"While nobody would ever confuse these creature with the cats of our world, they do in fact share a common ancestry. The Veilstorms not only increased their intelligence, they also made the Cait Sith far more powerful then their generally lithe bodies might indicate. They are also blessed with incredibly good memories; making them adept historians. Cait Sith are fiercely unforgiving to those that seek to harm them or their kin. They distrust most of the other races, even humans, yet Arthur holds a special place in their hearts. Any Cait Sith would happily lay down its life for Arthur and those dear to him."
Cait Sith Lore
"Younglings of Clan Kellas, gather around me to hear another tale of our people; there will be plenty of time to play furball afterwards, before the setting of the yellow orb. Today’s tale centers on how we evolved, aided by the Great Storms, from pets and helpers of the Furless ones to the perfection of our current form. As future leaders of our clan, always remember that those who do not know their own past will never be able to truly understand the future, so sit patiently and learn from this tale.
When the storms first lashed through this world, our ancestors were barely as large as our newlings and they walked upon four paws in the manner of food. Many of us lived in the wild, though others of us lived amongst the Furless, assisting them, comforting them and sadly, taking our food from their hands. It is for this reason that we will never take food from another’s hand, even if offered in friendship, for doing so implies subservience.
As the power of the Great Storms changed our land, so too did they change us. Over turnings of the world too numerous to count, we slowly grew in stature and intellect. Our minds were the first to exhibit the change and we awakened to things beyond the world of sights, smells and simple thoughts. Sadly though, as we gained intelligence, the Furless became ever more suspicious of us and of our ultimate intentions. Long-told stories of us as evil beings, stealers of souls and other such lies became accepted as truth.
With their world crumbling around them, the Furless needed someone to blame for the disaster and as we had also grown in stature, many of the Furless vented their rage on us. We were driven even from the rubble of their homes, and hunted for sport. As a sign of their so-called superiority, they wore our beautiful fur and skin stripped from our slain.
Faced with our own extinction we did what any rational beings would do, we fled deeper into the Changing Lands (where the storms were strongest). Many of us died on this pilgrimage and to this day and till the end of all seasons, we will honor those that died on that journey. We still hold our Midnight Lament on the anniversary of our journey’s end.
When we reached the heart of the storms, we saw that we were mostly alone in a land that we could not recognize by sight or smell and we deemed it a good place to stop and lick our wounds. Fueled by the power of the storms within this area, our ancestors’ alterations accelerated and we soon became upright and gained the claw of clutching (referred to by the Furless as an opposable thumb) and even greater intelligence.
Within but a few seasons we became the most feared predator in these lands. We hunted and killed what we needed for food and put the suffering out of their misery, yet we never hunted for sport, for that is the way of the Furless and we abhor it.
As the fury of the storms abated, our kind began to disseminate into what remained of the world. Without the power of the storms, the Changing Lands were no longer suited for hunters such as us. Unfortunately, when we did so we began to encroach upon the territory of our former subjugators. Observing the changes wrought upon us by the storms served to reinforce their fear and hatred of us. We quickly fell to them as we lacked their armor, weapons and strange magic.
Once again we were forced to flee and we did so, back into the Changing Lands. Devoid of a home, our males were furious at what they perceived as cowardice and they argued for fighting to the very last. By this time though, the males were greatly outnumbered by the females of our kind. It was then that Moireach, whose bloodline was pure, took charge of our clan and our race. She used her cleverness, not just her claws, to lead us down a new path over the coming turnings.
Life was hard for a time yet over the many seasons, through guile and cleverness, we learned much about the Furless; their magic and technologies. Our society evolved and soon we were strong again. Moireach told us of a dream she once had before the coming of the storms, of a Furless who was lost in the world. In that dream she saw that he was both a victim and a leader, both weak and strong and that his life was going to be in our paws. During the dream there was a great storm and as his life hung in the balance, she woke up. She told us to wait for that day and so we did, patiently, quietly, forever watching the Furless, stalking them without the hunt, awaiting that sign.
And so it came to pass that many seasons later one of Moireach’s female younglings, was out hunting what the Furless call Abominations; our kind calls them the Suffering. This young one had not properly scouted the area and as a result, a simple hunt turned into an ambush. She’d disabled a handful of them when she heard a shout from the nearby woods and a young Furless emerged from the trees and ran as straight as a hunter toward its prey. Thinking that she was the target, she turned her attention to the oncoming Furless and swung her Clawsword at him.
As the youngling tells it, the Furless let out a shout of surprise, ducked the swing, rolled, and ended the suffering of one of the youngling’s attackers. He then bravely engaged the remaining attackers but he found himself quickly overwhelmed and near death. Our youngling then shook her head in consternation and leapt back into the fray to save the Furless’ life. Together they dispatched the other attackers and sat down to clean their wounds, (the Furless didn’t have the decency to offer to clean her wounds as custom dictates) and they eyed each other warily. The Furless identified himself as Arthur and he told her that he had come to this land to hunt abominations and to see if the rumors of “cat people” were true.
Yes, my younglings, he called us “cat people”, a vial phrase that insults both our ancestors and ourselves. Rather than immediately ending Arthur’s life, our youngling was gracious enough to simply stand up, grab a rock and hit him, gently, over his head. She then tied him to his mount and sent him back to his lands. She also left him with a very special scratch as a reminder of his visit. Upon her return home, she shared the story with the rest of the clan and much respect was shown her."
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