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Description

My story is a...interesting one.

I was once part a giant herd of goats that ranged through the great Mountains and across Great Plains. We were once a great herd, who valued peace and knowledge above all else. We saw no use in weapons or fighting.

But the thing about peace is that it has no effect on those who choose not to use it.

Our leaders soon grew paranoid and feared for the survival of our herd, they decided it was time to fight.

For generations, goats were trained to be as ruthless and bloodthirsty as the predators we once feared. The use of magic which was once sacred and spiritual, become nothing more than a tool of destruction.

This is where I come in.

I was born in at the peak of our war effort, from the moment I could walk I was trained in the ways of war. I had mastered the art of fire magic by the time I was eight and became ruthless with a sword by twelve.

But despite my ruthless upbringing, I had a friend…

Patch.

Named due to the black patch of fur over his left eye, Patch was unlike any of the other warriors in our division. He was friendly and kind with a warmth and charisma to him. He was still skilled as a fighter but even as we jogged laps up mountains for our daily exercise, he did so with a smile.

Maybe that’s why he was singled out as a victim.

Our herd had reached a point where no weakness could be tolerated, goats like Patch were their biggest concern. It was Patch seemed to soft and kind despite having fought in many battles and won all of them.

One night, not long after we had arrived at a new location our leaders told me and Patch to do a routine check of our area, we wandered out into the hills until we reached the top of the tallest one. This hill was gigantic and once you climbed up the sloping side and reached the top on the other side was just a vertical cliff. This was also when we realised a storm was brewing, the winds were getting faster and stronger and a giant mess of black clouds were steadily approaching. Realising that it was dangerous to stay up here in this weather Patch and I decided to go back down. But before we could we were ambushed by a group of black clad warriors. Despite their efforts to hide their identities we quickly discovered that these assassins where from our own herd!

Angered and disgusted by this me and Patch fought valiantly, we took out as many of these mooks we could. But Patch was caught off-guard by one of the warriors who tackled him to the ground. Patch was able to flip his attacker off him and send him careening to his death off the vertical cliff. But Patch also slid over the edge, but he managed to grad hold of a tree root before he could fall.

When I had taken care of the last of the attackers I ran to help him I reached out and grabbed his hand as I leant over the cliffs edge. But before I could pull him back up a sword that belonged to one of the attackers was picked up by the howling winds and flew in our direction. Patch yelled out a warning, but as turned around the sword hit me straight in the face tearing off a chunk of my ear and blinding me permanently in my left eye.

But the worst part was when I opened my eye again, the impact had caused me to let go of Patch and he was falling into the clouds below me. No amount of screaming from both of us could do anything.

I don’t remember what happened after that, I must have fainted. All I remember is waking up the next morning back on the hill. I raced down the mountain to the bottom of the cliff. After searching for a while, I found him…

Despite my hopes that he had somehow survived, I knew deep down that there was no way Patch could have survived the fall. Seeing him lying there, dead still and lifeless it broke me. I had lost comrades in battles before, but he was my friend.

In that moment I realised the truth.

Our herd no longer cared about keeping watch over its members and protecting each other. It just cast one of its members to his death.

We had lost sight of what a herd is supposed to be.

In that moment I knew I could never return to the herd, not after what they’d done. After cremating Patch’s body I plunged my sword into the earth I wandered into the distant woods never to return.

I walked for days, never stopping or resting until finally I was found by the most unexpected of allies. Back many generations ago when our herd began the warpath some of our members felt it was wrong to betray our integrity and ran away. The had become nomadic druids who lived in the distant woods. When the saw what I had been through they took me in and nursed me back to health. I spent many years living with them and they taught me everything they had learnt about magic. I learnt to become one with the fire and use as an extension of my own body and soul. Until finally I had mastered the most powerful art of combining spirit of magic. I could summon the souls of my ancestors in the form of giant flaming skulls and when combined with my fire magic I could unleash unspeakable power.

It’s been many years since I left the druids to find my purpose in the world, I still haven’t found it but there’s no rush I suppose.

I’m older now and not as fit as I used to be, but I’m just grateful that I no longer have to fight in pointless wars.

In the words of Gamora from Guardians of the Galaxy, “whatever nightmares await me in the future are dreams compared to what’s behind me”

Description

My story is a...interesting one.

I was once part a giant herd of goats that ranged through the great Mountains and across Great Plains. We were once a great herd, who valued peace and knowledge above all else. We saw no use in weapons or fighting.

But the thing about peace is that it has no effect on those who choose not to use it.

Our leaders soon grew paranoid and feared for the survival of our herd, they decided it was time to fight.

For generations, goats were trained to be as ruthless and bloodthirsty as the predators we once feared. The use of magic which was once sacred and spiritual, become nothing more than a tool of destruction.

This is where I come in.

I was born in at the peak of our war effort, from the moment I could walk I was trained in the ways of war. I had mastered the art of fire magic by the time I was eight and became ruthless with a sword by twelve.

But despite my ruthless upbringing, I had a friend…

Patch.

Named due to the black patch of fur over his left eye, Patch was unlike any of the other warriors in our division. He was friendly and kind with a warmth and charisma to him. He was still skilled as a fighter but even as we jogged laps up mountains for our daily exercise, he did so with a smile.

Maybe that’s why he was singled out as a victim.

Our herd had reached a point where no weakness could be tolerated, goats like Patch were their biggest concern. It was Patch seemed to soft and kind despite having fought in many battles and won all of them.

One night, not long after we had arrived at a new location our leaders told me and Patch to do a routine check of our area, we wandered out into the hills until we reached the top of the tallest one. This hill was gigantic and once you climbed up the sloping side and reached the top on the other side was just a vertical cliff. This was also when we realised a storm was brewing, the winds were getting faster and stronger and a giant mess of black clouds were steadily approaching. Realising that it was dangerous to stay up here in this weather Patch and I decided to go back down. But before we could we were ambushed by a group of black clad warriors. Despite their efforts to hide their identities we quickly discovered that these assassins where from our own herd!

Angered and disgusted by this me and Patch fought valiantly, we took out as many of these mooks we could. But Patch was caught off-guard by one of the warriors who tackled him to the ground. Patch was able to flip his attacker off him and send him careening to his death off the vertical cliff. But Patch also slid over the edge, but he managed to grad hold of a tree root before he could fall.

When I had taken care of the last of the attackers I ran to help him I reached out and grabbed his hand as I leant over the cliffs edge. But before I could pull him back up a sword that belonged to one of the attackers was picked up by the howling winds and flew in our direction. Patch yelled out a warning, but as turned around the sword hit me straight in the face tearing off a chunk of my ear and blinding me permanently in my left eye.

But the worst part was when I opened my eye again, the impact had caused me to let go of Patch and he was falling into the clouds below me. No amount of screaming from both of us could do anything.

I don’t remember what happened after that, I must have fainted. All I remember is waking up the next morning back on the hill. I raced down the mountain to the bottom of the cliff. After searching for a while, I found him…

Despite my hopes that he had somehow survived, I knew deep down that there was no way Patch could have survived the fall. Seeing him lying there, dead still and lifeless it broke me. I had lost comrades in battles before, but he was my friend.

In that moment I realised the truth.

Our herd no longer cared about keeping watch over its members and protecting each other. It just cast one of its members to his death.

We had lost sight of what a herd is supposed to be.

In that moment I knew I could never return to the herd, not after what they’d done. After cremating Patch’s body I plunged my sword into the earth I wandered into the distant woods never to return.

I walked for days, never stopping or resting until finally I was found by the most unexpected of allies. Back many generations ago when our herd began the warpath some of our members felt it was wrong to betray our integrity and ran away. The had become nomadic druids who lived in the distant woods. When the saw what I had been through they took me in and nursed me back to health. I spent many years living with them and they taught me everything they had learnt about magic. I learnt to become one with the fire and use as an extension of my own body and soul. Until finally I had mastered the most powerful art of combining spirit of magic. I could summon the souls of my ancestors in the form of giant flaming skulls and when combined with my fire magic I could unleash unspeakable power.

It’s been many years since I left the druids to find my purpose in the world, I still haven’t found it but there’s no rush I suppose.

I’m older now and not as fit as I used to be, but I’m just grateful that I no longer have to fight in pointless wars.

In the words of Gamora from Guardians of the Galaxy, “whatever nightmares await me in the future are dreams compared to what’s behind me”