Monologue of a Ky’tity

It wasn’t too long ago when I was playing a game of DnD ( Dungeon and Dragons) with friends.  During the character creation phase we are asked to write about the creator we are going to play, to give a bit of insight as to who they are and how they think so that we could get into their mindset.  I always welcomed such times as this for it gave me a chance to write. 

While I haven’t used her in anything besides that campaign the character is still alive in my head, one of the voices now, and who’s to say she won’t find her way into a future writing?  Until then, enjoy this character profile.


Monologue of a Ky’tity

The clanging of heavy iron bars, coupled with snide comments and whistles from the other cells echoed through the halls of the local prison to create a din that always served to give me a headache.  I turned in my cot face to the wall and tried to ignore what was going on outside my cell. A new Shifter was being emitted and, like all the times before, the guards thought it customary to parade them around the ward like some sort of prize, even after the humiliation they suffered the first time.

I remember my first parade, the guards had me in chains from my neck to my ankles, and they were even paranoid enough of me that they chained my tail around my waist like a belt. Good thing they had though, because if it had been free, I swear I would have used it to choke one of them. But I walked, weighted down by those chains, with my head high and spilling curses into the guards’ ears. The other prisoner’s must have liked my attitude because one of them started rattling their cell door at me, then another followed suit, and still another until it seemed as if the whole prison was a well of noise.

The guards, they started yelling then, telling the people to settle down, and a few  of them even went to hitting the prisoners with sticks thinking that would stop the noise, but it only egged them on and the noise grew louder.  I must have made the guards seem like fools for they walked me to the far part of that prison and stuffed me in a small cell barely big enough for two people. I like to call it cozy, they like to call it isolation because there was no one else around me and it was so far back that hardly any light made it to the cell. The darkness didn’t bother me and I served my time. When I got out I went back to doing the same thing that landed me in prison in the first place: rough-housing idiotic fools at the Domination Hovel, a club at the meaner part of town.

Growing up, Papa always said to hit first and ask questions later; Mama said to wrap a guy around your legs and plant a dagger in their necks when you got bored. Good advice, that must be why I had so many siblings and why my Papa was always in a fight.

I can’t complain much about how I grew up in that barbarian village. My Papa taught me how to fight, when I was old enough, and I wrestled with the other girls for dominance in our clicks. As I got older I learned to play with the guys and I’d say I did my Mama proud. Though I might have learned too much from my mother because one day I was roused from my sleep and unceremoniously tossed from our tribe for planting a dagger in the wrong guys neck. Didn’t bother me, I was tired of the same old group anyway and I wanted a bit of freedom.

That’s how I found myself in this backwater town as a dancer, bouncer, and entertainer at the Hovel. I did a fair job, made a good amount of money, but every now and then some guy would have the audacity to let his hands travel to far and I’d have to stab him in the neck.  Next day, I’d find myself back on prison parade and in my cozy cell.

The parade outside was ending and there was a rattle at my cell door, an anonymous person was releasing me, all I had to do was go to a tavern and wait for my assignment. I would be well paid, so I figured I would give it a shot.  What did I have to lose?


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