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Description

“I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Two Towers
About
Voice: Troy Baker as Joel from The Last Of Us
Theme Song: Bayek of Siwa

Name: Myghchaell [Pronounced mih-kai-oll]
Nicknames: Chaell [pron. “kyle”], Little Cub
Age: Adult - 6 years old
Gender: He/Him or They/Them
Sex: Male
Orientation: Panromantic Pansexual
Height: 35"
Weight: ~122 lbs
Build:
-Piercing, expressive eyes.
-Thick fur. Soft, but easily tangled. Do not deposit boy into water.
-Strong, but has more poof than punch.
-Long legs good for extensive running.
Territory: Fellfang
Rank: Drengr [Gamma]
Task: Witchdoctor

Family
Biological Mother: Unknown, for now. [NPC; deceased]
Biological Father: Arthur [NPC; deceased]
Siblings: Mordred [NPC brother; deceased], Morrigan [NPC sister; deceased]
Extended Family: Bandit [NPC adoptive mother; missing], Jackdaw [NPC adoptive mother; missing]
Mate: N/A [Crush: Tadita]
Offspring: N/A
Personality

Nurturing - Given his task as a healer, nurturing those around him who are in pain has become second nature. Though he may not be trained in matters of spiritual guidance, he is incredibly patient and considerate to others and is always willing to listen. Even raising his voice at someone is seen as some sort of cruelty; in arguments, he always does his best to remain quiet and level-headed and will almost never retaliate if insulted.

Empathetic - When others around him are hurting, Myghchaell also hurts, although he is sometimes reluctant to show it. Myghchaell feels his emotions very strongly and doesn't rest until he's sure those around him are doing alright.

Protective - He is completely and utterly devoted to his skuld, and channels this trait into making sure they are given the highest quality of care possible. Even if it means losing sleep standing vigil over an injured packmate, there's no limit to how far he would go (within reason) to mend the broken. Although he would not intentionally jeopardize his ability to function within his task, working hard is something he's fairly used to. If it ever came down to the wire, he would ultimately give his life for them.

Fatalistic - Myghchaell believes strongly in destiny and views most events for what they may teach him in the future. Luck and random chance are secondary phenomena. Though this grants him valuable time and material for introspection, it saddles him with a great many burdens as well. Tragedies and times of unrest are taken especially personally, leaving him prone to possibly overthinking things. Spurned on by the stresses of the past Hive Wars, fragments of Chaell's old life have begun to leak back into his mind. Time will tell what exactly these signs mean, and how he will interpret them...

Haunted - Myghchaell's less-than-clean past deeply troubles him and strongly influences who he is today; he's gone from being a fighter to being a healer, largely out of guilt. He absolutely despises the idea of having to do harm to another. After the Hive Wars, Chaell is even more disturbed by the things he's had to do to survive and protect his pack... perhaps even traumatized. He is still coming to terms with the fact that his actions were absolutely necessary, and still adamantly refuses to stoop to blows unless there is truly zero other option.
Pre-Group History
Advisory Warning

[ Myghchaell's backstory contains themes of kidnapping, manipulation, violence, and death. Individual warnings will be posted in their respective sections, but reader discretion is advised. ]

[ Certain elements have been temporarily hidden and names taken out for storytelling reasons. These details will be updated as material about them comes out. ]

---

[Content Warning(s) - Brief mentions of infertility. Discussions war, manipulation, death, and kidnapping/blackmail.]

CH 1. In the beginning, all he knew is that he was allegedly found surviving alone by the skin of his teeth, taken in by a small pack of wolves nestled in a stretch of mountains known as Stoneheart. His adoptive pack leaders, Bandit and Jackdaw, had long struggled to secure their future. Beyond the simple biological limits of their pairing, Jackdaw had been unable to bear children even after numerous prayers, debates, and herbal remedies provided by both healers and surrogate fathers alike.

He, barely able to remember anything more than flashes, was easy to convince into believing that something called the Maw had indirectly granted him to their pack as a gift. His supernatural benefactor was described as a single, colossal entity so unfathomably vast that only tiny blood vessels (the borealis) could be seen in the sky at night. She was from somewhere deep below the sea, pieces of Her washing ashore in the form of dead colossal squid and cachalot whales. Formed from tentacles and teeth and siphonophores, She was in a perpetual cycle of death and rebirth, the keeper of life and benevolent to all. The story went that he had been abandoned by two lone wolves; it was thanks to the Maw’s blessing that he’d been found and discovered. He was their perfect son, destined to lead them into a golden age.

The truth was much simpler and far more sinister; his adoptive parents had been at war with another pack. Their monarch was infamous for her horde of underlings and many children, all as brutal and steadfast as she. Bandit was no stranger to the horrors of war; she wore the scars of many victories. Both sides had suffered heavy losses, and the campaign against each other was long and colored by assassinations, betrayals, and all manner of guerrilla warfare.

In a desperate, risky, and secret plan to strike their nemesis precisely where it hurt the most to lure her out once and for all, Bandit and Jackdaw blackmailed one of her consorts and a former Stoneheart general, Arthur, into offering a sacrifice. He was to give one of his alpha's own children to the rebels, in the hopes that using her own blood against her would one day turn the tide; if he refused, then his prior loyalties would be revealed.

Arthur was left with a choice: leave the pup in the care and mercy of his enemies, or refuse and have his leader drown him and his brothers in the silt and mud of the swamp. The decision, though agonizing, was one made quickly.

Under the cover of darkness, Arthur picked a child at random and washed his son free from the smell of the bog in coastal waters, then brought him to the Red Sea; a vast expanse of scarlet wolfsbane nestled just south of the rebels’ territory. Crow, one of Stoneheart’s healers, participated in a staged, ‘surprise’ discovery of the lone pup; meanwhile, whatever remained of his mother's maternal instincts made a grisly example of Arthur’s siblings and let him live only because of his historical usefulness to their pack.

No one, neither in the swamp nor the mountains, asked questions. A scout made a fatal mistake and a chance encounter had occurred. Myghchaell was raised under the careful eye of a wet nurse alongside her own pups. He never bonded close enough to her children to see them as siblings, and was often quiet and reserved. As soon as he was weaned, he was whisked off and taken under the wings of his alphas to train for future leadership.

[Content Warning(s) - Discussions war and death, and manipulation.]
CH 2. Several years passed, and the war continued. When he came of age, Myghchaell was promoted to lead his own squadron of wolves. It would be a valuable opportunity to learn the ropes of command, and a chance to test his nerve in the field of battle. Chaell performed well, and became better known as a commander than he’d ever been as an heir— truth be told, he liked it that way. Many questioned his claim to the title, but no one denied that he did his job well.

That all began to change on the day of the avalanche. He’d been skirmishing with a small unit of the monarch's fighters and was locked in a vicious one-on-one brawl with a pale blue-eyed male. The fight was taking everything out of them both, moving fast, and Chaell eventually began receiving flashes of markings and scents he could swear were somehow familiar.

Ever curious, despite his obvious hatred for his opponent, he pinned the cream wolf to the ground and the two of them made eye contact for the very first time. Arthur recognized his son, whom had grown to resemble his mother the most out of all her many children, instantly. So too did the child he’d brought to the flowers, though the connection was not instantaneous nor so clear.

The avalanche never let either of them open their mouths to talk. Myghchaell desperately tried to save the hauntingly familiar face, but it was all over in mere seconds. He was swallowed up by the snow, in a traumatic disaster that would leave him deeply unsettled by snowy mountains to this very day.

Myghchaell was among the survivors, dazed and confused, but Arthur was not so fortunate and his body was never found. In his disoriented state, Bandit was easily able to weave in another lie: he had just been seeing things in the snow. In pain and exhausted, and trusting his mother above all but his god, he found that was a good enough explanation.

[Content Warning(s) - Brief descriptions of violence, death, and decomposition.]
CH 3. Stoneheart's enemy learned later that half of her fighters perished that day, one of her valued consorts and generals among them. Survivors spoke of a very strange brown wolf, who had been hailed as the future heir to the enemy’s pack. He’d also been leading the opposition that day, and has allegedly killed Arthur. Already one step ahead, the rival queen selected one of her finest to carry out revenge. This assassin would see to the killing personally, and send this fabled heir right down to meet his water-god. It would be the perfect storm; she would ruin her enemy’s future and avenge her lover in one fell swoop. No one ever said that her pack lacked a sense of poetic justice.

Myghchaell’s parents knew of the plan, and knew it was time to play their final card. On the night of what was, hopefully, to be their final stand, Bandit took her son to the summit of the highest peak overlooking the den-site. On those many hours up, lasting into morning, she told him of destiny and sacrifice. Wolves sometimes did terrible things in pursuit of what was right. This assassin character was a frightening opponent and would be unlike any enemy he’d ever fought. He was to harden his heart to fear and weaponize it; he was no immortal, certainly, but being able to face this death-bringer without emotion would see him to victory.

Then they rounded a corner, and Bandit showed him her definition of righteousness.

Artfully displayed in the abandoned bear den were the grisly trophies of numerous former enemies. Captured scouts, messengers, militia leaders, it mattered little— their blood was spilled in service of the Maw. And dead center rested an empty spot for the head of their greatest foe.

[Content Warning(s) - Manipulation and violence.]
CH 4. Chaell, as he had been told, did not let his fear show, though he burned with questions and panic. For so long he had believed himself to be the son of a fair and just alpha, who had only ever killed to defend others. Her pack let the vultures reclaim the dead, filled their skeletons with stones and sand-filled shells, and cast them gently out to sea to sink and be embraced in the ocean mother’s tendrils. The Maw was not a god of war and was not hungry for flesh. Bandit did not take trophies. Bandit did not hold grudges like this. Myghchaell’s parents were not… this.

There was nothing left for him here, and right as the sun crested the horizon he made his decision. He departed that afternoon with a dull ring in his ears and the smell of death stuck in his nose. He was meant to address his soldiers, but walked past the den-site instead. He walked right down the mountain and did not look back.

His would-be assassin was right there waiting for him at the foot of the mountain, unaware that he had all but given up. The resulting fight was long and brutal, both wolves evenly matched in the absence of familiar rocky slopes or murky swamp water. It was still too dark to see each other clearly; everything was teeth and torn-out clumps of fur and it all tasted of blood. They fought until the sun finally crept over the mountains and lit the valley. Then, and only then, was one able to see the other clearly.

Stoneheart's nemesis might well have split herself into two bodies; her pelt worn on Myghchaell and her unbroken resolve burning deep inside her hired hand. The dark she-wolf recognized him for all he was then and there, and so too did she recognize the unfamiliarity in his eyes.

With a wicked smile, she was able to pant out a bombshell:

“You have her eyes.”

Dread formed a hard icy stone in his belly.

“Our mother’s eyes.”

Her fangs had cut deep into his brow and front ankle. Myghchaell could not see how much damage he’d inflicted upon her, as it was all swallowed up by her black fur. But the image of her face, stained red-black with blood and dirt was seared permanently into his memory. The second sentence uttered to him fractured something inside him; his mind had been racing for the better half of ten hours straight. Up was down, left was right— and it had all coalesced into this sickening finale.

His memory peters off from around this point onward. He recalled tiny flashes as he fled from the valley. A few scouts had gone looking for him and warded off his attacker. He was certain they’d spoken, and undoubtedly fought, more before that point. He’d ended up alone, walking straight ahead along the shore. The Maw beckoned to him by day in the crash of waves, and the dance of green skylights by night. He let Her fade into background noise. In some small act of mercy, even the most painful of memories grew dull and repressed.

By the time he reached the Domain, Chaell didn’t care for what he did and did not remember. What mattered was moving forward, rebuilding himself from the ashes of a world that had seen fit to trick him at every turn. He was an heir and a soldier no longer; Chaell swore that he would live the rest of his days as a normal wolf, never to taste canine blood again if he could help it.

Trivia

Raised in a matriarchal pack system, Chaell still occasionally uses she/her pronouns to reference imagined individuals, particularly ones of particular power or strong influence. Although he believes in all of Fellfang's gods, he is particularly devoted and attached to Koma.

Myghchaell's favorite animals are sharks, though he could not be convinced to enter the water knowing one was around. His least favorite ones are cephalopods, and he refuses to even go near them when they sometimes wash up on Fellfang's shore.

He's had some... unfortunate experiences in snow, and thus winter is his least favorite time of year. However, he still prefers cooler temperatures over warm ones.

Chaell places relatively little value in the technicalities of a traditional family structure, as he was raised by wet nurses under the supervision of his alphas, without a father. The skuld is his family and he embraces this aspect of Fellfang culture wholeheartedly. Additionally, because had no strong male role model growing up, he doesn’t consider himself, nor act, traditionally masculine. At best, he presents himself as ambiguous.

In addition to believing in Fellfang's spirits, Myghchaell has an old god referred to as The Maw in his back pocket. He doesn't actively believe in her anymore, but in times of extreme stress where lives are at stake, he will sometimes see what he interprets to be her in his dreams.

Group History
Total Bones: 99 [Tracker: bit.ly/3OY8So7]

Description

“I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Two Towers
About
Voice: Troy Baker as Joel from The Last Of Us
Theme Song: Bayek of Siwa

Name: Myghchaell [Pronounced mih-kai-oll]
Nicknames: Chaell [pron. “kyle”], Little Cub
Age: Adult - 6 years old
Gender: He/Him or They/Them
Sex: Male
Orientation: Panromantic Pansexual
Height: 35"
Weight: ~122 lbs
Build:
-Piercing, expressive eyes.
-Thick fur. Soft, but easily tangled. Do not deposit boy into water.
-Strong, but has more poof than punch.
-Long legs good for extensive running.
Territory: Fellfang
Rank: Drengr [Gamma]
Task: Witchdoctor

Family
Biological Mother: Unknown, for now. [NPC; deceased]
Biological Father: Arthur [NPC; deceased]
Siblings: Mordred [NPC brother; deceased], Morrigan [NPC sister; deceased]
Extended Family: Bandit [NPC adoptive mother; missing], Jackdaw [NPC adoptive mother; missing]
Mate: N/A [Crush: Tadita]
Offspring: N/A
Personality

Nurturing - Given his task as a healer, nurturing those around him who are in pain has become second nature. Though he may not be trained in matters of spiritual guidance, he is incredibly patient and considerate to others and is always willing to listen. Even raising his voice at someone is seen as some sort of cruelty; in arguments, he always does his best to remain quiet and level-headed and will almost never retaliate if insulted.

Empathetic - When others around him are hurting, Myghchaell also hurts, although he is sometimes reluctant to show it. Myghchaell feels his emotions very strongly and doesn't rest until he's sure those around him are doing alright.

Protective - He is completely and utterly devoted to his skuld, and channels this trait into making sure they are given the highest quality of care possible. Even if it means losing sleep standing vigil over an injured packmate, there's no limit to how far he would go (within reason) to mend the broken. Although he would not intentionally jeopardize his ability to function within his task, working hard is something he's fairly used to. If it ever came down to the wire, he would ultimately give his life for them.

Fatalistic - Myghchaell believes strongly in destiny and views most events for what they may teach him in the future. Luck and random chance are secondary phenomena. Though this grants him valuable time and material for introspection, it saddles him with a great many burdens as well. Tragedies and times of unrest are taken especially personally, leaving him prone to possibly overthinking things. Spurned on by the stresses of the past Hive Wars, fragments of Chaell's old life have begun to leak back into his mind. Time will tell what exactly these signs mean, and how he will interpret them...

Haunted - Myghchaell's less-than-clean past deeply troubles him and strongly influences who he is today; he's gone from being a fighter to being a healer, largely out of guilt. He absolutely despises the idea of having to do harm to another. After the Hive Wars, Chaell is even more disturbed by the things he's had to do to survive and protect his pack... perhaps even traumatized. He is still coming to terms with the fact that his actions were absolutely necessary, and still adamantly refuses to stoop to blows unless there is truly zero other option.
Pre-Group History
Advisory Warning

[ Myghchaell's backstory contains themes of kidnapping, manipulation, violence, and death. Individual warnings will be posted in their respective sections, but reader discretion is advised. ]

[ Certain elements have been temporarily hidden and names taken out for storytelling reasons. These details will be updated as material about them comes out. ]

---

[Content Warning(s) - Brief mentions of infertility. Discussions war, manipulation, death, and kidnapping/blackmail.]

CH 1. In the beginning, all he knew is that he was allegedly found surviving alone by the skin of his teeth, taken in by a small pack of wolves nestled in a stretch of mountains known as Stoneheart. His adoptive pack leaders, Bandit and Jackdaw, had long struggled to secure their future. Beyond the simple biological limits of their pairing, Jackdaw had been unable to bear children even after numerous prayers, debates, and herbal remedies provided by both healers and surrogate fathers alike.

He, barely able to remember anything more than flashes, was easy to convince into believing that something called the Maw had indirectly granted him to their pack as a gift. His supernatural benefactor was described as a single, colossal entity so unfathomably vast that only tiny blood vessels (the borealis) could be seen in the sky at night. She was from somewhere deep below the sea, pieces of Her washing ashore in the form of dead colossal squid and cachalot whales. Formed from tentacles and teeth and siphonophores, She was in a perpetual cycle of death and rebirth, the keeper of life and benevolent to all. The story went that he had been abandoned by two lone wolves; it was thanks to the Maw’s blessing that he’d been found and discovered. He was their perfect son, destined to lead them into a golden age.

The truth was much simpler and far more sinister; his adoptive parents had been at war with another pack. Their monarch was infamous for her horde of underlings and many children, all as brutal and steadfast as she. Bandit was no stranger to the horrors of war; she wore the scars of many victories. Both sides had suffered heavy losses, and the campaign against each other was long and colored by assassinations, betrayals, and all manner of guerrilla warfare.

In a desperate, risky, and secret plan to strike their nemesis precisely where it hurt the most to lure her out once and for all, Bandit and Jackdaw blackmailed one of her consorts and a former Stoneheart general, Arthur, into offering a sacrifice. He was to give one of his alpha's own children to the rebels, in the hopes that using her own blood against her would one day turn the tide; if he refused, then his prior loyalties would be revealed.

Arthur was left with a choice: leave the pup in the care and mercy of his enemies, or refuse and have his leader drown him and his brothers in the silt and mud of the swamp. The decision, though agonizing, was one made quickly.

Under the cover of darkness, Arthur picked a child at random and washed his son free from the smell of the bog in coastal waters, then brought him to the Red Sea; a vast expanse of scarlet wolfsbane nestled just south of the rebels’ territory. Crow, one of Stoneheart’s healers, participated in a staged, ‘surprise’ discovery of the lone pup; meanwhile, whatever remained of his mother's maternal instincts made a grisly example of Arthur’s siblings and let him live only because of his historical usefulness to their pack.

No one, neither in the swamp nor the mountains, asked questions. A scout made a fatal mistake and a chance encounter had occurred. Myghchaell was raised under the careful eye of a wet nurse alongside her own pups. He never bonded close enough to her children to see them as siblings, and was often quiet and reserved. As soon as he was weaned, he was whisked off and taken under the wings of his alphas to train for future leadership.

[Content Warning(s) - Discussions war and death, and manipulation.]
CH 2. Several years passed, and the war continued. When he came of age, Myghchaell was promoted to lead his own squadron of wolves. It would be a valuable opportunity to learn the ropes of command, and a chance to test his nerve in the field of battle. Chaell performed well, and became better known as a commander than he’d ever been as an heir— truth be told, he liked it that way. Many questioned his claim to the title, but no one denied that he did his job well.

That all began to change on the day of the avalanche. He’d been skirmishing with a small unit of the monarch's fighters and was locked in a vicious one-on-one brawl with a pale blue-eyed male. The fight was taking everything out of them both, moving fast, and Chaell eventually began receiving flashes of markings and scents he could swear were somehow familiar.

Ever curious, despite his obvious hatred for his opponent, he pinned the cream wolf to the ground and the two of them made eye contact for the very first time. Arthur recognized his son, whom had grown to resemble his mother the most out of all her many children, instantly. So too did the child he’d brought to the flowers, though the connection was not instantaneous nor so clear.

The avalanche never let either of them open their mouths to talk. Myghchaell desperately tried to save the hauntingly familiar face, but it was all over in mere seconds. He was swallowed up by the snow, in a traumatic disaster that would leave him deeply unsettled by snowy mountains to this very day.

Myghchaell was among the survivors, dazed and confused, but Arthur was not so fortunate and his body was never found. In his disoriented state, Bandit was easily able to weave in another lie: he had just been seeing things in the snow. In pain and exhausted, and trusting his mother above all but his god, he found that was a good enough explanation.

[Content Warning(s) - Brief descriptions of violence, death, and decomposition.]
CH 3. Stoneheart's enemy learned later that half of her fighters perished that day, one of her valued consorts and generals among them. Survivors spoke of a very strange brown wolf, who had been hailed as the future heir to the enemy’s pack. He’d also been leading the opposition that day, and has allegedly killed Arthur. Already one step ahead, the rival queen selected one of her finest to carry out revenge. This assassin would see to the killing personally, and send this fabled heir right down to meet his water-god. It would be the perfect storm; she would ruin her enemy’s future and avenge her lover in one fell swoop. No one ever said that her pack lacked a sense of poetic justice.

Myghchaell’s parents knew of the plan, and knew it was time to play their final card. On the night of what was, hopefully, to be their final stand, Bandit took her son to the summit of the highest peak overlooking the den-site. On those many hours up, lasting into morning, she told him of destiny and sacrifice. Wolves sometimes did terrible things in pursuit of what was right. This assassin character was a frightening opponent and would be unlike any enemy he’d ever fought. He was to harden his heart to fear and weaponize it; he was no immortal, certainly, but being able to face this death-bringer without emotion would see him to victory.

Then they rounded a corner, and Bandit showed him her definition of righteousness.

Artfully displayed in the abandoned bear den were the grisly trophies of numerous former enemies. Captured scouts, messengers, militia leaders, it mattered little— their blood was spilled in service of the Maw. And dead center rested an empty spot for the head of their greatest foe.

[Content Warning(s) - Manipulation and violence.]
CH 4. Chaell, as he had been told, did not let his fear show, though he burned with questions and panic. For so long he had believed himself to be the son of a fair and just alpha, who had only ever killed to defend others. Her pack let the vultures reclaim the dead, filled their skeletons with stones and sand-filled shells, and cast them gently out to sea to sink and be embraced in the ocean mother’s tendrils. The Maw was not a god of war and was not hungry for flesh. Bandit did not take trophies. Bandit did not hold grudges like this. Myghchaell’s parents were not… this.

There was nothing left for him here, and right as the sun crested the horizon he made his decision. He departed that afternoon with a dull ring in his ears and the smell of death stuck in his nose. He was meant to address his soldiers, but walked past the den-site instead. He walked right down the mountain and did not look back.

His would-be assassin was right there waiting for him at the foot of the mountain, unaware that he had all but given up. The resulting fight was long and brutal, both wolves evenly matched in the absence of familiar rocky slopes or murky swamp water. It was still too dark to see each other clearly; everything was teeth and torn-out clumps of fur and it all tasted of blood. They fought until the sun finally crept over the mountains and lit the valley. Then, and only then, was one able to see the other clearly.

Stoneheart's nemesis might well have split herself into two bodies; her pelt worn on Myghchaell and her unbroken resolve burning deep inside her hired hand. The dark she-wolf recognized him for all he was then and there, and so too did she recognize the unfamiliarity in his eyes.

With a wicked smile, she was able to pant out a bombshell:

“You have her eyes.”

Dread formed a hard icy stone in his belly.

“Our mother’s eyes.”

Her fangs had cut deep into his brow and front ankle. Myghchaell could not see how much damage he’d inflicted upon her, as it was all swallowed up by her black fur. But the image of her face, stained red-black with blood and dirt was seared permanently into his memory. The second sentence uttered to him fractured something inside him; his mind had been racing for the better half of ten hours straight. Up was down, left was right— and it had all coalesced into this sickening finale.

His memory peters off from around this point onward. He recalled tiny flashes as he fled from the valley. A few scouts had gone looking for him and warded off his attacker. He was certain they’d spoken, and undoubtedly fought, more before that point. He’d ended up alone, walking straight ahead along the shore. The Maw beckoned to him by day in the crash of waves, and the dance of green skylights by night. He let Her fade into background noise. In some small act of mercy, even the most painful of memories grew dull and repressed.

By the time he reached the Domain, Chaell didn’t care for what he did and did not remember. What mattered was moving forward, rebuilding himself from the ashes of a world that had seen fit to trick him at every turn. He was an heir and a soldier no longer; Chaell swore that he would live the rest of his days as a normal wolf, never to taste canine blood again if he could help it.

Trivia

Raised in a matriarchal pack system, Chaell still occasionally uses she/her pronouns to reference imagined individuals, particularly ones of particular power or strong influence. Although he believes in all of Fellfang's gods, he is particularly devoted and attached to Koma.

Myghchaell's favorite animals are sharks, though he could not be convinced to enter the water knowing one was around. His least favorite ones are cephalopods, and he refuses to even go near them when they sometimes wash up on Fellfang's shore.

He's had some... unfortunate experiences in snow, and thus winter is his least favorite time of year. However, he still prefers cooler temperatures over warm ones.

Chaell places relatively little value in the technicalities of a traditional family structure, as he was raised by wet nurses under the supervision of his alphas, without a father. The skuld is his family and he embraces this aspect of Fellfang culture wholeheartedly. Additionally, because had no strong male role model growing up, he doesn’t consider himself, nor act, traditionally masculine. At best, he presents himself as ambiguous.

In addition to believing in Fellfang's spirits, Myghchaell has an old god referred to as The Maw in his back pocket. He doesn't actively believe in her anymore, but in times of extreme stress where lives are at stake, he will sometimes see what he interprets to be her in his dreams.

Group History
Total Bones: 99 [Tracker: bit.ly/3OY8So7]