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My name is Dayne Rorgonath. I was Duke of the village of Gonath. That is until I became a werewolf...
Gonath was a hidden village to the southeast of Schnai made up mostly of human men, women and children, although every rare once in a while we would have an elf, half-elf, or seraph come visit for trade business or whatnot with the nearby cities. I was the head honcho, lord, king, ring-leader, duke, boss, whatever you might call it--I took care of things. I was son of the previous lord Durion, and when he died eight years ago, he made me the village ruler. This was not a self-proclaimed position, or given by any 'noble birth' or royal bloodline, but rather it was given to my family because of our strength in battle and our rare magical tendencies, usually only taught to a shaman family. Anyway, I oversaw everything around Gonath. It was a small village, and we mostly kept to ourselves, not wanting to deal with the ongoing war between Sigil and Caladonia. We were a neutral village, strong to our farming and battle-hardened senses. If anything, I would say some of us worshipped the war god Ares. He was more our type of God. Battle was neither good nor evil, it just was, and we loved it...Atleast that's what we thought.
One day during the week-long eclipse, our village was raided by a band of duergar and mean spider-looking beasts. We barely managed to survive their forceful onslaught, yet we prevailed over their dark militia. We knew though, that this was just the first wave of their attack, so we did what we could and gathered our families and the supplies that we were able to carry in wagons, and we traveled to the hidden Elf village north of Gnomebarrow. The elves from there always had a friendly relationship with us, and we were hoping that they would be able to harbor us until we found a safer location to rebuild Gonath. Unfortunately, we ended up coming to the high gates of Gnomebarrow at night time when we were unable to enter. Taking a risk, our village guide, who thought he knew a safe way around the gates, tracked us through some dark woods out along the city outskirts. This was a mistake I will never live to forget.
We did our best to stay quiet with our wagons while traveling through the woods outside of Gnomebarrow. Yet, I guess we weren't quiet enough. The path had gotten darker and hard to detect. We couldn't see too well. Even our guide was having troubles. Fear welled up in my chest. Looking around nothing seemed amiss, and then we heard a branch snap in the distance. At first we couldn't see anything. Then slowly appearing through the thick barrage of trees was a pair of large yellow eyes. Shortly following was a low guttaral rumble that resonated throughout the black night. As soon as we had our swords drawn, eight large werebeasts leaped out from the trees and ambushed us. I was able to slay one of the large, foul creatures, but they were coming faster than any of us were able to kill them. Before I knew it, most of my men had been ripped to shreds, the women and children had run screaming into the woods chased by a couple of the garou, and I was severely wounded on my left side by one of the larger beasts, and was close to death. I had no choice. Truly, I had no choice...
With trembling hands I raised the small swirly beaker to my lips. The warm fizzy liquid ran down my throat like a saving touch from the havens. In the blink of an eye, before I could look upon my falling people, I was floating in the clouds above the free city Highport. What was this potion that my father had given me?
At first I was unsure of what to do up in the clouds, but then I saw that I could lower myself down to the town square by carefully stepping off the wispy cloud. I was definately disoriented. This wasn't the first time I had been to Highport, but it was still not a familiar place, especially in the state I was in. Luckily, I knew my way around enough to find the local clinic. I dragged myself, half-dead, through the clinic doors and then blacked out.
When I woke up, I noticed that I was amazingly refreshed. The doctors there really did a good job of healing me. I was still tender on my side, but it was hardly anything considering the extent of the wound the night before. They were worried that I wouldn't pull through, but I guess something inside me just had to keep going.
At first everything seemed to be normal, well atleast as normal as could be expected considering what had happened. But after a couple days I began to notice that my appetite had grown intense and my senses of smell and sight were heightened ten fold. I was now beginning to see at night and smell people far away, and I was craving meat more than I ever had before. It seemed more like a blessing than a curse to begin with, then after a week the blood moon eclipse ended and the sky was lit up by a full moon. That was when I realized what I had become.
The moon made me mad! I went into a fleshrending frenzy and started killing the locals, I even began to kill the doctors that saved my life. No one was able to stop me. I was foaming at the mouth and my teeth had grown razor sharp as well as my fingernails--they had turned into knife-like claws. In my head I was scared of what I was doing and what I had become, but through my body I had no control over my intense growing hunger for flesh. I ripped apart dozens of innocent Highport residents that night, and yet I felt no remorse. When the blood-feast and the night was over I howled my last goodbyes to the people of Gonath and to my old life, and then I ran to the cover of the Southbeach Woods to begin my new one...as a werewolf.