Welcome to Gaia! ::

Dawnstar isn’t the only pack that lives in Bluestone. Higher up, where the wind bites like a jilted lover and not even the most brainless prey tends to stray, likes a monk-like congregation called The Precepts. Where some dire wolves might dump the unwanted far above where no-one would search, and where evidence of infidelity would freeze before knowing life, a lone pup was found screeching her fury and anguish to the heavens, stubborn even as she was dying, tumbling over numb and bleeding paws to find the parent that had left. Her noises attracted this insular pack, and she was saved from certain death via induction as a nameless pledge.

One had to earn that privilege back by surviving first, after all.

Despite the monastic lifestyle, she quickly became aware that The Precepts were not simply doddering elders that had spare kindness to give: any creature that owed them their life had to refine themselves into a useful tool to be used in return. Sometimes it was as simple as following a noble warrior path and a swear to abide by the same rules they were brought up by before leaving, or offering to stay as a healer and help elder wolves live more comfortably before the end.

For her, it was a little more complex. The endgame as told to her was to take “a vow of individual liberation” in order to “personal ethical discipline,” whatever that meant. As she grew, she found she had a talent for moving unseen and unheard, to the dry amusement of those she tried to sneak up on. On top of that, her hunting skills were starting to shape up beyond her peers, whom she remained distant to even when approached. She couldn’t open up; her mind always was focused on the task at hand, then the task after that, and the efficient ways to handle them, and without trying she pushed others away in her need for mechanical perfection. It was how she coped after such a rocky start to life. Trying to socialize with others seemed pointless when they would probably leave anyway.

Isolated, showing signs of being a prodigy, and emotionally remote—she couldn’t begin to guess the plan her mentor had.

At her naming ceremony, she was given a task to find a particular crystal in the lattice of caverns beyond their territory before sundown, which had been placed there prior. Most knew what to expect along the way and back: frigid temperatures, ornery familiars, and a guardian in the form of a bear to avoid. Only, she didn’t avoid it. Calculating that the quickest way was through the obstacles rather than around them, she fought the beast and nearly tore it and herself down in the process. Her message was clear: get out of my way, I have a job to do.

When she returned to The Precepts with a blood-spittle covered gem in her mouth, a concussion, and a broken leg, they christened her Stonerooted, for her soul was as unshakeable as the mountain. Therein, her mentor took her training to a whole new level, honing her skills not just as a hunter, but as a fighter, a scout, and even a socialite. That last one had mixed results, but even Stonerooted eventually learned to wear many masks as required. Perhaps it was wrong not to question why she was chosen to be shaped like this, but Stonerooted had never imagined the elders that had saved her had anything less than genuine intent. It was what made her such an endearing tool in the first place.

It began slowly. The elders and their families had been around for a long time and had engendered enemies, though beyond resentful idiots who couldn’t stay grateful as she had, Stonerooted couldn’t say how they formed. In her youth, she simply followed the tasks her mentor gave: follow this target. learn about that thing. kill the target at this location. let that one live and give this message. She was alright for a while, but the strangeness began to mount. Soon missions began to tread closer and closer to fellow elders’ spheres of influence, and Stonerooted suspected that a coup or rebellion would soon start.

So she got the hell out of dodge, using the same skills she had been taught to ghost them completely, and struck out on her own.

The she-wolf wasn’t exactly a strange to the pack. Back when Two-Tone’s parents were alphas, she straddled the boundaries to observe them out of curiosity, weighing the pros and cons of integrating into the pack—even as an omega if need be. A constant home surrounded by bodies...Safety in numbers for a while sounded good to Stonerooted. If a spy had tailed her with intention to kill, this would make it all the harder. That, and she had plenty of skills any sane alpha would consider useful.

And then Two-Tone took the mantle and began their migratory practices. That sealed the deal for her.

She waited for them in the summer lands, casually pointing out her reports of who and what had passed through while they weren’t there. Her lay of the land, ability to scout and shadow without sound, and disciplined nature were admirable. Stonerooted’s invitation to the pack was the second major sign, after Two Tone’s implementation of migrating and general lore building, that things were truly changing in the pack’s structure. An experienced outsider, who then climbed up into a beta position? Some/Most might trust the alpha’s decision, but there might also be resentment brewing for a pack-born wolf who had been eyeing the position.

As for the possible spies and assassins on her tail, well...Moving within a pack across the seasons was the best defense she had come across. Whether or not Stonerooted was forever out of that dark place in her life, however, remains to be seen.