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The Backstory of Bolverk
Feb. 1st, 2004 11:40 amBolverk was born to a family of 2nd generation Scandinavian-Canadians in the small settlement of Fraiserdale Ontario, roughly 150 miles north of Timmins. His parents were half-hearted followers of the old ways, the ancient Norse religion, with little zeal. It was Bolverk's Grandfather, Hrodgeir, who was the true pious relative though. Some said he was crazy, yet they were simply frightened by his zeal, The old man taught Bolverk the meanings of the runes, the religous outlook and practices and the like, often with the pair of them out in the woods for days at a time. It wasnt until Bolverk's 16 birthday when Hrodgeir gave him a great gift, an old and well crafted ash spear. The old man trained the youth with the spear, though not to a very great degree.
Bolverk had progressed little further then the "this is the pointy end of the spear" stage of training before 'they' came. The black-suited men, with mirrorshades covering their eyes seemed very much out of place in the november-chilled forest. When they approached, Hrodgeir charged at them, with the cry "Never! I wont loose him too!" Seeing his grandfather struggling in vain with the pair of black-suits, the youth did the one act he regrets up to this day; he ran like a coward. The world was a haze of thoughts and fears and hatreds. His grandfather sacrificed for him, and yet he was running like a weakling, like a suburbanite would from a mouse. Tears filled his eyes as he ran, faster, harder, spear in hand. He stopped for but a moment, out of breath while his ears pounded with blood. He had to end it. He brought his spearpoint to his own chest, pressing harder, until a single drop of blood dripped down its head. The world blinked it seemed, as when he recovered he found he had shaken the spear, carving into his own flesh a rune! Boverk took this as a sign, that suicide was the only act more cowardly then his last display. He stood back up, with a few damp spots on his t-shit below the rips. Then he ran, faster then he thought even he could. It didnt take long for him to reach his own home a way from home, a small secluded grove wherein he normally rested and hid from the world. That was its use for this time as well.
The youth waited for a good two days before returning home after hiding his ash spear in the grove. When he returned home, he heard the news from his parents; apparently two men from Mental Health Canada had been looking for Hrodgeir, saying he was suffering from a severe form of dementia requireing medical help. The pair were directed to the forest by his mother, who then remembered that grandfather had allready gone to a psychiatrist two months ago with a clean bill of mental health.. Grandfather was never seen again.
Bolverk spent a fair amount of his time in the woods alone from that point on. Infact, it wasnt until a couple months before he sighted old mother McKennah in the woods picking herbs. When she pulled a dagger and twisted the point so as to make a pinprick of blood drop on the herb in question, he was curious and interested in the scene. He was far more intrigued though, when the plant visibly grew before his very eyes. It was one moment a small shoot, the next a fully grown plant. When he stood in his shock, her eyes shot in his direction. She seemed suddenly primal, with her outer wrinkled skin but a cover for the lynx beneath, the natural power that seemed to shine within her. Then she said to herself it seemed "An orphan? or trained?". She said out to him, "Ah, i didn't see you out there. You seem to know your way around the forest well. Do you know of a nearby stream?"
The young woodsman replied "Oh, yes. What herb is that, might i ask?"
A wry smile crept upon her face at those words and she replied simply, as though the one word held countless meanings; "Verbena"
When his mentor Gillian McKennah, Mystes of the Verbena tradition, passed on from old age, there seemed very little to tie him here, in Fraserdale. He gathered all the monies he could scrounge up, including a small amount left for him my his teacher, and headed off to the capital. He also brought He had made it into the Humanities program at Carleten University, where he studied ancient mythology, a bit of anatomy and learned exactly how much coffee he could drink in a sitting. Unfortunatly, he realized he wasnt made out for university life. He was useless with these computers, the registrar kept on loosing his records and he never found anyone else to study with. He spend most of his time in the library, reading up on his own the Norse mythology and theoretical medical knowledge, though spending a good amount of time in athletics as well. By the time his first year finished up, he realized this would get him nowhere and didnt bother do correct the registrar when the records decided he didnt exist, for the 8th time that year.
He managed to get a job at Parks Canada, tapping trees over in Gatineau. He found the job to be solitary and harsh, both pluses in his mind. He met a friend during his months there, a rather charismatic if scarred fellow who became his utmost friend, and ally. This was because this man had the ability to commune with the spirits, belonging to another of the traditions allied with the Verbena.
He was the first companion, but not the last. The cabal was much larger soon enough...
Boverk Theistrom, Verbena Adept
Bolverk had progressed little further then the "this is the pointy end of the spear" stage of training before 'they' came. The black-suited men, with mirrorshades covering their eyes seemed very much out of place in the november-chilled forest. When they approached, Hrodgeir charged at them, with the cry "Never! I wont loose him too!" Seeing his grandfather struggling in vain with the pair of black-suits, the youth did the one act he regrets up to this day; he ran like a coward. The world was a haze of thoughts and fears and hatreds. His grandfather sacrificed for him, and yet he was running like a weakling, like a suburbanite would from a mouse. Tears filled his eyes as he ran, faster, harder, spear in hand. He stopped for but a moment, out of breath while his ears pounded with blood. He had to end it. He brought his spearpoint to his own chest, pressing harder, until a single drop of blood dripped down its head. The world blinked it seemed, as when he recovered he found he had shaken the spear, carving into his own flesh a rune! Boverk took this as a sign, that suicide was the only act more cowardly then his last display. He stood back up, with a few damp spots on his t-shit below the rips. Then he ran, faster then he thought even he could. It didnt take long for him to reach his own home a way from home, a small secluded grove wherein he normally rested and hid from the world. That was its use for this time as well.
The youth waited for a good two days before returning home after hiding his ash spear in the grove. When he returned home, he heard the news from his parents; apparently two men from Mental Health Canada had been looking for Hrodgeir, saying he was suffering from a severe form of dementia requireing medical help. The pair were directed to the forest by his mother, who then remembered that grandfather had allready gone to a psychiatrist two months ago with a clean bill of mental health.. Grandfather was never seen again.
Bolverk spent a fair amount of his time in the woods alone from that point on. Infact, it wasnt until a couple months before he sighted old mother McKennah in the woods picking herbs. When she pulled a dagger and twisted the point so as to make a pinprick of blood drop on the herb in question, he was curious and interested in the scene. He was far more intrigued though, when the plant visibly grew before his very eyes. It was one moment a small shoot, the next a fully grown plant. When he stood in his shock, her eyes shot in his direction. She seemed suddenly primal, with her outer wrinkled skin but a cover for the lynx beneath, the natural power that seemed to shine within her. Then she said to herself it seemed "An orphan? or trained?". She said out to him, "Ah, i didn't see you out there. You seem to know your way around the forest well. Do you know of a nearby stream?"
The young woodsman replied "Oh, yes. What herb is that, might i ask?"
A wry smile crept upon her face at those words and she replied simply, as though the one word held countless meanings; "Verbena"
When his mentor Gillian McKennah, Mystes of the Verbena tradition, passed on from old age, there seemed very little to tie him here, in Fraserdale. He gathered all the monies he could scrounge up, including a small amount left for him my his teacher, and headed off to the capital. He also brought He had made it into the Humanities program at Carleten University, where he studied ancient mythology, a bit of anatomy and learned exactly how much coffee he could drink in a sitting. Unfortunatly, he realized he wasnt made out for university life. He was useless with these computers, the registrar kept on loosing his records and he never found anyone else to study with. He spend most of his time in the library, reading up on his own the Norse mythology and theoretical medical knowledge, though spending a good amount of time in athletics as well. By the time his first year finished up, he realized this would get him nowhere and didnt bother do correct the registrar when the records decided he didnt exist, for the 8th time that year.
He managed to get a job at Parks Canada, tapping trees over in Gatineau. He found the job to be solitary and harsh, both pluses in his mind. He met a friend during his months there, a rather charismatic if scarred fellow who became his utmost friend, and ally. This was because this man had the ability to commune with the spirits, belonging to another of the traditions allied with the Verbena.
He was the first companion, but not the last. The cabal was much larger soon enough...
Boverk Theistrom, Verbena Adept
