Sūtla Hawksoul
| Last Details | |
|---|---|
| Death Age | 8 years 0 months (Elder) |
| Sex | Male |
| Personality | Unknown |
| Breeding Records | |
|---|---|
| Death Age in Rollovers | 192 |
| Pups Bred | 27 pups bred |
| Looks | |
|---|---|
| Base | Oroide (0.39%) |
| Base Genetics | Muted Dark II |
| Eyes | Yellow |
| Skin | Black |
| Nose | Black |
| Claws | Black |
| Mutation | None |
| Secondary Mutation | None |
| Carrier Status | Unknown |
| Variant | Default |
| Markings | |
|---|---|
| Slot 1 | Black Dilution (100%) |
| Slot 2 | Black Saddle Ticking (100%) |
| Slot 3 | Cream Unders (100%) |
| Slot 4 | White Urajiro (100%) |
| Slot 5 | Black Smudge (100%) |
| Slot 6 | Black Head Stripe (100%) |
| Slot 7 | Black Rump Patch (100%) |
| Slot 8 | Honey Neck Band (100%) |
| Slot 9 | Black Neck (100%) |
| Slot 10 | Black Cape Ticking (100%) |
| Birth Stats | ||
|---|---|---|
| Strength | Speed | Agility |
| Unknown | Unknown | Unknown |
| Wisdom | Smarts | Total |
| Unknown | Unknown | Unknown |
| Birth Information | |
|---|---|
| Moon | Unknown |
| Season | Unknown |
| Biome | Unknown |
Biography
It had been created by chance from the sudden and chaotic burst of energy that had also created everything around it. There was no light to see itself by, and the god had no knowledge of its appearance or its origin. But as it stretched and uncurled, it understood instinctually that it was the only one of its kind.
For billions of years the god remained alone. It could create anything it wanted, but in a time when nothing but it existed, it could only rely on trial and error to discover its abilities. The first thing it figured out how to do was to make an asteroid: a lumpy, misshapen blob of stone and metal that sat cold and hard in its paws. There was no beauty to it, no function, and no purpose. This rock had taken unimaginably long to create, and as the god felt its surface — it could only explore its creation by touch, because still no light existed to see it by — it learned what pride felt like. And when that faded, it discovered sadness, because that asteroid did not bring light, or companionship, or any insight into what it was. It was just a rock.
The next thing it created was a star. This creation took even longer, while the god worked tirelessly to bring it to fruition. Concepts such as life and light nagged at the corners of its mind, things its budding future sight knew would exist but couldn't quite imagine. When it finally discovered how to create a star, it also discovered the feeling of wonder, because even gods can feel awe. It stretched out its four limbs and examined itself in this newfound light, taking note of every little detail.
The god learned to love stars. It filled the expanse of darkness it had inhabited for eons with them, creating the first forms of art with their arrangements, teaching itself how to make them in all their variations: hot, big, small, bright, dull, and always beautiful. But the stars were never enough.
The next thing the god created was a planet. It knew of two things: asteroids and stars. Now it was bored of stars, and it began to wonder if it had prematurely abandoned working with rock. So it took its newfound knowledge of creation and reshaped the stone into the shape of a star. It filled its core with heat and metal and set it free near the first star it had created, its favorite. It watched in surprise as it circled the star without being guided, by an invisible force it had never felt.
Now the god fell in love with planets. It learned how to make them small, large, dense, sparse, from gases and from solids. It filled the universe with thousands of them, but after another eternity had passed, it returned to its first planet, feeling unfulfilled and restless.
This could not be all there was to the universe. Had they discovered all there was to discover? Was there nothing new left to create?
The god dedicated thousands of years to trying new things, attempting to create something beyond what it had already achieved, to no avail. In its frustration one day, it took its anger out on itself, ripping into its own flesh with its teeth. If I cannot find my origins outside myself, it thought, I will tear myself apart to find them.
From its veins spilled the first drops of water to exist in the universe, pooling below its feet. The blood of a god is no weak substance, and flora began to bloom across the hostile rocky landscape, transforming gray to green. The Creator watched, entranced, as its first planet bloomed into life.
From this it learned its greatest lesson: destruction can be another route to creation.
But each new creation required the destruction of itself, and after a while the god grew exhausted. It was deeply proud of its creations, but dreaded making new ones for the pain that came with it. And so it once again turned its mind to the prospect of creating something different from what it had ever created before: another god.
Thankfully, this endeavor was not like discovering asteroids or stars, because a precedent already existed: itself. Instead of turning its focus outward to what it could create, the god hid itself away beneath the earth for an eternity and studied itself. When it emerged again, another god followed close behind, blinking in surprise at the sun: The Stag, god of life, made specifically to create new beings without needing the aid of destruction.
Hundreds of gods followed in its wake. Major deities, taking the form of many different animals; minor deities barely different from common creatures beyond their immortality. The most powerful ones ascended beyond or deep into the Creator's favored planet, striking out into the universe to discover its secrets for themselves. The Dove, enamored by the invisible force of gravity, ran in circles around the planet trying to decipher its secrets and became the moon. The Hawk discovered song, and its cries became the keening sound of strong wind. The Serpent dove into the planet's primordial waters and created the currents in its wake.
But soon enough the gods were left behind, with little to do but complete the cursory tasks that were given to them. When their usefulness ended, they could not be destroyed, and so existed in a state of boredom, watching the planet's living creatures with jealousy.
During this time, The Hawk, who had been tasked with creating breezes with his mighty wings, watched the wolves with great interest. It had never seen his Creator himself before, but it knew the wolves were created in its image. The longer it watched them, however, the more they seemed to act like all the other planet's creatures: driven by instinct and an urge to survive, rather than a desire for something greater. It desperately wanted to know the truth of his Creator, as much as it did itself, and vowed to find what differentiated these wolves from the other creatures of the planet…
The Hawk studied the wolves from afar for centuries, to no avail. Eventually, frustrated and near his wits' end, it decided to live with the wolves as one of their own in order to gain a deeper understanding of them.
It started by imitating the methods the Creator had used to make the first living beings: shells of clay filled with drops of its blood, sculpted in the shape of a wolf. But its blood was not nearly as powerful as the Creator's, and the only flaw in its design was that it always needed more. So it happened that, when The Hawk accidentally used too much of his blood, it became the first god to die.
It awoke in the wolf shell it had created, something it swiftly realized was a flawed prototype it no longer had the power to fix. Gone were its abilities to soar through the open skies, or call with the voice of the wind. The Hawk had gotten its wish, and it hated it. Its shell - who it named Sūtla, meaning "clay", had a mind of his own and fought it at every step. Much like it, Sūtla craved independence and the ability to be his own being without being possessed by a god, and filled with rage over its fate, The Hawk cruelly denied him this every chance it got.
Their souls fought over every minor decision, and the aftermath of each battle tore Sūtla's body apart from the inside, as the manifestations of the hawk god's desires took shape on his body. Feathers sprouted between his fur. His claws lengthened into talons. He couldn't howl without his voice twisting into the cry of a hawk.
Finally, near Sūtla's fifth year of existence, The Hawk finally won. Its shell's soul was extinguished for good, along with all the wolfish instincts that had plagued it for years. Exhausted and discouraged by the effort required to keep its hold on its wolf form, the hawk god no longer cared about finding the secrets to the Creator hidden in its favorite creation. It only cared about returning to its old self.
But its shell was a wolf, with the mind and instincts of one. In the years before The Hawk had destroyed him, Sūtla had formed a pack in his moments of lucidity and carved out a territory in the harsh northern mountains, following the ultimate desire of his species. The hawk god partially had itself to blame for this: in its vanity, it had made his vessel beautiful and strong, the type of wolf to attract followers. Even with that beauty twisted into something otherworldly, the allure remained.
It was a long time since the Hawk had created the winds, and almost as long since it had truly been worshipped. The ragged handful of wolves that now looked up to it, waiting for its word on every decision, was a delicious reminder of its past. As its pack expanded, The Hawk learned again what it felt like to be powerful. Prey was few and far between in the windswept mountains, but its mastery of breezes could keep the scent of wolves away from the prey they were stalking and aid its hunting teams. Its extensive knowledge of the world's terrain, gathered from centuries of soaring over the earth, could guide its scouts and envoys to seek allyships with the best packs, and teach its herbalists where the best medicines could be found. As a result, the wolves under its rule experienced something the mountains had never brought them before: prosperity.
But the pride of a god brought them more troubles than it was worth. In the first year after taking full control of Sūtla's body, the Aeskīr - named for the call of a hawk - faced wars with nearly every pack bordering their own. The Hawk could not bear imperfections, and could not feel empathy, and so forced its followers to leave weak or ugly puppies in the wilds to die or be adopted by rival packs. Its arrogance pushed him to bring the territory of the Aeskīr higher and higher, to the top of the highest peak in the northern mountains, where the air was thin and the prey was scarce, just to experience the feeling of being above everyone else again.
Frustrated and tired of their oppressive leadership, the youngest generation, who had never experienced the hardships of starvation and loneliness, began to wonder if prosperity was really worth it given the steep price. Led by Leika Fox-Smiler,, who had been stolen from a neighboring pack and adopted into the Aeskīr as a puppy, a handful of wolves deserted their dens one winter night and descended the mountain to an ancient temple at its base. There they prayed to the other gods, the only force they believed could oppose the Hawk, and begged for their help.
They never expected the disaster they would bring.
| Decorations and Background |
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Background
None equippedDecorations
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None equipped!
Below
None equipped!