It is customary among my people to tell one's life story before reaching death. Most of us die violent deaths at a relatively young age, so it is common to begin keeping a journal upon reaching adulthood. Even as I begin to recount my tale here, I have only been considered an adult for a few years, but in light of recent events, I never know which moment could be my last. During my brief time on this earth, I have experienced love and loss, agony and bliss, rage and forgiveness... I don't believe it is the least bit presumptuous of me to say I have gained more wisdom in my life than many of my pack-mates ever will. Though my story is unique, its lessons are not. Learn from my mistakes, lest they become your own.

            I suppose I should start with where I grew up. I was hatched in the Shevánt Forest in a land far west of here. Few ever venture so far as to meet my people, for we have guarded our lands for centuries, and fewer still can rival our skill and ferocity in battle. We are of the rare species deinonychus - raptors, in common terms. Our bodies are typically covered in scales, though some of us have more feathers than others. Over countless ages, our evolution has perfected our physical forms. The smallest, but perhaps most significant of these changes is our development of upper-limb dewclaws, and then thumbs. Any advantage primates may have had exists no longer. We are also slightly... anthropomorphic, I believe the term is. We can stand upright with no problem, but we still typically revert to a more "feral" stance when fighting. We are capable of common speech, but we take advantage of our unique language whenever possible to confuse our enemies. We also have a small problem hissing on the letter "s", but it can be overcome with practice.

            As for my upbringing, I was the second to emerge from my egg in a clutch of eight. The youngest two were too slow and weak, and they starved. The oldest was killed on his first hunt when he rushed forward too eagerly and was crushed by a stegosaur as it collapsed from its wounds. I learned an invaluable lesson from their deaths. If I was to survive, balance was the key. If I was too aggressive, I would get myself into trouble; if I was too passive, I would be surrendering my life. My other siblings died in various other manners and times, some of which I will detail later, until I was left only with one younger sister. My bond with her in childhood was strong, but we gradually grew apart as we aged. My parents were typical. They were there to protect us and teach us how to hunt when we were young, but they mostly left us to our own devices, and like most pack members, I lost track of them as I grew older.

            I have yet to encounter a society that is quite like that of my pack. It was really more of a tribe than a pack, but we preferred the latter term to distinguish us from tribes of humans. There were around 80 of us with the pack at any given time, though the total membership varied. These 80 were further divided into hunting parties and supply gatherers, and we followed the herds of prey species, so it was never particularly crowded. A decent number of us traveled, seeking adventure or fame and fortune, only returning to the pack once every few months to recount our stories and reunite with old friends. Combat was a huge part of our culture. Virtually every member of the pack was a hunter, a martial artist, or a blacksmith as a primary occupation.  We were always trying to find the toughest prey to hunt, and tournaments were common. Whether or not the losers were killed was at the discretion of the victor, but death was a fairly rare occurrence. We may have been vicious predators, but we respected one another for the most part.

            As important as combat was to us, we did have a number of sorcerers and sorceresses, though most of us did not possess the gifts necessary to perform magic. As such, those that did have the gift were highly revered. There were only about 20 of them in the pack, if my memory serves me well. At the time I was hatched, there was a lot of magical experimentation going on. Quite by accident I am told, I was granted the ability to change the color and pattern of my scales at will. This same experiment also killed one of my unhatched brothers. I have never taken the ability for granted. Yet while my skill was gained through magic, I have no other magical powers to speak of. I kept it a secret, using it only for perfect camouflage while hunting. At the time of this telling, my scales are jet black, greying slightly towards my belly, and I have blood-red stripes across my arms and legs. It gives me an even more fearsome appearance, and I find it aesthetically appealing. My ability to change the color of my scales also proved tremendously useful when I later made the choice to become an assassin.

            Next is my name. Names were extremely significant to our society. They could tell you almost everything about a raptor in a single word or phrase. Almost all of our names came from great ancestors. To give a few examples, an artist might be named Feesha, and a blacksmith would be named Jalen, like a friend of mine. Our names were granted to us by a council of the Old Ones: raptors that had survived all the challenges life has placed before them, and have proven that their wisdom is valuable enough for their lives to be preserved even after they become incapable of hunting their own food. The logic is that if they survived to old age, then they should pass on their tried-and-true methods and knowledge to future generations. As children, we were often identified by names similar to what you might see among members of human tribes, such as "Long Claw" or "Sharp Tongue" that described only one attribute. When we reached adulthood, signified by a passage of a series of tests, then the Old Ones would determine which ancestor's name would best describe us.

            My own name is a good, simple example. When I was still with my pack, I was known as Razor. This name entailed several traits and talents, primarily stealth and precision, but it also implied a very logical and methodical mind. My name came from one of the best hunters in our history, who died some 80 years before I was hatched, and I was the first to be given the honor of carrying his title. The way we translated our names into human languages varied depending on the name. Sometimes we simply used similar sounds, like for the name Jalen. Other times, we used human words with similar meanings, like with my own name.

            True Names are another matter. To be granted a True Name is the greatest honor a raptor could earn in my pack. In order to achieve this honor, a raptor must prove that he or she either cannot be accurately described by an ancestor's name, or that they have surpassed their predecessor in skill, knowledge, or wisdom. One such raptor was a blue-scaled sorceress by the name of Lefira. She was by far the most powerful magic-wielder the pack had ever known, and a dangerous enemy even to some dragons. At the time that I left my pack, I had been nearing an evaluation by the Old Ones to consider my own candidacy for a True Name. I will detail those events in due time.

            Lastly, I must explain my decision to become an assassin. It was considered an admirable profession, but that is not why I chose it. Raptors are meant to work together and build bonds with one another. It is the key to our overwhelming success. However, this same success has brought about some abnormalities. Perhaps it is the magical alteration, or maybe I am just unlucky, but I have never possessed the ability to interact socially. I was able to make a few friends, but it was more through realization of our similar dilemmas that it took place rather than through social aptitude.

            Even though I was one of the best hunters, it was typical for me to be excluded from hunting parties. This frustrated me to no end, and it was not uncommon for me to seek prey on my own. I couldn't hunt the massive stegosaurs or iguanodons that my pack-mates could, but sometimes I would get lucky and find a poorly guarded nest or a youngling that had wandered too far from the herd.

When I heard that there was a village of anthros and humans a dozen or so miles to the east that would pay gold to hunt down people to whom others had ill will, I knew it was the job for me. Though I enjoyed the presence of my fellow raptors, I knew I was not entirely home there. Additionally, the draw of new and interesting prey that I could hunt alone was irresistible to me. It wasn't long before I set off, taking with me nothing but a curved dagger reminiscent of a sickle claw. To make a long story short, it was perhaps the best decision I had ever made. I had plenty of food, plenty of gold, and most importantly, plenty of prey. I returned every now and again to share my wealth and stories with my pack-mates, as was the custom for those that traveled. I gained no small amount of satisfaction when I spotted envious glances from old rivals while recounting my exploits.

The last time I returned, though, things had changed. My life would never be the same.