OOC Name:
Skarl would do.
Character Name:
Skarldemarsh -- also known as just Skarl
Age:
4 years
Gender:
Male
Spirit Animal:
Bald Eagle -- called Scythe
Appearance:
Now, Skarldemarsh is not some wolf you'd count as normal. But then, not many wolves are normal in the first place.
We begin from his structure. For a male, Skarl's body is abnormally small. His frame is only about as big as that of a bobcat, with compact bones and an extremely long tail. His head is quite big for his size, making him seem unbalanced, and most of that head are jaws. Inside these jaws one can find the typical teeth arrangement of a wolf, but with one major difference: the upper and lower canines are elongated, giving him the typical "vampire fangs." His spine is more flexible than the average wolf's as well. Strangely, all of his bones are hollow, like those of a bird.
Bearing his small body in mind, it is hard not to be surprised to find that Skarldemarsh's legs are much too long for his body. The he-wolf's limbs are longer than even those of a Maned Wolf's, and quite well-muscled too. One can see bunches of said muscles beneath his lush fur when he tenses up, or during strenuous activities. With the long legs and hollow bones, and thus a longer stride and less mass, one can easily conclude that Skarl is a good runner -- and he is. Easily clearing heights that most wolves have trouble getting over, Skarldemarsh makes a good, athletic wolf.
On the outside, now, Skarl is practically a walking rainbow. His pelt is long and thick, almost fluffy in essence, but months of tiring journey and years of battling have made his fur scruffy. Nevertheless, with some good tending, it would regain the softness it once had.
This pelt is basically made up of darker colours, with eye-catching reds and yellows imprinted on them. While this renders any attempt at hiding useless, his height already does that, so there is not much of a difference anyway. Skarldemarsh's main base colour is a dark, shadowy turquoise that one has problems placing the exact hue of, with hints of aqua in the lighter areas and midnight blue in the darker ones. The belly of Skarl is a strange, silvery blue, and his legs are dappled with dark forest green below the elbow/knee areas. Skarl's face is the same turquoise, though there are two silver streaks under each eye, as well as a silver arrowhead-shape on his forehead with the point facing down. The inside of his ears as well as his paw-pads are both the pale blue of his underparts.
Upon this dark base, red streaks, much like tiger-stripes, run across his torso. These streaks constantly change their position and length, thanks to the strange virus his family was infected by, and thus it is difficult to pinpoint the exact appearance of Skarl. Only the marks on his face and tail do not change. On said tail is a series of three rings, all bright gold-yellow, and his tail tip is a more pastel hue of the same yellow colour. His right forepaw is ringed with the golden colour as well.
Apart from the red stripes, Skarldemarsh bears a darker, purple four-point star on his right flank. It is hard to discern, as it is always moving along his side and the dark purple blends into his turquoise fur, but one can see it upon close inspection. Not that anyone is allowed close inspection.
On an ending note, Skarl's eyes are different in colour. His right one is a dark purple, the same colour as his "star", while his left one is amber like a normal wolf's is.
Personality:
Skarldemarsh is nowhere near your average friendly wolf. In fact, he is nowhere near your average lone wolf either.
To sum it up, he is a proud, silent, impassive, backstabbing liar.
We go in layer by layer. On the outside, you see a billboard-like wolf with an attitude: nothing is too good for him. If he wants anything, he'll make sure he gets it, and if he doesn't want to do anything, no-one can make him do it. Skarl hates being given orders, and thus roams as a lone wolf, not entering packs of any sort. If he ever joins a pack, he would be the leader of it, not a follower, though this is very unlikely -- he loathes pack wolves and treats them with disdain, scoffing at them and preferring to walk alone.
He doesn't speak much. Skarl keeps quiet, most of the time, though by no means is cowardly; he only thinks that one speaks when necessary. He has an edge in his words that is unmistakable, but one usually does not know until he breaks his silence. When he does, his voice is low and soft, not gentle, but more of like the low hum of pressure in the air before a storm strikes. The male wolf is not silent for disguise, either. His bold markings render camouflage and stealth useless, as mentioned before, and the he-wolf walks bravely. He has no fear of others, because he knows that he has a strong will, and none can bend it.
Indeed, he has one. Skarldemarsh can be very determined and loyal, but only to himself: he has seen too much to pledge his fealty to a pack and expect to walk out of it all alive. I repeat here that he is not a coward, but merely a wolf who does not believe in needless sacrifice. After all, it is always better to leave with life and limb intact and return to fight another day than to lose one's life fighting a losing battle. He doesn't concentrate on a one-time victory, but rather decides that the last one left standing is the victor.
Going deeper, Skarl is a proud wolf. He has a good amount of self-esteem and dignity that will not be stomped down, despite the fact that it had been hammered at and trodden on since his birth. He wouldn't compromise his personal values -- which simply meant he would survive -- for anything, whatever the price. Skarldemarsh would never forgive and forget, as the saying goes, and he doesn't have any qualms about killing, lying and betraying. Revenge lies deep in his heart, and it seals all emotions he ever possessed, leaving him an efficient killer -- as well as an empty wolf.
As mentioned before, Skarldemarsh doesn't believe in being loyal to a pack. Packs, or those that he knows of, demand every shred of you to be faithful to them, and that you gladly give your life up in a battle for them. No. Skarl hadn't consent to that, doesn't consent to that, and would never ever consent to that. He may seem selfish, but the past years had drilled the word "survive" into his mind. Besides, when one could live perfectly well on one's own, why bother to join a pack and depend on them -- not to mention having them depend on you? If they couldn't sort themselves out properly, he wouldn't have anything to do with them, then. They're not worth his attention.
He makes no friends. Perhaps allies, possibly enemies, but never friends. Friends drag one down when they fall. They cause unneeded hurt and sorrow, and the feeling of betrayal. They do everything they can for you and seem to expect something in return. They hang around with you even when unwanted. They get themselves into trouble standing up for you, and you'd have to protect them from this trouble. So no, Skarl would never make friends. He's not that sort of wolf to allow himself be wounded again if he had been wounded once before.
Going even deeper, Skarldemarsh is not all that confident about himself. His past still haunts him, especially the feeling of betrayal and rejection -- which is why he inflicts such feelings on others: to "get his own back" -- that stalk in his dreams, and while he tries to shut them away, he doesn't always succeed. He has sudden bouts of insecurity that leaves the wolf uneasy and restless, and almost always angry; at himself, at his once-pack, at the world. Pent-up emotions flow out then, and he would be seen climbing to the highest vantage point possible and looking out. That is his one and only way to solve this problem of the soul: to let it all pass and hope it returns again at a much later time. Only, sometimes Skarl wishes that he could make it go away forever and leave him alone -- but he doesn't know how.
A last note about Scythe, his Spirit Animal: they are not very close to each toher, both physically and emotionally. Scythe is proud as well, and often wheels in the skies alone, away from Skarl. He wants to help his bonded-wolf, but Skarldemarsh wouldn't allow the eagle to come near. Thus, Scythe leaves Skarl and explores on his own, of for days at a time. He would always return to Skarl if he is needed, however.
History:
Generations ago, when the traces of the humans' past existence had yet to be erased, wolves were already spawning around the continents. They formed packs and family groups, packs that spanned the lands. Some packs only accepted wolves that had the same heritage as the founders, and regarded all that were not as outcasts and filth. One such pack only accepted wolves with a darker colour to their pelts, and were strong and powerful. This pack only granted Spirit Animals at eight months of age, which was when they could determine a pup's character.
Skarldemarsh's father was Golgan, a large, brown-furred male with glowing amber eyes. He was strict with his previous litters, setting down rules and boundaries, and firmly cuffing the pups that strayed. His mate, Storlindesh, was a no-nonsense type of she-wolf who seemed unable to survive a day without quarrelling with her packmates. However, her quick wits and good hunting abilities kept her in the pack, and not exiled for her snappy nature and disregard for authority. This trait was passed down to Skarldemarsh, as one probably noticed.
When Skarldemarsh was born, the sole survivor of the second litter, it was a disappointing birth. One of the wolves of the first litter had died the day before while hunting a stag, and the family grieved for their loss. And the second litter was a litter of four, a good, healthy-sized litter -- only that the other three besides Skarl died a few minutes after their birth. Skarldemarsh's distinctive patterns hadn't appeared yet, but his small size and long legs were already prominent features. Needless to say, he wasn't very well received in his pack. Even his name meant "born outcast", another of the shadows they wreathed him in at his birth.
Skarl grew up as the Omega-pup, shunned by the other youngsters and generally ignored by the adults. His mother didn't care much for him beyond his weaning, and Golgan, the pack Captain, was always busy over something with the Alphas and Betas. When Skarldemarsh reached initiation stage, he was no longer carefree, no longer excitable. It was as if his emotions had been slowly weathered away by the tongue-lashings, brush-offs and cold-shoulders he received. He began to defy rules and authority on purpose, and no longer seemed to care for his pack.
By now, the adults could detect ever-shifting streaks of dark maroon on his teal fur. Greatly troubled by this discovery, they observed him silently, and when Skarl was initiated, they bonded him to a Bald Eagle named Scythe, as a warning of his defiance. Skarldemarsh either did not care, or did not want look as if he cared; either way, he still went about as before, always the loner and always silent.
By the time his first big hunt came, the red streaks were bright enough to be noticeable at a distance. Even more troubled than before, the leaders of his pack called for a meeting, and everyone was asked a question: what, exactly, to do with Skarldemarsh? Skarl himself couldn't have cared less. If his fate was to be driven out, so be it. Nothing much.
Or so he thought.
They decided to wait some more and see. Meanwhile, they used the hunt to test him out, to see how he would fare as a hunter. Skarl's long legs, this time, seemed to have saved him from the fate of an exile, for though he set off an alarm for the deer they were stalking, he easily caught up to an old female and ripped her throat out. So, in a way, he redeemed himself. Grudgingly, the pack allowed him to stay.
Then the war came.
All young and strong wolves were enlisted in the "army", and most were sent out in an ambush party. Unwisely, they chose Skarl to go along as well.
The billboard of a wolf messed everything up. The enemy saw his bright stripes, were alerted, attacked the ambushing wolves, killed many, and ultimately defeated them. A mere five survivors, of ten sent out, straggled back to pack base. Skarldemarsh was one of those, surviving only because of his long legs and fast speed. And when asked, all pointed to the unfortunate young male as the reason for this failure. Skarl protested, said he didn't mean to do it, and could they just let it go by?
Not a chance, matey.
They told him to consider himself an exile. Skarl fought back, and an argument ensued, the results of which was that Skarldemarsh declared himself no longer a member of the pack -- and thus tossed out bodily by a pair of strong wolves, one of which was Golgan. Not a shred of sadness were in the huge male's eyes, and when he threw his own son out of the borders, right onto the battleground, he didn't even look Skarl in the eye.
And the Captain was the only person whom Skarldemarsh ever looked up to.
His heart, or what was left of it, snapped into a thousand shards.
Skarl was still young; he was extremely susceptible to veering from the right path and down the wrong one. Who's to say that he'll even willingly stay as a wolf that is considered "good" by the population? For all one knows, or will ever know, Skarldemarsh has nothing left to lose.
He did not take action immediately, for he had none to take: no plans, no allies, and no strength to do anything, even if he could. The now-loner wandered away for the following year or so, scavenging and hunting small game, and it was during this time that his heart became twisted and his mind was plagued by memories. This was the period Skarl would never wish to hear of again -- it was like a living hell to him.
If Lady Luck had not graced him with her presence by that time, Skarl would forever have been lost to the dark world. But she gave him a blessing -- just a light, insignificant one -- that was one of the few turning points in his life. Skarldemarsh was fated to meet with the most upbeat and optimistic wolves the world holds.
At the end of those gruelling months, Skarl was barely more than a walking skeleton, on the verge of fainting. Said wolves came across the poor thing one stormy evening, when Skarl had been close to giving up. They took him under their wing and nursed his mind and body, and accepted him as one of their own. The brightly-marked wolf was a novelty and a gift to them, so to speak, and the older wolves loved him like their own pup. They called themselves the "Happy Wolves", and made sure Skarl lived up to the group-name he now held.
It was in the next few months that Skarldemarsh regained some of his old spirit, and slowly turned away from the thought of suicide. He was still extremely unstable, but with the acceptance and attention he received, rare smiles began to grace his face, and the two-year-old wolf was very much happy. Not the wild, up-in-the-sky kind of happy, but plain old contentment. For once, he felt that he belonged.
The group of cheery loner wolves devised a plan to use Skarl's colouring to their advantage. They mainly hunted birds, and while much of their hunting techniques fall back on stealth, Skarl was still useful. He would frighten the birds the "pack" preyed on, and sent the avians into the path of the hunters. These wolves could leap higher than normal, and their bones were hollow, like Skarl's own ones. The multicoloured male soon learnt to hunt like them. Of course, he could chase down small herbivores like hares and fawns, but hunting with the group was always better; he had a sense of satisfaction after each successful hunt, and felt much more bonded with his groupmates.
But the good times did not last long. Tragedy has a habit of trailing after happiness, and it did so, for Skarl.
A foreign pack of wolves demanded ownership of the lands the cheerful wolves hunted on. Skarldemarsh didn't agree, and started a fight with a Beta of the pack despite the warnings of his own friends. And naturally, they beat the metaphorical stuffing out of the poor wolf. And even more naturally, Skarl's friends jumped in to help. And of course, the most natural thing that happened next was a slaughter.
Skarl barely made it out alive, and his group didn't at all.
Embittered and thirsting for revenge, the wolf, once again alone, honed his skills. He may not be strong or stealthy, but he has a will. And what was the old saying? When there's a will, there's a way.
An opportunity to fight back at the two packs that had hurt Skarl, emotionally or physically, arose one day two months later. The foreign pack that caused the fall of the "Happy Wolves" had expanded its territory until it was right next to the one that Skarl's natal pack fought with There, the Alpha of the invaders usurped the throne of the resident pack, and thus has gained both members and land -- and Skarl's once-pack's attention. Skarldemarsh knew he had to make his move now.
He wasn't a fool. To march right up to his old pack's Alpha was to dance with death, and to meet with the invaders heads-on would likely result in another beating. The loner knew he had to play the enemy for both sides. Once he made sure the invaders had settled down and their forces were stable, he made his move.
- + - + -
"Skarldemarsh! You... You're... You're still alive... You're not a ghost; you're really standing here... Wait, what are you doing here?"
"Invading."
"... Wha?"
- + - + -
Skarl did not attack, but instead dropped many hints as to who he was fighting for, where the exact locations of said wolves were, and how soon they planned to attack. He acted the fool in front of his once-packmate, who duly reported it to his superiors. The pack was in uproar, and the Alphas decided at once to hunt down this foreign pack and kill them.
Meanwhile, Skarl dropped in at the borders of the other pack.
- + - + -
"You. The wolf who once tried to fight us. Back for more?"
"Yes. My pack will drive you out of these lands. The remainder of you, I should say. Not many would be left after we're through."
"You -- You wretch -- You dare to challenge us? Is that it? You're challenging me, Captain of the Thunder Moon Pack?"
- + - + -
Skarldemarsh's actions brought the two packs to war, and the cunning wolf watched from an outcrop on a mountain as the battleground beneath him stained red with blood. His natal pack was defeated, but the Thunder Moon Pack was greatly diminished.
A smirk curled his lips, a shadow glinted across his mismatched eyes, and the wolf was gone, like a wraith of the wind.
Much more happened between the war and the present. Skarl joined packs, left them, fell in love with a she-wolf, watched her die helplessly in another of the frequent battles he took part in, and through it all, felt his heart get colder and colder, until it was but a block of ice. But these events do not matter.
What does is the present. Is now.
-- Done --