There is always a beginning, and an end.
This, is the beginning of the legend, that has passed from mouth to mouth, through countless ages and millennia. It is one of our greatest triumph, and greatest defeat, all at once. It is about our lost kin, the horned ones, the Tigris.
A long time ago, a time no longer in memory, only in legend, the horned ones walked among us. Few and rare where they, considered great shamans and healers, their fur the color of the sky, their horns a heritage from their spiritual comings. It is said, the first Tigris was born, when the great spirit of the Khan was hunting the eternal plains, and the totem of the unicorn appeared before it. It was awed by the beauty of it, its power, and charm, and for many long times, it roamed by its side, the king stalking beside the queen of all. As with totems and spirits, a unification was brought, and from that, rose the first Tigris. The entire line is named after him, the first. Coming to the tribes, his heritage granted him respect and authority from the start, and he took over the pride, leading them to new heights, glorious prey, and great victories over the Cahlash. Tigris lived for a full age, always herding the pride, finding shade, and prey for them in the warmest droughts, finding prey, and dry caves when the rains fell like rocks upon their bodies. Although not from the Simba lineage, at first, it was there Tigris stayed, and ruled. But all things come to an end, as did Tigris. In a great battle with a smaug, he gave his own life, to bring the beast into death with him. Only his spirit remained, to watch over his offspring. 6 kits were born of his blood, and four of those were blessed with the sign of the Tigris, the unicorn's horn in their forehead. Through those 4, the lineage lived on. Never numbering more then 16 at any time, they spread over the world. Some remaining with the Simba as shamans, healers and judges, and the others roaming to aid the other Bastet in their fight against the Wyrm.