IC name: Skoll
email: aldonwoodridge@yahoo.com
Luperci?: Yes
Age: 6
Well, I remember this place, Skoll thought drily, thoughts drifting back to his fight with Gibraltar. It was ironic, he thought, that the third alpha he'd seen--the one who he thought he understood best--would be the one he'd butt heads with. I was too proud...and he was too paranoid, the warrior thought as he approached that familiar borderline. It seemed to Skoll that the alpha had a penchant for exiling those who didn't show absolute obedience to him. The bronze male--who had operated mostly on his own without any complaint from his leader up to that point--was not accustomed to kneeling before such accusations, or simply swallowing the lack of faith Gibraltar had shown in him when he leveled that accusation in front of the eyes and ears of Skoll's peers, and the people he protected.
Slander was sometimes a killing offense, back in the fierce cold of his homeland, it was a tool to demean and dishonor an enemy or a victim, and physical retribution was an understandable reaction. Still...if he had learned anything in his time with Storm, it was that his morals from back home, away from 'civilized' packs, did not often hold sway here. Even where he came from, the packlands belonged to the alpha, and unless he wanted to challenge for ownership(which was not an acceptable practice here for obvious and sensible reasons), he should not have acted the way he did. The politics of the region were alien to him, they always had been, and sometimes it was off-putting. When the social climate had changed, and the coyotes of Inferni were gaining land and power, he had felt the compulsion to get up and act. To this day, he had trouble understanding why those who felt similarly were so few.
Enough of that, though. I'm tired of being portrayed as the villain. If the wolves here won't take a stand on their own behalf, who am I to step in for them? I tried to rescue a little girl, succeeded, and punished a few coyotes on the way out, receiving extensive injuries in the process...and I was cast out at a word by our enemies. All in the name of politics...my honor, my pride, attacked in the name of good relations with the enemy. Next, I track down these new cultists, and how am I received? As a villain! The very people they victimized stood in my way in their defense! 'The devil we know to the devil we don't' they said. Well...I'm tired of trying to use my skills for the good of strangers. Enough is enough. He had decided to find himself a patch of easily defensible land, somewhere north of Storm, where his enemies would be unlikely to discover or come after him. He would do his best to hunt on his own, maybe he would find some other wolves...the fact was that he was unlikely to last long on his own. Food wasn't as easy to come by outside of the packlands, and he wasn't known for his great hunting skills. Being too active also wore him out more quickly than it used to. He had taken a lot of abuse in the last year or two.
Suddenly, he noticed something different in the air. He had come right to the border of Storm territory, he had run into the first mark. Shifted as a were, carrying all of his packed away wargear in a deerskin sack around his hip, he knelt down to get a better take on the scent. This isn't Gibraltar...
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