I have greyish tinged fur, styled in the traditional vermin warrior style (spiked mane down the back of my neck, white paint spots under my eyes). I wear tan breeches and a tie-around shirt with a black belt and carry a knife, waterskin, and javelin with me at all times. My shoulders are thick-set as are all wildcats. I don't talk about myself much, but I can tell you that I without a flinch that I hate all goodbeasts and look forward to the day when they are no longer around. I consider myself a fair friend to have, but I enjoy my solitude now. I was actually born and raised in forest land. My parents are still alive and so are my brothers and my sister. I struck out on my own with my good friend Rhoko - a wolf - when I was 16 seasons. We joined up with a bunch of foxes and weasels to earn some money and have some fun. We raided a few farms and stole food and clothes and whiskey. Yeah...those were the days. We didn't kill beasts because we saw no reason to when if we just threatened them they'd give us some of their goodies. I never thought what I did was a bad thing - I mean - none of us were really capable of chopping up dirt and trying to grow stuff, so we borrowed a bit from the beasts that could - kinda to even things up ya know? Anyway, so this one day we're just walking along and suddenly this group of otters and mice and badgers all jump us - and squirrels with arrows from the trees. I think I got hit, but I still don't remember quite right. What I do remember, though, was Rhodo goin' down. One otter cut him in the legs and then a badger ran him through from behind. He hadn't a chance. None of us really did. We were out-numbered four to one. When Rhodo went down, it was over for me despite the fact that arrows were still nicking my ears and beasts were still hacking down our companions. I kind of half kneeled, half fell next to him. I remember thinking he'd make it - I mean - he was my best friend - I didn't want him to die. All he could do was look at me with wide eyes and choke slowly on his own blood until his eyes finally...glazed over...but I kept his head up and kept telling him he'd be okay even though he was past hearing. I think that's all I want to say about that. The rest of my life's pretty much been a waste until I came upon that otter in the forest. I found purpose in killing off one of Rhodo's killers. I thought, if I keep rubbin' out goodbeasts, there's less of a chance that what happened to Rhodo and the others will happen again. Curse their blood flecked hides. I'm a fighter, Don't bug me and don't get in my way and you'll be all right. Brute force, and Axe-pike inforce my law. I'm pretty good at tracking other beasts too - and food. I've just got a good Artian nose I guess.