Played By: Soren Daniels
Character Name: Erik Silverclaw
Gender: Male
Class: Warrior
Age: 23
Race: Ulven
Hair: Brown, with white streak on the right side, cropped short
Eyes: Brown
Occupation: Mercenary/Wanderer
Rumors: There are whispers that he’s a dishonorable coward who killed ten unarmed pups in cold blood. There’s no doubt that he has great combat skill, however, so not many people would dare say that to his face.
Known Skills: Dedicated fighter, wears heavy armor, skilled at using a shield. Also skilled at writing music and poetry, though he keeps that a secret.
Birthplace: Clan Grimward territory
Appearance: Erik has brown hair cropped, single-point fangs, brown eyes, and a white streak in his hair on the right side of his head that he’s had since birth.
Relationships: Erik respects and is fiercely loyal to Toralf Grimmsvulker, who saved his life and gave him a home and a pack again.
Bio/Background Info: Erik was born to Chieftain Bjornavik Silverclaw, the leader of Pack Silverclaw, a small pack deep within Clan Grimward territory. For the first decade of his life, Erik accepted his parents strong anti-colonist views without question. So did most of the pack– except one. Horth Redaxe was an older Ulven who had suffered a wound to his leg whilst fighting Mordok. He could still walk, but it was extremely hard for him to fight effectively. This, coupled with the fact that he was very open and unashamed about his belief that the colonists could be learned from, led to him being shunned by most of the pack and forced to live in a hut on the outskirts of the village.
When Erik was 11, civil war broke out between the anti-colonist Ulven and the pro-colonist Ulven. Most of the village’s warriors left to fight on the front lines, leaving behind those unfit to fight and enough warriors to keep the village safe. Erik was left behind– and so was Horth.
One day, Erik was out gathering herbs for the village healer. He was bending down to pick a plant when a loud roar made him whip around, only to see a massive bear lumbering towards him through the forest! Before he could react, the bear swiped him across the chest with a huge paw, sending him flying to the forest floor, stunned and bleeding. He lay there, waiting for his death to come– but it never did. He opened an eye to see none other than Horth Redaxe, his axe rising and falling with deadly efficiency, despite his wounded leg. Horth drove the bear off and helped Erik back to the village.
After that, Erik began visiting Horth– at night, so no one would see– to train with him. He began to pick up more and more of Horth’s pro-colonist views. Horth, in addition to being a master warrior, was also a poet and a bard as well, and here Erik found in his heart a burning love for poetry and music– a love he felt great shame for, feeling as though the arts were un-warriorlike and that he would be looked down upon by the other Ulven if they found out about it.
While all the other pups in the village could talk about was coming of age and going off to fight in the war, Erik felt as though the war was horrible, and that Ulven should not be fighting one another over such a trivial matter as this. Why couldn’t they just leave the colonists in peace? When the news came that the war was over and a treaty had been signed, he felt his heart lift. Not so for the rest of the pack.
As Erik was walking to Horth’s hut that night to talk and train with his friend and mentor, he heard the sounds of fighting. Rushing towards the sound, he found that five of the older boys, including two of his older brothers, had ganged up on Horth. They had beaten him to the ground and were kicking him, yelling about how he was a “fucking colonist lover” and that traitors like him should be put to death. Seeing red, Erik drew his sword, and before the five knew what was happening, three of their number were dead on the ground. The other two tried to fight, but were no match for the blood-crazed young Ulven. When they were dead, he dropped to his knees next to his mentor.
“When I die,” croaked Horth, “I want you to have my armor and shield. Just… let me keep my axe. I want a weapon in my hand when I meet the Great Wolf.” Those were Horth Redaxe’s last words in this world.
Overwhelmed by shame at what he had done, Erik donned his mentor’s armor and slung the shield over his back. Building a small pyre for Horth– with his axe, as he had requested– Erik fled the village of his birth, never to return.
Over the next few years, he wandered Mardrun, taking odd jobs guarding caravans and the like. Without a pack to call his own, and the guilt of his past eating at him, he sank further and further into depression and despair. Eventually, he found himself on the eastern end of the Shield of Mardrun. One night, in a flash, he realized that he had nothing left to live for. He resolved to hike into the swamp, find a group of Mordok, and take as many of them with him to the Great Wolf as he could.
And that’s just what he did. His sword flashed left and right, stained with the blood of his foes, but he knew there were too many. He received wounds– a cut here, a stab there, and he felt himself begin to weaken. He was ready to die. But the Great Wolf would not call his name tonight. Out of the darkness, blade flashing, came an Ulven who Erik would later learn was named Toralf Grimmsvulker, and following him was an Axehound hunting party. Together, they dispatched the rest of the Mordok.
Afterwards, Toralf praised Erik’s fighting skill, and told him that he was forming a pack and that he could use warriors. And just like that, Erik had a pack. A few months later, he found himself heading south– to home.