sköll » lumen » male

[[ sköll ]]

OOC Information
OOC Name: Askr
Link to Previous Character: n/a c:

General
Name: Sköll
Alias: Arvakr, among multiple other false names
Species: Lumen
Gender: Male
Age: One hundred years
Pack: Loner
Rank: n/a

Physical
Height: Thirty-eight inches
Weight: Twenty pounds
Appearance:
Sköll, like all Lumen, can change his pelt at will and bend light around his form to render himself invisible. His base pelt is a pale, dirty off-white, tipped with hints of pale pastel yellows and pinks, but he rarely reveals this. The sickly lack of color, paired with his lithe and undebatably frail build, aren’t often things he wishes others to see.

The runt of his litter, Sköll ever appears malnourished; small; weak. Harsh conditions hit him harder than most, and he is loathe to stay anywhere that boasts rough winters. His thin, almost feline form is much more suited to temperate climates; his legs long and thin and expert at stalking through leafy underbrush. His skull is gracile and angular; maw pointed and cruel. Clever eyes, sickly pale pink, gaze out from behind thin, matted fur.

His left ear is tattered, torn to pieces in a fight long past. The wounds are healed into ugly, raised scars, and he has difficulty twisting the ear backwards. Other, smaller scars litter his body, but nothing more of importance – such wear is expected of a creature so old. His voice is lower than expected for such a slight beast, gravelly and occasionally grating.

As previously stated, he has become quite good at projecting different colors and patterns onto his pelt over the years. And while he eagerly takes on new guises by the day, perhaps his favorite form – and one he might very well be seen in when not up to any mischief – is a rich ash-grey pelt with dappled speckles of iridescent purples and blues.

Other: n/a

Mental
Strengths:
Cunning and quick-witted
Very apt with his light projections; he can quickly alter his pelt into any number of chameleon guises
Strategic multi-tasker, and with a good memory
Difficult to insult; tempered
Weaknesses:
Cruel and uncaring; cold
Mistrusting
Physically weak and easily tired
Emotionally stunted
Shallow
Personality:
As far as first impressions go, Sköll is as wildly variable as his pelt. He is alternately a shameless show-off and flaunter, wielding the powers of his species with a magician’s flair – or as silent as the grave, furling invisibility around himself like a protective cloak, stalking through his environment with a practiced and feline grace. It is important to note that he does what he wants – unless caught off-guard, every hue on his skin and every word from his lips is carefully crafted; to what end only he knows.

He sees much of life as a game – and, as he’s very easily bored, he spends the most of his time (of which he has vast quantities) indulging in the sport. How he “plays” can only be described as trollish, and draws great emphasis to his mile-wide sadistic streak. Interfering in the lives of others brings him something akin to joy, and gives him a rush at the hints of power his manipulations employ. Some might call his machinations rapacious and mean, but Sköll is of a much different opinion: The world is cruel and never wanted him – but it never really wanted anyone. He’s simply doing his duty to explain the truths of the universe; to illustrate the inevitable cruelties of life that any wise wolf would be good to harden his heart against.

Reckless, his pursuit of entertainment is endless and occasionally dangerous – Sköll’s seeming lack of self-preservation hint at a taste of masochism, but, in reality, he would rather be hurt or bleeding or dead than trapped in the doldrums of a boring existence. This trait fuels both his brash and show-offy nature, as well as his more careful slyness. Indeed, both flaunting his abilities and stalking others are potential wells of entertainment.

A textbook narcissist, he holds himself on a pedestal -- even in the darkest throes of misery, he can cling to the idea that he is essentially better than almost every wolf he's ever met; will ever meet. Perhaps the only way to break into his twisted, shriveled heart is to prove to him that one is equally deserving of such high praise -- whether through a game of wits or something yet undiscovered.

His inner emotional state is perhaps as interesting as the false personas he puts up. Grief and jealousy with a dash of moral insanity comprise the core of his being. He is alone, very very alone in a world that he cannot help but to see through cynical, calculating eyes. While he strives to separate himself from his disappointments, Sköll has found (much to his disappointment) that it is impossible to entirely remove one's self form one's soul. As much as he'd like to forget his expectations of others; as much as he'd like to forget what it is to be happy and loved -- so that when it is denied him, the sting passes by unfelt -- it is not so. There are rare moments when it hits him, so to speak, like a metaphorical sledgehammer to the chest. He is eternally ashamed of these moments of weakness.

Most relationships he forges are shallow and petty -- whether or not the other knows this. He is adept at faking emotions, but does not like to risk it by allowing others to become close to him. He takes after his Lumen bloodline by preferring to stay on the move, travelling from place to place, taking on new identities as he goes.

History:
A hundred years antecedent, and a rare flush of warmth brought an early spring to the far northern forests. Only the towering pines and freshly sprung grasses were witness to the birth of the Lumen litter, strong in number for their breed – four healthy pups were brought forth, blind and small, into the soft glow of the morning sun. Two females, Alsviar and Mani, and two males, Itah and Arvakr. Arvakr was by far the smallest of the litter, though healthy, and easily pushed around by his still-helpless siblings.

Their mother was a good mother, however, and all were nurtured and well cared for. They grew quickly and with little incidence of trouble – that is, until the pups were able to hear and see and move about on their own. As they emerged from infancy and the mother returned to the small family pack of Lumen, it became evident that the runt of the litter was to receive little attention from the older wolves. Like any ill-behaved child, he quickly learned that acting out would earn him the ears of his mother and father – even his siblings, who were all too often too happy to leave him out of their games. ’You can’t keep up, Arvakr, you’re too weak, Arvakr.’

So, in a ploy for attention, he did what he found necessary. He would drag away stores of food and rebury them elsewhere when the adults weren’t looking, no matter how physically straining the task was. He would trick his littermates into charging off into the forest with promises of monsters or treasure or a rare field of flowers – only to get them lost or late to supper. The first time he got reprimanded for his behavior was when, irritated that his plots got him nothing but an agitated eye roll, he ‘marked his territory’ all over his father’s hind leg.

This, of course, earned him a swift bite and bodily removal to the den for the night. (And he was happy, for a brief moment, because all eyes had been on him.)

As they aged and the pups began to learn to hunt, Arvakr’s cruel streak only broadened. He derived perhaps too much pleasure from killing – more than is expected of the wolf, who must obviously make his livelihood on bringing down prey. There was something about the squirming and shrill cries of pain that creatures invariably offered – where his belly was full, he was more than pleased to stalk down small prey and deliver a painful bite before releasing them. He hid this, however; instead keeping his interactions with his family to the wildly irritating childish pranks.

They were three years old when Itah followed him through the snowy forest, and found him slowly skinning a trapped squirrel. His brother laughed and took his kill without comment, but later mocked Arvakr for his behavior. As brothers do, he knew precisely the words to stoke Arvakr’s rage – ’Don’t even know how to properly kill a catch? Too weak for that? Huh? Can’t even break its neck, can you?’

Arvakr – often bored and seeking stimulation – decided to channel his irritation for his big brother into his next prank. He knew, though, that he would need to go all-out, otherwise his sibling – wise by now to the most basic of Arvakr’s tricks – would sense mischief. So, one evening, he went out into the forest and found a fallen branch. He rubbed his shoulder against the jagged break until the skin broke and blood welled freely from the self-inflicted wound, then ran as quickly as his spindly legs would carry him back to camp.

”Ahoy, brother,” he shouted, lacing his voice with the tremors of panic and excitement, ”You will never believe what I’ve found. There’s a cave behind that waterfall over yonder, it’s full of crystals! The floor was so wet from the river’s spray that I slipped and rammed my shoulder up against the wall, see? Look, I know how to get back in, you have to come with me.”

Itah, for reasons Arvakr would never know, decided to follow him across the forest to the river, where the steep waterfall carved down the rocky face of the hill. The two adolescents stood before the icy, stinging spray, and Arvakr offered his brother a broad smile. ”Go on, brother. You go first, my leg hurts from last time.”

Indeed, fresh blood roiled up thickly from the gash, and he idly turned to lick at the wound before nudging Itah in the direction of the falls. ”I just stood on that rock, there – see the inlet behind the water? Just jump right at it, it’s fine.”

’And if I miss, brother?’

Expression carefully schooled into mild surprise, Arvakr made a show of peering down the fall, and into the river beyond. ”We are not that far up. Even if you are carried down by the fall, the water below will soften your landing. Look, the river is calm further downstream; you will be fine.”

And so his brother jumped, leaping for nothing but the flat – very solid – face of rock behind the waterfall. He disappeared beneath the angry, foaming waters, deaf to Arvakr’s barking cachinnation.

When he limped down the embankment to meet his brother, however, Itah was not to be found. Arvakr searched for him – be he dead or alive – but found no trace whatsoever.

He was unsure if he should be delighted or horrified.

He settled with a rather unsavory mix of the two, and laughed quietly; nervously as he staggered home. The two had been gone many hours by the time Arvakr found the pack once more; his father and a pair of older wolves lunged forward with bared teeth when he showed himself, demanding to know where he’d been – where Itah was.

’Must be more of your mischief, you were gone so long,’ his father growled, delivering a scolding bite to the nape of his neck – grazing the open wound and drawing a whimper from Arvakr’s lips. The young wolf panicked, knowing full well he could not admit to what he had done – yet he also knew that whatever he said, it was unlikely that his family would believe him. In order to tell a good lie, he had learned, one had to make oneself look bad while telling it.

”I told Itah I had found a rabbit’s den. I hadn’t, really I just wanted to see if I could make him mad- We got in a fight, but- He got ahead of me, he’s so much stronger than me-“

His father snarled in response, but Arvakr’s mother hurried to push past him, eager to clean her son’s wound. ’We will go and find him if he doesn’t return. Move, let me tend to Arvakr.’

Arvakr endured the suspicious glares of his sisters, and sat calmly as his mother licked the wound clean. As soon as night had fallen, he snuck off to cover the tracks that would lead the pack to the waterfall – two sets leading to it, and only one returning.

Memory of Itah eventually eased from their minds, thoughts of his more brutish ways dulled by loss. Arvakr's sisters even included him in more of their games, and though the guilt lingered, he was glad to be rid of Itah. After all, he was always second best, never the apple of his father's eye. Never as strong as Itah would have been, or as clever. That belief stung especially harshly, when the pack would take a bit of time to remember their lost member -- for Arvakr always prided himself in his wit; it was all he had. The lost pup was idolized, almost, his memory glorified by a grieving father, who would never sire a more perfect son. Itah was strong and a promising hunter, bright as the sun. And if Itah was the sun, heralding in the day and shining with the glory of physical prowess, then Arvakr was a black hole; never taught to shine.

It took many years for this to gnaw at Arvakr - he was twenty years of age when he'd finally had enough. Despite his growth into a fine young wolf, and the ease with which he mastered the lightplay his kind were renowned for, he was never enough. Played up to the extremes in his over-dramatic mind, Arvakr did away with any happiness or compliments as twisted lies; snarled when approached and howled when ignored.

It was a rather nice day when he stood before the pack and barked out that he had killed Itah -- he'd not gotten lost, but instead he'd drowned his brother in the river. He hung around long enough to get a good look at his family's face before folding the light about him and fleeing.

By some miracle -- or perhaps just the opposite -- he escaped, and spent many years alone, living in the mountains. He passed few loners, and those he did encounter were far from lucky souls. He stalked all that passed him, eager for companionship, and even granted a few wishes to those that caught him. It was then that he abandoned his birthname and adopted a new alias: Sköll.

By the time he was twenty-nine, the boredom of his solitude had driven him nearly to his death. A master of projections, at his point, he decided to conjure a new identity and venture into the world of Wonderwhy. Still mistakenly seeking the love of a new family -- seemingly having forgotten his failure to respond positively to the last one he'd had -- he lied his way into the good graces of pack after pack, lingering just long enough for his paranoia to drive him to fight with his new "friends" and leave. This went on for many years; three decades passed before he'd had enough.

Failing to find the acceptance he craved, Sköll finally adopted the loner attitude he bears still today. (After all, the hunt for love is a fruitless endeavor -- all relationships die, through quarrel or time.)

Other: I am so sorry for the ramblyness and the choppy-ness and the ick and. ... :| The uh, wordvomit of a history, there.

OTHER THAN THAT, :D HI, LOOKING FORWARD TO MEETING/ROLEPLAYING WITH YOU ALL.

[Somatra]

Hello there,
I must say I have replied to this three times and lost the post each time for hitting a wrong key on my keyboard with no undo option...But in any case welcome to Wonderwhy, I get the pleasure of looking over you bio today.

Frankly your appearance is very nicely composed, it is easy to visualize how your char appears. Secondly, your personality is excellent and displays a lovely vocabulary (I rather enjoyed it in any case) and last but not least your history is compelling and certainly explains why your char is the way he just so happens to be.

The only thing (and it is a small thing) that requires a change is:

When the smaller (wolf?) limped down the embankment to meet his brother, however, Itah was not to be found.

So once you have made that change let me know with a quick reply and I will gladly get you up and running so to speak. In addition, I would love to have a thread with your char and Scorch, as well as ones with Caesar and Diamanta...Haha, I guess you could say I think it might result in interesting outcomes.

Somatra

[[ sköll ]]

Done. I just changed it to "When he..."

;n; even though
"small   [smawl] Show IPA adjective, -er, -est, adverb, -er, -est, noun, adjective"

smaller is a noun by itself.

and thank you, i look forward to threading with any of those characters. c:

[Somatra]

Right then good to go!