The Chosen One, The Exile, The Hands of the Spirits

"What is it that drives us all? Exile... you are different. You are a terrible power that is unwelcome amongst your tribe. Your people fear you... it is hard to comprehend such power as well as the spirits' decisions reguarding your existance. You have been a spear of war, but you are a plague upon our numbers. Death lingers about your soul and that is something we cannot risk. May your gifts...your curse...find their place. Find your way Megedagik."

The Elder spoke, and the chosen one left his village. That night the entire village fell to rival tribes, and Megedagik watched the flames engulf the longhouses of families who shunned one because he was different. The spirits were vengeful and he would not go against their will. He watched, uneffected, until the morning sun touched the charred bones and remains of the populace.

What power would one hold to harbor such intolerance from ones who were blood. His parents, whom died (his mother giving birth, his father of war) knew, his countless fallen witnessed, and now only the Harmonixer himself knew.