"This is sacred ground. We don't like trespassers here. But maybe we'll make an exception for you."

A child who carries the weight of ages in his haunting eyes, aglow at every angle with the tapetum of a wild beast. He knows who he is, and he wishes to cast aside endless solitude.

Personality

Reclusive, mysterious, cold, suffers no fools. Simultaneously childish and wise beyond understanding. The wisdom of beasts resounds in his ways, and he listens to the voice of nature wherever he goes despite having defied it. You are simply a pebble in the path of the brook, creating a bit of noise in your place, your ripples unfelt a few meters past your resting indentation. Time goes on regardless of his or your actions, but unlike you-

He lasts forever.

Unless corruption takes him. He seeks answers and a better way. (90)

History

The Fawn was born to an absent and utterly frivolous mother, who had many children and took care of none of them. His grandfather cared for them all instead, until he went senile and eventually perished of old age. Little One and his siblings were visited at Grandfather's death by their mother, who spent the visit dying her fur and paying them no attention. The Fawn's brother took custody of them all. The man was a trafficker of beasts, catching them, selling them, butchering them even for very strange souls with a lot of money. He was a betrayor who loved control.

The Fawn's only solace was the companionship of beasts, and as his brother set up a grander operation he attacked, and found there was more to the connection than simple "animal whispering." He comprehended the beasts. They bowed to him. They liberated themselves, and they liberated him. They escaped into the wilds and disappeared without a trace at all.

The soft edged memories of youth were butchered by grief and bitter vengeance as The Fawn, as the hunters called him, waged war on a people who did not comprehend his people, as he saw all beasts. Grandfather was ruined by age. Children were ruined by adults and became them themselves. Mother was like a child, only useless and without innocence, and inflicting much upon others. The problem was adulthood. Erastalker, or Shadowfang, or any number of other names he tasted for himself, eventually settling on Duskprancer, refused.

He would never be like them. He would never be one of them. He would never be part of them! Let them all burn! Give him the world of animals and lightning, untamed and uncoddled! Let the rain pour upon his coat as he howls with wolves and engineers with beavers and weaves with weaverbirds and sings with warblers and mocks with monkeys and parrots and dances with dragons!

He swore a pact with Fortune that he would outlive them all, become the liberator of all that is not Men, release the wild things from their boundaries and untame the world before him, carve a path of uncivilized wonder through the world with as much blood as necessary, for Nature is not kind either.

He lived.

He leap mirthful through arcadian wildernesses and awe inspiring vistas with an entourage of beautiful animals, wild and free.

And they lived.

All he'd ever known changed or perished.

And they lived.

But as Corruption took its toll, the beasts upon his back crawled within their bounds, hunting and slaughtering each other over and over, reforming, warring, bickering, lashing, crying. They were often violent when released.

He lived.

And he lived.

And he was lonely. (446)