Two had come together to create a third, two powerful and well respected leaders amongst the clans in the Pride Lands. The lions were known for their strength and power; they were great warriors and were hard to best in combat. The one known as Mufasa had come into a position of leadership; the Lion King, and by his side an equally respected and powerful woman known as Sarabi; his Queen. Together the two had forged a clan that was close knit and loyal; the mix of families extended their bond to that of blood ties, the closest and strongest kind of loyalty a clan could hope to have. Several years into their marriage, Sarabi bore Mufasa a son and an heir. They called the black haired babe Simba and he quickly began to grow. The young boy adored all members of his clan, and felt a special and unique bond with each. His father was the law of the land, his mother the voice of reason, Scar always there to protect, Zira always there to give him advice, Sarafina the gentle one and Nala his partner in crime. There were more in the clan of lions, but those were the ones that had been his family since the beginning and would always be there for him no matter what.
It wasn’t any surprise that Simba often found himself getting into trouble, often with Nala at his side. He was always wanting explore and ever so curious about the world that surrounded him, it was no surprise that it was in fact a feline that his clan held in such high regards. In the Pride Lands though, danger lurked around every boulder, behind every thicket. As a boy he was trained with weapons and shown how to effectively kill. If he was to be the leader of the lions he would need to fight fiercely like the lions, just as his father had done. By the age of eleven the young boy, all legs and arms at the time had managed to obtain his first skin; an impressive feat for a boy so young. His father and uncle had taken him out into the savannah, and armed him with a spear. They tracked the proud lion for hours before they came upon him. He had been a young bachelor, without a pride of his own, which made the lion that much easier to kill. Young Simba fought the lion surprisingly well for a boy so young, maiming the creature before trying to end its suffering as quickly as possible. Simba didn’t get out unscathed though, the wounded beast became increasingly dangerous as it struggled for its life, clawing Simba in the face before the boy was able to stick his spear through the beast's heart. Sarabi had feared for her son’s eye and sight, but after cleaning up the mess of blood on the boy, the wound had been placed in one of his thick eyebrows. During the passing of the new moon, Simba attended Nahanda to praise the Huntress and to give his skin in the Wagaye ceremony and was gifted with the form of the lion he had triumphed over earlier that month.
Shortly after being gifted with the skin, Simba began spending more time exploring around the lion’s village. He took to his new form like a fish to water; it wasn’t often that he found himself in his human form, aside from sleep and when he was joined by his family. The lion form he now possessed filled a void within him that left him feeling completed. He had nothing but excitement about the future and his role that he would one day fulfil when his father’s life would come full circle.
One afternoon Simba had been given a duty by Zira, he was to climb through the gorge to find a specific herb for a potion she needed to prepare for one of the elders who had come down with a fever. With Simba so eager to please those around him, he took off through the savannah, not taking note of what time of year it was.
Simba hadn’t been a day over the age of thirteen when his life was changed forever. The young lion had been prowling around the gorge, searching for an elusive orange flower to take back to Zira and, as he was doing so he began to feel the earth vibrating below his paws. He had never seen a stampede before. The boy panicked, shedding his lion form as he tried to climb to safety. Somehow, Mufasa had been in the same place, searching for Simba to keep him away from the gorge; it was a dangerous place to be during the great migrations, specifically because of this very reason. Simba tried his best to climb up the sheer wall of the gorge, reaching for his father’s hand he was hoisted up into a narrow ledge just below the Lion King, his father. He had never been more relieved in his life to see his father. The plan had been to scale the walls through the gorge as the flood of animals kept running through just below their feet. Simba feared for his footing, but kept being brave just as his father kept telling him. At one point during their escape, their paths veered off from one another and Simba was no longer able to see his father up above him. It was a tense few minutes, but Simba was able to make it back to the main path and waited anxiously for his father.
The boy sat there for a long time, growing more anxious by each passing moment his father did not appear around the corner. He even went down the path and found no trace of the man. When the animals had finally cleared out, Simba began to climb down into the gorge, finding the trampled body of his father in the dust. He didn’t know what to do, he pushed the trampled body, nudged it, yelled at it, cried over it for what seemed like hours until the familiar voice came to him. The tall dark man appeared out of nowhere, a solemn look on his face. Scar explained to him that the elders would blame him for Mufasa’s death. Simba should have known better than to be in the gorge at this time of year. His actions had killed his father, and Scar didn’t hesitate to use the term murderer during their talk. Simba knew the consequences of killing, even if he did try to explain that it had been an accident, Scar had convinced him that the only way he could live was if he escaped the Pride Lands, his skin intact.
Simba was naive and believed the words his uncle spoke, a man he trusted and respected. He took off west and wandered without food or shelter for days before exhaustion and hunger threatened to take his life. The kindness of strangers and outcasts saved his life more than once and safely got him out of the Pride Lands.
By the time Simba neared his twentieth birthday, he had changed in so many ways. He had tried to learn to adapt to a more civil way of life. He had learned so much during his stay at various inns and taverns that the thought of returning to the Pride Lands was far from his mind. The scrawny boy, all arms and legs had grown into a monster of a man. He was strong, tall and would have easily rivaled his father in strength had he still been alive. Simba took various jobs to pay the cost for room and food. He spent his time scrubbing floors, washing tables and goblets and occasionally sparring for extra cash from time to time. His way of fighting quickly became his main source for cash and he soon had money to spend. He learned that alcohol made things easy to forget and that women were also a great means for distraction. The guilt of his father’s death still hangs heavy upon him, bringing him to rely heavily on the alcohol. Booze keeps his emotions numb, it keeps the nightmares away and it keeps him from the seething rage he feels for his family that so easily cast him out.
Since coming to Tooth and Claw a few months ago, Simba has become a sort of fixture in the establishment. He’s always there, he’s always ready for a brawl, he’s always drinking and he’s always got a woman under his arm.