At the edge of the Holy City, there was dense, thick underbrush, that was the home of whatever beastly creatures you could imagine. The moonlight and starlight combined, illuminating the dark forest, as not a single hint of wildlife could be seen, but something emerged from the shadows. Something, stepping through the underbrush as not a single creature dared to stir from their hiding places. It looked like a man, or so it seemed at first glance.
The man was tall and could almost be mistaken for a mythical creature or wildlife himself. His goat-like legs carrying him through the tall grass, his form giant with broad shoulders and tall stature. As he walked through the forest, the furs of his clothing keeping him warm from a passing breeze, his lion was limp and dragged upon the ground. He dropped down, two ram horns that curled around his ears and his face an expression of dread.
Deknera was one of the man's many names, though Raeran was the one he used to use before a certain someone passed. His powerful legs brought him through the darkness of night, to find himself a place to sit down and mourn the loss of a man he once knew. He found a nearby forgotten tree stump and sat upon it, head in his hands as he thought about his old friend that he wished he could have seen go. Soon he looked up before turning to lay on the log for the night and rest after his travels.
The next morning was an early one for the man to wake to. Deknera, sighing lightly as he had no words, stood and looked about in the large trees that towered over him. He sat up and looked back down before saying a few words under a murmured tone. "My friend, I will not forget you. What I do today will be for you and only you." With sorrow in leading every word, he stood and looked about through the thicket before picking out a tree and moving toward it.
A handaxe that rested at the Avanthar's side was then drawn up to his hand, taking it in both as the head of it found itself embedded into a tree! Over and over again, the thumps and cracks of the small oak being slashed and battered, pierced through the silence of the tranquil forest. The man's steely gaze was set on the trunk and nothing but it as he worked to fell the tree, which in time he did, making his muscles ache as he watched the tree fall into the tall grass.
After cutting the tree up into halves, he prepared one half for firewood and the other for a different project. He got to work then on shaving the wood down to its smooth center, before placing them aside. By this time it was past morning and he had yet to eat and didn't seem like he was planning to as he gathered large stones, placing them around and once again splitting up the stack; one for the fire and the others for something else.
With his material now he grabbed hold of a stone and moved to an open spot in the copse of trees, placing it down before going back and repeating the process, stacking the stones soon after. Deknera then grabbed the sticks one by one and brought the parts of the tree to the area, placing them on the small shrine he was making as support beams almost. He placed a hand on the top of it and patted the cold stones lightly with a low and sad sigh before looking up through the ceiling of leaves at the sun.
Dusk soon came and the embers to the fire were under the sticks; broken apart logs soon to catch and brighten the dark thicket. Deknera soon, once the fire was ablaze, took his fur coat and shirt off to show a muscular frame that was littered with tattoos. He then took out an item from an old satchel he had been carrying, a device used to give tattoos before he then brought it to his skin to make a design, his face sad but determined.
After he had finished, what lay there was a tattoo of a skeletal theater mask, one-half happy and the other half sad with a tear rolling down its cheek. Around the mask were flowers, petals, and a bouquet. His skin now tinted red around where the ink infected him, he brought his clothing back onto his form before placing the items away and sleeping.
The next morning he awoke at an early time once again, stomping out the embers to the fire with thick and heavy hooves. His body sore from the prior day as he looked around, moving to the shrine he had made the day prior and placing a hand atop it before his calm and simple words broke his silence. "Never forgotten Llomaro. Lost but never forgotten." With that, he turned and moved off as the light of a new day was shown over the shrine and Deknera made his way back to the Holy City. His job was done and his restless soul semi-appeased.
(OOC Note: Thank you to @HorizonCythulu for the help with writing this piece. Thank you so much!)
The man was tall and could almost be mistaken for a mythical creature or wildlife himself. His goat-like legs carrying him through the tall grass, his form giant with broad shoulders and tall stature. As he walked through the forest, the furs of his clothing keeping him warm from a passing breeze, his lion was limp and dragged upon the ground. He dropped down, two ram horns that curled around his ears and his face an expression of dread.
Deknera was one of the man's many names, though Raeran was the one he used to use before a certain someone passed. His powerful legs brought him through the darkness of night, to find himself a place to sit down and mourn the loss of a man he once knew. He found a nearby forgotten tree stump and sat upon it, head in his hands as he thought about his old friend that he wished he could have seen go. Soon he looked up before turning to lay on the log for the night and rest after his travels.
The next morning was an early one for the man to wake to. Deknera, sighing lightly as he had no words, stood and looked about in the large trees that towered over him. He sat up and looked back down before saying a few words under a murmured tone. "My friend, I will not forget you. What I do today will be for you and only you." With sorrow in leading every word, he stood and looked about through the thicket before picking out a tree and moving toward it.
A handaxe that rested at the Avanthar's side was then drawn up to his hand, taking it in both as the head of it found itself embedded into a tree! Over and over again, the thumps and cracks of the small oak being slashed and battered, pierced through the silence of the tranquil forest. The man's steely gaze was set on the trunk and nothing but it as he worked to fell the tree, which in time he did, making his muscles ache as he watched the tree fall into the tall grass.
After cutting the tree up into halves, he prepared one half for firewood and the other for a different project. He got to work then on shaving the wood down to its smooth center, before placing them aside. By this time it was past morning and he had yet to eat and didn't seem like he was planning to as he gathered large stones, placing them around and once again splitting up the stack; one for the fire and the others for something else.
With his material now he grabbed hold of a stone and moved to an open spot in the copse of trees, placing it down before going back and repeating the process, stacking the stones soon after. Deknera then grabbed the sticks one by one and brought the parts of the tree to the area, placing them on the small shrine he was making as support beams almost. He placed a hand on the top of it and patted the cold stones lightly with a low and sad sigh before looking up through the ceiling of leaves at the sun.
Dusk soon came and the embers to the fire were under the sticks; broken apart logs soon to catch and brighten the dark thicket. Deknera soon, once the fire was ablaze, took his fur coat and shirt off to show a muscular frame that was littered with tattoos. He then took out an item from an old satchel he had been carrying, a device used to give tattoos before he then brought it to his skin to make a design, his face sad but determined.
After he had finished, what lay there was a tattoo of a skeletal theater mask, one-half happy and the other half sad with a tear rolling down its cheek. Around the mask were flowers, petals, and a bouquet. His skin now tinted red around where the ink infected him, he brought his clothing back onto his form before placing the items away and sleeping.
The next morning he awoke at an early time once again, stomping out the embers to the fire with thick and heavy hooves. His body sore from the prior day as he looked around, moving to the shrine he had made the day prior and placing a hand atop it before his calm and simple words broke his silence. "Never forgotten Llomaro. Lost but never forgotten." With that, he turned and moved off as the light of a new day was shown over the shrine and Deknera made his way back to the Holy City. His job was done and his restless soul semi-appeased.
(OOC Note: Thank you to @HorizonCythulu for the help with writing this piece. Thank you so much!)
