Awakening

Here The Wanderer laid, at the start of his journey. It had all began with the taste of grime, stuck upon the lips of a half-dressed man in a crater-like ditch. He gasped in a breath of air as he came into the world, born anew without memories of his life prior to that very breath. The Wanderer had no name in his mind, no face to attribute himself to, no family or friends that he could recall. He shook his head and brushed as much of the dirt out of his mane of hair that he could scoop out with his hands. Here he was, in the middle of a smoldering hole in the ground, almost nothing to call his own. Suddenly however, something did happen to pop forth: a memory. He was a Gunslinger. He was of a class of warrior that was widely chastised for its jack-of-all trades, master-of-none style and its steep learning curve for what many considered a weapon not worth the effort. 

He shook his head again, as if trying to restart his mind and to rattle forth any loose memories around in his skull. As expected it did little in effect, but one more thing revealed itself. There was a visage of a house, and with it he remembered the city it was contained within: Silverbank. He took a glance about to gauge where he was, but found no familiar qualities to the lands before him. Behind him, just beyond the scorched earth he seemed to have previously napped in, there were a series of broken trees that lead up to where he now was. Otherwise his surroundings was that of an intact forest that perpetuated for the remainder of seeable area around him. A swift breeze chillingly tickled his skin, forcing goose bumps forth as the wind caressed carefully around him and lightly through his shoulder-length hair and full, scruffy beard. He palmed at his right hip where he supposed a Gunslinger's holster would be, but found nothing. Even though his memories of how he became a Gunslinger were missing, it still severely discomforted him to be without his weapon and to be in the world without a means to defend himself. 

He tried for now to not be too bothered by the absence of his revolver. He supposed the first place to look for both his revolver and his memories were where his mind had pointed him to: the town of Silverbank. His concentration upon its picturing was broken quickly as he heard the hollering of what was a either a low voiced woman or a very effeminate sounding man. With the break in his thoughts The Wanderer decided to pursue after the sound that so violently pierced his ears. Trudging through forest barefoot had left him less than comfortable, but there seemed to be something about his senses of pain that seemed to be dulled in general. He stepped over rocks, spiders, and whatever else in his search for whoever was making the ruckus. Eventually he found a crouching figure as it wailed without restraint, a Raptor. Strangely enough when the Raptorian man spotted him, the man stopped right in his tracks, ceasing his noise making immediately.  

The thoughts in The Wanderer's head reassessed for him what the man's race was before him. The Raptors were from the island known as "The Nest" (it was truly called something unpronounceable by those who weren't Raptors) in the Tongue of the Nomad, which was the common language of most of the world. These people, the Raptors, were similar in respect to birds as Humans were similar in respect to apes. Raptors shared commonalities in appearance and had some of the same evolutionary ancestors as birds, but they aren't exactly birds just as Humans aren't exactly apes. That being said, the bird-like man before him gave The Wanderer a very disappointed expression. It seemed quite quick for the man to switch from screaming in utter terror to gazing upon The Wanderer like he was a cockroach that skittered into the man's kitchen. 

"Of all the help I could get, another damned pigskin-ape - a homeless one at that. Don't even have the decency for a shirt let alone a Gods' damned shower. By the Four, why do you curse me with these damned people!" the Raptor man said to the sky with unhidden disdain. The Wanderer cocked a brow at the man's open racism and seeming distress otherwise. He hadn't remembered much about his past, but it was easy to remember how a world like Tellus worked. It was a dangerous place, the world that The Wanderer lived in. There were quarrels between the races, violence everywhere, corruption, plague, and difficulties abound. It was a world in which things weren't as they seemed often times and in the same vein, things might be exactly as one sees it and you had to be careful to not overly assume otherwise. There were many if not infinite cases where evil people seemed good and good people seemed evil.