01-19-2008, 07:23 PM
Chapter Four: Teacher
February 2003--September 2003
It was not until mid-February that Skoll and the others were finally free to leave the nightmarish tomb of the Creek. Many bodies remained there still, gnawed by hungry and desperate wolves, preserved perfectly by the cruelly cold climate. Eager to be away, Skoll left the friends and allies he had made there, never to see any of them again. This was for the best, he knew...he wanted to forget the Creek, and yet there was an element to it that he did not want to lose. He had killed his first wolf out of anger and desperation, for himself and his raging emotions, a selfish murder for the sake of continued survival; nevertheless, that sad gaggle of wolves that had eventually huddled around the old fisherman had looked to him with admiration and gratitude. He had not been alone in defending that little gap in the ice, but he felt like they had needed him. He felt their affection, and it warmed him against the cold of the land as he traveled across it. Out of that icy hell, he had drawn bravery, and proven his mettle. He had felt weak and frightened, but others had looked up to him, and it had given him strength. He had been a defender of the weak and the starving, driving off those that would fill their bellies to the detriment of the helpless. The look in the eyes of those you turned away when the fisherman could feed no more, the hopeless struggle to be fed by those on the brink of starvation, the desperate fury of the hungry...though the horrors of the Creek still lingered in some corner of his mind, his young mind latched onto the positive, his spirit thriving on the recognition he'd received, and desiring to be looked upon that way again.
Confident in the fury that would take him during each battle, Skoll left the lands of the far north, declaring himself a fighter, a warrior-wolf. It was almost impossible to survive on his own, and so he joined with other wolves at every opportunity. As he traveled south, he found other wandering wolves, and entered agreements with them whenever he could. He was a warrior-wolf, he knew the basics of how to hunt, and could help defend a catch from the greedy. Of course, this only worked so well. His abilities were not congruent with his confidence, and while his berserk rage kept him alive through the bouts he had with the enemies of his temporary allies, he sustained many injuries in the months following the Creek. HawkWind's gift, it would seem, came at a price. Very few wolves were willing to engage him for long after discovering that bestial fury, but throwing his own well-being to the breeze for every fight left his flesh marred and was always draining. Nevertheless, his name grew, and followed him. Before long, his appearance matched his claims of being a warrior-wolf, and with this increased credibility came another increase in confidence. He was proud of his scars, and proud of his rage, and proud of himself and his own good ethics, for while he was monstrous and terrible in battle, he always fought for who he perceived to be the morally justified side.
It was at this time, when his name preceded him in that small part of the wide world, that he was accepted into Autumn Wind, his first true pack since StoneTree. Autumn Wind was in trouble. A neighboring pack, Silverleaf, desired its bountiful land greatly, and had been growing steadily for two generations. Now, with their pack numbering three wolves greater than Autumn Wind, they were growing bold, and the alpha feared that an attack was imminent. Foreseeing this, when the golden wolf appeared on the pack's borders, he was asked if he believed he could make a difference in the events to come. Having never been asked outright for help before, Skoll was pleased, far more than he let on, to accept. He didn't have long to wait. Silverleaf invaded Autumn Wind three days later, after Skoll had been introduced to the other members of the pack, including its guardian, a laughably old wolf named Gronnor. In the battle of Autumn Leaf, there were five deaths. All of these belonged to Silverleaf. Each fighting member performed well, but unexpected contingencies had arisen. Skoll, in his bloodlust, had savaged one enemy, and frightened off another, but lost himself in the emotive fires within. He had turned his claws and fangs on the old wolf, Gronnor. When he came to, Skoll was not only displeased that he had not been the deciding factor in the pack's victory--no, their guardian had outshone him by far--he had also been defeated, easily, by that very same man.
Skoll wasn't certain what his future held for him. The alpha had surely heard what had happened...he didn't know if he was to be driven out of Autumn Wind, or demoted, or simply told that he did his job and to be on his way. He was quite surprised when Gronnor made him an offer. He could be on his way and leave with the gratitude of the pack, or he could stay, under the condition that he remain as the older wolf's apprentice, that he would learn and do what he asked of him. Eager to redeem himself and make up for his mistakes, Skoll accepted. In April of 2003, his training began, and it would continue for six months, into September of that year.
Chapter Five: Tradition
September 2003--December 2003
Gronnor taught his young pupil many things. The anatomy of the werewolf, where its vulnerabilities were, what it was capable of, how one goes about fighting in different situations. Teeth were for four legs, hands and claws were for two. Skoll came to know that the rage that had made him infamous could be turned against him, that an angry opponent was an easily managed one. He learned to move as the old wolf moved, he learned to strike as he was taught, and the grappling and throwing techniques. He learned to analyze, and to think like the old wolf thought. He was transformed from the ground up into the fighter that had bested him, his old style traded for this much improved and technical mode of fighting. More than that, Gronnor taught him honor, taught him when it was acceptible to use his newfound skills, and when it wasn't. Taught him what it meant to be responsible with his newfound power. It was at the end of the sixth month of training that the old wolf told him to move on, that he had learned well and quickly, and that the final step in his training was to put all he'd learned into practice. Thanking the aged wolf for all he had done, Skoll left, a changed man.
Two months went by, during which time Skoll offered help to those that needed it. The lands were not rife with violence, but he traveled a great distance in that time, and was able to ply his skills. In early December, Skoll came across a small pack, six wolves together called Pale Moon. They had no personal enemies, but were willing to share tales with him around a fire. During the exchange, Skoll shared tales of his deeds and adventures before arriving in that part of the world, and the younger brother of the pack leader was entranced. Stories had always been a fascination of Skoll's, and he excelled in their telling. When Skoll left the next day, the young wolf, Art, implored him to take him under his wing. Seeing something familiar in those eyes, Skoll accepted. The two left the packlands, and Skoll resolved to teach him everything he could remember of what he had learned.
Art was a smaller wolf, and not everything that Skoll did well was as easy for his protege. It took time, but Art had a desire to learn as strong as Skoll's had been, and even though the golden wolf was not so good a teacher as Gronnor had been, he did his best. Art's fighting style evolved differently from Skoll's, a more cautious approach with quick, darting blows before backpedalling out of reach again. It would take work, but eventually Skoll was confident that the fear would leave him. Little did he know that the process through which Art would find his courage would be more brutal and scarring than anything he had yet experienced.
February 2003--September 2003
It was not until mid-February that Skoll and the others were finally free to leave the nightmarish tomb of the Creek. Many bodies remained there still, gnawed by hungry and desperate wolves, preserved perfectly by the cruelly cold climate. Eager to be away, Skoll left the friends and allies he had made there, never to see any of them again. This was for the best, he knew...he wanted to forget the Creek, and yet there was an element to it that he did not want to lose. He had killed his first wolf out of anger and desperation, for himself and his raging emotions, a selfish murder for the sake of continued survival; nevertheless, that sad gaggle of wolves that had eventually huddled around the old fisherman had looked to him with admiration and gratitude. He had not been alone in defending that little gap in the ice, but he felt like they had needed him. He felt their affection, and it warmed him against the cold of the land as he traveled across it. Out of that icy hell, he had drawn bravery, and proven his mettle. He had felt weak and frightened, but others had looked up to him, and it had given him strength. He had been a defender of the weak and the starving, driving off those that would fill their bellies to the detriment of the helpless. The look in the eyes of those you turned away when the fisherman could feed no more, the hopeless struggle to be fed by those on the brink of starvation, the desperate fury of the hungry...though the horrors of the Creek still lingered in some corner of his mind, his young mind latched onto the positive, his spirit thriving on the recognition he'd received, and desiring to be looked upon that way again.
Confident in the fury that would take him during each battle, Skoll left the lands of the far north, declaring himself a fighter, a warrior-wolf. It was almost impossible to survive on his own, and so he joined with other wolves at every opportunity. As he traveled south, he found other wandering wolves, and entered agreements with them whenever he could. He was a warrior-wolf, he knew the basics of how to hunt, and could help defend a catch from the greedy. Of course, this only worked so well. His abilities were not congruent with his confidence, and while his berserk rage kept him alive through the bouts he had with the enemies of his temporary allies, he sustained many injuries in the months following the Creek. HawkWind's gift, it would seem, came at a price. Very few wolves were willing to engage him for long after discovering that bestial fury, but throwing his own well-being to the breeze for every fight left his flesh marred and was always draining. Nevertheless, his name grew, and followed him. Before long, his appearance matched his claims of being a warrior-wolf, and with this increased credibility came another increase in confidence. He was proud of his scars, and proud of his rage, and proud of himself and his own good ethics, for while he was monstrous and terrible in battle, he always fought for who he perceived to be the morally justified side.
It was at this time, when his name preceded him in that small part of the wide world, that he was accepted into Autumn Wind, his first true pack since StoneTree. Autumn Wind was in trouble. A neighboring pack, Silverleaf, desired its bountiful land greatly, and had been growing steadily for two generations. Now, with their pack numbering three wolves greater than Autumn Wind, they were growing bold, and the alpha feared that an attack was imminent. Foreseeing this, when the golden wolf appeared on the pack's borders, he was asked if he believed he could make a difference in the events to come. Having never been asked outright for help before, Skoll was pleased, far more than he let on, to accept. He didn't have long to wait. Silverleaf invaded Autumn Wind three days later, after Skoll had been introduced to the other members of the pack, including its guardian, a laughably old wolf named Gronnor. In the battle of Autumn Leaf, there were five deaths. All of these belonged to Silverleaf. Each fighting member performed well, but unexpected contingencies had arisen. Skoll, in his bloodlust, had savaged one enemy, and frightened off another, but lost himself in the emotive fires within. He had turned his claws and fangs on the old wolf, Gronnor. When he came to, Skoll was not only displeased that he had not been the deciding factor in the pack's victory--no, their guardian had outshone him by far--he had also been defeated, easily, by that very same man.
Skoll wasn't certain what his future held for him. The alpha had surely heard what had happened...he didn't know if he was to be driven out of Autumn Wind, or demoted, or simply told that he did his job and to be on his way. He was quite surprised when Gronnor made him an offer. He could be on his way and leave with the gratitude of the pack, or he could stay, under the condition that he remain as the older wolf's apprentice, that he would learn and do what he asked of him. Eager to redeem himself and make up for his mistakes, Skoll accepted. In April of 2003, his training began, and it would continue for six months, into September of that year.
Chapter Five: Tradition
September 2003--December 2003
Gronnor taught his young pupil many things. The anatomy of the werewolf, where its vulnerabilities were, what it was capable of, how one goes about fighting in different situations. Teeth were for four legs, hands and claws were for two. Skoll came to know that the rage that had made him infamous could be turned against him, that an angry opponent was an easily managed one. He learned to move as the old wolf moved, he learned to strike as he was taught, and the grappling and throwing techniques. He learned to analyze, and to think like the old wolf thought. He was transformed from the ground up into the fighter that had bested him, his old style traded for this much improved and technical mode of fighting. More than that, Gronnor taught him honor, taught him when it was acceptible to use his newfound skills, and when it wasn't. Taught him what it meant to be responsible with his newfound power. It was at the end of the sixth month of training that the old wolf told him to move on, that he had learned well and quickly, and that the final step in his training was to put all he'd learned into practice. Thanking the aged wolf for all he had done, Skoll left, a changed man.
Two months went by, during which time Skoll offered help to those that needed it. The lands were not rife with violence, but he traveled a great distance in that time, and was able to ply his skills. In early December, Skoll came across a small pack, six wolves together called Pale Moon. They had no personal enemies, but were willing to share tales with him around a fire. During the exchange, Skoll shared tales of his deeds and adventures before arriving in that part of the world, and the younger brother of the pack leader was entranced. Stories had always been a fascination of Skoll's, and he excelled in their telling. When Skoll left the next day, the young wolf, Art, implored him to take him under his wing. Seeing something familiar in those eyes, Skoll accepted. The two left the packlands, and Skoll resolved to teach him everything he could remember of what he had learned.
Art was a smaller wolf, and not everything that Skoll did well was as easy for his protege. It took time, but Art had a desire to learn as strong as Skoll's had been, and even though the golden wolf was not so good a teacher as Gronnor had been, he did his best. Art's fighting style evolved differently from Skoll's, a more cautious approach with quick, darting blows before backpedalling out of reach again. It would take work, but eventually Skoll was confident that the fear would leave him. Little did he know that the process through which Art would find his courage would be more brutal and scarring than anything he had yet experienced.