lost. With time, you will learn to control the flame”.

“Thank you,sir”, Skuldafn replied, watching as his teacher nodded and left to the now dying fire. While his other peers may have not learned as much as they wanted to, Skuladfn felt as if he had walked away with a very valuable lesson, one which would stick with him for the rest of his life. And while the soldiers tended to the dying fire, Skuldafn headed home, calm and assured of his own path..

----------

Story added finally! 2,015 words!

Had this sketch in my sketchbook, but with no access to my computer last month I couldn't do anything with it - so now I finally got the chance to work with it. I'm going to add a story to this eventually, but right now I am so tired and I feel kinda dizzy so a story's going to have to wait. All I can say now so people don't go like ,"wait what?" is that yes, this is Skuldafn, it is one of his first experiences with fire - and how unprepared he was compared to what he is today. This instance probably helped to strengthen his disciplined attitude as he grew older - because after you loose control of fire, you don't want to do it again. Anyways, I'll write up the story tomorrow - or whenever I feel better.

Points Gained by Roleplay

Act of Performing Magic +1 Magic (Image and Story (+400 words) = +1 Magic)(Story over 2,000 words = +2 magic) TOTAL = +4 magic

P.S. - The name of the deviation does come from Iron Man 3, simply because as I was drawing all the fire and the embers under the skin, I was thinking of the extremis subjects and was like "hey, Skul could totally do that". So he did. And I regret nothing.

Artwork, Skuldafn:=ChrissyMax (c)
%Fawnlings :=Ehetere (c)

Description
Skuldafn

Summer, Year 749 of the New Age
Silverthorne, Somewhere in the Silverwood

“Fire. Its wild and uncontrollable, running through your veins like blood - involuntary. Destructive, painful, and sometimes evil - but used by the steady of mind, it is a life force. Capable of bringing new growth and fresh starts”.

Those were the words of his mentor, the first words he told the young anxious three-year-olds. He had chosen them carefully, but not like it mattered - the pupils he looked at were more eager to throw flames than to study them. The training of this magic was said to be the most tedious of all magic on the Western Isles, or at least the most troublesome to deal with. Placing fire in the care of young fawnlings could only lead to disaster if the mind was left uncultivated - so it was the duty of the herd that when the youth would first show signs of their inner abilities, that they would be taken to train. Skuldafn was among his peers here, learning from the same teacher, working from the same materials, with the same mindset.

“Now” his teacher began, “without control - destruction is guaranteed. You must learn to accept patience and discipline into your lives - or else immaturity can plague your minds. Once it stains your thoughts, it is a long process to undo its corrosive influences”.

Skuldafn could hold on to only bits and pieces of his mentor’s lecture, as he was much too excited to comprehend the real meaning. The imagery the older stag spoke went in vain, for it did anything to truly warn the students, but instead it merely “entertained”. As a three year old, learning the skill of magic was the first step of many to becoming a soldier, or even a General for those that aspired high enough - a sign of growing up out of their childhood. The first day, all that could be thought of by many was what they were leaving behind, what they were heading towards, and how fast they could get there - or rather, if there were any shortcuts to take.

When the first lessons came around, many of the students were confused,frustrated, and lost - for the instructions to their assignment had been hidden in their mentor’s lecture. Skuldafn was no different, and received the same scolding his peers received as well.

“You all have such large ears - you think your mothers would have made it clear to use them” he criticized, looking at each stag with a disdainful glare, “I expect getting to the point of actually using fire might take months at the rate you sloths go.”. Groans of protest came from around Skuldafn, and while he too was upset with the result of todays lesson - he had learned quickly to listen and would dare not complain.

“Come on!” one stag complained, stepping forward. He was roughly a bit smaller than Skul, but much more filled out at the shoulders and hindquarters. His coat was a dirty gray shade, darkened by the presence of dirt and mud - caked on by a recent storm, but never washed off. This stag must have been born in a different part of the Silverthorne, or raised somewhere else in the territory - for Skul did not seem to recognize him, but there are things one can infer from a first impression. Perhaps he thought filth was a way of showing strength, as pointless and irrelevant that was. Skuldafn didn't know, he just figured that the filth was a reflection of his personality. Even if he had never talked to him once in his life, all Skul could get from this strange stag was that he was a supercilious fellow indeed. “We all came across Silverthorne to learn magic, not to listen to lectures. When are you going to get to teaching? We waited three years to get to this point, none of us want to wait any longer!”

As if something in his words satisfied the teacher, he simply huffed and replied, “This is my point, students. Patience is key to wielding the flames - keeping a cool head and sound mind will help you down the path to your futures - but if you rush these sorts of delicate processes, you only set yourself up to failure”. With a disappointed crowd, the teacher paused and continued, “alright, I want you to reflect on today - and come back tomorrow at the crack of dawn to continue training. Not one minute late, understand students?”. A mumbling chorus of groans sounded, “yes,sir”, and with that they were dismissed for the day - a feeling which struck neutral to Skuldafn.

So Skuldafn headed home to the vale as the sun set behind him, his thoughts pacing around the lesson from today. He had felt rude not to listen to his teacher originally, and that he had been so fooled as to fall into the crowd of his peers. Overall he had remained quiet, but his silence was broken when a familiar face crossed his path.

“Hey look fellas, its Goldey-boy” he jeered, joined soon by several other young fawnlings. It didn’t take long for Skuldafn to realize him as the muddy grey stag from earlier, and a few of his friends seemed familiar - but he couldn’t put names on them. In total there were two with him, a shorter, fat bay stag, and a tall, skeletal-like chestnut stag. They were all equally unfamiliar to Skuldafn.

“I have no quarrel with any of you” Skuldafn spoke, “I need to return home, my mother is expecting me back before nightfall”. He tried to step by them, but the grey stag cut him off with a haughty laugh, “is your mother the ugly one? Heard about her all the way from the Iron Hills, word travels fast. Anyways, the story goes that this god awful infertile doe finally gets taken by some poor soldier, and she just happens to throw a golden stag, and that must be you. Not many goldies were in training today, and you seemed to fit the description I heard”.

Skuldafn tried to ignore the punches made towards his mother, and held his tongue when he answered, “So what? What is it that you want?”. The grey stag chuckled lightly, circling around him, “oh, nothing - just simply wanted to see what all the fuss was about. I hear soldiers talking about you, but you’re not worth anything. Your blood must be filth, with all that ugliness and disproportion you get from that hideous mother of yours. Why are you even alive?”.

“Are you trying to pick a fight?” Skuldafn asked, still biting his tongue, “You talk a lot of words, but I don’t see anything except a couple of morons behind you to back you up. It takes a low man to insult someone’s family, especially when he knows nothing of it.”. Skuldafn’s response must have irritated the grey stag, because at that moment, he got up in his face, “you’re nothing - you’re only a lucky mistake, you may be loved on the outside but the inside of you is garbage. Step out of the way so the real soldiers can do their jobs, we got bright futures ahead of us - you’ll do nothing just like that ugly mutt of a mother you have”.

While his response came with anger and immaturity, the insults to him and his mother were enough to set him off. At the time, he had held back fighting as it was against the herd law, but now a strange feeling had come over him. It was painful, but did not burn - rather, his skin glew against the darkened forest, the ground at his feet began to smoke, and sparks quite literally began to fly. As this was happening, the look on the grey stag’s face quickly turned to fear and confusion, leading his already fleeing friends away from the scene. Skuldafn did not follow, because as this was happening he too was confused and frightened. Never before had anything quite like this occurred to him, or any other fawnlings that he knew of.

Apparently, for the time he stood there, it was long enough for the brush around him to catch fire, and he was afraid for he was caught in the middle of it. Unable to turn himself off, nor was he able to run - for everything he touched was set ablaze. What would he do, who would he hurt, the young fawnling was so frightened now. Would he be punished for something he didn’t even voluntarily do? He didn’t even want to think about that.

Then, from the direction of the fleeing stags, he heard yet another familiar voice. It took awhile to make it out in his confusion, but Skuldafn soon realized him as his teacher. He came to Skul, face to face, but his expression was not mad. “calm yourself” he ordered, “relax and calm down”. His words were stern, but comforting to Skuldafn. Taking a few deep breaths, his skin returned to its normal golden color, and his feet ceased to burn. The forest around him still did however, but before Skul could even worry about that his mentor rushed him out of the forest.

“Sir” Skul asked, panicked, “I am so, so sorry - how do we stop this fire, I didn’t want to hurt anyone, please -”. His teacher cut him off, “The fire has been contained, I have my finest soldiers controlling the burn - It is not your fault”. Skuldafn caught his breath, tired and confused, “No, it was - I was angry, and I let my anger and impatience rule over me, what -”. He was cut off yet again, “I understand who made you mad, and you did well resisting to fight for the most part, especially against an idiot like that - I saw him run out, and I saw the smoke, Its easy to assume what you felt was a surge of uncontrolled magic triggered by a rogue emotion. It was not your fault, and that is why I am here - to teach you and your peers to deal with this. Can you imagine if this happened to all of you, how big of a fire that would be?”. He paused, allowing Skuldafn to register what he was saying and think about it, “It would be a catastrophe, which is why you must listen and understand how careful of a process both learning and teaching is.”

Skuldafn slowly nodded, “I understand, thank you sir”. His mentor nodded and slowly began to walk off to return to the fire, but was stopped by his student, “wait though, can I ask you a question?”. The teacher turned around and looked to Skul, “you already are, but go on”. Skuldafn took a breath, thinking of how to ask what he was thinking, then replied, “About what was going on back there, with how I conjured up that fire, my glowing skin and burning feet - was that normal?”.

His mentor paused, thinking about it as well. It took him a moment to respond, “I can’t say for sure. The first use of magic by a fawnling can be unpredictable, crude, and definitely without shape or control - yours fits that description. But about the glowing skin and such, I can’t say for sure that I’ve seen something like that before. But don’t worry, you are only at the beginning, and you’ll always have me to guide you down the path if you are lost. With time, you will learn to control the flame”.

“Thank you,sir”, Skuldafn replied, watching as his teacher nodded and left to the now dying fire. While his other peers may have not learned as much as they wanted to, Skuladfn felt as if he had walked away with a very valuable lesson, one which would stick with him for the rest of his life. And while the soldiers tended to the dying fire, Skuldafn headed home, calm and assured of his own path..

----------

Story added finally! 2,015 words!

Had this sketch in my sketchbook, but with no access to my computer last month I couldn't do anything with it - so now I finally got the chance to work with it. I'm going to add a story to this eventually, but right now I am so tired and I feel kinda dizzy so a story's going to have to wait. All I can say now so people don't go like ,"wait what?" is that yes, this is Skuldafn, it is one of his first experiences with fire - and how unprepared he was compared to what he is today. This instance probably helped to strengthen his disciplined attitude as he grew older - because after you loose control of fire, you don't want to do it again. Anyways, I'll write up the story tomorrow - or whenever I feel better.

Points Gained by Roleplay

Act of Performing Magic +1 Magic (Image and Story (+400 words) = +1 Magic)(Story over 2,000 words = +2 magic) TOTAL = +4 magic

P.S. - The name of the deviation does come from Iron Man 3, simply because as I was drawing all the fire and the embers under the skin, I was thinking of the extremis subjects and was like "hey, Skul could totally do that". So he did. And I regret nothing.

Artwork, Skuldafn:=ChrissyMax (c)
%Fawnlings :=Ehetere (c)