This is kinda based off the Gamecube version of "Turok Evolution"s begining. I dont know if theres much difference between systems, but I know Chief Greybear appears only at the start, not named. ^^; Have fun! Hope I didn't mess it up.

From the point of view of Tarkeen.

Evolution Of The Species

By Ta-kun

So, you say you wish to know more of the killing arts? My my. It has been some time since I have met one such as yourself. Of course, he was rather...hesitant to accept his own path of destiny. Are you sure this is what you choose? To be someone who takes life, you have to be someone with cause. Someone with purpose. Many times in my long life have I seen people no different than yourself come and go. Mere men who think they are more than what they are.

Fools. Ignorance makes you blind! You stand before me, believing that you have the right to justify the acts of a god? Hah! When will you mortals realise that fate and choice are seperate? In my centuries of life, I have known none. Ah, but perhaps I am getting, as they say, ahead of myself. There was one who was determined to ignore his fate. Unlike you, however, he had no choice. You still wish to know about your so called destiny in the killing arts? You still wish to throw your life away?

Let me tell you a story...

************

The Saquin warrior brave Tal'Set pushed through the lush green thickit. Trees and bushes the likes he had never seen before, but yet seemed familiar. The wild flowers and vegitation surrounded him, making visibility virtually impossible, but yet he knew his way. His face was painted in the markings of war, the Saquin's red, black and white symbolising his willingness to sacrifice his life if need be.

Seperating the palms infront of him, the jungle vanished from sight, opening to a clearing filed with noisy honking animals. Large honking animals. Horns rising from the middle of their heads, growing backwards. Short arms and long thick, heavy tails balanced their awkward bodies as they scrounged along the ground, chewing grass. Animals which, for all purposes, were extinct for millions of years. Unheard of to half the world. Monsters which would strike fear into men's hearts.

Parasaurolophus.

And to Tal'Set, they were strangely familiar to him. So much so that, without even thinking, he walked out into the clearing and through the herd as if nothing was more simple. Weaving in and out between them, his eyes rested on a thick clump of bushes that he stopped. A trail of blood lay along the trodden ground to the bushes edge. Without questioning himself, he dropped to one knee, pulling an arrow back inside his bow.

{fwip}

The spear shot through the air. It stopped, an almost sickly sound of flesh being opened. A screech. The herd around him seemed to become agitated suddenly. A final, low, death cry of agony as an animal fell forward, his hiding spot among the bushes now showing their true wolf in lamb's skin. A long-snouted beast lay dead, and around Tal'Set, the honking became louder. A ripple of fear spread like wildfire through the dinosaurs and they ran, tails swinging in a hurry. One cement like tail swung, hitting Tal'Set dead on.

Sitting up in a hurry, he found himself in a wigwam. Outside, busy Saquin men and women hurried around the camp, the news of death in the air. Tal'Set sat still. The dream still vivid. His own wonder at how calmly he regarded the monstorous animals hung on his expression. Without delay, he left his tent to find Chief Grey Bear, intent on knowing more.

Vultures circled the skies. Beaked rodents with wings as black as burnt flesh, the garbage smell of death eminating from them. Scavengers that belonged in hell with it's brethern, rather than the freedom of the skies above the earth. To General Sherman, who watched them from his dusty office window, Satan's domain was most likely to be close by if in fact there was a way to reach it from life.

After earning the rank of General, John Sherman found himself as comanding officer of a western encampment, to keep tabs on the many Indian tribes in the area. And tabs were well kept. Deadmen, of course, did not complain of being recorded like animals, nor did they fight back. For 8 months, Sherman had recieved his orders regarding each tribe. But orders were often lost in the west, and although Sherman himself was happy to bring in the Saquin nation without bloodshed, it was a rare occurance. The few times in which orders were to be followed were the same times that Sherman lost his own men to ways of the warriors. Arrows it seemed could be very effective for stealing a life.

Now, Sherman's eyes wandered the encampment. Bushy grey eyebrows that matched his hair framed his wrinkled face that seemed to scrunch as he watched the men. Soldiers wandered around scratching themselves in dirty singlets. Uniforms were something he didn't inforce in such heat. He was amazed that anything lived in such wilderness, let alone natives in such large groups. Folded in his sweaty palms behind his back was a note concerning one such tribe. Last of the "Saquin" people it seemed. Instructions were specific this time, carried by the personal messenger high up the ladder. "To be brought in without casualties."

And now, John Sherman was awaiting the man who would carry out the mission. Man. Perhaps "man" was too strong a word. Bruckner was a demon. A butcher with contempt and hatred so feirce it often made Sherman shudder at the thought. Often Bruckner disobeyed orders. Too often had he ruturned from Indian encampments with less men than he left with. Men who went in peace but returned bleeding. "Fucking savages don't know tha meanin' of 'peace'." Bruckner had snarled. Oh yes, Bruckner was the man for this job. If he didn't carry it out, Sherman was sure he'd see the man hung for his actions.

The rapping of knuckles was harsh against the office door, breaking the General's thoughts.
"Come in."
Captain Bruckner's heavy boots made even his walk sound arrogant. Not a stride, but a strut. Pulling the chair out opposite the desk Sherman ordered "Stand", and with a bored sigh Bruckner shoved the chair farwards. Sherman remained standing in front of the window. The knowledge that today, some of the men he was now watching would die, made his shoulders sag slightly. Finally, he turned away from the scene and sat behind his desk, ignoreing Bruckner for a few seconds while sorting some papers out on his desk before finally looking up at him.

"You're going to take some men up to the cliffs today. Settlement up there. About two dozen natives. Bring 'em in."
Sherman let the Captain grin t himself for a few moments before adding: "Without bloodshed."
Instantly the face fell.
"What?"
"Don't kill them."
Bruckner's eyes narrowed, a throaty growl echoing from him before he saulted and left. Sherman gave the slammed door a regarding look before sitting back in his chair. Scrubbing a hand over his weary features, he prepared himself for coming storm...

Chief Grey Bear's elaborate eagle feather headpiece framed his strong features. Years of leadership had hardened his composure. To his people, his bravery knew no bounds. But even he allowed himself to worry in his tent as he smoked his peace pipe. Bruckner had slaughtered yet another settlement. In his years of wisdom, Grey Bear knew that it would not be long before his own people would fall. And there was still a task he had to preform before his death.

Behind him, Tal'Set approached. Casting a look outwards to a rock formation, Grey Bear knew that it was time to reveal to Tal'Set their meaning. Their secret. A secret called the Lost Land.

************

Havn't you been brougth up knowing interupting someone is rude? What? Ah, so you think you've heard of the Lost Land, have you? I highly doubt it. And face me when I talk to you! If this is your attention span, I can assure you. You are no hunter. Nevertheless, since you... "think" you know the Lost Land, let me at least set you straight...

The Lost Land. A world born of chaos. An unholy offspring concieved during the death of a universe. This world has known nothing but suffering, death and war, delt out for centuries by an unending succession of madmen and tyrants. There are other worlds bound to the Lost Land. Other people who have suffered like the people of my world have suffered.

Tyranny, it seems, knowns no bounds...

The Saquin chief crawled on his belly, blood spreading from his arm as his stretched arm rested on a rock infront of him, watching a glowing pattern appear, knowing that soon, a bright shimmering window will appear. The overpowering smell of smoke filled his lungs as around him his people lay dead. Indian corpses bleeding from bullet wounds had fallen, the western soldiers also laying beside them, arrows firmly embedded in their flesh. Both cultures now joined by the infinate common conection of death. The once proud leader struggled to breathe as a shadow covered the side of his face. Looking up, he uttered the given name to his killer. "Bruckner..."

And cruelty wears many faces...

Bruckner's cocked gun aimed lazily at the Saquin's back. His mercy was non-existing. Without so much as a twitch of his eye, the fired twice. Bullets of fire spat out into the natives back, and he collapsed dead. Bruckner spat at the corpse, the words "savage" escaping his mouth as he turned away from the body.
"Bruckner..."

Spinning around at the sound of his name, a heavy club smashed the bones in his arm. Yelping, the gun dropped. A face painted Saquin warrior stalked towards him. A heavy bone club in his hand, he had the eyes of hatred himself, but focused solely on the staggering man infront of him. Bruckner himself backed away, his arm aching. Looking down at his arm, he was shocked to see his uniform's arm was splashed with deep crimson and the fabric was ripped along the side. Ripped so deep that he could see the desert floor through his arm.

Tal'Set advanced again on the demon, "Bruckner" as the men with pale skin had called him. He knew him. This man was evil, responsible for the deaths of many of his people. His people who he would now avenge...

Jumping back from the swinging axe-like club, Captain Bruckner soon found himself on the edge of the cliffs over looking the canon that ran through the desert for miles. He had nowhere to run, and two choices of death. No matter what though, insinct and reflexes overcome rational thoughts. When Tal'Set's axe swung again, Bruckner chose the salvation of the deep drop behind him. The wind rushed passed his ears and drowned out his own screams of help as he fell. Above him, Tal'Set watched with narrowed eyes at the man who had murdered his entire tribe, screaming and flailing.

Unaware of what was behind him, Tal'Set was suddenly flung off the edge of the ravine before feeling a rush of arir around him: a glowing blue light surrounding everything. Th emoment it appeared, he felt himself being flung down into a mass of sharp branches. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

The fate of all worlds are intertwined.
The lives of millions may hinge upon the life of a single man.
Or, the death of another...

Yes. That was none other than the first Turok. And, like him back then, you don't seem to listen.
Very well then. All I have to offer you is what I offered someone else so long ago.

I pray the path you have chosen, the path of war, does not consume you...