Eidolon Pack
THE WOODS OF EIDOLA
The figure to your left -- your brother, you think -- pauses to stiff the frozen air. When you turn to look at him, you find in his place only the vague idea of him, a shadow, but you do not question it. Why? A dream, perhaps, though it feels terribly real. "We are lost," he says matter-of-factly, and you nod even though he is not looking at you, and your gaze is guided back to the path ahead. Dread knots in your stomach as you peer out at it. You came here for a reason you cannot recall. It is withheld from you just out of reach, but you pay it no mind. You keep walking. And walking. And walking until you find shelter -- a meagre badger sett, long abandoned but still reeking of their scent. Time passes as your take turns widening the tunnels, though it is hard to tell how much time exactly. The sky is still an oppressive greyish purple, so you bury yourself deep enough to find some darkness and succumb to sleep. It is a relief. Days pass. Days and days. Weeks, perhaps. You stop counting them when it stops mattering how long you've been gone, when you realised there is nothing behind you. You follow your brother through the white trees, snow-laden and sharp, as he winds his way across the world like the head of a snake; you his tail. Winter falls like a body from a great height. You find yourself unable to look away from it despite its destructive nature and the severity of it. You decide the colour of the world is sickly yellow: the snow, the sky, the air. The forest seems to creak and groan silently. You see it, feel it, and wonder whether your brother can sense the restlessness of the trees. When you sleep, you dream of shapes, dark shapes, that swell and bleed and transmute. Sometimes the forest speaks to you in your dreams, but it speaks so quietly. You strain to hear it. It strains to hear you, too, when you speak. You understand that this is an ancient place with ancient rituals and you must tread carefully and learn to speak its language, whatever that is. It cannot understand you yet. Onward, onward -- the journey is gruelling. There are strange, wisp-like forms, silent and unmoving, like huge omens of ill. The darkness from your dreams seeps into the daylight and your brother's form grows more and more unfathomable by the day. If you are lost this is the worst place to be it. You've heard there's worse than ghosts in the woods of Eidola.
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Samson pixel: Evil
Ghoul portrait: Srinyx
🌟 - Asterion descendant
⚡ - Odin descendant
🦅 - Peregrin descendant
⛰️ - Valhalla descendant
💘 - Billy-no-mate
[R&C B] - Raise and Chase breeder
LORE Myth: The Eidolon wolves inhabit a liminal realm of spirits known as the woods of Eidola: a fae-like mirror of the physical world. The first wolves were spawned by the forest itself to protect and fortify the border between material and metaphysical. Their names were Shade and Wight. Between them existed a harmony between shadow and light: Shade was responsible for the malevolent spirits of the forest, the Skótos, and Wight for their benevolent counterparts, the Phaós.Present: Many of the events surrounding the pack's founding have passed into myths and stories told to pups by firelight, but the Skótos and Phaós exist now as honourable tribes of wolves who hunt beyond the borders of the forest, with the new addition of Llwyth Poliós (the neutral) tribe. Passing between realms, while certainly possible one or two times, is dangerous to attempt regularly, and as such the wolves selected for hunting or scouting positions are weaned on special elixirs that keep their bodies in a state of flux between the material and immaterial, making it easier for them to pass over the borders with frequency. These elixirs come with their own unpleasant side effects, however, and so the wolves burdened with these positions are regarded very highly. All of Wight's children passed beyond the borders to live a mortal life in the physical realm, so leadership of the pack has always been passed down through the descendants of Shade. Occasionally wolves of mysterious origin will appear much as Shade and Wight once did, who carry with them knowledge of strange and far-off lands. Passage between the realms is not as strict as it once was, so the pack is made up equally of pack-born and non-pack-born wolves. Names and Titles: The influence for the names in this pack are what you might call Greco-Celtic. I try to keep names limited to this vague influence, though sometimes I pick other themes to create name lineages for (such as the Peregrin line). NBWs are not bound by this loose rule as they are wanderers from distant lands, so I use any kind of cultural or linguistic influence that interests me for them. In terms of titles, pack-born wolves take the name of a parent in their title (such as Basileios, of Bouddica), non-pack-born wolves honour their previous packs in their title (such as Ciar, of the Darkbringers), and NBWs/heritageless wolves take a title inspired by their mysterious past (such as Valhalla, the Wanderer). There are some exceptions to this if I really don't like the name of a previous pack or I just don't think it fits, or if I just think a wolf suits a random name. It's just a loose guideline because I find it fun! |
| King Ragnar, of Fen | ||||||||||||
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