Born into a large commune of the tree loving, cat-like folk known as Sneasels (and eventually Weaviles), you've been taught to place movement and agility above all else in combat. Despite your earliest teaching of such, you've always show a distain for conflict. You would even go on to begin living off of berries and fruits found among the branches. This noble lifestyle choice was, however, displeasing to your parents and peers. It was commonly known that your kind were predators and would even steal the eggs of other pokemon to serve as nourishment. The thought of such an act would turn your stomach and you were constantly ridiculed for your apparent weakness. It was this torment and a desire to prove your life choice valid that drove you to perfect your hand to claw fighting and eventually best the fiercest warriors of your village.
Unfortunately, it was this defiance and your "Lack of respect for the old ways" that gave rise to mobs demanding your exile. The moment you knew you were no longer welcome in your forest town was when your parents openly disowned you. It was that night that you set out alone, pack in hand and not a tear in your eye, as you left behind all you had ever known. As it turned out, there were far better things in life than that which you had been taught during your youngling years. While you have yet to work up the courage to resume life within another collective, your brief dealings with new and interesting breeds of pokemon has reaffirmed your decision to leave what you once called home. It was nearly a year after you had left your forest that a strange anonymity began cropping up. You tried to keep intact with worldly events as best as you could while still remaining somewhat concealed from the rest of the land. From what little you heard, it seemed as though some pokemon, mad with a new form of disease had become raging cannibals. While such an act was not unheard of, the reports became more scarce and soon stopped all together.
You are not sure what drew you back to your home forest. Perhaps a small bit of hope remained that at least a few had learned from your example. However, any hope you may have had was dash upon entering the smoldering ruins of what was once known as Yelsdin, home of the Sneasel. Your tearful search left more questions unanswered then when you had started. No bodies remained for you to find which gave you hope that some had escaped, at least until you found packs left empty, and traveling cloaks left on their hooks. You would soon come to learn of the infection first hand when you watched a purple eyed Garchomp devour a screaming Torchick female. It took all your strength to not throw yourself at the beast as it lumbered away from the bushes in which you lay hidden. You would later come to realize that your inaction may have saved you that day as your own recent run in with the infected Charmeleon taught you that these mindless savages were bolstered with strength far surpassing normal limitations. Had you blindly charged in that day, you may very well have joined that poor female in the feral's stomach.
It was just 2 days later that you vowed to find the cause of the deadly infection and put an end to the pain and suffering its presence has wrought. So it was that you, Kale the somewhat timid Sneasel, age 19, set out on your journey to end the madness that had so engulfed the world.
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