User:Soltinn
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Basic Information
Name - He is called Soltinn.
Age - 26
Race - Lycanthrope (Was formerly a human)
Appearance:
Human Form:
Of middling height and a wiry build, Soltinn appears no more impressive than any ordinary man. Beneath his tunic, however, the corded muscles of a well-practiced archer can be seen, and his legs possess the same sort of lithe strength. His hair is black and his skin is fair, although his face and arms are tanned by a life spent outdoors. His eyes are blue and flat, hard to read, yet seemingly capable of reading others with ease. His features are pleasant and proportionate, but not remarkably so, and they are marred by a single, vertical scar, deep blue in color and running from his high cheekbone down to the jaw line on his right side. He bears no other visible tattoos or markings.
Wolf Form:
Nearly always, Soltinn transforms completely, meaning that he runs as a lean, black wolf, slightly larger than normal wolves, but otherwise indistinguishable, It is usually only on the full moon that he takes the half-man, half-wolf transitional form, or when in desperate need. In this guise, he stands little taller than his human form, his body hunched and odd looking, designed for maximum speed and agility rather than aesthetics. In this, too, he is covered in black fur. The scar on his cheek remains easily visible in both shapes, although the changed shape of his skull distorts and twists it.
The Beginning:
The lycanthrope who calls himself Soltinn was born in the village of Kelay, some twenty-six years ago. He was a human then, born in squalor to a pair of peasants, wretched folk who scraped a living from the forest. His mother gathered herbs for the Kelay Herb Shop, while his father hunted to supply the tavern and restaurant with meat. No brighter future was offered to the boy, so he spent his youth doing much the same. He learned some; what herbs were good for what, how to hunt with a bow, or use a spear when needed. He learned how to make his own weapons, how to find the best wood for the bow, what trees gave the straightest arrow shafts, which feathers to use for fletching, and even how to make arrowheads from the bones of animals, for metal was far too expensive. In these pursuits, the boy thrived. He found archery a natural talent, herbs simple to remember and use, and the art of stalking through the woods after prey a pleasant experience. Together with his brother (born two years after him) and parents, the boy was able to supply enough game and plants to make a decent living. However, the boy never agreed with the idea of giving the products of their labor away. He felt that life would be easier if the family would simply leave the trappings of civilization behind and live in the heart of the forest, providing for themselves with their skills. His father disagreed, and would not be swayed, and neither would his mother and brother. So, upon reaching adulthood, the peasants' son left, moving south into the mighty Sage Forest to live the way he'd always dreamed of living.
He never forgot his family, though, and took care to visit at least once a week, always bringing a deer or boar carcass with him. Then suddenly, a few months after his twenty-fourth birthday, the visits stopped. His father and brother searched for him, but found only his empty hut, the inside torn apart, blood staining the floor, while scratch marks and long, grey hairs being the only proof of what appeared to be the man's bane; wolves. The family mourned their son, but not for long, for they still had one living child and for them, life moved on, as it always had and always would'
It had been just another day. Up at dawn to check the snares and traps, followed by a morning of foraging for useful plants, then after a small midday meal, an afternoon of stalking through the forest, hunting larger game. Such had been the man's routine for the six years after he had left his parents' home. The only occurrence slightly out of the ordinary had been the two large wolves he had happened upon. One grey and one black, they had watched him silently, neither fleeing nor attacking as he passed by them, a carcass of a deer weighing his shoulders down. Mindful of the spirits of the forest, the man had carved a piece from his catch and set it on a rock as an offering to the wolves before moving on.
Later that night, as he sat with a stomach full of stew, sharpening and oiling his weapons, the wolves appeared again. The black one's body flattened the flimsy door of his hut, making way for the grey to leap through. The man was barely able to bring his hands up in time, knocking the slavering beast away. Then they both set to, leaping at him with open jaws, dark claws scrabbling for purchase on his dirt floor. Time and again he threw them off, their frantic attempts to get at him soon utterly destroying the hut's interior. Despite his best efforts, the grey wolf managed to circle behind him, howling as it landed on his back. Paws that felt eerily like hands clamped onto his shoulders as sharp teeth buried themselves into the meat of his upper back. Crying out, he broke the wolf s hold, flinging it away desperately. He fought on, feeling his strength waning alarmingly, despite the relative shallowness of the bite. Suddenly, the two wolves sprang at him as one, their heads lowered to but his chest, bowling him over. A black haze crept in from the edges of his vision as his consciousness ebbed from him. Through this daze, it seemed to him as though the wolves wavered into man-shapes, one still dark, the other ablaze with fragmented red light seeming to emanate from his very skin. Helpless, the man watched as the glowing figure took up one of the arrowhead scattered about the hut, using it to carve a single vertical line down the man's cheek. Next, the figure rubbed some sort of paste into the wound, a paste which stung like ice when the figure chanted in a strange tongue as the man's sight faded completely.
He awoke to excruciating pain in his cheek and back, the former ice cold, the latter fiery. Writhing in agony, he found that he had been bound hand and foot, fettered by lengths of iron chain. Howling wordlessly with rage and pain, the man thrashed around until his wrists and ankles were bloody from the manacles. Then, from exhaustion and pain, he blacked out once more.
Over the course of a few days, the man continued this cycle of waking, struggling, then sleeping; once a day, the glowing figure would appear to wake him and give him raw meat and water, which he gulped down hungrily, trying not to retch on the bloody morsels. After the fifth day, however, he began to relish the taste of the meat, images of the animals running to escape gnashing teeth popping uninvited into his mind. Finally, when both injuries were but faint aches, he woke to find himself freed from the chains. Before him sat two men; one dark-haired, the other light, both of them dressed in crude leather clothing. The fair-haired one began to speak, his voice a harsh, ugly sound. He first gave the man a new name: Soltinn. He informed Soltinn of his new position as slave, marked by the master's emblem on his cheek. Through that emblem the master could inflict pain beyond belief, tormenting without actually harming the body. This, of course, was demonstrated for effect. The master went on to detail Soltinn's new 'gift,' as he put it. The two strange men were lycanthropes, and the master himself had passed the disease on to Soltinn, creating him anew. After this, Soltinn was given his duties: cleaning, preserving meat, fetching water, and generally maintaining the encampment. And so, this new chapter of his life began to unfold.
At every full moon, the true nature of the men was revealed. Because of the master's bite, Soltinn changed with them, running free on the hunts, killing with the Alpha and Beta. Although the new 'gift' was not abhorrent to Soltinn, he was yet discontented with his lot, and tried to escape. He made many attempts in the first few months, but each time the master caught him and, through the scar on his cheek, broke him down into nothing. From there, the master rebuilt Soltinn, sculpting the man according to his whim, teaching him to control the transformations, to function in this new life. Before half a year had passed, Soltinn was fully changed; a new person. He respected the master, who in return for Soltinn's loyalty taught a portion of the secret wisdom that he himself had learned. Then, when Soltinn had been with the master for a year and a half, the master disappeared. He left Varg, the dark-haired man in charge, and moved on. The two lycans lived there for over a year, waiting for the master's return. Then one day, during a hunt, Varg was caught by the sharp tusks of a boar, and died. Soltinn, now left all alone, and with but a fading memory of his old family, set off to find his master.
Soltinn, in accordance with his master's wishes, joined and sabotaged the Vailkrin lycan pack, tearing them apart from the inside, and thus removing his master's name from a failed experiment.
Following a lost tournament duel, Soltinn retreated to the deep woods to heal and contemplate. During this time, he became more and more in tune with nature itself, learning powers beyond anything he could ever have imagined. The longer he stayed hidden, the more he learned, until he felt confident enough to return to civilization, a druid of moderate skill.