Duskhowl

Duskhowl is a feral-born worgen currently residing in the Twilight Grove of Duskwood. He is the leader of the strange and somewhat eclectic goup simply known as the "guardians" there, and takes his duties very seriously.

Never far from the his grove, this worgen is a veritable fixture on the platform before the portal to the Emerald Dream. He seems to have a grasp of simple healing techniques with his magic, though his true skill seems lay in his knowledge of the medicinal properties of a wide range of herbs and other compounds, and his ability to commune with the spirits of the natural world...all of which are freely offered to aid in helping or healing anyone who stumbles into his people's haven.

He's also fond of conversation, and feeding whatever wayward being comes to the grove from an ever-present pot usually filled with stew.

History
Duskhowl's history begins long before he was born, with a ragtag group of transformed Kaldorei who ran off when savaged by worgen, rather than join Alpha-Prime and his mission of vengeance. These elusive, newly-transformed children of the wolf Ancient fled to the deepest part of Kalimdor's wilds, and found refuge in a small, nearly inaccessible mountain valley.

When he was born, Duskhowl was raised and trained by the spiritual leader of his pack, to see and speak to the spirits of the natural world, to hear the vibration of life's song, and to act as both healer and spiritual guide to temper the raging hearts of the feral worgen. This training soothed what little rage there was in his heart, and as long as he was surrounded by pack and family, Duskhowl was content.

This changed when he was barely an adolescent: A group of satyrs, the only real enemy to the ferals in the valley, slaughtered the pack one morning while Dusk was out gathering herbs to replenish his supplies. Devastated by the loss of his birth pack, he wandered the valley, trying to make a new home. Eventually taken into one of the other packs among the handful that dwelled therein, he became the spiritual leader for them, as well as a mate and father.

It ended as before, in death, at the hands of satyrs. Lost and despairing, and wounded, Duskhowl gave in to the baser, more animal natures, and wandered far from his place of birth. In time, his spirit felt a call, a tug, and without realizing, he wandered like an animal to Ashenvale's Dream portal...and then within its beckoning depths. With only the barest ritual knowledge, and a lack of his control, he became yet another victim to the endlessly shifting Dreamways.

It is likely he would have been forever lost in the Dream, had it not been for Arugal. When the fabric between worlds was rent open, and with the Scythe so recently summoning worgen to Azeroth as well, he followed the most recent call and stumbled free of the portal in Seradane. On foot he traveled to Silverpine, and became one of the many worgen trapped and used by Arugal in his attempts to refine the affliction--he still bears the scars that were seared into his flesh by magic and knife.

Dumped and left for dead after one experiment too many, he recovered and found his way beyond the wall. For a number of years he roamed the wilds of Gilneas, mostly avoiding other ferals. As it is with wolves, Duskhowl was too different, and therefore unacceptable to most of the human-born ferals. It wasnt until the battle to reclaim Gilneas city that he got involved with other worgen, and ended up finding another pack to join...though they didnt realize they were inviting him to join at the time. He tagged along with them all the way back to Kalimdor, and from there to Stormwind before they realized no one in their group actually knew who he was.

The Twilight Grove
It was pure chance that led Duskhowl to the Twilight Grove...while heading from one place to another, the worgen took shelter from the rain in an inn, and met the woman who had been assigned to watch over it at the behest of the Cenarion Circle, Valitheria Nightseye. Intrigued, he followed her to the grove, and felt the call of the spirit world he'd once been lost in. Without hesitation, he joined the Kaldorei woman's purpose, her vigil over the tranquil spot at the heart of a corrupted forest.

The pair created the base for what the guardians would become, combining the aspects of the healer, with that of the protector. As strangers wandered into the grove, lost, or following some pull they could not fathom, they would assist them, invite them to rest, and wish them well when they left. Other worgen, members of the pack whom Duskhowl was tied to, became curious as to where their rather off brother was slipping off to all the time, and followed, to find out.

Some of those who came, either in need of help, or just following Duskhowl, never left, choosing to stay, offering to assist in the protection of the grove. As time went on, more of the pack became invested in the protection of the grove, forsaking the original pack goal of going after the forsaken, causing friction and strife among the leadership of the pack, and Duskhowl, who held no rank beyond the walls of the grove.

This strife continued, particularly when the pack's alpha disappeared. At last, out of frustration over contested authority in the Twilight Grove, Duskhowl claimed the vacant alpha-ship, and unified the pack and guardians under one hierarchy, with himself as Alpha.

Since then, the guardians have flourished, gaining new members to their family, both in the form of those who have chosen to guard the grove, and in the form of children born to the guardians. At the same time, the leadership has begun to evolve and change as well, altering to fit the demands of the present.

Appearance
Dusk's frame is that of a runner, and bears the marks of his Kaldorei ancestry in his height and unhunched posture. His body is long and lean, with tightly corded, dense musculature like any worgen. No where near as strong as many of his kin, due to the lack of bulk, he is however fairly tireless, and for short periods can put on a burst of high speed.

The skin of his body is jet black, from his head to his toes. His fur is thick, with a soft undercoat (which he sheds horribly in spring), and longer guard hairs. The under coat is one shade lighter than black, as is most of the outer layer of hair. His hackles turn into a longer, thicker jet black mane-like ruff all the way around his neck and shoulders, reminiscent of hair, stopping somewhere between his ears, and following the line of his spine to just past the base of his shoulderblades. This mane is surprisingly soft to the touch.

His ears are slightly curled at the edges, with old nicks in the thin ear skin, leaving them a tad ragged. His muzzle sits slightly crooked--the result of having his jaw broken and healed numerous times. From his chin he has a long soft beard with a spot of pure white dead center in the front, about the size of a coin. Craggy brow ridges shield a pair of bright, glowing blue eyes, that fade from near white centers to a darker, skylight shade at the edges. The lambent glow is typically a reflection of his moods-and the magic he is working at the time, brightening or dimming, and even shifting to green, or a painful, brilliant white.

His torso, shoulders, upper arms, and thighs are marked with magical spirit tattoos. The glyphs are primitive and savage, and are a bright woad blue--highly contrasting his dark fur. Because of their nature, they are impossible to damage or distort, shining on fur or skin, unbothered by the movement or mussing of the hair. Its a rather...eerie effect. They echo with magic, but dont seem to have any actual properties. In truth, they are nothing more than a magical nameplate, declaring his identity to the spiritual forces he communes with.

His forearms are almost always covered by fur and leather bracers, but on the occassions he is seen without them--such as rituals or during a bath--the scarring there is horrifying to behold. The flesh is twisted, as if burned, with the remains of arcane symbols warped into his body alongside marks of torture. THe scars consume nearly all of his forearms, stopping an inch or two shy of elbows and wrists.

His attire is normally a pair of leather and fur leggings, made of quality craftsmanship, durable and comfortable. During a ritual, he often weaves bits of bone, beads, feathers, teeth, and stones into his fur--particularly his mane. He also carts around a number of small pouches and a pair of larger satchels, one seeming to be made of the hide of a whole, young wolf or coyote. That particular one has turned the head into a sealable flap. In there is where he keeps all of his herbs and other things for natural remedies, each in neatly sealed pouches, with different colored cords tying each one shut.

Dusk wears no real jewelry for the most part, except for a fist sized amber chunk that never leaves his neck. The amber is smooth and polished, and seems almost alive. Above it, hidden by the fur of his throat, is a well worn pouch filled with strange objects that leave it looking lumpy.

Magic and Ritual
While he has no formal training under the Kaldorei druids, and does not refer to himself as such, what Duskhowl does have is an innate sense for energies, magic, and auras, honed by years of use communing with spiritual forces. This talent has been used for several years in the grove, not only to garner spiritual allies, but to attune himself to the area on a spiritual and primal level. It allows him to have gained a great deal of knowledge...he has encountered many forms of life, and many types of magical energies, and for each one he has learned its feel, its scent.

Other than that, his primary focus of magic lies in shapeshifting--specifically in the ability to make deals with spirit-beasts for their shapes. Not bound by any particular druidic ruling, Dusk has taken it on himself to speak to a variety of spirits, working to earn their respect and trust enough to be granted the knowledge of their shape. While he only uses most of them periodically (no need to abuse a gift not easily won), he has worked to learn control of each. The one most likely to be used is that of a raven since the worgen takes joy in flying under his own power.

All other abilities one normally associates with druids...are weak at best, or in many ways bound only in the grove, where he is familiar with every rock, tree, and creature, and can call on their aid easily. Anything that involves larger forces, or the Dream itself, requires extensive ritual and preparation, and Duskhowl is wary of demanding too many favors of those powers over him. Nothing is free, after all...and the greater the boon, the steeper the price will become. His rituals, while effective, are savage and primitive, often involving personal sacrifice of blood or energy on the part of the caster, and in some cases, have become points of fellowship and celebration among the guardians, such as the Ritual of Naming, or the rituals done for each of the seasons.

Spirituality
Dusk's world is an animistic one. Unlike a human who follows the Light, his 'gods' are powerful spirits that inhabit everything he sees and touches. Spirits for the elements, spirits for every beast that crawls, swims, burrows, or flies, spirits for each tree, for the blades of grass. Even the heavens are filled with distant spirits, the stars, the moon, the sun...and for him, each one has a voice, a song of life bound up in their being, begun at the moment of their conception, the beginning of their existance. For him, everything that is part of the natural order is the work of one spirit or another, and the best way to control one's own fate and environment is to communicate and work with these spirits.

He views most spirits with respect, though some garner more than others. The great Ancients of the Dream in particular are given great reverence for in his eyes they are the Firsts of their kind, the progenitor gods from which their mortal children sprang--including the beast-races who may or may not have connection to a primal Ancient.

Due to this, there is no Ancient that he reveres more than the Alpha of Alphas, the Great White Wolf whose Howl shakes the heavens with thunder....Goldrinn. To him, Goldrinn is not just a powerful spirit, but the grandfather of the worgen, He whose blood flows in their veins. This makes all worgen family...Brothers and Sisters under the same being. Even when they arent of the same pack...they are still pack, family. Family and pack are a thing held dear in the hearts of all wolves, and being more wolf than man, Duskhowl believes this too. Worgen do not kill each other. They do not betray the pack, the family. To defile the sacrosanct is to be unworthy of the blood in their veins, and thus the duty of any true worgen becomes cleansing the violator from their family, lest they spread their corruption to others.

However, even his reverence for Goldrinn pales beside the spiritual tie he has found with the Waking Dream of Creation. So wound into his essence and soul are Its threads, Its notes, that It is in a way his master. In Dusk's eyes, such was the way of things. It is what it means to be a Speaker, tied for life to powers beyond one's ken, a servant and a mediator, prophet and slave. He can no more ignore it than he could choose to stop breathing. His proximity to the open portal insures that it is the magic he hears the loudest, every day. He meditates in front of it frequently, delving into its depths for answers and wisdom. With the right rituals, even induce a Waking Dream-state, allowing him or others to experience the Dream, guided by his paws.

((WIP. Will Edit Soon.))