Post by Stranger on May 13, 2011 22:45:02 GMT -6
It was long ago when the first Stars fell to the Packlands. They brought peace when all that was known was war and death. To each of the Three Packs came a Star in their own image. To the Merridor pack came the magically gifted Halcefeth. He taught them to sing precious metals into intricate designs, and even armor. Thus gaining them the name: Metal Dancers. Halcefeth taught the Merridor wolves how to dance and sing, how to commune with Mother Nature herself, and how to become one with the world. But more than anything, he taught them to love, and respect their fellow wolves as they respected themselves.
To the Narcashia pack came the shadow-pawed Loki. He taught the Narcashian wolves to blend in with their world rather than destroy it. He taught them how to pull the shadows around their bodies and become almost invisible; how to step across boundary lines to look but not touch and escape without leaving a single trace that they had been there. Thus gaining them the name: Night Stalkers. Loki gave the wolves another gift, the gift of flight. He graced his followers with sets of angelic wings, feathered and of the purest most unimaginable colors.
To the Valcarron pack came the broad chested Arises. He taught the Valcarronian wolves how to fight and use the strength of their bodies rather than the strength of their voices. He opened a trade between the Valcarron pack and the Merridor pack bringing his brother wolves armor to protect them from the wicked horns and claws of the creatures they hunted for food. Thus gaining them the name: Violent Criers. Arises gave them one final blessing: strength. He gave them a larger and more muscled figure than the other packs.
For a while, the packs were pleased with their changed lifestyles. Peace helping all to prosper and live without fear of attack. Growth and health spreading through the Packlands under the watchful gaze of the Fallen Stars. But as the wolves found out much too soon, all good things must come to an end eventually. The time finally came when the Stars had to bid their packs farewell and return to their thrones in the sky. But they left this realm with one last gift, one final boon of love and hope. They left their children. Though only half-bloods, the star children far surpassed the skill and power of their normal brothers. However, there was no ill-will between them, and still love flourished in the Packlands. It was years later when things began to down spiral...
Twenty years after the first Falling, and three generations after the first star children, blood and malice had crept its way back into the packs. A new hero came to save the wolves this time in the form of the Loners. They had watched for years as the Stars blessed the pack wolves and taught them numerous things and given them countless gifts. They had formed relationships amongst themselves, not seeing blood lines or pack affiliations as a boundary between possible friendships. Banding together, the loners created their own brotherhood, the Yuraquise. They came before each of the Three packs in turn, asking them to remember the teachings of the Stars. Begging them not to run so mindlessly into war... And the pack wolves listened. With this new found brotherhood, the Packlands grew to contain not just three, but four packs. The Yuraquise grew to contain wolves from every pack, not discriminating against star children, Merridorn, Narcashian, or Valcarronian. Wolves were wolves, and they were all family. They were all loved.
The Stars looked down upon this new world where love ruled and peace was all that was known and they smiled, for they knew that it was good. So the stars went to sleep. No longer did they dance and twist throughout the skies every night, now they fell into hibernation and remained stationary. For a while, this was fine. The wolves continued on as they had been and the Packlands flourished once again. However, this peace was as short lived if not more so than before.
Years later, corruption and disease has taken its toll on the Four Packs. Loki's wings are no longer the angelic creations they once were. Now they range from a daemon's leathery and tattered skin, to a falcon's peregrine markings, and any and all combinations in between. Halcefeth's metal workers are finding their ores harder and harder to mold, the gems for some reason not agreeing with the craftsman's design. Arises' warriors grow restless and tired of their peaceful existence. The Packlands are falling into chaos once again, and yet the Stars are as unmoving as ever. There are no dances in that dark, midnight blue sky, simply the stillness of death and the uncaring face of time.
Sensing their own fall, the wolves ushered themselves into hasty treaties. The alphas of each pack promising not to harm the wolves of each of the respective packs granted there would be no trespassing, thieving, or killing. A shaky peace still holds over the land, but can it last long enough for the Second Falling to take place...?
To the Narcashia pack came the shadow-pawed Loki. He taught the Narcashian wolves to blend in with their world rather than destroy it. He taught them how to pull the shadows around their bodies and become almost invisible; how to step across boundary lines to look but not touch and escape without leaving a single trace that they had been there. Thus gaining them the name: Night Stalkers. Loki gave the wolves another gift, the gift of flight. He graced his followers with sets of angelic wings, feathered and of the purest most unimaginable colors.
To the Valcarron pack came the broad chested Arises. He taught the Valcarronian wolves how to fight and use the strength of their bodies rather than the strength of their voices. He opened a trade between the Valcarron pack and the Merridor pack bringing his brother wolves armor to protect them from the wicked horns and claws of the creatures they hunted for food. Thus gaining them the name: Violent Criers. Arises gave them one final blessing: strength. He gave them a larger and more muscled figure than the other packs.
For a while, the packs were pleased with their changed lifestyles. Peace helping all to prosper and live without fear of attack. Growth and health spreading through the Packlands under the watchful gaze of the Fallen Stars. But as the wolves found out much too soon, all good things must come to an end eventually. The time finally came when the Stars had to bid their packs farewell and return to their thrones in the sky. But they left this realm with one last gift, one final boon of love and hope. They left their children. Though only half-bloods, the star children far surpassed the skill and power of their normal brothers. However, there was no ill-will between them, and still love flourished in the Packlands. It was years later when things began to down spiral...
Twenty years after the first Falling, and three generations after the first star children, blood and malice had crept its way back into the packs. A new hero came to save the wolves this time in the form of the Loners. They had watched for years as the Stars blessed the pack wolves and taught them numerous things and given them countless gifts. They had formed relationships amongst themselves, not seeing blood lines or pack affiliations as a boundary between possible friendships. Banding together, the loners created their own brotherhood, the Yuraquise. They came before each of the Three packs in turn, asking them to remember the teachings of the Stars. Begging them not to run so mindlessly into war... And the pack wolves listened. With this new found brotherhood, the Packlands grew to contain not just three, but four packs. The Yuraquise grew to contain wolves from every pack, not discriminating against star children, Merridorn, Narcashian, or Valcarronian. Wolves were wolves, and they were all family. They were all loved.
The Stars looked down upon this new world where love ruled and peace was all that was known and they smiled, for they knew that it was good. So the stars went to sleep. No longer did they dance and twist throughout the skies every night, now they fell into hibernation and remained stationary. For a while, this was fine. The wolves continued on as they had been and the Packlands flourished once again. However, this peace was as short lived if not more so than before.
Years later, corruption and disease has taken its toll on the Four Packs. Loki's wings are no longer the angelic creations they once were. Now they range from a daemon's leathery and tattered skin, to a falcon's peregrine markings, and any and all combinations in between. Halcefeth's metal workers are finding their ores harder and harder to mold, the gems for some reason not agreeing with the craftsman's design. Arises' warriors grow restless and tired of their peaceful existence. The Packlands are falling into chaos once again, and yet the Stars are as unmoving as ever. There are no dances in that dark, midnight blue sky, simply the stillness of death and the uncaring face of time.
Sensing their own fall, the wolves ushered themselves into hasty treaties. The alphas of each pack promising not to harm the wolves of each of the respective packs granted there would be no trespassing, thieving, or killing. A shaky peace still holds over the land, but can it last long enough for the Second Falling to take place...?
