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Uploaded on May 22, 2021, 10:40:50 PM by
#ds12622
Given name: Everest
Nickname: "The Ghost of the Mountain", or simply Ghost
(he will respond equally to his given name or his nickname)
(if you wish to draw him you will probably want to use the refsheet instead of the import as the sheet has an easily-pickable color palette to help keep things consistent)
Legend:
Wyveran tales tell of a mysterious creature that haunts the mountain range east of Sol. Hikers, travelers, adventurers, and local miners report vague sightings of the elusive beast amongst the snow-capped peaks, often obscured by ghastly blizzards. The various accounts can only agree on a few details: the creature is large, seems to fade in and out of the swirling snow, and appears to sport some form of feathered wings studded with glistening rhodolite. Due to the cryptic and spectral nature of these accounts, the creature has come to be known as the Ghost of the Mountain.
While locals to the old mining villages around the mountain range are apt to insist the tale is true, many skeptics doubt the accounts, blaming the blizzards and the stress of being caught in one to cause any traveller in the range to simply hallucinate the creature. After all, if this was a real animal living in the mountains, why would it only show itself during blizzards, of all events? And the similarities between accounts could easily be written off as mere social influence--if you're in a crazy storm and have heard the legends of a large gem-feathered creature in such storms, your brain might well convince you that the dark swirls in the wind and snow really are such a creature.
Only the smallest handful of people get the chance to really know the truth behind the legend of the Ghost...
Lore/Backstory:
Whilst out helping her pair of six-month-old cubs learn to track prey, a mama snow leopard known as Denali came across another cub caught in a snowdrift. The cub was weak and while he sported a thick plumage that no doubt was the only reason he'd survived as long as he had, underneath the floof he was thin and cold. While further examination quickly revealed the tiny red beak and downy wings that denoted that despite his spotted pelt and fluffy tail, this "cub" was no leopard, it was too late for Denali's motherly instincts--they'd already kicked in hard. Though two of the cubs from her litter of three survived, she'd lost the third to hunger earlier that winter, and she'd be darned if she let this little scrap fall to the same awful fate. She dubbed her new cub Everest and began raising the little Stryx as her own, right alongside her two surviving cubs.
It was good that Denali's cubs were already eating meat by the time she took in Everest--both for the Stryx, who would not have been able to thrive properly on milk alone, as well as for Denali herself because, after all, that little beak was sharp! Now warmed, fed, and cared for, Everest quickly recovered. While his wings, beak, and instincts reminded him that he was in fact a Stryx and not a leopard, he still bonded closely with his adopted family and thrived in their kinship.
When her litter was around two years old, as it customary for snow leopards, Denali began to push them to set out and establish their own territories--Everest included. He was sad to leave, but understood that all creatures--leopard, stryx, or otherwise--must do so eventually. (His bond with Denali never lessened, however, and even into his adult years he flew back to his mother's territory every once in a while to visit and bring her prey.)
Thanks to his wings, Everest was able to travel much farther much faster than his brothers, searching from above for cracks in the mountainsides that could lead to potential dens. However, the power of flight didn't change the fact that he was still only and adolescent, and while Denali had taught him and his brothers many important things, there were still many others that could only be learned through experience.
One such thing was the scent of wild windhounds. There hadn't been any living in Denali's territory, so she'd never had the opportunity to warn Everest about the danger they posed. But in his far-and-wide search to establish his own turf, Everest had accidentally stumbled into theirs--more specifically, their den. It had been empty at the time, but the pack soon returned. The windhounds quickly drove the young stryx away, and acting on the adrenaline of defending their home, they were vicious. Everest escaped, but not without nasty wounds and a broken wing, grounding him.
For the next day or two, Everest wandered, becoming increasingly weak. His injuries made it difficult to hunt, and he was still sore and dizzy. He laid down in the forest, wondering how much longer he could go on like this. He heard a rustle in the foliage and craned his neck in its direction. Half-couched behind a tree was another creature Everest had never seen before--a human. In the human's hands was a long stick, stretched taught with a tendril attached at either end--a bow, with its arrow pointing right at him. A bolt of panic shot through Everest. He was not familiar with the weapon, but his instincts told him it meant danger. He tried to flee, but he was sore and weak. He could only stumble.
The arrow flew. Everest braced himself for the impact.
It never came. Instead, he heard the arrowhead thunk into the bark of a tree several yards away, followed by yelling. When he looked back at the human, he saw that the hunter was no longer alone--another, smaller human (this one probably a female, he assumed by the scent) was standing between him and the hunter, angrily arguing. She must have pushed his aim away at the last moment. Everest would later learn that the man was a poacher hoping to claim what he could of a weak and dying quarry, while the woman was a lifelong lover of Stryx who could not bear to see one killed, even one who was already so close to death. She had stumbled across the scene while searching for wild herbs and couldn't help but intervene. The hunter was angry, claiming that he would merely be putting the poor beast out of its misery. The woman would have none of it, insisting the stryx could be rehabilitated instead. The hunter scoffed, but the woman refused to back down, keeping herself between him and the stryx. The hunter may have been willing to shoot animals for their pelts, but he wasn't willing to shoot a fellow human just to claim his loot. In the end, he stalked off in a huff.
The woman approached the injured Everest. He was nervous, but as she reached out to gently stroke his cheek, he relaxed, realizing she was there to help, not harm. With her assistance, he managed to stand back up and the pair slowly made their way back to the woman's small village, where she washed and bandaged his wounds.
The woman reminded Everest of greatly of Denali--both had found him weak and alone, and both had taken him under their proverbial wing. He grew to greatly trust and even care for her as he recovered his strength.
After a few months in the human village, Everest's wounds had healed and he was back to full strength, now wiser than he had been before. But while he cared for the woman who had healed him, his heart belonged in the wild mountains, and she knew that. Just before he set out to resume his search for a territory of his own, she presented him with a gift to remember her by: a shining black collar studded with smooth glistening gems that matched the ones on his wings. He accepted the gift fondly and kept it to always remember the good of special souls like the woman and Denali who would drop everything to help a young helpless stryx.
Not long into his reinvigorated search, Everest finally found what he was looking for: a cave high up in a mountain, safe and secure as it was far to difficult to access without wings, not far from the prey-rich coniferous forest that filled the valley by the range. At last, he had a home of his own. Over the years his den grew more homely as he collected various items. He even managed to build his own fire pit, a trick he'd picked up while living with the humans. His den was always warm and cozy.
Over time Everest noticed an uptick in human travelers crossing his territory. For the most part, he left them alone, remaining far out of sight. They had no reason to interact. But every once in a while, he saw some struggling in a blizzard, and his mind flashed back to how Denali and the woman had helped him early in life. He wanted to help!
But he also remembered the poacher that had nearly killed him that fateful day. Not all humans shared the kind soul of that woman.
Another skill Everest had picked up during his months in the village: he was an excellent judge of character.
So, whenever he happened across a human caught in a blizzard, he judged them. If he judged them unworthy, he would let the storm take its course. Sometimes the humans survived, scrambling back to their destinations post-storm with tales of the strange silhouette they say in the snows. Sometimes they were not so lucky.
But if he judged them worthy, he scooped them up in his talons and brought them back to his safe, warm cave to wait out the storm. Once in warmth and out of danger, and once they realized that the Stryx that had plucked them away did not, in fact, intend to eat them, the humans often slept through the remainder of their exhausting ordeal. As the snows died down, Everest returned them to their original location, still asleep. They woke left wondering if the experience had been real or if it had all been a strange fever dream induced by the stress of the storm. These were the humans who brought the really wild accounts of the Ghost back to their villages.
Only a very very few of those judged worthy remain awake while in the den, or wake up before it is safe for Everest to return them. These are the few who know the truth about the Ghost of the Mountain, with no doubts as to their recollections.
But they will not tell. Somehow they all know that perhaps some things, as far as the public is concerned, are better left a legend...
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