Korish the Forsaken

(Notes before you read: For those unfamiliar with Vah Shir society and/or the game EverQuest, there are a few things that are are good to know...
1. There are five castes in Vah Shir society:
Jharin: Bardic loremasters who have the power to weave magic into their compositions.

Taruun: Scouts, in other societies their skills might give them the title "Thief" or "Rogue" but in Vah Shir society, this is not so.

Khati Sha: The "beastlords" as they are called by the other races. The Vah Shir originated this art and ability. They wield a small bit of magic. They serve as explorers.

Khala Dun: The warrior caste, they are the mainstay of the army of Shar Vahl (capital city).

Dar Khura: Spiritual leaders, in the literal sense. They use the spirits of the land and creatures in their weaving of magic. They tend to play advisory roles and are reknowned for their wisdom in Vah Shir society.

2. The beings in the story are anthropomorphic felidae. )

Towering walls of stone, with cracked mortar, rose up to vaulting arches shrouded in shadow. Torches sputtered in their sconces, giving off an eerie, ghostly light that made its solemn dance across the rough stone. Without, the storm shrieked - tearing at the crumbling keep with rending claws. Deeply booming, it howled its fury at the insolence of the crypt-like fortress. The stout stone walls, built generations ago, defied the wind and denied it entry.

A lone being, so deeply buried in depthless thoughts and ancient manuscripts, traced richly colored lines... unaware of the battle without. He sighed and carefully placed his quill, with ink stained paw, into the inkwell. By flickering candlelight he surveyed his work. Brilliant illuminations crawled across the parchment... gallant Khala Dun, with curved blades forged of righteous acrylia... fiendish creatures sneering wickedly, fangs glinting with flesh-searing venom... Khati Sha, roaring in fury and hatred, standing over fallen companions... sinister beings of shadow moving to consume the souls of the fallen... treacherous humans, with cursed blades, gleaming with cooling life-blood... embattled, they fought, blades singing out against the darkness, the howls of fury and death, mimicking that which raged without.

Amidst such turmoil, while defenders lay besieged within and out, a lone knock sounds on the door, rumbling to the very bowls of the border-keep, the pounding reaches the Khati Sha, the foretelling pouring forth from his quill. He pauses and listens, the booming sounds again, echoing throughout the fortress. The Khati Sha douses the candle, carefully sealing parched manuscript in leather case, and trudges up the winding stair, each step resounding off the tomb-fort's scarred and pitted walls. Stealing past darkened halls and deep shadow, the Khati Sha ascends from the depths. The walls echo silence, the knocking ceases. The massive doors, built from wood not of this time, but of an age long ago, stand on brazen hinges, giant in their proportion. The brace is lifted; whirring mechanisms hum softly from unseen depths. The doors groan, bespeaking their outrage. The storm seeing it's chance, tears into the keep, breaking the deathly silence and ravishing tapestries undisturbed for ages. The Khati Sha braces himself, staring defiantly about the arched entryway before the doors. A small movement catches his eye, a slight shift of piled rags resting in a small alcove. He glances down; a sudden weariness comes over him. Ignoring the shrieks of the howling specters that blow about him, he presses forward through the biting rain. Approaching the sodden scraps of cloth, he hears the faint, halting breaths of life. Carefully pulling the soiled garments away, he reveals a young kitt. Sodden and bedraggled, the small male glances up defiantly, daring the Khati Sha to come closer. Quaking as cold fingers of wind and rain drew their claws across his fur, the young kitt shakes feverishly. Concern sweeping over him, the Khati Sha removes his thick cloak and drapes it about the young male. Warily, the kitt stares into the eyes of the Khati Sha, seemingly gazing into his very soul. A moment passes; the kitt glances away, accepting the Khati Sha. He attempts to stand, unsteady legs give no support and he collapses to the slick stone. Breathing heavily, the young male makes another attempt, but to no avail. The Khati Sha lifts him effortlessly; the small kitt glances up in outrage, which melts into cold acceptance of his fate. The Khati Sha carries the kitt into the fortress, stepping past the threshold. At the click of an obscure mechanism, the doors slowly begin to seal themselves once more. Grabbing a lighted torch, the Khati Sha recedes back into the depths of the fortress, carrying the young kitt. The screaming winds howl out their fury at the loss of their prey, and the deep booms of its war drums sound again as the wind throws itself at the decrepit keep once more.

-Record from the Log of Animist Poren

Thus was I found and given to the order of the Khati Sha. Thus did my life begin. I live only to serve others, and in so doing I attempt to drive back the shadow, the wind, and the rain.

-Korish the Forsaken