Post by kingpenguin on Aug 5, 2012 19:54:22 GMT -5
Atár
~ Roughly.
" Hearing your name the memories come back again
I remember when it started happening
I see you in every thought I had and then
The thoughts slowly found words attached to them
And I knew as they escaped away
I was committing myself to them and everyday
I regret saying those things cuz now I see that I
Took what I hated and made it a part of me "
the basics,
»»character full name: Atár Dincutter
»»age: 9
»»gender: Male
»»sexual orientation: Heterosexual
»»position: Beta
»»species: Iberian wolf (Canis lupus signatus)
»»pack/pride/clan: Solstitium
»»powers:
Element Type: Spirit.
Control Type: Creation.
Description: Atár forms the spirits of his ancestors in a non-physical shape, though they can be seen by an eerie blue shadow they cast in their location. These ancestors are not controlled by Atár, he requests their aid in observing things and relaying the information back to him, or by asking them questions, but they do not have to obey him if they choose otherwise. They are not capable of dealing damage, as their form lacks density to even move blades of grass when they tread on them, this does however mean they are not bound by physics in the sense of gravity and may easily fly above ground level to scout for him.
the appearance,
»»eyes: Light brown bordering on orange.
»»markings: Atár has a deep scar on the left side of his head in the shape of a wishbone, which runs from just beneath his ear to his cheek and nape respectively. He has small white flecks in his fur on his chest loosely in the shape of a bow-tie as well as white tips to his upper lips. The other markings in his fur are black, both on the front of his forelegs, as well as the tip and underside of his tail.
»»height: 160cm
»»weight: 38kg.
»»general appearance:
Atár has a generally ruffled appearance to him, a long, thick pelt with a sandy brown and gray mixture of hues that darken at his flanks and underbelly, giving the allure of having lounged in the sun to bleach his form, whilst actually he is much more likely to be found rolling in the muddy banks to get away from the heat. His frame is sturdy, thick meat at the rear with heavy muscle at his shoulders, giving much needed power to his general hunched position. Rather than springing forwards with strength from his hind legs to attack Atár favors acting as a wall to threaten and deflect without moving much from his original stance. His body has a good ratio of fat to muscle, leaving him somewhat slower to others but making up for it with a dominating appearance and natural skills to bring down larger prey. Atár has a soft and deep voice that can easily grab others into listening with either calming noises or forceful commands, a low baritone lullaby amongst the pack, and a damn good crooner when mating season comes.
the personality,
»»likes: Summer storms, Recalling fables to young pups, The crunching noise of dry leaves, Sap and sweet water from plants, Duck (yum), Tests of courage, Exploring caves and dark places, Rolling in muddy banks, Long walks with the spirits, Reminiscing with others.
»»dislikes: Being alone, Loss of friends, Arguments among the pack, Long periods of silence, Being mistrusted, Heat waves, Rotten smells, Seeing others malnourished, Not being able to attain information, Being out of the loop in a conversation, whining pups (that noise is enough to give him a migraine).
»»general personality: Atár, whilst steeped in the traditions of a family line that raises its young in a harsh disciplinary fashion, has something of a juvenile tendency when it comes to younger members of the pack. His own upbringing making him often act in fondness of the youth and allow them to get away with all forms of mischief. This however does not extend to the adolescents or adults among his peers, instead adopting a steadfast stoutness that he believes bears appropriacy with his position as beta. Atár also considers himself something of a ladies man, flirtatious though without committal intent, another offshoot from his own parents thoughts on mating and preserving the genetic lines integrity. None the less it is seen in his mutterings with his ancestral spirits that he is a creature of deep contemplation and responsibility towards others, which acts half-way between paranoia over their safety and a complex to act as a hero in their eyes so that he might have their praise and approval.
Due to his desire to be seen in this manner Atár is often guided to act in favor of efficiency and ease for others whilst burdening himself with more than he can generally handle, to the extent of taking group hunts on by himself and multiple watches that leave him ran ragged from exhaustion. Often are the times he must be commanded to rest because he would not be willing to do so himself. He has deep attachment issues which make him distrustful of those not bearing his packs scent, even though his position dictates that he must frequently meet such strangers in order to assure his alphas safety.
Atár has several pathological issues, other than his sociologically damaging ones such as his desire for approval, his paranoia over safety and disdain for outsiders. These are issues he strongly tries to keep secret and often involve his communicating with spirits and his lineages ability to harness them in multiple ways. The first notable issue is his disdain for his mother, whom has the ability to perceive visions of the near future, leading to him not talking to her for her nature to not afford him freedom in his decisions on his own fate. This has also robbed him of the knowledge of childish capers, hiding from your mother when she can see the future makes it awfully awkward to pull one over on her, and so he is often baffled by the actions of pups in his company. The second notable feature of his psychosis is that his spirits seemingly invade his consciousness on a grand scale, tearing down boundaries between his own thoughts and emotions and giving way to an onslaught of necrotic discrepancies in his psyche, such as the illusion of constant decay, or alarm at the sensing of a pulse within himself on occasion. When Atár summons a spirit he does so using their bones, their appearance lacking the subsequent bone in their body, which is not always the only signs of their having passed on from this world. Mangled flesh and fur has plagued both his sleep and waking moments since his first time using them, and has quite deeply scarred him mentally as well as desensitizing him to violence or gore.
the history,
»»mother: Zathe.
»»father: Zahhak (Deceased).
»»siblings: 1 younger brother (Whereabouts unknown), 3 older sisters, 1 older brother.
»»others: 2 children, Vorua (Age 4, Female) and Troy (Age 2, Male) ~ Mothers details in History.
»»background: Blood, urine, rain and the thick musk of sweat, a plethora of scents involved in Atárs birth, none of which were related to his own coming into this world, or at least they had factors in more than his entrance. His mother knew how many pups would arrive, the order they would come in, everything about them was weighed, valued and fed into the variable discerning machine that was his father long before their cohabiting of a den came to be. So it is better that there is the starting point of Atárs story, because Atár was never supposed to be the main character in even his own life.
Zahhak Dincutter and Zathe Dincutter were siblings, technically speaking Zahhak was also her uncle but that bore no meaning on their relationship as pups. Their youth was what one comes to expect of a wolf, hunting, foraging, learning the lay of the land with exuberance and freedom, all be it freedom that was marked by the scents of the pack, and even then they were given boundaries by their own family that made excursions to outsiders territory a myth more than a possibility. It was decided at their birth that they would mate, and neither ever argued against the fact, instead accepting it with a resolved view that it was simply what had to be done for the good of the family they represented. Zahhak was two years older than Zathe when they actually found a slither of romance between them, himself called to war against a rival family with the men of the Dincutter name, a war that would see outsiders banished from the packs land and deny them entry once and for all. It was during a raid of retaliation on their den that saw Zathe in peril and Zahhak the heroic figure at the entrance to it, swathed in enemies and torn up beyond the point where standing, let alone fighting, seemed more a feat of magic than reality. After the conflict he was left blind in one eye, missing the most of his right ear and scarred in a manner that often reminded others of the act of discerning shapes in the clouds, a rabbit here, a boat there, and that was Zahhak. A culmination of wounds and honor that was damn well going to be passed on through his progeny, and Zathe was to be the bearer of that progeny.
Atár was by no means the largest of the litter, nor was he the smallest. He made no more noise than the average wolf, fed no more than them nor acted in any manner that should have made a difference in their treatment of him over them. He was simply one of the six that happened to receive life from Zathe in that warm and mossy home that smelt of love and reverberating pride. He was also the only survivor of the litter, the rest cast away for the lack to use the spirit element in a fashion that the Dincutter line saw as promising. For something so insignificant, as his opinion would later form, he was cursed to being the only recipient of his parents overbearing expectation. That is not however how he discerned this at a young age, being coddled and doted upon, praised as a chosen child who would make the family proud. A chosen child! Fancy that, that through selective breeding and limiting of the gene pool only one suitable pup had been created. If Atár had any notion of what this meant of his own progeny he never mentioned it to anyone, whether it be acceptance or denial when one grows up a Dincutter they act in a fashion suited to the name. At least they do if they desire to remain a Dincutter, or a member of the pack at all, as they are not above exile of their own, even by force on more than one referenced occasion.
Atár received a tentative touch from his mother and an iron one from his father. His barbarism left Atár with a limp until he turned 4 years old, even though by that point he was more than capable of fending off the attacks, disguised as discipline rather than ill placed anger at his own lame physicality. His mother was an oracle of sorts, or in Atárs opinion the one who spoiled all his fun, and more than once was his argument of "But I am the chosen child" thrown back at him with a lecture of responsibility and proper etiquette for one with his fate. His youth was not spent with much in the manner of freedom but was rich with tradition and ceremony. He learned to hunt, to slay the largest prey available and never be satisfied with anything less. He was guided in the use of spirits as guides and advisers, and their aid in battle when primarily being a non-combative power. He grew strong and pompous, but by no means reclusive. By the time he became an adult he had seen his fair share of the wild, of course only in strict sessions whereby the correct people could be with him to avoid any mishaps. His social upbringing was however difficult. As his arrogance grew so did his understanding that something about his family was not quite correct. Others did not seem to be forced into daily lessons over economy and fighting, they did not have their time rationed, and overwhelmingly it seemed that whomever held the physical strength or strongest power had control and respect. It left his perplexed as to why his mental acuity was the main feature his peers praised, what use could it possibly be when by all their mentioning on the subject it would be his own litters to come that would be superior to others.
This led to a crushing reality for Atár, he was only chosen to live for his genetic fidelity, his aspirations would never matter, and it scared him how nobody cared. Outside his own relatives he was certain few even knew about his suffering, the suspicious glances and awkward interaction with the pack made him fully aware of it come his fifth year. It was a ceremony amongst the Dincutters referred to as the clearing. They would build Atár a den of his own, albeit in disturbingly close proximity to the one he would be leaving, to which he would take with him the eligible members of his choosing to copulate with.
Whether it be the infrequency with which Atár has been accustomed with the mating process or the fact that probability dictated that with many partners he was sure to at least manage to impregnate one will never be defined. But it is true that one of the chosen females, which one being information he need not know according to those around him, did give birth to a litter of pups. During the gestation period came the second ceremony of major importance in his life. Amongst the men of the family one would be chosen to duel with Atár, the loser obtaining death and servitude as a spirit in the arsenal of their lineage. This ceremony had seen many of the youth in the family line culled before achieving their full potential, and subsequently only happened after successful mating with a selected female. Atár was called against his father.
A flash of claw, a brief distraction at the edge of the older wolfs sight, and that was the end. A ruthless dive to the blind side of Zahhak, swiping at his joints before lowering and striking at the throat with all the weight of an adult wolf on an elderly one. It was a clean fight but by no means a fair one. His teeth went clean through the fatty tissue and muscle that his father had earned through hard exercise in his prime, the cartilage proving nothing against the ferociousness of a child with repressed anger at his parent. And with that one strike alone Atár dethroned the head of the family and seized the title for himself. With the retraction of those fangs he had sent his own father to a bitter, bloody end, lying in his own life force as he slipped in to the void of the afterlife.
Atár was free. Not in the sense that he would ever be capable of properly interacting with another wolf or in the sense that he would now adjust his lifestyle to become one with his peers in the pack. No, that time was gone the moment his family had isolated themselves in the first place, and killing his father meant nothing compared to generations of social misinterpretation. To most he was a murderer of a fellow pack member, to his own he was their leader, and yet a leader he could never truly become. Instead he set his sights on the next best thing. If Atár could become the packs beta he could prove himself worthy of his families respect and the packs general acceptance. Doing so however was another matter.
In order to become accepted he would need the approval of the alpha, someone he had never even met. However he was certain that the alpha of the pack must have a deep understanding of his family, to not abandon them must have meant something. It was enough to go on. Immediately Atár abandoned all sense of duty to his family, refusing to even meet with them until he had obtained the position he desired. Truly desired, for himself and not for them, it struck even him as odd that such desires existed within him. If he was capable of that then the sky was the limit.
He began small, teaching the pups in the pack, though their parents were not very happy about it even they had to admit his intelligence on matters of economy and nature. He took up hunts, acting not as a superior among his clansmen, but as an avid pupil who would happily prove his worth. With a wealth of knowledge at his hands through his ancestors, the strength of a wolf who had daily duels within his own home, more than simply physical strength but the type that comes from feeling out the fight with your own body. Ingrained in him was a vigilance that came from being beaten for little more than outwitting your obstinate father, even when doing so with purely innocent intention. He took watch, even went as far as to advise on a more productive cycle to the whole hunting system. Of course none of his ideas were accepted. But he persisted, and by god he pulled it off. Becoming a beta shortly before turning seven years old. Only a year and a half after having decided to try to do so.
The arrogance had been forged through empty praise and his ignorance tempered in the fires of family tradition. Yet with the mere sighting of a guileless pup he melted on the spot, yet it never truly dawned on him that he had not even met his own litter. He had no knowledge of their numbers, or names. And he had even gone as far as to make another since then, with a different mate too. With the acceptance of the role of beta he knew that would need to change.
Atár crumpled over his sickened appearance, a full grown wolf incapable of even looking the mother of his pups in the eye. Her frame was all bone, malnourished beyond what he thought possible, and the reason? All because she tried to raise her pups with the love a mother should. The family had turned its back on Atár just as quickly as he had turned on them, and with no mate to acquire food or to protect them the family had nye on starved to death. Of the three pups born in his first litter only one survived. A girl. A girl that Atár would never be able to look at without seeing his own pampered existence, and knowing full well he had been the cause of her neglect. The mother survived, but bore enough hatred towards him that simply appearing before her seemed too cruel for Atár to do.
The second litter did not fare much better than the first. The newborn pups were still too small to leave the den, so the surprise at only seeing the two figures in the home was understandable as he attempted to rationalize what it could mean. The first figure was the mother, the scent of wet fur, fresh from walking in the rain, no doubt a quick stroll for the pup was far too small to be left alone for long. The second was of course the pup in question. But that did not answer his questions as to where the hell the others were. Surely more than one had survived the birth.
It hit him with a rage, then a denial, before finally falling within the realm of numbness. He had been born a sibling to many others, yet had been the only to survive more than the first week. So why would this be any different? The expression in the mothers eyes was just the nail in the metaphorical coffin that shut on him in that moment. She did not even seem to blame him, blue orbs of acceptance and, though just a hint, optimism. As if his appearing in the den held some meaning for her that could simply not exist within his register of thoughts. The sight drove a knife through his heart as he turned and retreated straight back to his mothers own home. With only one question apparent at the time. Did she kill his children?
Oddly enough Atár held no ill intention towards his mother no matter what her response would be. If she had indeed culled his progeny then he would simply abandon her, an act with little meaning considering his own family now regarded him with enough disdain to starve his first born and its mother. There was however also the chance that it was due to his mother and her alone that the same had not happened to his second mate and subsequent litter. Choosing his words carefully would be of utmost importance, even if he did feel that exile of the whole damn lot would not be going too far at that very moment. A paradox of emotions, rage at the family, whilst an ill fitting love for his mother that transcended the murder of newborns, his newborns.
She had not been responsible for the deaths, but she had also made no attempt to stop such actions and was by no means the reason they had not starved either. As always, she had foreseen his arrival and planned the answers to his questions before he had even asked. In fact he had barely approached her before he was sent outside again with his desired information. Which left only two options. Move on and become the father he believed he could, albeit a pretty useless one in even his own opinion. Or gain revenge for the young he would never know, restore his pride and honor, and then decline the beta position for a life of exile and emotional self harm. Perhaps it was not the best choice, but denile won out. Instead Atár threw himself into his position and yes, whenever he could seeing his children to try and mend the bridges he unknowingly burned.
the player,
»»alias: KingPenguin
»»age: 21
»»contact: PM
How did you find us?: A long time ago in a galaxy far away...I got told about it.
" Hearing your name the memories come back again
I remember when it started happening
I see you in every thought I had and then
The thoughts slowly found words attached to them
And I knew as they escaped away
I was committing myself to them and everyday
I regret saying those things cuz now I see that I
Took what I hated and made it a part of me "
the basics,
»»character full name: Atár Dincutter
»»age: 9
»»gender: Male
»»sexual orientation: Heterosexual
»»position: Beta
»»species: Iberian wolf (Canis lupus signatus)
»»pack/pride/clan: Solstitium
»»powers:
Element Type: Spirit.
Control Type: Creation.
Description: Atár forms the spirits of his ancestors in a non-physical shape, though they can be seen by an eerie blue shadow they cast in their location. These ancestors are not controlled by Atár, he requests their aid in observing things and relaying the information back to him, or by asking them questions, but they do not have to obey him if they choose otherwise. They are not capable of dealing damage, as their form lacks density to even move blades of grass when they tread on them, this does however mean they are not bound by physics in the sense of gravity and may easily fly above ground level to scout for him.
the appearance,
»»eyes: Light brown bordering on orange.
»»markings: Atár has a deep scar on the left side of his head in the shape of a wishbone, which runs from just beneath his ear to his cheek and nape respectively. He has small white flecks in his fur on his chest loosely in the shape of a bow-tie as well as white tips to his upper lips. The other markings in his fur are black, both on the front of his forelegs, as well as the tip and underside of his tail.
»»height: 160cm
»»weight: 38kg.
»»general appearance:
Atár has a generally ruffled appearance to him, a long, thick pelt with a sandy brown and gray mixture of hues that darken at his flanks and underbelly, giving the allure of having lounged in the sun to bleach his form, whilst actually he is much more likely to be found rolling in the muddy banks to get away from the heat. His frame is sturdy, thick meat at the rear with heavy muscle at his shoulders, giving much needed power to his general hunched position. Rather than springing forwards with strength from his hind legs to attack Atár favors acting as a wall to threaten and deflect without moving much from his original stance. His body has a good ratio of fat to muscle, leaving him somewhat slower to others but making up for it with a dominating appearance and natural skills to bring down larger prey. Atár has a soft and deep voice that can easily grab others into listening with either calming noises or forceful commands, a low baritone lullaby amongst the pack, and a damn good crooner when mating season comes.
the personality,
»»likes: Summer storms, Recalling fables to young pups, The crunching noise of dry leaves, Sap and sweet water from plants, Duck (yum), Tests of courage, Exploring caves and dark places, Rolling in muddy banks, Long walks with the spirits, Reminiscing with others.
»»dislikes: Being alone, Loss of friends, Arguments among the pack, Long periods of silence, Being mistrusted, Heat waves, Rotten smells, Seeing others malnourished, Not being able to attain information, Being out of the loop in a conversation, whining pups (that noise is enough to give him a migraine).
»»general personality: Atár, whilst steeped in the traditions of a family line that raises its young in a harsh disciplinary fashion, has something of a juvenile tendency when it comes to younger members of the pack. His own upbringing making him often act in fondness of the youth and allow them to get away with all forms of mischief. This however does not extend to the adolescents or adults among his peers, instead adopting a steadfast stoutness that he believes bears appropriacy with his position as beta. Atár also considers himself something of a ladies man, flirtatious though without committal intent, another offshoot from his own parents thoughts on mating and preserving the genetic lines integrity. None the less it is seen in his mutterings with his ancestral spirits that he is a creature of deep contemplation and responsibility towards others, which acts half-way between paranoia over their safety and a complex to act as a hero in their eyes so that he might have their praise and approval.
Due to his desire to be seen in this manner Atár is often guided to act in favor of efficiency and ease for others whilst burdening himself with more than he can generally handle, to the extent of taking group hunts on by himself and multiple watches that leave him ran ragged from exhaustion. Often are the times he must be commanded to rest because he would not be willing to do so himself. He has deep attachment issues which make him distrustful of those not bearing his packs scent, even though his position dictates that he must frequently meet such strangers in order to assure his alphas safety.
Atár has several pathological issues, other than his sociologically damaging ones such as his desire for approval, his paranoia over safety and disdain for outsiders. These are issues he strongly tries to keep secret and often involve his communicating with spirits and his lineages ability to harness them in multiple ways. The first notable issue is his disdain for his mother, whom has the ability to perceive visions of the near future, leading to him not talking to her for her nature to not afford him freedom in his decisions on his own fate. This has also robbed him of the knowledge of childish capers, hiding from your mother when she can see the future makes it awfully awkward to pull one over on her, and so he is often baffled by the actions of pups in his company. The second notable feature of his psychosis is that his spirits seemingly invade his consciousness on a grand scale, tearing down boundaries between his own thoughts and emotions and giving way to an onslaught of necrotic discrepancies in his psyche, such as the illusion of constant decay, or alarm at the sensing of a pulse within himself on occasion. When Atár summons a spirit he does so using their bones, their appearance lacking the subsequent bone in their body, which is not always the only signs of their having passed on from this world. Mangled flesh and fur has plagued both his sleep and waking moments since his first time using them, and has quite deeply scarred him mentally as well as desensitizing him to violence or gore.
the history,
»»mother: Zathe.
»»father: Zahhak (Deceased).
»»siblings: 1 younger brother (Whereabouts unknown), 3 older sisters, 1 older brother.
»»others: 2 children, Vorua (Age 4, Female) and Troy (Age 2, Male) ~ Mothers details in History.
»»background: Blood, urine, rain and the thick musk of sweat, a plethora of scents involved in Atárs birth, none of which were related to his own coming into this world, or at least they had factors in more than his entrance. His mother knew how many pups would arrive, the order they would come in, everything about them was weighed, valued and fed into the variable discerning machine that was his father long before their cohabiting of a den came to be. So it is better that there is the starting point of Atárs story, because Atár was never supposed to be the main character in even his own life.
Zahhak Dincutter and Zathe Dincutter were siblings, technically speaking Zahhak was also her uncle but that bore no meaning on their relationship as pups. Their youth was what one comes to expect of a wolf, hunting, foraging, learning the lay of the land with exuberance and freedom, all be it freedom that was marked by the scents of the pack, and even then they were given boundaries by their own family that made excursions to outsiders territory a myth more than a possibility. It was decided at their birth that they would mate, and neither ever argued against the fact, instead accepting it with a resolved view that it was simply what had to be done for the good of the family they represented. Zahhak was two years older than Zathe when they actually found a slither of romance between them, himself called to war against a rival family with the men of the Dincutter name, a war that would see outsiders banished from the packs land and deny them entry once and for all. It was during a raid of retaliation on their den that saw Zathe in peril and Zahhak the heroic figure at the entrance to it, swathed in enemies and torn up beyond the point where standing, let alone fighting, seemed more a feat of magic than reality. After the conflict he was left blind in one eye, missing the most of his right ear and scarred in a manner that often reminded others of the act of discerning shapes in the clouds, a rabbit here, a boat there, and that was Zahhak. A culmination of wounds and honor that was damn well going to be passed on through his progeny, and Zathe was to be the bearer of that progeny.
Atár was by no means the largest of the litter, nor was he the smallest. He made no more noise than the average wolf, fed no more than them nor acted in any manner that should have made a difference in their treatment of him over them. He was simply one of the six that happened to receive life from Zathe in that warm and mossy home that smelt of love and reverberating pride. He was also the only survivor of the litter, the rest cast away for the lack to use the spirit element in a fashion that the Dincutter line saw as promising. For something so insignificant, as his opinion would later form, he was cursed to being the only recipient of his parents overbearing expectation. That is not however how he discerned this at a young age, being coddled and doted upon, praised as a chosen child who would make the family proud. A chosen child! Fancy that, that through selective breeding and limiting of the gene pool only one suitable pup had been created. If Atár had any notion of what this meant of his own progeny he never mentioned it to anyone, whether it be acceptance or denial when one grows up a Dincutter they act in a fashion suited to the name. At least they do if they desire to remain a Dincutter, or a member of the pack at all, as they are not above exile of their own, even by force on more than one referenced occasion.
Atár received a tentative touch from his mother and an iron one from his father. His barbarism left Atár with a limp until he turned 4 years old, even though by that point he was more than capable of fending off the attacks, disguised as discipline rather than ill placed anger at his own lame physicality. His mother was an oracle of sorts, or in Atárs opinion the one who spoiled all his fun, and more than once was his argument of "But I am the chosen child" thrown back at him with a lecture of responsibility and proper etiquette for one with his fate. His youth was not spent with much in the manner of freedom but was rich with tradition and ceremony. He learned to hunt, to slay the largest prey available and never be satisfied with anything less. He was guided in the use of spirits as guides and advisers, and their aid in battle when primarily being a non-combative power. He grew strong and pompous, but by no means reclusive. By the time he became an adult he had seen his fair share of the wild, of course only in strict sessions whereby the correct people could be with him to avoid any mishaps. His social upbringing was however difficult. As his arrogance grew so did his understanding that something about his family was not quite correct. Others did not seem to be forced into daily lessons over economy and fighting, they did not have their time rationed, and overwhelmingly it seemed that whomever held the physical strength or strongest power had control and respect. It left his perplexed as to why his mental acuity was the main feature his peers praised, what use could it possibly be when by all their mentioning on the subject it would be his own litters to come that would be superior to others.
This led to a crushing reality for Atár, he was only chosen to live for his genetic fidelity, his aspirations would never matter, and it scared him how nobody cared. Outside his own relatives he was certain few even knew about his suffering, the suspicious glances and awkward interaction with the pack made him fully aware of it come his fifth year. It was a ceremony amongst the Dincutters referred to as the clearing. They would build Atár a den of his own, albeit in disturbingly close proximity to the one he would be leaving, to which he would take with him the eligible members of his choosing to copulate with.
Whether it be the infrequency with which Atár has been accustomed with the mating process or the fact that probability dictated that with many partners he was sure to at least manage to impregnate one will never be defined. But it is true that one of the chosen females, which one being information he need not know according to those around him, did give birth to a litter of pups. During the gestation period came the second ceremony of major importance in his life. Amongst the men of the family one would be chosen to duel with Atár, the loser obtaining death and servitude as a spirit in the arsenal of their lineage. This ceremony had seen many of the youth in the family line culled before achieving their full potential, and subsequently only happened after successful mating with a selected female. Atár was called against his father.
A flash of claw, a brief distraction at the edge of the older wolfs sight, and that was the end. A ruthless dive to the blind side of Zahhak, swiping at his joints before lowering and striking at the throat with all the weight of an adult wolf on an elderly one. It was a clean fight but by no means a fair one. His teeth went clean through the fatty tissue and muscle that his father had earned through hard exercise in his prime, the cartilage proving nothing against the ferociousness of a child with repressed anger at his parent. And with that one strike alone Atár dethroned the head of the family and seized the title for himself. With the retraction of those fangs he had sent his own father to a bitter, bloody end, lying in his own life force as he slipped in to the void of the afterlife.
Atár was free. Not in the sense that he would ever be capable of properly interacting with another wolf or in the sense that he would now adjust his lifestyle to become one with his peers in the pack. No, that time was gone the moment his family had isolated themselves in the first place, and killing his father meant nothing compared to generations of social misinterpretation. To most he was a murderer of a fellow pack member, to his own he was their leader, and yet a leader he could never truly become. Instead he set his sights on the next best thing. If Atár could become the packs beta he could prove himself worthy of his families respect and the packs general acceptance. Doing so however was another matter.
In order to become accepted he would need the approval of the alpha, someone he had never even met. However he was certain that the alpha of the pack must have a deep understanding of his family, to not abandon them must have meant something. It was enough to go on. Immediately Atár abandoned all sense of duty to his family, refusing to even meet with them until he had obtained the position he desired. Truly desired, for himself and not for them, it struck even him as odd that such desires existed within him. If he was capable of that then the sky was the limit.
He began small, teaching the pups in the pack, though their parents were not very happy about it even they had to admit his intelligence on matters of economy and nature. He took up hunts, acting not as a superior among his clansmen, but as an avid pupil who would happily prove his worth. With a wealth of knowledge at his hands through his ancestors, the strength of a wolf who had daily duels within his own home, more than simply physical strength but the type that comes from feeling out the fight with your own body. Ingrained in him was a vigilance that came from being beaten for little more than outwitting your obstinate father, even when doing so with purely innocent intention. He took watch, even went as far as to advise on a more productive cycle to the whole hunting system. Of course none of his ideas were accepted. But he persisted, and by god he pulled it off. Becoming a beta shortly before turning seven years old. Only a year and a half after having decided to try to do so.
The arrogance had been forged through empty praise and his ignorance tempered in the fires of family tradition. Yet with the mere sighting of a guileless pup he melted on the spot, yet it never truly dawned on him that he had not even met his own litter. He had no knowledge of their numbers, or names. And he had even gone as far as to make another since then, with a different mate too. With the acceptance of the role of beta he knew that would need to change.
Atár crumpled over his sickened appearance, a full grown wolf incapable of even looking the mother of his pups in the eye. Her frame was all bone, malnourished beyond what he thought possible, and the reason? All because she tried to raise her pups with the love a mother should. The family had turned its back on Atár just as quickly as he had turned on them, and with no mate to acquire food or to protect them the family had nye on starved to death. Of the three pups born in his first litter only one survived. A girl. A girl that Atár would never be able to look at without seeing his own pampered existence, and knowing full well he had been the cause of her neglect. The mother survived, but bore enough hatred towards him that simply appearing before her seemed too cruel for Atár to do.
The second litter did not fare much better than the first. The newborn pups were still too small to leave the den, so the surprise at only seeing the two figures in the home was understandable as he attempted to rationalize what it could mean. The first figure was the mother, the scent of wet fur, fresh from walking in the rain, no doubt a quick stroll for the pup was far too small to be left alone for long. The second was of course the pup in question. But that did not answer his questions as to where the hell the others were. Surely more than one had survived the birth.
It hit him with a rage, then a denial, before finally falling within the realm of numbness. He had been born a sibling to many others, yet had been the only to survive more than the first week. So why would this be any different? The expression in the mothers eyes was just the nail in the metaphorical coffin that shut on him in that moment. She did not even seem to blame him, blue orbs of acceptance and, though just a hint, optimism. As if his appearing in the den held some meaning for her that could simply not exist within his register of thoughts. The sight drove a knife through his heart as he turned and retreated straight back to his mothers own home. With only one question apparent at the time. Did she kill his children?
Oddly enough Atár held no ill intention towards his mother no matter what her response would be. If she had indeed culled his progeny then he would simply abandon her, an act with little meaning considering his own family now regarded him with enough disdain to starve his first born and its mother. There was however also the chance that it was due to his mother and her alone that the same had not happened to his second mate and subsequent litter. Choosing his words carefully would be of utmost importance, even if he did feel that exile of the whole damn lot would not be going too far at that very moment. A paradox of emotions, rage at the family, whilst an ill fitting love for his mother that transcended the murder of newborns, his newborns.
She had not been responsible for the deaths, but she had also made no attempt to stop such actions and was by no means the reason they had not starved either. As always, she had foreseen his arrival and planned the answers to his questions before he had even asked. In fact he had barely approached her before he was sent outside again with his desired information. Which left only two options. Move on and become the father he believed he could, albeit a pretty useless one in even his own opinion. Or gain revenge for the young he would never know, restore his pride and honor, and then decline the beta position for a life of exile and emotional self harm. Perhaps it was not the best choice, but denile won out. Instead Atár threw himself into his position and yes, whenever he could seeing his children to try and mend the bridges he unknowingly burned.
the player,
»»alias: KingPenguin
»»age: 21
»»contact: PM
How did you find us?: A long time ago in a galaxy far away...I got told about it.
