Tamlin

Out of Character

New Caledonia
The Sunwarden
User avatar
Luperci
Becky --
31 --
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Thu Apr 11, 2019 12:55 am Becky#5187
Theodora 87
Sun Jul 14, 2019 1:06 am
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In Character

Male 24 Apr 2016
25% Australian Cattle Dog, 25% Golden Retriever, 50% Coyote Ortus
Tamlin Anor wakes with the sunrise. Perhaps appropriately so, his color palette is shared with it. His fur is majority a soft gold, taken from his golden retriever and cattle dog heritage; a soft cream begins at his jaw and lines his chest and belly, stopping at his interior mid-thigh. Atop his head, reminiscent of the flames of the sun, long red hair falls in waves. Occasionally they are restrained by a ponytail or a half-ponytail, depending on his needs for the day. His eyes are emerald with an amber core encircling the pupil. His countenance, though normally set to contemplation, smiles easily with a genuine mirth that reaches his eyes.

Like many of his coyote brethren, Tamlin is more thin than stocky, but his muscles are sinewy from continued use. His strength is practical, all mountain climbing and horseback riding—more suited to distance than close combat. He wears his Caledonian battle armor with pride, a long sleeved green undershirt with a brown leather jerkin over it. Occasionally he wears a dark green cloak, but he is often without it depending on the weather, enjoying the feel of sunshine on his skin. However, he is never without his thick leather bracers, scarred and scratch from the frequent landings of his golden eagle Sabriel. Notably, he has a stub tail. He declines to mention whether he was born that way or whether it was lost in an accident.
It would be easy to assume that Tamlin was an unhappy fellow, from how infrequently he opens his mouth, but the truth is that he has adapted surprisingly well to the loss of everything he held dear. Perhaps this is because he has witnessed loss far greater than his own in his friends and cohort; maybe his optimism is innate. Regardless, the man is actually quite grateful, even if he doesn’t verbalize it frequently. Some if it is to do with his training as a Scout, as being too chatty was wont to give away a position, and so Tamlin spends most of his day conversing with his constant companion, Sabriel. He is fiercely devoted to the golden eagle, oftentimes giving her the better meat of their meals. He extends the same care to his deceased brother’s horse Lirael, a buckskin mare bred for speed.

Loyalty is perhaps the most pertinent of Tamlin’s personality traits, not just in the responsibility he takes for the animals under his care. He thinks first of his King, and following that, his Gods. Though he hadn’t been a religious man before the war, losing his brother has caused him a crisis of faith into the arms of Menel. He does not want the Gods his brother so loved to be erased from the world, and so he finds himself praying frequently, and hopeful to share the word of Menel with those he meets.
WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It may contain very strong language, drug usage, graphic violence, or graphic sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.
Please be advised before you read that this story is about war in Caledonia!

“Come, Tamlin.” Her words were quiet, but the luperci’s up-turned ears heard them perfectly, well-attuned to the voice of his companion. Despite the fatigue arcing painfully throughout his body, the wolf’s breathing was quiet and shallow, doing his best to remain silent. His claws moved soundlessly through the woods, practiced steps avoiding the sounds of crunching leaves and twigs. Though the enemy had laid waste to his kind in this area, he could not be sure they had vacated after their carnage. Tamlin had done what he could, from afar: he had even slain a few with his arrows, dropping the soldiers and then disappearing where he could, knowing that a solo Caledonian would be easy prey for these monsters. Sabriel had even dropped aimed rocks before Tamlin had called her down, frightened when he had seen an archer aiming for her feathers. Separated as he was from everyone, he could not bear to witness losing Sabriel too.

As if hearing his thoughts, the eagle landed on a branch in front of him, her size an imposing shadow in the moonlight. “Close, Tamlin.” Stoic as she was normally, Tamlin did not miss the sadness in her voice. “What did you see, Sabi?” He did his best to keep his words quiet, emotionless; Sabriel shook her head, spreading her wings and taking off again into the night. Fear was a pit in his stomach, a new pain beyond the exhaustion he already felt. It paralyzed him momentarily, and it wasn’t until he became lightheaded that Tamlin realized he had forgotten to breathe altogether. A shaky gasp was louder than he had intended, but he pressed on anyway, for he could see the light of the moon through the trees. There was a clearing ahead.

He did not hear any of the enemy around, but had there been sound, Tamlin would have been deaf to it regardless. The blue moonlight made his brother’s red hair look dark, and the blood pooled around him in the grass black. Without thinking, without looking first, he was at Katoa’s side. The blood soaked into the cloth of his pants at the knee, his hands grappling with the leather made slippery on his brother’s arms and chest. “Katoa!” He said the words, cradling his brother’s face, his fingers knowing the chill of death before his mind did. It was like looking into a morbid mirror—the two of them had seemed twins, but there was no light in Katoa’s open eyes, and even a cursory glance revealed that Katoa’s wounds would never have been survivable.

He did not notice he was crying until his tears splashed on his brother’s face, and even then he looked to the sky as though it might be rain. A soft nicker broke the silence, and Tamlin turned his blurry eyes to the edge of the clearing, where a horse emerged from the woods. She was still saddled, though her mouth had remnants of froth from her hard work. “Lirael,” he muttered, eager to share his grief with one who felt it too. “I’m so sorry, Lira, I’m so sorry…” Her head was low, and she came to him, pushing her broad head against his shoulder as he bent over his only brother.

He hadn’t even noticed Sabi’s return. “No stay, Tamlin.” Her words were sharper, less mournful. He looked to her immediately. “More come. Must go.” Tamlin’s eyes frantically went to his brother’s body, which lay disregarded, without even funeral rites. “We can’t just leave him, Sabi… We can’t just leave him alone—” The golden eagle cut him off, her eyes unusually focused on something he could not see. “No time, Tamlin. We go.” Lira’s sad eyes regarded him as he lifted himself up, patting the horse on the nose. She turned her body, as though eager for him to get in the saddle, as though Tamlin being there might fill the hole Katoa had left in both of them. “Which way, Sabi?” His voice was a croak, his eyes still on Katoa. “West. I see King.” The words snapped his pupils from his brother to the eagle, but she was already in flight, leading the way above the treetops.
Iomair: His King, the one he serves and protects.