Prologue

War is nothing familiar to me. As a child I was raised alongside the strongest of my birth tribe’s Warrior Shaman, constantly learning and training so that I too may fight beside them. Normally a mouse such as myself, or rather any female mouse, would never be trained as a warrior, and much less a Warrior Shaman. Such training was granted only to those that proved to be the best warriors of their generation. But because of the war they made an exception. For many years they molded me into their image of a perfect warrior. Powerful, courageous, and willing to slaughter for the sake of her tribe.
Then the time for the Final Battle came upon us. It seemed all too quick, and none of the five tribes were truly ready. Every warrior, every Shaman, we were all out on the battlefield - even myself, a Shaman that would normally be too young to participate in such a dangerous battle. There were even young apprentices with barely any training participating in the fight. The battle lasted two whole days. There was no break in deaths, there was no such thing as rest. It wasn’t until two of the five tribes had been completely wiped out that the remaining tribes called cease fire.
With little more than ten percent of our tribes remaining, we all returned to our own lands, leaving the bloody battlefield behind us. We divided the two fallen tribe’s land between the three remaining. The war was over for now, but I knew it wasn’t the end. Greed would prove to be too much, and none of us were willing to give up the lands that we had grown up on. This was only a break to replenish our soldiers.
Desperation had taken ahold of us - of all of us. We had begun to take in Impures - mice that were not born within our tribe and possessed no ancestors related to our tribe’s. They were normally looked down upon, but now they outnumbered the Pure Bloods - though the Pures did not allow them to act superior. They were superior in training and skill, and were much more familiar with the land than the newcomers.
Even now some Pures may look down upon the Impures, though we are all aware of just how much we need them. Perhaps one day they will be fully accepted into our tribe, but for now they are unallowed to wear the mask of the Sovereign.
Training these Impures will be no easy task, but I am certain that they will one day grasp our techniques. They will see this tribe, this land, as their home, and they will wish to fight for it when war comes again.