Bile's Story
~~~
Though Bile is the biological son of Venom, he has no idea. In fact, Bile doesn't really have an idea about anything.
Abandoned and isolated as an infant, Bile was left in his basket on the mountain slopes, completely and utterly at the mercy of the elements and whatever came across him. Shortly thereafter, a particularly violent storm struck, and he and the basket were thrown down the side of the mountain. It was a rough ride, and when they finally crashed to a landing in a rocky outcropping of the foothills, both Bile and the basket were worse for wear. A broken wing and a dislocated jaw were the most permanent injuries; the cramped quarters and remote region meant that treatment was impossible, and healing haphazard. As he lay curled in his basket, whimpering in pain, Bile was completely and utterly alone.
Neither the wing nor the jaw healed properly; the jaw, in particular becoming something that would define Bile for the rest of his life. From his unknown father, Bile had inherited a larger-than-normal tongue and oversized teeth. These teeth grew in early, and the teeth coupled with his deformed jaw proved to be a new exercise in pain for the young colt. Due to the size of his tongue and the angle of his teeth, it was nearly impossible for him to avoid lacerating his tongue. At first the pain was unbearable to the already traumatized colt, but time, if it won't heal, will at least desensitize all wounds. Eventually the pain became nothing, a mere part of his being.
During these hardships, the basket was a home, a sanctuary, a source of comfort, and the one thing that he could rely on. Bile never felt any desire to leave the basket, even as he grew and the basket began to cramp. Seclusion and paranoia fought with hunger, and he at first was willing to starve rather than move. In his anxiety, Bile's teeth grinding became even more pronounced, his self-injury more pronounced. But this period of injury proved enlightening, as Bile found satisfaction in the taste of his own blood, Beyond that, the blood seemed to take the edge off his hunger, and became something that he could enjoy in the comfort of his own basket.
The rocky outcropping he had crashed in was dark and shadowy, filled with small creatures and insects. In time, these creatures would become an important part of Bile's life; weak with hunger, Bile found the he could reach some of these creatures without leaving his basket, and without hesitation began eating them. Insects formed the primary basis of his diet at this time, as they came the closest to his basket.
Even in less-than ideal circumstances, growth is unavoidable, and eventually Bile's basket could no longer contain him. Panicked at the basket breaking around him, Bile did his best to cram back in; unsuccessful in this attempt, he became agitated, then violent. Spying a rat moving along one of the rocky crevices, Bile lunged at it, capturing the rodent and destroying it in an angry lashing of hooves and teeth. His rage was brought up short when he found that the dead rat was oozing blood, blood as red as his own, but with a distinctly different taste. Bile was amazed and fascinated, playing with the bits of rat until all the blood was gone. It was an epiphany; other things bled too!
From that moment on, bloodletting became Bile fascination. and purpose. He loved nothing so much as catching other creatures and making them bleed; the sight, the taste of blood were enough to send him in raptures. Eating the kill was a lower priority, and nothing was consumed until he had squeezed out as much blood as possible, first.
Ever since, Bile has remained in that same region, keeping the tattered remnants of his basket with him at all times. Having never even seen another Soquili as he grew, he never learned how to talk, walk 'properly', or fly (even if his broken wing were to be reset properly). His gait is crabbed and scuttly, his posture hunched, and he communicates primarily though sounds; hissing, sputtering, growling, and, in moments of blood frenzy, laughter. Mentally, he is like a child that never grew up; he has no concept of morality, no understanding of good and bad. He is acclimated to the darkness to the point of being terrified of light, and resembles nothing so much as a massive insect himself as he scuttles around in the shadows, waiting for something new to catch and make bleed...
