[i]Fenrir nodded, as he pursued an appropriate story. His hands worked mindlessly as he thought, wetting a rag cloth with honing oil, then coating the whetstone. The rag and the oil were then placed in a stable position to his right, before he took up the sword in his left hand and the whetstone in his right hand. As he set the stone to the blade and drew it down the ancient age. At first, the noise produced was irregular, as the Wolf hadn't done this in some time. However, soon the the sharpening fell into a grating rhythm, a pulse that seemingly reverberated with the forest around them, and the snow falling down to them. A glove of blue flame enveloped his right hand and the stone, burning away the imperfections and dullness of the blade. He closed his eyes, lost deep in his thoughts, his breathing matching the rhythm as well. After a time, when it seemed he would not oblige the man, he began to speak, his words coming out to fit the music of the blade and stone.[/i] "[b]Once, in a time and place long since passed now, there lived five young orphan boys, bound by fate. They were a motley group, one that shouldn't have survived in this world of magic, monsters, men, and wars. But they were loyal, earnest, and true to each other. So this Pack survived, though the Wolves should have torn each other apart. The Pack was headed by the Alpha, a boy of great skill, speed, and ambition. He led them in their training, keeping them together even when it seemed they would be sundered. As they grew up, raised into the military and rising to prominence, he still managed to keep them together, united by a bond stronger then blood. He was the Wolf of the King. The second Wolf was the Beta, a boy of great intellect, knowledge, and strategy. He kept them organized, using each Wolf to their fullest potential in their assignments. His understanding of each Wolf's capabilities won them their prominence in war, his strategies and tactics proving a deadly weapon in the hands of the King. He was the Wolf of the East. The third Wolf was the Theta, a boy of great ingenuity, invention, and morality. He held them together in a different manner. He held them to a moral standard that ensured they would not fall to their inner demons. He had only one failure in that area of his duty. His machines and innovations propelled the kingdom far in their reach. He was the Wolf of the South. The fourth Wolf was the Sigma, a boy of great magic, wonder, and cunning. He ensured their favor among the pantheons of beings who presumed to call themselves gods. His spells and works were never repeated or replicated, and his natural affinity garnered him a following among the cadre of High Mages. He was the Wolf of the West. The final Wolf was the Omega, a boy of great strength, ability, and rage. He was their bastion, their hold against the night and its monsters when all others fell. He was the closest to the Alpha, their dualities complimenting each other. His reckless endangerment of himself to protect the Pack and the kingdom gained him great infamy. He was the Wolf of the North.[/b]" [i]Fenrir paused, allowing the old man to gather his thoughts as he worked on his blade. He waited for a response, or a silence to allow him to continue, as the rhythm beat on.[/i] [spoiler]This is his canon origin, pre-FN. *sarcastically spoken* Bet you can't guess which Wolf he is.[/spoiler]