Pt. 1 - Karate Chop

Two balls of jagged stone slam to the ground, clouds of dust billowing out from beneath them as they take the opportunity to roll away. I let them; my training was done for the day. As they send themselves down the rocky slope, a chorus of loud cries echoes behind them. It annoys them to be used as weights, but they allow it so long as I carry them up the mountain.
I wish I had a name to give, but I don't. Not yet. That's why my goal is to make one for myself. My peers have always believed that true strength comes from Changing, but I see things differently. I won't pretend I can't see the allure of a larger, stronger body, but to say that taking on a new form is the only way to be strong is wrong, and no matter how difficult it is, I'm going to prove that to the world.
A loud sigh escapes me as I take a seat on a tuft of grass. I've heard that some creatures believe my kind never tires, but that's not true. We simply have far more endurance than other species and never show our exhaustion. After all, if we never grew tired, our bodies could never improve.
As I stretch, I gaze upon my hands. Rough, small, and grey, but oddly similar in shape to those of the Trainers. It's strange how different we are despite our shapes, but then again, I'm one to talk.
Gripping the indented top of a boulder seemingly jutting out of the ground, I lift and cast aside the hollowed half to reveal my prize possession; A guide to a way of combat the Trainers use. With the pictures it contains, I have learned to use many techniques which elude even -or, rather, especially- the Changed among my peers. Today, I read the final chapter.
Every time I flip through these pages, a small sense of awe swells within me. Though I cannot understand the symbols surrounding the illustrations, there are times when I feel a strange bond with them, as though I can sense the intention behind their writing. Following the final two techniques the manual had to offer, the remaining pages are nothing but these symbols. I know it is irrational of me, but I let my eyes roam across the pages until they reach the end.
Eventually, I close the book. There is nothing left for me to study now. Filled with a newfound passion, I know what must be done. Tucking the manual under my arm, I take one final look at the land I'd been calling home, and swiftly make my way down the side of the mountain, leaping from one jutting rock to another. With each landing, I feel the impact pass through my legs, tensing them for the next leap.
Touching down at the base of my home, I make my way towards the nearby jungle. My crafting skills are still unpolished, but I manage to make myself a simple belt from a vine I chop loose; from the largest of the jungle's leaves, two feeble bags.
One bag is large and simple, a wrapping for my dear instructor, which I lash to my back with extra lengths of vine. The other is smaller and thicker, meant to carry berries through the less bountiful areas my journey might take me. It, I keep with me by tightening my new belt around its top.
I'm ready now. It's time to go.