Growing up, finding your legs.

In the beginning of Mor'du’s life, he lived a life of fear and hate. He was born to two parents, both of unknown origin and both the outcasts in toskal society. His parents, both tribeless and rugged, were thieves of their own rite and both equally hated each other for what they did and who they were. They would break out into arguments and in some cases these fights would get as violent as losing a tooth or a swipe to the face. Just as Mor’du was born, this violence and hatred would be reflected on his own self, in some cases inflicted on him. Without any toys or much joy in his life to begin with, he experimented on varying levels of pain. How much would a rock against his finger hurt? Does this toxic fern make you burn, itch, or both? His playground was the dangerous and reckless activities nobody would imagine going through on their own accord. 

When he was only a few years old, his parents got in some of the most violent arguments he had ever witnessed. There was blood, plenty of it. As it flew, it stained the nearby vicinity across the surrounding flora from the camp. As his father fell to his knees, losing consciousness, his mother turned to him with bared fangs, a thick stream of bloody horror running from her eyes. His heart stopped, staring at this new anger he had never seen before. There was always hints towards it, but he never knew that one, especially someone only he knew, would be capable of this terrifying glance that shook him to the bone. His mother had a blatant look of horror and murder in her eyes, and proceeded to lash out at him. This would be one of Mor'du’s earliest memories. In her fight of anger, Mor’du fled until the fight was over. His father survived, just barely with a stained cloth strapped to his arm, eventually his red blood clotting to the fiber which he no longer could remove. His mother, hidden in a corner, had claw marks inflicted on her own consciousness against herself for her actions. In a quick decision her parents had made, Mor’du had no idea what would happen during that night.

While he was sleeping, his mother picked him up and wrapped him up in a warm hide. As just as she cared for him, she could no longer care for him under this amount of stress and rage. With a final goodbye from his father, he was carried out into the wilderness onto a travelled path during the time of moonset. There, he was placed against  a stone next to the path and said farewells, his mother's tears mixing into the dirt as she fled into the darkness.

No less than an hour later, his hide became unwrapped and his eyes opened to what would be unfamiliar terrain. He was on the path his mother had set him on, but had no idea what life was like outside his home. Creatures would prowl around him, hearing the grunts and whines only he was able to mutter, and every now and again hearing the shifting of leaves or the snap of a twig, hoping to hold tight his life while the world was enveloped in darkness. He knew few words, and he was half starved, his ribs showing through his skin. Where was his hope? What could he do? Where did his parents go and why would they leave him here? He would crawl his way over to a nearby rotten log, which had been hollowed out over the years with his hide and rest, shutting his eyes tight as to hope this was all just a dream in his mind. A nightmare perhaps, which he would wake from and be back to the life he knew. Despite the violence, his parents which he thought, provided just enough for him to survive, albeit his appearance. 

The next morning, he woke up to feeling something grab at the hide he was sleeping in, suddenly letting out a raspy squeal as he tried to crawl away and run, only to find his tail being caught by the unknown predator. He closed his eyes and told himself that this was it, but if this was going to be his life, at least he should die fighting like his parents. In a flash he whipped around as he was dragged out of the log digging his teeth into whatever grasped his tail, feeling the warmth of blood and fur flood his mouth. The iron taste stung his mouth, and he let go as his tail was suddenly released in a yelp of panic from the strange figure. He ran back against the log and turned around to face his opponent. There he stood, a stranger. He looked rough with scars and perhaps old blood staining his fur, but in his eyes held kindness and curiosity, to which Mor’du would eventually learn to accept and live upon for the rest of his life.

The older toskal beckoned to the pup, it was words he barely understood but convincing enough to bring him closer. He stood and glanced up with a look of hesitation as the older stranger offered him back his hide and opened a hand filled with berries. As new as they were, they looked awfully delicious and he dug right in, eating the berries in a flash. With a look of surprise from the older tosk, he handed mor’du a pouch of water to drink from. He looked up and with some look of hope, smiled for the first time since he was born. Bringing himself to his knees and then up on his strange feet, the older tosk began to walk away, looking back at Mor’du. Mor’du in turn glanced around. He had nothing here. Other than relying on the support of passerby, he surely wouldn’t be able to survive in this wilderness. By the time the toskal was up the path, Mor’du got up on his feet and ran after him, muttering in a half chirp half identifiable language to catch his attention. He reached up and grabbed the toskals belt, begging for his attention. He turned around and observed the purple pup. He made a gesture that Mor’du had learned to mean “follow me” and continued to follow the older toskals steps. 

Later that day, they came to a halt to a large and busy marketplace. In front of this market were two guards, rather big and intimidating, Mor’du hiding behind the stranger of whom he became affiliated with. With a second's notice, they were let inside, the guards giving Mor’du a glance of disgust and worry. As they proceeded in, the market reeked of rotten meat and the smell of metal, glazing over the stands that stood well above him, marked each with different signs that gave a notion towards who was selling what, or even in some cases, who was selling who, to Mor'du’s disappointment. The fellow toskal he continued to follow came up to a stand with a warm fire and a fresh stand of meat. The meat smelled absolutely delicious as it was cooked, and without realizing it Mor’du had crawled up to the table with his own drool being swept up onto the counter. The toskal cooking the meat gave a chuckle and dipped his head towards the stranger, then began speaking in a language unknown to him for a pup his age. Only a few minutes later, they were both given strips of the meat, cooked and seasoned fresh. Grabbing a strip of it, he scarfed it down one after the other until he was full, and began to shut his eyes as tired as he was. The older toskal picked him up after finishing his meal and hauled him off away from the marketplace back onto the path they had come from.
In the morning he woke up to a fresh, stone cup of tea next to a fire and a tent. He was wrapped up in a thick hide over the one he already had, protecting him from the cold night and allowing him a peaceful night's rest.

“So, where’d you come from?” He muttered, Mor’du looking with curiosity in his eyes. He didn’t quite understand what the old toskal was saying, but he pointed towards the path, unable to pinpoint where his mother came from, to abandon him. The older tosk nodded and continued to sip his tea. “Well, even though you don’t speak how I speak, it’s quite boring out here. We’ll see how teaching you gets you in the long run.” He said, a brim smile on the edge of his face. Mor’du smiled back, and after a sip of his tea, slowly fell back asleep.

A couple of years later, Mor’du had grown to be a young, healthy tosk. His ribs now no longer protruded through his fur, and his coat had become sleek and vibrant, with contrasting purples and blacks surrounding his skin. What had become a more prominent feature was his eyes. Unlike many tosks, his eyes had an extra ring to them, which especially caught the attention of other strangers and in return he was given weird looks. His past was nothing more than a memory at his stage of life. He didn’t remember his mother nor his father, and only remembered stumbling upon his mentor, who he heavily depended on. Over the years he had been given wraps to ease his training, which consisted of stealth, attack, and self defense. When he was younger, he only accepted his mentor of who he was and how he saved his life, but as he grew in the previous years he had adapted to life as an apprentice assassin. He didn’t have anything against what he was training for. He had never killed anyone nor felt like he had the intention to do so. His favorite weapon that he received as a gift was his folded steel dagger. It consisted of warped bands of steel that gave it a wave like appearance and a sharp edge, something perfect for his style and tastes. Over and over again, day by day and night by night he strived to become the perfect assassin to make his mentor proud, exhausting the last bit of his energy to dedicate to making his skills on point. He and the older toskal proceeded to travel to the black market several times. He was no longer looked down upon by the guards, and became well friends with a butcher at the market, who to his surprise once he learned the language that he served toskal meat. Many of the surrounding folks at the market looked down at toskals who ate the meat of their own kind, the cannibals, but to be an assassin was to be resourceful and in general already be at the lowest of the low, so why not make a treat out of it. Strangely enough, it tasted better to him than a majority of the other foods he ate, but it cost a heavy fee so often it was limited to celebratory nights only, or so once every moon cycle. A few of the other younger toskals in the market had become friends with him, and every now and then they ran around to cause mischief, only to get caught and nearly killed at times, but it was all part of the fun. After some walking around at the muffled business, they would head off to other, smaller villages and either trade or in special circumstances, be sent out to get a dirty deed done. On most assassinations, Mor’du would be hidden away at a distance in whatever was available; trees, rocks, one time on the edge of a cliff for a trip up to the mountains. A majority of the times his mentor returned unharmed, and at times a cut or two was earned but yet the deed was done. Life on the run wasn’t keen but enough to support them for food in their bellies and places to rest and up bright and early, leaving before the vengeful toskals discovered their tracks and ran after them.

One day after leaving the black market, Mor’du and his mentor were sent on a mission to assassinate a toskal who was said to live out in a nearby forest. A nearby vendor was furious for their actions and sent the both of them to get the job done. Mor’du began to scout for the camp and made note of trails, tracks, scents, and any signs of habitation that any toskals could leave within the vicinity. He brought his findings back to his mentor, a small camp off the shore of a small creek with a small tent and a campfire. The camp in general was poorly built and looked almost as if it was torn apart by some monster, but there was for sure fresh tracks that pointed to a present habitation of the site. Before that night, both Mor’du and his mentor had a camp setup roughly a mountain size away, enjoying their last cup of tea before their plan. Tonight would be one of the first times that Mor’du would actively participate in an assassination, and the first time he would witness the cruel beginnings of murder at his very own hands.

Late at night when the moon was only half full, Mor’du and his mentor set off to hide nearby the camp. There was a rough trail that led to the small tent next to the stream, suddenly quiet and numb. As they proceeded through the brush, the familiar sound of snoring began to slowly echo throughout the trees, ringing their sounds back to the very spot their target lay. As they reached the area, their campfire was out and they were wrapped up in a thin hide that although not much, was enough to keep them warm throughout the entire night. As they snuck closer, his mentor went in front of him and began to sneak through the camp, knife in hand ready to strike at any second. As he was about to sneak into the tent, a rumble was made behind him followed by an alpha female leaping out of the tree and onto his shoulders. He let out a yelp which alerted the other in the tent, as he sprung up to meet the eyes of Mor’du. His heart suddenly skipped a beat in a sudden panic as he reached for his blade. His instincts screamed for him to run away, especially at his young age, but he stood his ground and bared his teeth. The other tosk leaped for him, missing by an inch as Mor’du leapt away. He remained low and continued to roll, block, and dodge the clumsy toskal. He could tell he had some skill, but nothing compared to what his mentor had prepared him for. Mor’du glanced over to see his mentor facing off with the stranger,  watching as the dark viscous liquid began to weep from the females eyes. Something picked at his mind but was quickly caught off guard by the male toskal, thrown to the ground and nearly knocking the wind out of him. He quickly got up to his feet using the balance of his tail and buried his claws deep into the ground. Before the male toskal could give himself a moment to regain himself Mor’du leapt and with a single swipe, felt the clean cut of warm blood spray onto his face and furthermore onto his knife, watching as the toskal in front of him looked deep into his eyes with longing love and hatred, and fell to the ground grasping his throat in awe and horror. Mor’du collapsed next to him, drained of his energy but despite his condition forced his screaming legs to stand. He watched as the male struggled until finally he was past his knees and on the ground. His eyes struggled to remain aware of where he was, frantically looking for any hope of his savior. As Mor’du observed him, he noticed a deep and protruding scar from the base of the toskals arm, tilting his head at the strange familiarity that brought him to a lonely clearing in his head, blank and dull from the years past. He shook his head and looked over in time to see the female toskal let out a shriek as she grasped her gut. Warm blood poured from the wound but she held her ground. She had managed to break his mentors arm and break his snout along the way with a stone as a last resort. He ran over to help his mentor up as he stared into the female's eyes. What he saw in them was something he would never forget. The female had eyes just like him, and with fading hues returning to her normal gaze, he felt the weight of lost love and confusion, and watched as she collapsed and smiled in her dying breath.

Mor’du’s thoughts began to collect as soon as he realized what he had done. There was fresh blood on his hands, his blood soaked knife at his side. He looked over to see the male’s face blank with a look of loss in his eyes, and looked back to the female to see her demeanor more comforting, which was all the more unsettling considering her unfortunate death. He stood and wondered what had been so familiar. Why was he questioning himself like this? Letting his thoughts race, he quickly grabbed one of the hides within the tent and cut a piece off, placing it on his mentor's wounds that bled throughout the following hours, leaving him weak and exhausted. Despite Mor’du having his own wounds and lucky to get out alive, he was too busy muttering about his mistake. He knew what he had done, and began to remember his life before, a deep look of sheer horror strewn upon his face. His mentor, barely conscious, was curious about his behavior but realized that he would have the chance to discuss his findings as soon as they were able to settle for the night. Wrapping himself in a bloodied hide, he closed his eyes and fell into an unwary sleep, proceeding to have torturous nightmares that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

He woke up to the classic day. With the pack his mentor brought for themselves, he made a small cup of tea for each of them to sip. His wounds began to sting after the numbness wore off, and his body ached, most of all, his head pounded with the regrets of last nights assassination.  They sat quietly, surrounding a small fire to not provide heat, but to bring atmosphere to their situation. They both looked down, every then and again his mentor wincing at his own wounds as he shifted his position to adjust to the throbbing pain in his muscles.

“??????, I think.. Those may have been my parents.” He finally said, a grim look in his eyes. His mentor looked up with shock, and quickly glanced away. “Yeah.. I know.” His mentor said, keeping his tone low and quiet in hopes that there was a chance Mor’du wouldn’t understand him. Mor’du leapt up from his seat despite the pain, teeth bared and anger plastered on his face. “So if you knew, why did you bring me along then!?” He yelled, feeling built up rage in his chest, close to letting out a thundering crash of insults and accusations.

“I wasn’t sure at first.” He replied, lowering his head. “I’ve only seen them a few times at the market but nothing more, and your father doesn’t bear much close resemblance to your fur, your “mother” on the other hand though.. I had no idea she was there.” He muttered, looking farther away once more. Mor’du sat and let his emotion go, realizing that his argument wouldn’t make any good in their situation right now. His throat screamed to cry but he forced himself to keep it together and look ahead. He glanced over at the graves of the bodies, heaving himself upwards and walking to the stones placed atop, resting his hand on each one for a split second before beckoning himself away. “I wonder what they were like..” He frowned, turning back to face the fire.

It had been a long day. They remained at the camp they took shelter in as his mentor's wounds were too great of a risk to travel so abruptly with the circumstances. He was weak and though regaining his strength, was convinced by Mor’du to stay one more night to ensure the tears through his skin wouldn’t reopen and bleed out as they had done that day after he tried to walk around the tents. As Mor’du fell asleep, he noticed his mentor up and packing, although he should be resting, Mor’du was too exhausted to get up and assure him regarding his wounds, slowly falling into a deep sleep that he wouldn’t wake to until the next morning.

When Mor’du woke up, he glanced around for his mentor. It was getting close to mid day and the hide he slept in began getting too warm for comfort. He rose from his spot and rubbed his eyes, hoping to get a better perspective of the world around him. As he looked up, he soon realized his mentor was gone, and in his place was a note. Scrambling to his knees, he crawled over the rough dirt to grasp the  thin paper note, reading it aloud;

“Mor’du. I believe it has come time for me to part ways. You were a great apprentice, and I appreciate your work in this last mission. I understand my wounds are still fresh, but I have a long distance to go on proceeding with my life career. I hope you read this to understand that one day, all of us must grow up. Your time to find yourself is coming soon and I can no longer help you beyond that. You will not find me at the black market any longer. My joints are becoming too rough to keep up with the back and forth treks to partake in that dangerous facade. Please know I’m doing this for your sake. I hope to run into you one day, and discover the path you decide to take. 

Good luck, and be the best you can out there.

-xxxxxxx”

Mor’du clenched the note in his hand, tears running down his face from his eyes, the world turning a dark purple as the blood soaked tears began filling his mind, eventually erasing all reason and leading him towards a purpose of rage and vengeance. He packed up everything he had into a small bag, and paid one more visit to the graves of his parents, before taking off down the trail to the unknown, a fierce determination burning in his eyes as he disappeared beyond the hill, his mentor looking after him from the distant trees in the background, until finally slipping out of sight for the last time.