12-28-2007, 02:22 PM
Biography:
Chapter One: StoneTree
June 2001--August 2002
Skoll was born into StoneTree, a small pack which scraped a living off of a barren wasteland of tundra, eating mostly rodents and very rarely larger game, when it ventured within their borders. To withstand the harsh winters and poor food supply, the pack was modeled after an older design, in which only the alpha male and female could bear a litter. Skoll and his two siblings: Skirnir and SnowOwl, were the only surviving pups, born to the alphas Freyr and SkyDance. Freyr was elated to see that he had healthy children, and the pack reveled in the joy of the new life gifted to their leaders.
For a time, all was well within StoneTree. The children had been summer-born, so the cold of their land was fully waned, and they were happy. Freyr was proud of his sons, and loved his daughter dearly, while SkyDance loved most her daughter, with whom she spent much of her time while Freyr raised his boys to be alphas. Their happiness was not lasting, however, for as Freyr's Beta continued to remind his leader, there was not food enough to support three extra mouths. Reluctantly, Freyr began to view his sons in a different light, to look for the differences between them, to discern who had the best chances of surviving alone, outside of the pack's protection.
The lands surrounding StoneTree were harsh and unwelcoming, it would take a hale and hardy wolf to survive alone. SnowOwl was small, but even were she not, the alpha would not take their only daughter away from his mate, whom he loved more than life itself. Thus, as the two boys grew and matured through their first winter, he saw clearly that his golden son, the one he had named Skoll, was the one best suited to survive alone through the bitter trials of the outside world. Thus began Skoll's slow exile.
Freyr stopped looking his son in the eyes, SkyDance would not speak to her son, and the other wolves in the pack quickly followed suit. The boys, now just over a year old, had become great comrades in mischief and make-believe adventures, playing out the stories passed on to them by their mother and father, and it was by this solitary connection that Skoll remained himself, despite the melancholy that had beset him at his parents' odd behavior. It was in this time of great hurt for the pack that Freyr was forced to take his smaller son, Skirnir, aside, and tell him that the time had come to let his brother go. Explaining the reason, it still took much cajoling by his father and mother to make him cooperate. When Skoll discovered that his best friend also would not speak to him, he lashed out in anger and desperation, confusion and despair. His father and Beta set upon him, and in the snapping of their jaws into his flesh the exile was complete. He was no longer a wolf of StoneTree, and was chased for a full mile until he was outside its borders. Tearful, angry, and bleeding, the young wolf turned away, never to be seen in that land again.
Chapter Two: Flight to the South
August 2002--November 2002
All alone, the strongest of Freyr's sons made his way ever further from the land of his birth. He wept, but he would sooner have his wounds open anew and spare the blood than the water, so ashamed was he of his tears. Everything he loved had been torn away from him, he felt. The golden yearling had been left with naught but the meager skills he'd learned in his short time with his father, and many of those were useless now, now that he would never, could never, become the leader of a pack. For several weeks he existed he knew not where, nor did his family, nor did the neighboring packs know of him. For those weeks, when he lived further from his home than ever he had ventured before, his mind roved wildly in thought, fearing for his future as his hunger worsened, suffering a great maelstrom of hate and envy and despair as he wondered what Skirnir and his parents were doing now back home.
There came a time in the midst of his fevered thoughts that he sought desperately for someone to turn to for help, someone who would save him from his loneliness, from the cruel edge of fate. He recalled his favorite story, one his mother had told him and his brother in happy days now gone, about a wolf who had fled StoneTree long ago. HawkWind had been his name. He had left long ago, but how far had he gone? Skoll didn't know...but another, very serious concern had begun growing in the back of his mind. Winter was coming, and though StoneTree had kept him fed and healthy through the first, he would not survive the second alone.
Seldom had he heard the Beta's remarks that the pack should move south, to better climates, but he did hear them, and with them came the knowledge that in the south he might now find his salvation. If the winters of StoneTree could not be survived alone, then HawkWind, too, must have first traveled southward after he fled. It was with these two thoughts in mind that Skoll determined that he must escape the region of his homeland in order to survive into the coming year. Traveling southward, he kept always an open eye for anything that might fill his empty stomach, desperation in his heart as he felt--day by day--winter creeping closer.
Chapter Three: The Creek
December 2002--February 2003
As fast as the yearling's young legs could carry him, the season moved always faster. The days grew shorter, the winds colder, and soon winter was upon him, as he traveled ever southward. The paths of that part of the world were treacherous, cracked and broken, a wolf had to follow sources of food and water, an ever-winding path that could render a short journey into a long one, and a long journey impossible. So he realized, as his options dwindled, and he found his path clinging to a narrow stream for a constant water supply. He was not alone, for the further south he went, the more wolves he met, drawn to the unfrozen water just as he had been. In truth, it had been a full river at one time, but as the cold overtook all of these wolves, so too did it overtake the river, reducing it to a creek, a mere shadow of its former glory.
Two high ridges rose up on either side, shielding the wolves from the wind, the narrow snaking creek their only lifeline in the treacherous snow, but the wisest wolves knew that the shelter would not last for long. As the bronze youth made his way further and further down, he found an increasing number of small family groups and nomadic packs staking claims on various pieces of the river, and once he reached the front of the line of travelers, he discovered why. The creek ran into the earth...it ran into an estuary! It could not be followed, and so the entire caravan, dozens and dozens of wolves strong, filled with the sick and the desperate who could not survive the winter so far north, were forced to halt their exodus. The events that followed would shape the young wolf profoundly.
As the winter brought its full force to bear on the trapped travelers, it surrounded their sanctuary on all sides with unforgiving winds, and snows so blinding white and fierce that no wolf could see through them. The conifers that rode the ridge of the creek continued to protect the wolves, but even as they felt blessed to be protected from the fury of the storm, their oasis was freezing over. The creek was narrow, and the cold was deep and relentless. Of the dozens of wolves, there were but five fisherman, and a desperate shortage of actual fish swimming the waters. The civil passivity that had been maintained between the groups quickly dissolved for rights to the fisher's catches, the fishers becoming slaves to the strongest of the desperate refugees of the north.
It was one of these fisherman that Skoll inadvertently rescued in his hunger. He was desperate for food and water, but there were but five holes, and too many bellies to feed...oh, too many bellies indeed. Three wolves surrounded the poor man, who had been so far unnoticed by anyone else as he remained far upstream; he had gotten on in his years and had not the will nor the strength to stand against them. They had been taking his catches as he made them, telling him that they would take the meat out of his hide if he stopped. Skoll found them, having been turned away by the crowd at every other fishing hole, and approached them, begging to be fed. It was in a moment of pique, when one of the three told the young wolf that he had to move on, told him to put his tail between his legs and run away, that Skoll killed his first wolf.
His mind had long since forsaken lucid thought, and it was in the desperation of hunger that he first felt HawkWind's gift, the berserk rage, take him. It lasted naught but a few moments, the other wolf had taken on a posture of dominance, his head held high...and the yearling had launched into his throat, removing it with four jerks of his head. Standing there, the madness in his eyes, the blood dripping from his fangs, his visage frightened the two others away, and the fisherman thanked him once his mind had returned, offering him the next catch. While everyone was desperate, there were no fighters in the caravan, just inexperienced thugs, and Skoll and two others fought many of them to defend their own fishing hole. Thus was the beginning of Skoll's life of violence--a thug who fought for his right to meat, as well as for the rights of the fisher and what few other wolves sought to stave off death from his catch. Many wolves died of exposure and starvation at the creek, but Skoll had found a niche, and survived.
Chapter One: StoneTree
June 2001--August 2002
Skoll was born into StoneTree, a small pack which scraped a living off of a barren wasteland of tundra, eating mostly rodents and very rarely larger game, when it ventured within their borders. To withstand the harsh winters and poor food supply, the pack was modeled after an older design, in which only the alpha male and female could bear a litter. Skoll and his two siblings: Skirnir and SnowOwl, were the only surviving pups, born to the alphas Freyr and SkyDance. Freyr was elated to see that he had healthy children, and the pack reveled in the joy of the new life gifted to their leaders.
For a time, all was well within StoneTree. The children had been summer-born, so the cold of their land was fully waned, and they were happy. Freyr was proud of his sons, and loved his daughter dearly, while SkyDance loved most her daughter, with whom she spent much of her time while Freyr raised his boys to be alphas. Their happiness was not lasting, however, for as Freyr's Beta continued to remind his leader, there was not food enough to support three extra mouths. Reluctantly, Freyr began to view his sons in a different light, to look for the differences between them, to discern who had the best chances of surviving alone, outside of the pack's protection.
The lands surrounding StoneTree were harsh and unwelcoming, it would take a hale and hardy wolf to survive alone. SnowOwl was small, but even were she not, the alpha would not take their only daughter away from his mate, whom he loved more than life itself. Thus, as the two boys grew and matured through their first winter, he saw clearly that his golden son, the one he had named Skoll, was the one best suited to survive alone through the bitter trials of the outside world. Thus began Skoll's slow exile.
Freyr stopped looking his son in the eyes, SkyDance would not speak to her son, and the other wolves in the pack quickly followed suit. The boys, now just over a year old, had become great comrades in mischief and make-believe adventures, playing out the stories passed on to them by their mother and father, and it was by this solitary connection that Skoll remained himself, despite the melancholy that had beset him at his parents' odd behavior. It was in this time of great hurt for the pack that Freyr was forced to take his smaller son, Skirnir, aside, and tell him that the time had come to let his brother go. Explaining the reason, it still took much cajoling by his father and mother to make him cooperate. When Skoll discovered that his best friend also would not speak to him, he lashed out in anger and desperation, confusion and despair. His father and Beta set upon him, and in the snapping of their jaws into his flesh the exile was complete. He was no longer a wolf of StoneTree, and was chased for a full mile until he was outside its borders. Tearful, angry, and bleeding, the young wolf turned away, never to be seen in that land again.
Chapter Two: Flight to the South
August 2002--November 2002
All alone, the strongest of Freyr's sons made his way ever further from the land of his birth. He wept, but he would sooner have his wounds open anew and spare the blood than the water, so ashamed was he of his tears. Everything he loved had been torn away from him, he felt. The golden yearling had been left with naught but the meager skills he'd learned in his short time with his father, and many of those were useless now, now that he would never, could never, become the leader of a pack. For several weeks he existed he knew not where, nor did his family, nor did the neighboring packs know of him. For those weeks, when he lived further from his home than ever he had ventured before, his mind roved wildly in thought, fearing for his future as his hunger worsened, suffering a great maelstrom of hate and envy and despair as he wondered what Skirnir and his parents were doing now back home.
There came a time in the midst of his fevered thoughts that he sought desperately for someone to turn to for help, someone who would save him from his loneliness, from the cruel edge of fate. He recalled his favorite story, one his mother had told him and his brother in happy days now gone, about a wolf who had fled StoneTree long ago. HawkWind had been his name. He had left long ago, but how far had he gone? Skoll didn't know...but another, very serious concern had begun growing in the back of his mind. Winter was coming, and though StoneTree had kept him fed and healthy through the first, he would not survive the second alone.
Seldom had he heard the Beta's remarks that the pack should move south, to better climates, but he did hear them, and with them came the knowledge that in the south he might now find his salvation. If the winters of StoneTree could not be survived alone, then HawkWind, too, must have first traveled southward after he fled. It was with these two thoughts in mind that Skoll determined that he must escape the region of his homeland in order to survive into the coming year. Traveling southward, he kept always an open eye for anything that might fill his empty stomach, desperation in his heart as he felt--day by day--winter creeping closer.
Chapter Three: The Creek
December 2002--February 2003
As fast as the yearling's young legs could carry him, the season moved always faster. The days grew shorter, the winds colder, and soon winter was upon him, as he traveled ever southward. The paths of that part of the world were treacherous, cracked and broken, a wolf had to follow sources of food and water, an ever-winding path that could render a short journey into a long one, and a long journey impossible. So he realized, as his options dwindled, and he found his path clinging to a narrow stream for a constant water supply. He was not alone, for the further south he went, the more wolves he met, drawn to the unfrozen water just as he had been. In truth, it had been a full river at one time, but as the cold overtook all of these wolves, so too did it overtake the river, reducing it to a creek, a mere shadow of its former glory.
Two high ridges rose up on either side, shielding the wolves from the wind, the narrow snaking creek their only lifeline in the treacherous snow, but the wisest wolves knew that the shelter would not last for long. As the bronze youth made his way further and further down, he found an increasing number of small family groups and nomadic packs staking claims on various pieces of the river, and once he reached the front of the line of travelers, he discovered why. The creek ran into the earth...it ran into an estuary! It could not be followed, and so the entire caravan, dozens and dozens of wolves strong, filled with the sick and the desperate who could not survive the winter so far north, were forced to halt their exodus. The events that followed would shape the young wolf profoundly.
As the winter brought its full force to bear on the trapped travelers, it surrounded their sanctuary on all sides with unforgiving winds, and snows so blinding white and fierce that no wolf could see through them. The conifers that rode the ridge of the creek continued to protect the wolves, but even as they felt blessed to be protected from the fury of the storm, their oasis was freezing over. The creek was narrow, and the cold was deep and relentless. Of the dozens of wolves, there were but five fisherman, and a desperate shortage of actual fish swimming the waters. The civil passivity that had been maintained between the groups quickly dissolved for rights to the fisher's catches, the fishers becoming slaves to the strongest of the desperate refugees of the north.
It was one of these fisherman that Skoll inadvertently rescued in his hunger. He was desperate for food and water, but there were but five holes, and too many bellies to feed...oh, too many bellies indeed. Three wolves surrounded the poor man, who had been so far unnoticed by anyone else as he remained far upstream; he had gotten on in his years and had not the will nor the strength to stand against them. They had been taking his catches as he made them, telling him that they would take the meat out of his hide if he stopped. Skoll found them, having been turned away by the crowd at every other fishing hole, and approached them, begging to be fed. It was in a moment of pique, when one of the three told the young wolf that he had to move on, told him to put his tail between his legs and run away, that Skoll killed his first wolf.
His mind had long since forsaken lucid thought, and it was in the desperation of hunger that he first felt HawkWind's gift, the berserk rage, take him. It lasted naught but a few moments, the other wolf had taken on a posture of dominance, his head held high...and the yearling had launched into his throat, removing it with four jerks of his head. Standing there, the madness in his eyes, the blood dripping from his fangs, his visage frightened the two others away, and the fisherman thanked him once his mind had returned, offering him the next catch. While everyone was desperate, there were no fighters in the caravan, just inexperienced thugs, and Skoll and two others fought many of them to defend their own fishing hole. Thus was the beginning of Skoll's life of violence--a thug who fought for his right to meat, as well as for the rights of the fisher and what few other wolves sought to stave off death from his catch. Many wolves died of exposure and starvation at the creek, but Skoll had found a niche, and survived.