Bevan

Basic Information

 * Name: Bevan
 * Height:
 * Weight/Build:
 * Apparent Age:
 * Eye Color:
 * Hair Color:
 * Distinguishing Characteristics:
 * Other Physical Specifics:
 * General Public Knowledge: Usually seen beside Siágh na Fiáin.
 * Other Information: Not on Humanity.
 * Character Theme Songs:
 * add here

History
Bevan was born in Silverdale, Lancashire, around the year 844AD. He was raised as a staunchly devout Druid and was being trained to eventually become a priest for the village. Shortly after his 19th birthday, Silverdale was raided by Vikings. Though the village was defended by the Druids – many of which were Lhiannan – they were almost overpowered by the sheer number of Vikings, and lost many during the fight. The fact that the Vikings raided at night, expecting the villagers to be asleep, was the saving grace for the Lhiannan’s defense. Eventually, they were able to kill every last one of the Vikings, leaving the village to its aftermath – the screams of the wounded, the wails of the mourning, lit by devastatingly bright fires of homes burning.

The loss of several Lhiannan prompted the Druids to the decision to embrace a chosen few. Bevan was among those brought forth – during the battle, he had saved the life of the Lhiannan, a highly respected Druid. That Lhiannan sired him as his childe, intending to continue his training as a Druid personally. To his Sire’s surprise, Bevan developed different talents than the usual Lhiannan; through trial and error, it became apparent that while he lacked the usual Presence of the Clan, he was able to transform himself into the animal likeness. Although his unusual discipline was disapprovingly related to the Forsaken’s, Bevan’s beast had taken the shape of the Lion and the Owl, two creatures highly respected by the Druids. Likewise it was found that while he had much success hunting and feeding from prey animals, he gained significantly less sustenance when feeding from humans. While accepted, his odd blood set him apart from others, and he was later proven to be a progenitor of a new Boodline within the Lhiannan, which he called Bevanite. Because of his abilities, he became apt as a defender of the territory and a master of local animals, keeping more to himself; although the people of his village respected him, they still held him aloof, wary of his differences.

Around the year 910AD, Nessa and her companions traveled close to Silverdale, meeting Bevan. Although startled at his ability to shift forms, she proclaimed his Disciplines proof that the Forsaken were a Bloodline of the Lhiannan and not the other way around, as the Unblooded dared to claim. She explained her crusade to revitalize the Lhiannan, and the quest to find the Hero and the forgotten Lore. Bevan accepted the offer to accompany them, glad to leave his guarded Coterie. His determination and devotion to the cause earned him Nessa’s trust. They left, heading south, gathering followers as they went. Upon reaching the island of Cramond, the fabled home of Hero and Lore, they settled. While most claimed land on the island, Bevan located himself in a small fishing village just south of the island, on the mainland, claiming that as his territory. His beast allowed him to be both a warrior and a scout for the Lhiannan, doing tasks that they would have found more difficult.

During a spring night in 951, the pursuit of a Forsaken that he had wounded led him out of Lhiannan territory, westward past the Water of Leith. It was less than ten minutes until sunrise; desperately the Forsaken ran, seeking distance above all else, followed closely and silently by the owl that was Bevan. As his quarry broke the tree line into a clearing, Bevan heard a cry – almost that of a child, but more guttural, snarling. He banked, turning to find the source while keeping the Forsaken in his sights. No sooner had he done so when a spear sank deep into the Forsaken’s body, protruding from his chest – a heart shot, by the way the Forsaken fell immediately. Furious at the intrusion of his hunt, but out of time as the morning sun threatened the horizon, he winged to the ground to gain shelter. As he prepared to go to ground, his last sight was that of a scrap-clad child running from the trees to descend upon the torpored Forsaken, slashing at him with a knife before falling on him like an animal, tearing him apart with hands and teeth. Though irked at the theft of the kill, he grudgingly admitted admiration at the child’s feat.

Upon waking at sunset, he was greeted with the sun-burnt remains of the Forsaken. Taking wing, he circled the area, looking for the human that had stolen his kill, abet bravely. After several sweeps of the area, he found a crude camp – a bough-and-leather shelter, a pit fire, drying plants… and the child of the previous night, sitting fireside, sharpening a spear. Bevan lit upon a branch overhanging the camp, observing with narrowed eyes. From the look of the camp, it supported only the single occupant – and had been there for quite some time. Years, likely. The child was a girl – almost a woman, he noted, but just barely. From her size, he could tell that life had been hard on her. Still close to humanity, concern overcame his irritation. He watched her this night, and for several nights after. She never spoke, only growled and mumbled; not words but a sort of mix of humming and meaningless sounds. She hunted expertly for her age, and kept her own stores of supplies. He watched as she chased a traveler away without revealing herself, acting as if they were some other predator moving in on her lands. It was obvious that she had been lost to the wild for most of her life. Seeing her pass close to a local pride of European Lions – carefully, respectfully, while they watched her without startling – made his decision. He would embrace her. Of those he had met in his travels, none were so close to the land as she was. He knew it would take time – a lot of time, to gain her trust and make her understand – but he was patient.

Seeing her wariness of people, he decided not to approach her directly… as a ‘human’, at least. One night, as she sat by her fire, he walked up the well-hidden path to her camp in his Lion form, slowly and as unthreatening as he could manage (which was quite a task for him). A startled cry passed her lips before she cut herself off, freezing in place, eyes locked on his. Bevan padded softly into her camp, and lay down, across the fire from her. They stayed like this for several hours, neither moving more than to shift positions, before he left the way he came. He repeated this many more nights over the next month for longer periods, until she calm enough to continue her usual tasks – though she always remained alert and never slept while he was present. At the end, she had even come to putting aside a part of her kill for him; he was glad that he had the ability to hold it down until out of her sight.

Finally, he decided it was time to reveal his true form. One night, he didn’t show up at her fire. He had spent over a week strait at her hearth prior, and she was puzzled by his absence. She had grown used to his presence. As he had hoped, after a few hours, she went looking. He waited for her, sitting among the pride of lions. He had been careful to leave paw prints for her to follow. He wasn’t disappointed – after not too long a time, she emerged from the tree line into the pride’s clearing. She hesitated and stopped – the one lion she had come to know was one thing, but the whole pride was another. Bevan let her observe the lions for several minutes before locking eyes with her. As she watched him – her lion – he shifted up to his human form, and smiled at her. Frozen to the spot, eyes wide, she stared at him for several breaths – before turning and fleeing away.

He left her along for several nights. When he returned, he brought with him a spear – not a crude one like she kept, but a quality crafted throwing spear. She was nowhere in sight – she had heard him coming and vanished – but he laid the spear next to her fire, and left. When he returned the next night, he did so as the lion. This time she was there, though she crouched back from the fire, eyes narrowed – holding the spear he had left, he saw with approval. Once again, he locked eyes with her, and shifted up. She tensed and hissed at him, drawing back further, but didn’t run. Without breaking eye contact, he sat, repeating the routine he had used as a lion. This ritual continued for many nights until she finally relaxed around him, accepting him as a companion. Over the course of months, he slowly taught her language; when she could understand, he taught her of the Lhiannan. As she could not remember any name that she had been called, he gave her one - Siágh na Fiáin. Just after her fourteenth year, he Embraced her, creating his first Childer. Siágh proved to possess the same Disciplines that set him apart from the others, proving his Bevanite Bloodline.

Quotes

 * "A fire burns in him that Lugh would shield his eye from. May it not consume the beast past the grasp of Nemain." - Nessa ni Bhraonain
 * Add your own!