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「 FOUNDATIONS 」
Legend has it that Tempest was born in the old land under a different, more ostentatious, name, which has been long forgotten. This was a bountiful land of verdant forests and tall grass brimming with life. Though beautiful, the land was devoid of spirits, which had turned their backs in disgust after witnessing the atrocious actions of the two warring packs that fought over the land for decades.
Long ago a single pack ruled the verdant forest, helmed by two brothers. The brothers were well travelled, and they had seen far beyond the wilderness, catching glimpses of humanity. This intrigued them; they imagined a better life, one with the comforts afforded to humanity. They sought out the spirits of the forest and expressed these thoughts. Generous as they were, the spirits granted the brothers the ability to walk as humans. For many years the brothers and their descendants harnessed this ability in service of the spirits, nurturing the forest and building better lives for themselves. However, as the years passed their descendants grew restless and began to take their gifts for granted. Conflict broke out, and the pack fractured, the descendants of each brother splitting into their own sects. This was a great war that spanned many years, raging until little was left of one bloodline and the spirits had fled from the scarred woods.
Tempest was born into the victorious pack many years after the close of this great war. Though the forest had long recovered, green creeping over old burn scars, malignancy lingered.
In the years after the war the pack had absorbed those they conquered, growing larger and more powerful. With the growth came complexity; the pack was no longer a family group but a great kingdom ruled by many lords. They picked the forest clean and spread into distant lands in search of glory, far more human than wolf. Despite being born into high status, as Tempest grew she bore witness to the greed and corruption of the kingdom, growing disillusioned with the unfairness and asininity of it all. On a foggy night she left, taking two childhood friends with her on a journey north. Together they shed both their human forms and old names, taking new ones in their place -- Tempest, Frost, and Gale -- inspired by the treacherous weather they encountered along the way.
As they travelled north they came upon a dense forest shrouded in a light mist. Gale suggested that they travel around the woods, wary of their dark depths, but for reasons she could not explain Tempest insisted that they wander in, and so they did. At the mouth of the woods the mist was thin, swirling delicately around their paws, but as they wandered further it became a thick fog that blocked out the sun and obscured the path ahead. A deafening silence descended upon the woods, and both Frost and Gale were consumed by a sense of dread which only grew as they passed by countless skeletons, some which seemed to be ancient and others which were fresh, fur still clinging to bone. Tempest, however, was unbothered. She seemed almost at home in these strange woods. For ten sun cycles they wandered, seemingly lost despite Tempest's insistence that she knew where she was going. On the dawn of the tenth day the fog began to lighten, and eventually the trio stumbled out onto the misty hillside that would become their home.
Tempest, who placed little significance on names, quickly dubbed this land the Farhills. She was instantly enamored with the barren, unostentatious landscape. It was the perfect environment for her to found her pack; the barren hills would provide just enough nourishment to sustain life, but not enough to allow the pack to amass any excess. The isolation of the territory, boxed between inhospitable cliffs and shrouded woodland, meant that there would be few clashes with outsiders. Life here would be challenging, yet uncomplicated. Tempest saw great promise in the harsh landscape before her. 「 THE UNFORTUNATE DEMISE OF GALE THE UNWARY 」
"You can't truly believe her nonsense," Gale spit, tail lashing violently as he paced the length of the den. "I followed her this far out of faith, but now I see that she's truly mad. We will die here, in this accursed mist."
"I never said I believed her," Frost sighed, twisting around to sun his other flank in the meager rays that pierced the cracks in the roof above, "trouble will find us, even here."
"You say that as if it hasn't already found us." Gale stuck his snout into Frost's line of vision, eliciting another sigh. "This whole place is trouble. I can't see three steps ahead of myself! There is no life for us here."
Frost rolled over once more, turning his back to the other wolf. "Everywhere is trouble, brother. Would you prefer to go home? I'm sure the Alpha has found another war to wage by now. Perhaps you'll arrive right in time to participate," he muttered drily. "Now, will you stop your incessant chattering? I'm trying to enjoy the sun. It's not so often we get a clear day."
There was a noise of disgust from over Frost's shoulder followed by a growled "Eat shit, Eadric," as Gale stormed out of the den.
"It's Frost now, remember?" Frost called after him. Receiving no reply, he relaxed, easing into the mossy floor of the den. He didn't get to enjoy the sun long, however; only a few moments later the rays vanish. Grumbling in displeasure he stuck his head out of the den and was greeted by the thickest fog he'd seen since they arrived in the Farhills a week prior.
"Unfortunate," a voice from within the den croaked, "he should have known better than to try and leave."
~
It was soon after arriving in the Farhills that the pack faced their first fatality. Gale went missing after the sudden onset of a heavy, impenetrable fog. He was found several days later, lifeless body wedged into a deep crack in the bedrock. Gale's death dealt a blow to Tempest and Frost, but the pack's young herbalist, Hemlock, only remarked that the death was "unfortunate," staring out at the foggy landscape of her new home, seemingly deep in thought.
Life went on and the small pack of four -- Tempest, Frost, Hemlock, and Shiver, an old true-wolf they'd met on the border of the territory -- grew more comfortable among the foggy hills of their territory. Gale's death taught them to tread more carefully, to remain vigilant as they traversed through the ghostly landscape of their homeland. Gale's skull still sits wedged between the rocks of the deepest crevasse in the Splits, a warning against speaking ill of the land.
 「 THE FIRST SON 」
Tempest stood at the edge of the treeline, staring pensively into the mruky depths of the Shrouded woods. Around her limbs the fog ebbed and flowed as if urging her onwards. Of course, Tempest knew this could not be the case, and yet she stepped forward into the dark. Unlike the rest of those who had survived the forest's judgement, Tempest did not look back on it in fear.
As she walked Tempest passed the familiar skeletons of those the forest did not favour; a great moose bull, a young bear, a human clutching a strange box. They seemed to watch her pass, energy lingering in the old bones. As the sun slipped below the horizon Tempest came upon what she was searching for; the remains of a stag, aged horns adorned with a spread of moss and vine. Within the stag's mossy ribs laid a young wolf pup, fur black as the burn scar left upon a forest after a wildfire has swept through. Noticing her approach the pup lifted his head, opening dark, unreadable grey eyes. Tempest was struck by the pup's presence, which was powerful and dignified despite his emaciated state. Impressed, she plucked the pup from between the ribs of the stag and carried him out of the woods. She traveled up the slope to the den-home, atop which sat Hemlock, looking down on her leader with a cold, analytical gaze.
Tempest stared up at the herbalist, still holding the dark pup by his scruff, silent.
"Now, why would it want you to have that?" Hemlock said after a long, tense moment, "your ancestors may look back on this day in regret."
Tempest huffed, shook her head at the young herbalist's incoherent murmurings, and walked onwards into the warmth of the den-home. She was not easily swayed, nor did she believe in fate.
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