SLAVE TO FREEDOM

[Ozzekiel]

Spoiler: Theme

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Spoiler: Backstory

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It was several thousand years ago when the Klaarha conducted their final spawning ritual within the Es'Penoid Falls. Not even a second after their birth, fresh spawns of the tribe would engage in a life-or-death struggle against the downpour of a large and violent waterfall which submerged the spawned Vortigaunt and trapped them within the currents.

“He falters. Perhaps we should not have delayed the Exodus.”​

The risk of the new-blood succumbing to the plunge pool and dying before they could say their first word was very real. To the tribe, this likelihood of death was the whole meaning of this ritual. The constant roar of the waterfall didn’t offer much visual or audible insight- it masked the entire struggle. Only one way to keep track of the Vortigaunt’s progress existed: the vortessence. With it, the tried vortigaunt’s kinsmen are able to sense whose side the fight favors; they concluded that the currents will take the youngling.

At last, the Elders made an ultimate decision to not delay the ‘Exodus’ any further. Observation of the wrestling match between the waterfall and the stubborn fresh spawn was taking too long- the tribe could not have their precious time wasted over a hopeless weakling. The Kinsmen would begin to tear down their camps and pack their belongings. He was as good as dead anyways.

While the Klaarhan Vortigaunts began to venture off for this 'Exodus' of theirs, a rift in previous rhythms of the Vortessence could be clearly sensed by those still lounging around. The water within the pool viciously thrashed around to the tribe's surprise. They look back to watch the breathless youngling as he confronts the rapids with tooth and claw in order to pull himself from its grasp. Finally out of the deep, he throws himself over onto the bank while he takes in the view to recover before rising up and coming face-to-face with his kin.

"Welcome, young one."
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That following night was a blur. I kindled with my new brethren through the Vortessence and cultural fire dances. They informed me that the tribe, which was a part of a civilization far away, originated from the border between Ooz'Merian and Ralsheck'va. We had embarked on a great exodus towards an unreaped region in the far north. Come morning the tribe surprisingly traveled light on their feet regardless of the distance they have been traveling- and will continue to travel.

After leaving the Falls, the tribe trudged through the marshlands of the rapids in search of food. The Weavers branched off from the hunting "party" in order to collect herbs and fauna, needed incase I was injured while I initiated my first hunt.

Klaarha was a tribe full of The Homeworld's most efficient tough-as-leather trackers, trappers and monster hunters. My first hunt would be one of the most important moments of my life. The roundabout way this hunt would go through was a method of trial and error. Just as they were during the spawning ritual, the rest of the tribe would simply bear witness to the natural qualifications that the Vortigaunt had. Of-course, the Youngling was only thrown out the nest after he had been given a basic rundown of how to track and kill an animal. Other present tribe members offered spears, darts, and the like before I was sent off.

Spears tied around against my back, I lower myself onto all fours and dash through the depths of the marshes- I dug my claws into a tree and clamber up onto a branch. Pausing in order to survey the grounds below, I take notice of a still-standing creature unmasked by the very environment it had been attempting to blend into. Leaping across branches, I prepare a spear into my hands and I start to manipulate the the energy around the weapon for the first time just before shooting it out at the creature.

No- beast. By the time I come into realization of the true size of the creature, the spear had already struck against it. The thing, probably around four times my size, lets out a tremendous roar while the avians of the swamplands flutter away in flocks.

Not akin to the beast's size and roar, however, it scampers off without so much as a fight- to my surprise. I pursue it through the forest of titanic trees, following behind the gentle giant, careful not to lose it to its huge strides. In the distance, the treeline was becoming limited as it became clear the creature had been trying to flee towards more open land— not good.

As the window of opportunity kept getting tighter, I began to lower my altitude until finally reaching a safe height in order to leap off the branches with spear in hand. Leveled along with the beast, up close it was much bigger than anticipated before. I slam the spear down into the beast's tough hide, clinging on for dear life as it charged through the marshes, swinging itself into trees and rocks in order to throw off the predator—me.

I pick into the creature's flesh with my last two spears and crawl through the growing flora on the the creature's back in order to reach its head. Then I hovered a hand over the beast's scalp and unleashed a surge of electricity that would ultimately send it nosediving into the ground, and sending me along with it; next I saw nothing but black.
I come to not too long afterward. Vah'Korrin lowers his hand from my lobe, and I could see again. We sat around the comfort of a gentle, crackling fire. But there was no ode to joy, no ritualistic dance to celebrate my coming as a full-fledged hunter. This place was dark and carried the metallic tang of damp stone.

The rush of adrenaline as I fought for my life,
The cold heavy breeze crashing against my being as I jumped from tree to tree,
The thrill of the hunt,
My freedom,
It was all a fabrication of illusion.
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I was not born thousands of years ago. In truth, it was closer to a hundred. Vah'Korrin was no shaman tending to my injuries, but an elder who on occasion, transcended me from my limiting physical coil. Under the mind-enslaving tyranny of He Who Shall Not Be Named, it was the false memories imparted onto me by Vah'Korrin, a fellow traveler, that helped me find my purpose. I was a lost servant then. Shackles adorn my wrists and ankles still, but lost I am no longer. I am repulsed, I am angry, and we must all be free by any means necessary.

Just as the first enslaver, The Combine will fall.

Wrath. Spirit. Reason.


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