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Fenris's story Wrote:
In Norse legend, the day of Ragnarok (incorrectly translated as "Twilight of the gods") is heralded by the loosing of Fenris from his chained prison. On this day, the guardian wolf Garm, fails in his duty to contain him. Fenris is killed, but not before exacting a heavy price on the gods. His ultimate aim was to not suffer alone, but drag the one that had bound him down to death with him.

To Fenris, even as a pup life was a prison to escape from. The shackles were not just physical, but an entire mental manifestation of a culture that embodied imprisonment. He was born into the world with the jaws of a sibling firmly buried into his hide, as if to hold him back from this life. He bears the scar from that birth to this day. He bears the memories of it as well.

To the eyes of the other Fenris, his appearance is not spectacular. A deep midnight shade of black, his silver eyes strike cold from an otherwise familiar canine face. The only differences in him are the darker underbelly hairs, and an odd crescent shaped mark on his haunch. The hairs there had grown in lighter, indicating he had been wounded at that point at some time. There is no puppy-like loyalty to be found in his heart, merely a chill anger and desire to break free from his prison. No matter the cost, or effort entailed, he is determined to lose his shackles and pierce the truth of his existence.

It is said that on the day of Ragnarok, even the gods died. No such event heralded the arrival of Fenris and his kith. The day was as many others were, and the time was like any other time. People's lives did not instantly change, and a challenge was mewled rather than roared to the sky as the puppy blinked its first.

Turning, he scrabbled pitifully at the pup at his side. The second baby did not move, eyes shut and tiny fangs buried in the haunch of the brother. It took the efforts of others to separate them, and Fenris flashed his resentment to all involved. The Ferrus would eventually grow to realize the significance of such an event at his birth, but for now he was too small to understand. All he felt was pain and anger, and it would be but the first of many more times.

Despite his name, there was no grandiose destiny mapped out for him. He was not born into this life to be a god-killer. He did not arrive to play saviour to the world. He couldn't even claim the title of mass-murderer. He was simply a small bit of life deposited, cold and beholden into this existence that was already prepared to bind him for eternity.