So, when Rae first mentioned this fellow to me i knew i had to draw him. This was started before my health and tablet problems got serious and i had meant to go super detailed into it.. but i am really pleased with the outcome. I hope you guys find him as inspiring as I did.
Duathail, The Storm King
Written By =Ehetere
Once, long ago, the northern isle now known as Windborne was lashed ruthlessly by wild northern storms, monsoons and typhoons in the spring and summer and harsh blizzards in the winter. It was a desolate, uninhabitable place, devoid of life itself, where the only sound was the wind whistling through crags and valleys. In its own way, it was beautiful, but it was terrible too.
There came a stag from the south who was many things; a Prince, a King, a lover, a friend, and many an enemy. His coat was rich tawny with points the colour of the pitch night sky, a pair of magnificent strong antlers perched atop his forehead. The stag had seen all there was to see in the southern isles thrice over, and he was forever drawn northwards; to the sea and the land shrouded in mist beyond. He longed for the adventure of his youth. So when the tide was at its lowest, he swum the strait and washed up upon barren shores.
Now, many a Fawn would have turned back then and there, for there was little much of anything besides sand and rock and earth. And the wind. Ever the wind. But the stag was undeterred, for the land was something new, and new was exciting, exhilarating. Ignoring the angry protests of the voice from the north, he set to discovering this new land as he had done the southern isle, and soon found himself atop the highest crag on the island, which today is known as Sorghum Peak. He was surprised to find, upon the icy mountain, that of all the places there was something growing here, a few tufts of grass clinging to the cliff face staring bravely into the full brunt of the wind. The stag wondered why such a plant would choose to sprout there, on the cliff edge, rather than somewhere more protected, and why the top of a mountain. Never the less, he was hungry, and he nibbled tentatively at the seed sprouts from the grass.
The seeds boiled in his belly, and he wondered whether they might be poison, and that he would die up there in that high lonely place. But instead of weakening him, he felt his limbs grow stronger, stronger and stronger until he felt he might burst with the force of it. He gave a great bellow, right into the north wind. And then the north wind stopped. The stag stood, astounded, as the air around him became calm despite the restless feeling of the atmosphere. It was still. The plant had woken in him something quite extraordinary, it had shared its power to defy the mighty winds and storms of the northern isle.
Filled with joy and curiosity, the stag descended the mountain, further testing his new found powers. Soon the skies had cleared, and so too some of the mist and he discovered the northern isle was not as uninhabited or desolate as it had first appeared. Curious and strange trees and equally strange animals lived in pockets along the protected inner coast, giving way to further wonder. The stag stayed on the island, exploring its strange haunts and mysteries for many seasons. While he did, the seasons stayed mild and the island’s strange vegetation slowly began to cover the mountains and valleys until it was if it were a new place entirely.
From the south other Fawns began to grow curious about the land to north. Some had heard of the stag’s exploits, and wondered whether he had perished on his travels there. Others wondered why the north winds no longer blew so harshly. A few brave souls swum across Blackfoot Sound, as the bay stag once had, and joined him in his new kingdom, enthralled by his powers and the unique beauty it held. Some of the other stag kings were jealous, and came to take this new supposed paradise, and the stag’s powers.
Back on the island, the stag heard of the plots from the south, whispered to him by the winds atop Sorghum Peak. This made the stag very angry, and he immediately ran down towards the coast, his new herd on his heels with cries of battle in their throats. This was not a land of peace nor paradise, even without the wind the land was harsh, and the Fawns who chose to live there were even more so to survive it. As the band approached the cape where one might swim across to the north island, storm clouds were gathering overhead, and the wind began to blow and blow until it was all but lifting the herd along. There was the deep rumbling of thunder, an ominous pressure from the sky itself as they stood shoulder to shoulder to face their foes, their king at their head.
The kings from the south and their fighters could be seen across the strait on the southern shore, with the wind blowing away any billows of mist. The sky was swollen, dark, angry, matching the face of the bay stag as he stood defiant to his foes, as he had to the winds when he arrived on the north island. He had defied the wind, but now he commanded it as he bellowed across the waves, the storm broke in a furious flash of lightning and rain. The seas rose up to meet the sky, and the kings on the foreign shore ordered the charge from their terrified armies. Some fled in outright terror, while others were dashed and lost to wind and waves. Lightning speared down to strike the three arrogant kings who still stood on the distant sands. The stag had won himself his kingdom from sheer will alone, and from that day was known as Duathail, The Storm King. When his sons and daughters were born, they shared his gifts, and to this day they wander the northern isle and defy the wind, uniquely understanding its mysterious songs and bending it to their will. They are windborn. And we are Windborne.
Amazing Legend by the awe-inspiring =Ehetere
!! You should all shower her and The Western Isles and the resident fawnling's with love as there is so much amazing Lore and detail in this world.
Art (c) Me