I don't remember much, before the war. My memories are scarce, but one thing I do remember is the greenery. The beauty is gone now, and has been for most of my life. The early years of the wasteland were horrible, but he endured. We adjusted because we had no other choice, not because we wanted to. We tried to make a new life in the untouched lands, but.. That didn't last long at all. Thinking back to It, I loathe my memories of that day. It was such a blur, It was a test of our will to survive. Those who surrendered were killed on the spot, those who ran were shot in the back. We lost many of our best then, but eventually we escaped back into the wastes. At first we tried to remain together, to take solace in our clans.. Then the bombings started, and we realized we couldn't stay in one place long without getting found and attacked again. We became nomads, roving and stealing. Killing if we had to, but my group avoided it at all costs. I can't speak for the rest. We eventually started making our own armor from forges we built from barrels and whatever we can burn, weapons too. We kept upgrading to match our enemies, and our prey. I wore a chestplate and helmet, carried a shotgun made from pipes and scrap metal, and a sword as my sidearm. I was a woman, and a fighter. I had to be, we didn't have enough men for discrimination. My brother and I were primarily hunters, and we learnt to maintain the bikes of our riders. Everyone had the duty to fight, and everyone was taught to.
One day, we attacked a caravan of Si'akh's followers. The reavers put up a more of a fight than we'd expected.. I was attacked by three at once, singled out. They fought me until I was too wounded to move fast enough to disengage. One tackled me to the ground, and they started to pull my helmet off. I screamed for help, and saw my fellow warriors were fighting their own battles. They managed to rip my helmet off, and I struggled to the best of my ability. I kept trying to signal my fellows to help, but the clashing of steel was more than I could yell above. Or so I thought. Then one of them brought out a welding torch. I thought they were going to burn off my horns, or some other form of shaming, but it was worse. They went for my eyes. I can't remember what happened after, the pain was too much. The next I remembered was being dragged to my feet and told to run, and I did. I retreated with the rest of the warriors and we spent the night hungry. The healers did what they could for me, but my sight was gone. At least, in one of my eyes. I was never as good a shot since, and I had to use my gun with my non-dominant hand. The others could tell I was no longer the hunter and warrior I once was. The elders assigned me to less and less warrior duties, and less hunting. I was reduced to a cook, a serving woman. It was humiliating. I felt helpless, hopeless, and hapless. I would grow irritated easily when I would miss a catch when tossed something, or try to reach for an object just to miss. I eventually adjusted to my lost depth perception, learning to sway my head so that I can still get a good view before acting.
One day, we ran into another convoy under our banner. Among them was Him. The Lost Son. We didn't speak, though he did speak briefly to our groups' elders. I'm not privy to what they spoke about, but it was that night my life changed. I went to bed as I usually did, but.. I awoke on a cold metal floor, with a bag of clothes and a note. It read 'Go into the stars and live anew. The ancestral homelands are fading, and you bare the scars of it's harshness. Live anew so that our clan may survive.' It was confusing, and I was afraid. I was terrified of all that might happen in space, because I was alone. Without my clan, without my weapons or armor, and probably lightyears from home. Eventually, after weeks of meager meals and sparing water, we landed and were offloaded in secret. It was some kind of warehouse or what used to be one. The roof was collapsed in, and that was where we landed. The shuttle was hidden within, and we were let loose to the city. Eventually, I settled in and began applying for refugee status under a fake name. I'd heard about what happened to the last Gawgaryn to be here, and I wouldn't let myself fall prey.
No longer would I be Asosi Gawgaryn. I would be Akhss Asosi. End. OOC notes.
This is a short story I wrote to kinda cement the story of my character, Akhss Asosi. And to kinda outlet the lack of people using her exploitable info back when I would play her often. I tried my best to suppress her violent tendencies while also letting them loose when I felt it was appropriate to do so, like when someone would climb over the counter and/or start bar fights. But that's not important, what is important is that while this does have a lot of basis in the canon for her character, a lot is subject to change because it's more an exercise in creative writing than an actual story on how she came to be in Tau Ceti.
Addendum: Bonus points to whoever guesses what "It" is.