04-10-2008, 05:25 PM
1. Character Name: Lubomir Varg (Lubomir is Polish for "Love and Mercy", Varg is Swedish/Norwegian for "Wolf")
2. Character Birthdate (including year): 4th June 2004
3. Whether s/he is a regular wolf or a Luperci (not applicable to non-canines): Luperci Ortus
4. Species (not applicable to canines):
5. Gender: Male
6. Your e-mail: passionless.motion@gmail.com
7. A secondary form of contact (AIM, MSN, Y!M): I answer better to email than anything else
8. How did you learn/hear about 'Souls?: I have spies in good places =)
9. (initial post or three examples)
He didn't really know how it had come to this. They'd been a small pack, in the Old Country, their territory didn't seem to threaten anyone. He hadn't been a high-ranking member, indeed his hunting skills didn't make him very popular (and for all the wrong reasons), but he could read and write and he was an artist, a bard, a poet, the one who would maintain logs of their most fortuitous hunts. The Alpha pair indulged him because he was her brother, but he knew that the minute he slipped and messed up a hunt he would be gone. Unfortunately, the moment had not come.
The attack happened after weeks of stalking, he later realised. They couldn't have known the way the pack operated so intimately unless they'd had either inside information or they'd spent a lot of time tracking the movements. The Alpha pair were older than most in the pack and Lubomir had seen them fall together, trying to defend each other to the very end. His memories were a blur after that. He supposed he'd gone into a frenzy, or maybe he'd tried to stalk off unseen. Whatever the case, one of the males from the nameless rival pack had found him and tried to rip his to shreds. His memory became patchy again here. He was sure that later, miles away from the carnage, he had blood on his muzzle and it wasn't all his.
The days stretched endlessly afterwards, with Lubomir hunting small game and sleeping in make-shift dens. He needed to leave the Old Country, he needed to put a lot of distance between himself and that place and that pack. He travelled for months, occasionally crossing into foreign territory, but never quite mixing with the other packs. The incident had changed him and he found it easier to work alone. The scents changed, the ground felt different under his paws, the weather grew harsher and still he went east and north, searching for something new. Snow was plentiful here and game was sparse, but Lubomir trudged on, relentless, desperately fleeing a pack which had long ago given him up for dead. He crossed into a new land a month before his birthday and his whole being was invaded with the newness of it all, the different vistas, the colour of the sky when the sun rose. The New Country could give him the rebirth he sought so badly.
He found the charred remains of whatever had been there before. He could smell his kind on it and slowly, carefully, he circled it, not quite sure of what he'd find. The strange land was so remote from the Old Country that looking at it made him oddly relieved. It would be anything but the Old Country and maybe here he could make a new life for himself. He was, after all, still young, he had the rest of his life ahead of him.
Now, though, he needed to find another pack. Ultimately, he belonged with other of his kind. Simply wondering like this would not do. He longed to hunt with others again, to feel some sort of connection, to remember what it was like to be part of a group. So he slowly stepped into this new world and made a promise to himself: by the time the new snow fell, he would belong in another pack. He would be something again. Slowly, wearily, he started climbing over the top of the mountain.
2. Character Birthdate (including year): 4th June 2004
3. Whether s/he is a regular wolf or a Luperci (not applicable to non-canines): Luperci Ortus
4. Species (not applicable to canines):
5. Gender: Male
6. Your e-mail: passionless.motion@gmail.com
7. A secondary form of contact (AIM, MSN, Y!M): I answer better to email than anything else
8. How did you learn/hear about 'Souls?: I have spies in good places =)
9. (initial post or three examples)
He didn't really know how it had come to this. They'd been a small pack, in the Old Country, their territory didn't seem to threaten anyone. He hadn't been a high-ranking member, indeed his hunting skills didn't make him very popular (and for all the wrong reasons), but he could read and write and he was an artist, a bard, a poet, the one who would maintain logs of their most fortuitous hunts. The Alpha pair indulged him because he was her brother, but he knew that the minute he slipped and messed up a hunt he would be gone. Unfortunately, the moment had not come.
The attack happened after weeks of stalking, he later realised. They couldn't have known the way the pack operated so intimately unless they'd had either inside information or they'd spent a lot of time tracking the movements. The Alpha pair were older than most in the pack and Lubomir had seen them fall together, trying to defend each other to the very end. His memories were a blur after that. He supposed he'd gone into a frenzy, or maybe he'd tried to stalk off unseen. Whatever the case, one of the males from the nameless rival pack had found him and tried to rip his to shreds. His memory became patchy again here. He was sure that later, miles away from the carnage, he had blood on his muzzle and it wasn't all his.
The days stretched endlessly afterwards, with Lubomir hunting small game and sleeping in make-shift dens. He needed to leave the Old Country, he needed to put a lot of distance between himself and that place and that pack. He travelled for months, occasionally crossing into foreign territory, but never quite mixing with the other packs. The incident had changed him and he found it easier to work alone. The scents changed, the ground felt different under his paws, the weather grew harsher and still he went east and north, searching for something new. Snow was plentiful here and game was sparse, but Lubomir trudged on, relentless, desperately fleeing a pack which had long ago given him up for dead. He crossed into a new land a month before his birthday and his whole being was invaded with the newness of it all, the different vistas, the colour of the sky when the sun rose. The New Country could give him the rebirth he sought so badly.
He found the charred remains of whatever had been there before. He could smell his kind on it and slowly, carefully, he circled it, not quite sure of what he'd find. The strange land was so remote from the Old Country that looking at it made him oddly relieved. It would be anything but the Old Country and maybe here he could make a new life for himself. He was, after all, still young, he had the rest of his life ahead of him.
Now, though, he needed to find another pack. Ultimately, he belonged with other of his kind. Simply wondering like this would not do. He longed to hunt with others again, to feel some sort of connection, to remember what it was like to be part of a group. So he slowly stepped into this new world and made a promise to himself: by the time the new snow fell, he would belong in another pack. He would be something again. Slowly, wearily, he started climbing over the top of the mountain.