🌙🐾 LODGE TAVERN BIO — ASHWHISKER

As spoken—or rather, implied—by the Lodge’s resident cosmic familiar, who does not lower himself to full sentences unless absolutely necessary.

A soft thump.
A shimmer of silver light.
Something pads across the room with the quiet confidence of a creature who knows he outranks everyone here.

You look down.
Two glowing eyes look back.

A voice—not spoken,
but felt somewhere behind the ribs—
says:

“…Ashwhisker.”

He does not elaborate.
He rarely does.

If you expect a long introduction, you are new.
If you expect him to tolerate being petted, you are foolish.
If you expect him to move from your chair, you are wrong.

Ashwhisker is older than the Lodge,
older than the land it sits on,
older than half the gods whose names mortals still remember.

He chose Thalia Crestforge—
the only living soul he allows to scratch behind his ears.
Why her?
He will not say.
She will not ask.

He appears when he wishes,
disappears when he wills,
and walks between the cracks of the world like they were made for his paws.

Sometimes he curls by the hearth.
Sometimes he sleeps in rafters.
Sometimes he stares into corners where nothing should be—
until something shifts and flees.

Skivvit swears Ashwhisker understands Common.
Harl swears he once heard him laugh.
Belvik swears the cat hates his music.
Astrae…
Astrae says nothing,
but his eyes follow the cat with the wary respect one gives an equal.

Ashwhisker does not beg.
Does not meow.
Does not fear.

He simply is.

A guardian.
A watcher.
A soft-footed god wearing the shape of a cat.

If you feel a gentle weight on your lap,
accept the blessing.

If you feel claws kneading your thigh,
accept the warning.

If he brings you a star-shaped spark he found between worlds—
accept the omen.

And whatever you do,

do not
try
to put a collar on him.

— Ashwhisker
Cosmic familiar. Ancient sentinel. Thalia’s chosen. Judge of mortals.

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