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Chapter One

Upon the white-crested mountains there was a kingdom of true generational righteousness. Tucked into the valley of snow and fields a castle stood, high atop an outcropping of stone. Within this bleak castle lived the ruling family of Whitemane, a dynasty without peer in their virtue throughout the world. It was through this family other kingdoms were shown the true path of the Light, unshackled by wickedness that dwelt inside their borders. Peace came like a dawn and never set, a tranquil time that was unequaled; and for many, seemed everlasting.

Like all tales, however, what dwelt just under the surface was not all light and merriment. Dark forces that were defeated oh-so-long ago were never truly destroyed - merely freed of their earthly bodies to take on ethereal forms. The vile races - goblins, orcs, trolls - may have been slaughtered, their blood wiped clean of the world; however, as a spiritual force they remained as a single entity. Millions of dark souls wrapped into one insubstantial being of chaos and hate.

And after centuries this being had finally dug its ethereal talons into a moral's psyche. A mortal who had the means to undo everything good that had been created for an eon past.

***

"We shouldn't even be entertaining this nonsense!" It was the youngest and brashest of the kings seated that spoke first, his outrage clearly evident as he shouted after the review by the panther-kingdom of Aenira. Fisted paw slamming into the wood with barely disguised rage that flared the tiger's whiskers outwards, "This is a brother king we're talking about! A Whitemane, at that! I don't know where this information comes from, but it is surely erroneous at the core!"

"I assure you, Lord King, my information is without flaw on this matter," The tall and lean panther replied with practiced calmness, features betraying nothing of his mood other than an almost sardonically annoyed smile as he stood before the meeting table of Lords, "The Kingdom of the Whitemanes is in a state of disarray at the top levels. My agents are reporting happenings of almost indecent levels-as I've outlined to you-within the throne room itself. Furthermore, it seems Nilyt has completely cut off all contact with all his nobility and staff, other than the Chamberlin."

The assembled monarchs didn't speak afterwards. Most lost in thought, some exchanged glances with each other. All, however, seemed to be a bit nervous to holding this assembly, questioning one of the most revered species-families in the entire world. The agent-as the panther was called-bowed before his own king, and then the other monarchs before stepping aside, assuming, rightfully, that the questions had concluded after the long bout of silence.

"Very well," The panther Lord of Aenira spoke finally, having already heard these serious of reports from the top agent long before, thus prompting this meeting, "We are not here to bicker amongst each other. However, if there is even a single question of the Whitemane's virtue, this is something we have to take seriously, for the benefit of our brother-king."

"I will not have any of it," The tiger king snarled finally, long stripped tail flicking in annoyance as he fiercely took to his feet, knocking the wooden chair backwards, "Nilyt is a dear friend to us all. This meeting is nothing more than treachery disguised as concern!"

Two of the other kings nodded, apparently agreeing, but far more composed than the tiger. The first was an elder king, his striking wolfen mane streaked with long silver strands. He had fought side-by-side with the prior, and departed, king of the Whitemane's during many battles. The other a rotund grizzly who, other than at this very moment, tended to be a jovial monarch ruling over the merchant capital of the world; a capital that would be in an uproar if trade was suddenly disrupted for any reason.

That made three of the Great Houses opposed to the motion. Three out of six, deadlocking the proceedings completely. The seventh Great House was not in attendance, for no one had heard from the young Whitemane in many a year...

_ *** _

In many kingdoms the chamberlain was the title of a head servant, one that was often puffed-up with their own importance, but served little more than a castle butler for the king. In the kingdom of the Whitemane this title held a different meaning. In some ways it could be considered a noble title, passed from father to son throughout the years. Without explanation, and like clockwork, the chamberlain would bear his son five years before the king would, thus providing the prince with a lifelong friend. That produced son was slightly more mature than the prince himself, so was able to guide the other through the role of a friend and, in later years, a trusted adviser.

In this time the Chamberlin was a tall, leanly-muscled lion by the name of Ergiyios. His position inherited from his father the moment the new king was crowned. King Nilyt Whitemane, Lord of the Snowy Peaks, Warlord of the Ancient Pride, and, though not an official title of course, a dear friend akin to a brother for Ergiyios. Though it has only been five years since the crowning, looking back it seemed like an eon has past. His jovial and kind friend - his king - had become moody during the first year. The king complained, in confidence, of horrible nightmares that wouldn't allow him to sleep. Another year past, and the Chamberlin would at times catch his king muttering to himself as if arguing. Still another year and the king had secluded himself completely into his chamber. What eventually emerged was not the Nilyt he remembered. The king still laughed, but it was a bitter laugh.

It was going to be a busy couple of weeks, Ergiyios realized with a sigh. The normally-languid nobility was preparing for the arrival of the Runic Acolute, a religious figure to a deer tribe that lived in the nearby stretch of forest. Long ago when attempting to make peace with former enemies, one of the first kings of the Whitemane dynasty sought a pact with the local tribal nation of Xvli. Fully consisting of deer, the tribe was naturally distrustful of the lion king, but headway was made eventually. Soon a treaty was signed, one of the terms baring an agreement that the Runic Priestess, the highest of religious figures to the clannish Xvli's, would be sent as a youth to the kingdom, learning about the Kingdoms's ways to further bind the two nations together before she returned for the rest of her training.

With these thoughts fresh in his mind the Chamberlain entered the, now private, throne room. His king, the noble blood of the Whitemane bloodline, sat in that immense throne, taking little notice of his chamberlain's entrance. It was not clear at first to Ergiyios what was keeping his king's attention so rooted, but as the adviser walked around the dais it soon would be.

Between those vastly muscled legs something was hidden. A kneeling figure, lither of body than any feline could be, was seeming to writhe weakly, trapped underneath one titanesque paw. Her short, coffee-hued fur marvelously inked with swirling tribal lines - and every one of those lines upon her form was clearly seen, considering her current state of nudity. Even with the head trapped underneath that great paw, that short tuft of tail told what species it was - a deer.

It realization struck Ergiyios like lightning. It was the Runic Acolyte. The entire castle was getting ready for her arrival, and yet here she was, being violated by the king. The acolytes were always treated as visiting royalty and given enormous respect. That was, it seemed, up until this day.

The chamberlain didn't want to look, but it was like a historical disaster laying itself out before him. Something that would go down as one of the greatest mistakes when discovered, and he was witnessing it. Horrified, and thusly noticing every aspect of this awfulness. How the fur-covered skin of her muzzle's cheek was taunt, clearly stretched far beyond comfort in the shadow of the king's paw. The dreadfully thick bulge that spanned down her slender, delicate throat as the sounds of gagging filled the room. Fur upon her angular cheek crusty with dried tears - who knew how long the king had been at this - and speckles of blood along her muzzle still glinting, showing silent testimony how much damage a lion's barbs can do to a throat far too small.

"My King." He spoke in a steady voice as he tore his eyes from the weakly struggling figure to his Lord, gathering up all his inner courage to get through this without faltering. "I have sent word to the summit of kings, expressing your deepest regrets for not being able to attend due to illness. However, I am not entirely sure how long these excuses will endure for. This is the second summit you were not in attendance for, and eventually someone will decide to make the journey up here to see if-"

"You worry too much." The king cut his friend off, dismissively waving the paw not currently holding the gagging, choking deer down again his groin. "None of them would be willing to make the trip up here in the cold, and if they decide to send diplomats, we can always make sure they get... lost on the way. The wilds are dangerous, as you know."

A lesser male might have balked openly at that, of murdering the diplomatic envoys of close friend-nations, but Ergiyios had learned to keep his emotions under check. He simply stared at his king for a long moment, attempting to keep the disgust out of his eyes, "All the same, my Lord, I don't-"

"Enough of this, my friend." Again cutting his chamberlain off, this time before any point could be made. His golden eyes were looking down at the pitiful creature, smiling at her in a mocking kind of gentleness as he moved two digits aside to see her face. The doe's own gaze was looking up in wide, horrified pleading to the king, glossy yet still alert. "I'm busy showing this deer bitch how to properly kneel before her betters."

"When did the Runic Acoylete arrive?" Ergiyios asked with false calmness, as-if this was perfectly normal. To get any answer of the king these days one had to act as if nothing were amiss.

"This morning." The king replied absently, not taking his gaze off the girl's face. "You were off doing your own errands in the city, and I happened to catch a glimpse out the window of her arriving. Well, obviously I couldn't keep such a dignified religious leader waiting, could I? I told the guards to have her brought inside my throne room. She looked hungry, so I offered her some venison. Could you believe the cunt got affronted by that?"

"I see." It was all Ergiyios could handle to respond with. His eyes set upon his king's face still; now that he tore his gaze away from the sight lower, he had no wish to see it again.

"Apparently she doesn't eat meat. Well, of course, I couldn't allow for such irony to go without being fulfilled. I do love my jokes, as you know, old friend. I had serious concerns it would not fit. So I decided to simply shove her muzzle down while still sheathed, and see what would happen," He paused there, absent-mindedly running his thumb down her back in, what to him, was a short stroke, yet it ran down the entirely of the deer's form, "Her struggles quickened the process. So weak. Helpless..." He gave a deep murr as the girl swallowed involuntarily "I think her muzzle might be dislocated. She won't be able to speak for a while," He laughed then, grinning toothily at her, "Not that she would be able to anyway, the state her throat must be in."

"And what of her people?" It was hard to think of greater issues at the moment, but attempting to appeal to the King's mercy for one small girl was a fool's mission. "How, my Lord, will we explain this?"

"To be perfectly honest, I am not all that concerned." The white beast of a king grunted, lifting her head up enough for the girl to catch a breath of air, hoarse cry silenced pitifully as she was slammed back down. The king's eyes rolled in the back of his head as that broad chest rose, the bulge in her throat throbbing noticeably. Tears flowed down innocent cheeks fresh once more, obviously dismayed by the feeling of her stomach fill suddenly with the potent seed of the king.

Her scream couldn't even be heard as the barbed length was ripped from her throat, weeping quietly in a ball as the royal seed dripped from her elegant muzzle, belly slightly engorged with the potency of the king's climax. Above, looking down from upon his throne with the most self-satisfied smile, King Nilyt Whitemane sat. Ecstatic in his act of cruelty. The chamberlain remained quiet. His king had finally gone too far.