You have to remember I didn't choose this. I would never have chosen this. It's not my fault I have cloven hooves instead of feet
, and it didn't make me a bad person. It was you, you and your kind, you made me a bad person. You fear anything that's different. My own village feared me once they found out, called me tainted by Chaos
, drove me out of the town with torches and pitchforks
, they did. Well, I'm not one to argue with my old neighbours, especially when they outnumber me fifty-to-one. If they thought I was some kind of Chaos Beast, well, I felt it would be only fair if I lived up to their fears.
I fled to the woods
, and there I found more Mutants
, more of my kind. We lived by scavenging and raiding, mostly, 'til we ended up fighting the Beastmen
. Yes, they killed most of my companions, but when they took me among them when they saw I was part Beast myself, and when they saw how well I fought
, that was when I had to make the decision. It was clear I was never going to make much of a name for myself among them just for what I was - the lack of horns
soon put paid to any illusion I might have had about that. So the best way I could make myself useful to them, make sure I didn't end up on a cooking spit myself, was to lead them to the village and tell them what it had in way of defences and loot
. Turnabout is fair play, after all
. It had been quite clear to me that I was no longer welcome there myself, so what were the people to me? Nothing. Nothing but tasty meat and good loot. Yes, that's right, I ate my own erstwhile neighbours when the fight was done
, or bits of them anyway... Bov the Butcher's shoulder was particularly good, fat and succulent.
Yes, I'm a monster. A monster made by you. You and your kind.