#thundermod

Twenty-five followers. Aw yeah. I'll have to do something special for you guys. I don't know what though.

            Once upon a time, in a world far away from ours. There lived a young man, he trudged through his life, knowing no rhyme or reason to his world. His life was chaotic and constantly putting his life in danger. Wild beasts, other people, and even the plants were out to get him. No this young man had no true escapes from this world. His fate was to be conquered eventually, and he knew this.

              His name was Grang, but in a world where speaking your name gives you a moment of weakness he has long since said it. His race towers high above him, a runt that should have been culled, he fought to survive. From birth his life has been nothing but hardship, his will to survive brought his chief a small bit of respect and let him feed amongst the other children until he was old enough to begin hunting himself. However unlike the other children if he failed he had no food that day.

              Grang was forced to become frenzied like a beast, time and time again to actually get his food, he would hunt absolutely anything he could. The vermin of his world at first, until he was so well versed at catching them, he could move onto larger prey. Slowly his frenzied state became a willed nature, meaning he could fly into a blind rage that would make him think more like a beast than a man.  When he was about twelve cycles old, Grang got his first taste of his tribe's blood.

               Grang was never accepted by the other children, far from it. The other children were always taller than he, stronger and they always teased him about it. No, there was nothing he could do about it but it always made him so angry. After twelve cycles he got fed up with it. He challenged the son of the chief to one on one combat, the outcast of the tribe versus the mightiest bloodline in the tribe. No one thought Grang would win, only that the scrawny child would finally die.

               For Grang this is where he would finally be accepted, honor was much in the tribe. Killing one of higher status meant you gained that status yourself, no matter how outcast you were. So long as you were still born of that tribe, you could challenge you way up. Though so often this law was often forgone because the mighty blood of the higher ranks were large, strong and fearsome foes. None wanted anything to do with such brutal fights.

               Grang was the first challenger in thirteen cycles, the last challenger had been Grang's father to the chief of their tribe. Grang knew this, he didn't go a day without knowing it. Grang's blood was the second strongest, though it was thought that his father's weakness cursed Grang to his stature. It made him physically less powerful but his mind was always working in overdrive. He could see what his opponent was going to do, three steps ahead of him. The fight was over in one quick knife swipe. Grang avoided spear jab, and spear jab as if he were a leaf on the wind, ducking and weaving. Before his knife met flesh, sundering the very pipe that allowed the child to breathe.

               The victory was an upset, Grang won, in a single blow no less. It was disconcerting to their ways, and instead of taking heir of the tribe. The chief feared the young boy and exiled him, to find his own territory. To never again see his people, lest he be hunted down like a dog. That day Grang truly became an outcast. Not a tribe outcast but completely irrevocably he was alone. no one to stand with him, ever again.

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