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TMDTue 15-Jul-03 02:07 AM
Member since 15th Jul 2003
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#33, "Iachegao (Battle felar warrior, Jacynth's tattoo)"


-= Author's Note =-

The rest of this role is told in the first person. It also follows a mosaic
time scheme. In other words, the entries are not in chronological order.

-= The Dream Time =-

I met a very old and wise fela on one of my rangings through the frozen wastes.
It was an especially cold night, and I knew she would not survive it unless I
permitted her to partake of the spoils of my hunt and share the warmth of my
fire. No one should die like that. We dared not sleep for fear that the blaze
would die out unwatched, and we soon after it. To pass the time, she told me
of ancient days, of sorcery and how our people came to be.

Our cousins in nature, she said, from the fiercest jungle cat to the most
harmless domesticated kitten, live in the Dream Time. To them, the world is
much like an eternal now, unfettered by the memories of the past and
unblemished by the fear of the future. For their own gain, the sorcerers who
created the first of the felar from the great cats bestowed upon them the gift
of sentience. They elevated the felar above the status of beasts, giving them
speech, intelligence, and the ability to tell right from wrong.

The price of these gifts was the Dream Time. We live with the guilt for the
sins of our past and we live with the dread of what the future may bring.
These things creep into our present and burden our consciousness. Further, we
are cursed of the Gods; while other races have been made sentient and lost the
Dream Time, they lost it by the will of the Gods. We lost ours because some
men--great, powerful men, but still, just mortal men--were lazy and wanted some
servants. We are hubris incarnate, a lingering reminder of slothful blasphemy
and arrogance. The Gods turn their faces from us; they do not bless the felar
with the gift of their power as they do the holy of other races.

Sometimes, when I lose myself in euphoria of a drunken revel, I can feel it in
the rhythm of my heart. Sometimes, when I lose myself in the pure innocence of
a moment of careless play, I catch a glimpse of it out of the corner of my eye.
Sometimes, when I am consumed by the thrill of the hunt, I can smell it wafting
on the breeze for a fleeting instant. I taste a hint of the Dream Time.

-= Vagrant Child =-

I get asked sometimes how I ended up with the gypsies. I can't remember life
before wandering with them, growing up among the colorful wagons, sharing in
their nomadic, festive existence. They didn't seem to think it was important,
and so neither did I. If you want to know the truth, I didn't realize I was
any different. You might think the fur and claws and tail should have made it
plain, but things weren't like that.

Looking back, it seems as though every night was a party, and we never worried
about whether the bounty for another such feast might come. Every day was a
journey through unfamiliar terrain, with bright and wonderful scenery to
behold. It was like an idyllic eternal summer, and in the midst of that
carefree wanderlust I never thought to question where we were going or why we
never seemed to arrive.

I know now where they were going, and where I am going even now. I wish that
it were not so.

Why, you ask, did I stir from that life of contentment? It all started when we
crossed paths with some cousins of ours, a group of Vistani. One of this
band's number had the Sight, and what she had to tell me was quite remarkable.

-= Passion =-

If there is a goal in my life, if I am driven by anything beyond the pleasures
of my flesh and the pursuit of my own happiness, it is this: I want to do all
that I can to ensure that no others are ever ripped from the Dream Time again.
It makes me melancholy to do this, for in attempting to atone for the original
sins of our birth, in attempting to prevent a future I dread, I slip a little
further from the Dream. Even so, I feel that it is the rightful burden of the
cursed to spare the others that they may. Those responsible for we felar have
long finished their journey, but what is done once may be done again. I will
redeem all who start down that path.

-= Weapons =-

A young warrior asked me today why I had chosen the spear; meaning, why among
all weapons did I seem to favor the spear. He asked this question because he
sees with his eyes and not his heart.

I am gifted with a spear, this much is true. I have trained with it for long
hours, studying the attacks that may be executed with it and learning how these
attacks may in turn be countered by other styles of fighting. I spent hours
beyond counting fighting with the masters in Blackclaw, learning of the styles
of my people, lost in that rush of burning muscles and beating heart. In time,
the techniques of all the warriors I had encountered were merged with the
carefree dance of the vagrant into a style that was graceful, effective, and
all my own. The spear became like an extension of myself, a fang of superior
reach, and even when too drunk to see straight the dance of claw and fang was
not lost to me.

Those who examine with their hearts may realize my true weapon in this war:
the Dream Time itself. The works of holy men and women are miraculous indeed;
if I put my fang through a man's heart, he may rise up again. If I leave him
for dead a hundred times, a hundred times he may return from the grave and
continue to work towards ripping another untimely from the Dream. I believe
that if I can show another a glimpse of the Dream Time, be it in the thrill of
battle, a passionate embrace, or a moment of irresponsible joy, they will
forever find it harder to move towards sundering another from that bliss. Even
if I err and they are moved to cruel passions, this will be better for the
world in the long run.

-= Born of Sorcery =-

Today, a young wizard took a bestial form and attempted to bring my journey to
its end. When my fang had torn the life from him, he paused to ask me why it
was that I hated magic. The query seemed a strange one to me given that it was
he who began the dance of rushing blood, and yet I know I must be developing
a reputation of that kind.

Hatred is a spice best used sparingly in life. It quickly overwhelms all else.
I do not hate magic. While I am saddened that we felar have been ripped from
the Dream Time, the reality of life in the present is that we have lost it. We
are ourselves creatures in some sense of the word created by magic, and no
amount of hatred for that magic can change that. I do not despise myself, and
I will make of my life the best that I can. I do not hate the workers of magic
either, though I will battle them whenever I may. It is unfortunate that this
causes others to try to fit me into a narrow stereotype.


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