Ha! As if any of you weaklings wouldn’t piss yourselves facing the days when dragons were hellbent on breaking a world already broken by war and destruction. Against this, your world’s problems are adorable. Caught up in every fart that pile of mental issues encased in metal armor blows at his better neighbors. And the neighbors, too spineless or too ignorant to make an example out of him and his pig sty of a nation.
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, a harsh world breeds harsher creatures.
A relaxed world breeds idiots.
Back in the years of true terror, where the horizon was overshadowed with the tails of those overgrown lizards, my brethren, the Eldwulves were created by the Titans as guard dogs to their ever growing mass of weaponry and monstrous towers from... lesser creatures. Back then I was a little more willing to do the guarding. We had everything a proper predator needed. Long teeth to rip apart enemies, speed and agility to run down cowards who turned tail. Intelligence to gauge our situations, so our beloved masters didn’t have to do it for us. And, our primary weapons, our twin claws.
Set inside the two first toes of our hind feet, the claws were longer, curved and able to disembowel some of the toughest prey and enemies alike. To keep the claws blade sharp, they were propped upwards off the ground, until the moment they were needed. Our only problem was our size. Of course this sounds foreign to you, we’re dogs who rival your prancing ponies in height. But back in the Vaenngardian world, one side of the war was a writhing mass of angry snakes drunk on chaos who could break mountains with a sneeze. The other side as big with brawn as they were with brains. Our masters towered over us like the trees. In comparison we must’ve seemed like lap dogs.
Nevertheless, Eldwulves were made to serve. And serve we did.
Even as our Titan masters locked us away in vaults to forever guard their precious technology. I was among several hundred others put into one of their underground cells that housed a variety of weapons. Our masters sealed the doors, and my brethren and I settled into it like a tomb. Not knowing it was the last time they would ever see daylight.
In those dark endless centuries, you’d think it would be all a blur.
When the Gods came to their senses and sent the pretty little birds to corral the tantrum throwing lizards and our masters, we waited.
When chaos decided to bite back with throwing beasts of their own to make the birds shit themselves in fear, we panicked in the darkness.
When that bastard King who sold his body and soul for metal and ego began believing all the world was his to own, we tore ourselves asunder… feasting on those we killed.
The vault that was meant to protect the Titans’ lost glory became a bloodbath of brother eating brother. Just to save ourselves from starvation. I myself admit I hesitated at first. But you don’t know true madness until you’ve lived in pitch black darkness for centuries on end, feeling your guts implode from lack of strength, and food. It's a slow descent. And one every single of us broke for. The moment I had my first taste of blood It felt like pure joy. No creature was designed to eat its own race. Then again, no creature was designed to rot and die in a cell of blackness ether. I was disturbed by how much I enjoyed the meat. But as the years passed, so too did my morals. I killed and ate every one of my brothers that wasn’t killed by others. And took the bones of those that were. In those days you either had to become smart to dodge the starving madness of family turned enemies. Or you died. And became their next meal. Because I sacrificed any shred of soul left in me for survival. I got far better at ripping out the throats of those who hadn’t. The cycle repeated endless until only I...was left.
By that time, after devouring every shred of meat on the thousands of bones, I ate the bones. And after that, I slowly became nothing but bone. My ribs showed sharply through my fur and skin, I became weak, too weak to move, too weak to stay awake. But before death could finally take the last Eldwulf from this hellhole, I heard a noise I hadn’t heard in three thousand years. The moving of stone and the opening of doors long shut. For the first time in what felt like eternity milky light washed into an echo of the past. And myself.
I could only mewl like a newborn kitten for help. Unfortunately, they did.
I was hauled out of that damn vault. And I let my lungs fill with foreign air, in a much more foreign world. I was taken back to their city. Or... what looked like a city. It was hard to tell. They didn’t speak a word of the ancient tongue. So one of their... trainers? Slave masters? I call them annoyances, slowly taught me some of their own language. Turns out through all those years the world I knew died. And was replaced with something more pathetic than the raging war I left behind. Grimmgard.
And with it, all the petty races and their petty nations that fought over petty glory.
It just so happens that the nation the vault was buried under was in the land now owned by, Volgoth. A nation that, like the dragons, sought to make themselves everyone else’s problem. For the first year under their care, their whole intention was to teach me their language by teaching me how vastly the world had changed. And how glorious their King and nation was. I admit, I loved being pampered and fed every day like a pet instead of a guard dog. But when I was strong enough to start ‘pulling my weight.’ They took away all the fun and pampering, and replaced it with training me to serve their pitiful hierarchy. I had masters once.
And those masters betrayed me and left me to rot in a pit of blood and darkness. I made sure those damn Volgothans regretted this choice, with the entrails I pulled from their slave masters’ stomachs. And in turned they repaid me. By sending me into a pit of blood and darkness. Where I met their other slaves. The Mazigorns. Ugly and foul smelling, these brain dead crossbred monkey goats held me in place while the Volgoth masters used whips and other fun things to try and beat me in subservience. They tried to interrogate me by using threats and more weapons to make me talk, I only told them to go shove their King’s gauntlet where the sun won’t shine. They tried to latch a saddle on my back and reins on my head to break me into subservience. I laughed, and gave each and every ‘rider’ brain trauma by ramming their skulls into the dirt. And yet every time I did the Mazigorns came with their reply to my antics. I fought them as well. For every one I killed, five more rose up to meet me, like a bunch of toadstools from a new pile of shit.
Eventually after another year I did break. I let their bastard men parade me around their streets atop my back to show off the mighty Eldwulf that bowed to their superior strength and wit. But only until I got to the edge of the city. And devoured my rider’s superior strength by first feasting on his muscles, and then his superior wit by digging into his brain. I tore off into the damp mist of their wilderness before they even realized they lost their prized show pony. Ripping apart that damn saddle and reins and left it behind.
Now here I am, running around a foreign world that was once my own. Everything I knew is gone. And everything I find that replaced it just pisses me off more. Oh well. At least I can feed normally again. And feel the wind on my back. The Volgoths aren’t happy with my treason, I'm sure. And no doubt have sent their men in dog’s clothing to do what they’ve gotten so used to doing, claiming to own what they never did.
I know what you’re thinking, you’re just a severed head of some poor farmer that was out in the woods when the Gods abandoned you by letting you cross my path. Just as they abandoned me by leaving me and my brethren to die in a hole in the ground. But don’t worry... Exodus has arrived, to remind them.”