Qroquccan Zuk'Uhur the Dweller of the Wilds

Role

Chapter 3

Having done my best to acquaint myself with this world, my place in it, and
my altered perspective, I have learned of a group that calls themselves
Outlanders and seeks to bring about or serve what is called Thar-Eris.
I have also learned of a group that call themselves Battle Ragers, who carry
much of the same misgivings that are still fresh on my mind and in my blood
where magi are concerned. They might as well have sprung from the blood of
my now ancestors, though gods know there are enough reasons to fear and respect
the potency of magic. As with anything, there seems to be no limit to how
many will use and abuse such to suit their whims, just as they did so long ago.

Both of these groups I have considered joining, but my natural impulse is
to resist. It's a heady thing, being ripped from ones' world and forced to
evolve, with the intent of becoming a slave for those who would spitefully
use you, only to be cast yet again into an entirely different realm. So I balk
at the idea of embracing any creed or faction that would dictate my actions and
draw a clear line in the sand as to who I will hunt or associate with. I
just need more time. It is too soon to cast away this newfound freedom and
hope, and tie myself to precepts that I don't fully understand. Gods only know
how I shall fair as a result. But the truth is that I also have a frightening
lot to learn, or I will be only marginally of value to anyone. Myself
included.

So I aid those, some who are my own kin, that my instincts tell me can be
trusted. And I war mostly on those who choose or have chosen to make war upon
me. As every hunter knows or eventually learns, the magic of any given
moment can transmute hunter into prey, and vice versa. So I keep my claws
sharpened, my senses honed, and hope to come to grips with this new existence
and all that it might dangle as a lure in my future. Fail or succeed, my
purpose is to live my life unhindered by the demands of anything or one, other
than my own instincts and passions.

Eventually I believe war will be inevitable. As the stink of the cities
threatens to spill out into the wilds that they have carved themselves
from. But when I call upon the beasts and sharpen my spear for battle it
will be because I have chosen to do so, not because I have been baited, or
because it is demanded or expected of me.

I will live free.

Role

Chapter 2

When I cam to, I dared not open my eyes. The litany of sound that is night-time
in the wilds washed over me like a panacea for all that ailed me. Curing all
ills and igniting the first burgeoning sense of hope I dared allow my new
my new mind to identify and cling to. When I finally worked up the resolve
to open them I gazed upon a sprawling emerald forest filled with the kind
of natural and magical creatures I had once identified as inhabitants
of my own world. A world that was now, from my new perspective, both more
and less than it had been before...

It didn't take long to work things out to some extent. I suppose that's
testament to my so-called intelligence, and that it wasn't on account of a
deficit in that realm that I had been rejected. In looking back upon the history
of Thera, I had been morphed and twisted by the ancient magi who were now
but whispers of legends. Candles so dim that they had been long-since
relegated to the past what seems a forever ago. And through hook or crook of
fate, chance of blind circumstance, I had been hurled not into my sure
destruction, but into some magical portal that deposited me through both time
and space in a way I can never hope to understand.

Bearing only the tattered remnants of the shifts they'd clothed me and my kin
with, I set about first discovering all that I could of these wilds and this
strange new rold that I was now a part of. It was rewarding beyond measure
to learn that my kind had eventually risen up and rebelled against those who
had sought to use us. That we were resilient enough as a new species that
we've since flourished, and have even had the temerity and wherewithal
to delve into the same metamorphic magics, which had been used in our creation.

But that wasn't a path I would ever willingly trod. There was more than a
passing allure in the idea of once again returning to some semblance of who and
what I had been, but instead I have taken upon myself the banner of becoming
a warrior of the wilds. A master of beasts. Though it was a near thing, for
I almost opted to don the mud and slime that my savage kin seem drawn to.
My kinship witht he beasts... which I once had been, however is what truly
sustains me. Oddly enough I cannot call upon the feral cats from which
I am only but recently, directly descended, but the wolves and bears aid me
when it suits them to do so. And even the serpents and insects seem to recognize
a kindred soul in me. Though on occasion the insects seem as enamored of
chewing on me as those I fight.

Any strength or cunning I can lay claim to is a byproduct of the pack, though
in that other time and existence, we had a different thought for it. One that
spoke both of the pack and the feeling that reverberated through us when we
moved in unison, as one.

Pride...

Role

Chapter 1

'Think back... what do you first remember? What did you feel?'

I remember a sense of wrongness. A disconnect. My nostrils flaring. Too much
warring spore. Acrid scents, chemicals that burned the sensitive lining
of my nose. Vitriol and incense, and a thousand nuanced variances I couldn't
hope to put a name to. Befouled and burning. It reminded me... it reminds
me of how the cities smell now, only on magnified- a hundred fold. Except
without the offal. Instead of hundreds of unwashed bodies forced to rub elbows
and shoulders in passing, there were only the chemicals and plaintive
screams and mewling chaos of it all. In a word, it was Hell.

Stone, rough and porous at my back- it felt good against my fur. Almost
comforting. I can't remember how long I lay there. Eventually my nose was
so raw that I couldn't make out any specific scents. There was only the general
malaise of pain whenever I breathed through my nose instead of my mouth. Even
my gums began to hurt. The magic was horrific and ripped away the purity
of my existence as it instilled some inkling of so-called greater intelligence
and conscience in me. Gone was the wordless beauty- the poetry of the hunt,
of feeling at one with the cycle in a way I can't find the words to share.
Feeling the earth give and tear as my paws clawed for purchase, the adrenaline
spike as I raced across the plains or through the jungles after the object of
my ravenous hunger. Now there was only... a dim awareness of an entirely
different, albeit comparatively broken slant.

But the Masters were not long-suffering when it came to the trauma and
transitional states of their servants. Familiars such as we were fashioned
out of expedience and so that we could be made us of. And though my mind
reeled within this maelstrom of fresh sensory and psychological input
already they were movign on to the next. So I was shoved from the altar of
my transformation, landed upon my feet as one might expect, and then received
a swift kick in the hind quarters as I was shown the door.

Maybe I was defective... Maybe there was too much wild in me for me to ever
become a useful servant. Or maybe I wasn't smart enough, or was too smart
for their purposes, but in relatively short order, as I followed others who
were being ushered in for inspection, I was dragged by the scruff of my neck
from the meandering line and taken down shadowed corridors that were permeated
with a soul-crushing and hope devouring sense of loss and woe, and as the
apprentice who was my current steward glanced slyly to and fro, before
unlocking a door he wasn't supposed to have keys for, he dragged me in and hurled
me into a violently undulating vortex of pearlescent purple energy.

Oblivion.

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