FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Chapter 2

It's been roughly a week since the pair of them had set out for the nearest Elder village to the west. They were running low on rations, but other than that, the trip had been uneventful; at least to Maroc's knowledge. Though it might be safe to say, both of them were relieved to discover that they were in town. Out in the forest and wilderness, they had failed to start a single fire, so Maroc hadn't even tried to hunt once. Foraging was neigh onto none, what they did find was little more than a mouthful. So, bellies hollow, bodies tired, all the pair wanted was a good night's rest with a hot meal. As Aaron and Maroc approached the town; the sun was starting to set.

The village was smaller than that of Maroc's, though it seemed that more fur's traveled through here. The well-worn road down the middle of the town held traveling carts here and there, trying to make some easy coin were they can. The buildings that guided the road were made of wood, taken from the forest a ways away from the town. The few businesses that were here included a butcher, tavern, and what seemed like a metal workers shop, but surprisingly, there was little to no activity from any of these. The only other trade building was a small building, carved into the door was one word, 'Supply'. All in all, the inhabitants were kind on the surface, a quiet town.

The blue dragon, holding his little friends legs as he rode his shoulders, headed for the tavern. However, before they were half way to the door, a fox stepped in front of them, a smile on his face. As Maroc stopped, he observed that he seemed to be the owner of a nearby cart full of goods.

"Why hello there, good sir!" the fox said, giving a small bow to the tall dragon. "I see you seem to be new to town! Well, let me be the first to great you to our humble little village." As he gave a sweep with his arm to the view, Maroc tried to politely thank him and excuse himself before he could continue; the fox didn't take the hint. "It seems you're travelers, and tired ones at that. Well, I've got the perfect thing for ones such as you!" The fur took off and quickly returned with a big bed roll, he moved so fast that Maroc didn't have time to consider trying to leave the fox.

"Look at this bed roll," he said, holding it up close to the dragon's snout. "These bed rolls are super soft, and guaranteed to give such a relaxing sleep, it'll feel like you are sleeping on genuine down! Only one silver a piece, for a perfect rest! But, since I see you have a little one there, I'll throw in another for half price!"

"No, thank you," Maroc replied before the fox could start talking again. "We've already have bed rolls, and we need to get going. Have a good day, sir." And Maroc started walking before the merchant could try and stop them. The dragon could hear him shouting better and better offers as they left, but he didn't care, they didn't need them. Aaron, though, tugged on Maroc's claws to get his attention.

"That sounded like a good deal, why didn't we get them?" He asked innocently.

Maroc chuckled a little at this. "There isn't anything wrong with the one's we have, and if we get just one thing for such a price, he'll know we have some coin and try and get it all out of us."

"But he seemed so nice, I don't think he'd do that." The little raccoon replied, resting his furry head on Maroc's scaly one.

"Being nice helps sell products, and yes, he did seem genuinely nice, but they need to make coin, and to do that, they have to get as much as they can from each customer."

"I suppose that's true," Aaron said, a little more than tired.

->Soon, though, they were upon the tavern. Maroc picked up Aaron and set him down on the ground. As he got down and dusted him off some, he asked him, "You feel up to a meal before we rest?" The little raccoon just nodded; a small smile on his face. When the two odd companions entered, what little conversation that was going on soon fell hushed. There was only a group of three in a table near the door, and one at the bar, paw wrapped around an empty glass. Maroc ignored the silence and made his way to a table at the far end of the room. As he helped get Aaron settled and placed their packs under their table, a waitress soon approached. She was a small young fur, brown coloring and black spots, and green eyes, though, the exact spices Maroc couldn't say. She informed them of what they had, and the dragon ordered up some stew for the two of them. When she soon returned with two hot bowls of stew, Maroc asked her if any rooms were available.

"There's one room open, five coppers a night. Only one bed though," she told him, taking not of the little one.

"That'll do," Maroc told her, reaching into the packs to retrieve the correct coin. As he placed the money in her paw, she told him she'd give him the key when they finished their meal. As they ate a filling, though slightly greasy meal, they continued to receive glances from the three at the other end of the room, unbeknown to Aaron who was enjoying his hot meal. When Maroc finished, ahead of Aaron, he told him he was going to get their room. As he approached the waitress, he kept an eye on Aaron and the group still glancing at him. When the waitress handed him the small key to the dragon, she had a few bits of info to give him.

"Don't worry about those three; they're just looking for some fur who's supposed to be through here." Maroc nodded, but as he turned to go, she spoke again.

"Um, you're weapons; they need to be locked up." As Maroc turned to her, she dropped her gaze quickly. "Sorry....the rules..."

"It's alright, I understand," Maroc replied as he untied his katana and handed it to her. She actually almost dropped it, not expecting it to be so heavy.

"S-Sorry," she said quickly, but Maroc waved a clawed paw, dismissing it. He then went to their packs and retrieved Aaron's blade and the bow a quiver, and handed it to her as well. She then placed them into a cabinet under the bar and locked it. As Maroc, once again turned to leave, she stopped him, this time by grapping his arm, but gently. Maroc turned back to her, a little confused.

"Umm..." she said quietly, looking down. "Since you're a traveler, and you've been on the road a lot...." She trailed off quietly.

"And...?" Maroc encouraged her, though lost at what she was trying to say.

"Well...you're out there a lot, so maybe you would like....some relief?" she asked quietly. "It's only one silver, and you can get me for the whole night."

It took only a moment for Maroc to realize what she was saying, and he was taken aback. "Is the owner of this place making you do this?" he asked, concerned.

"No!" she said quietly, confused as she looked up at him. "Of course not! I just need the money is all..."

The dragon sighed, and took her paw in both of his. "You shouldn't lower yourself to such measures. You could get hurt or worse. All I can do, though, is ask you to stop." The dragon knew she needed real help, and maybe he could offer it to her when his business was done at the temple, but not before. So, he returned to Aaron, who, in his absence, had finished his meal. They then collected their things, and Maroc guided the cub up the stairs and into the correct room. It contained only one small bed and a nightstand with an unlit lantern on it. The floors looked splintered, but surprisingly felt smooth to the touch of bare paws. Maroc placed the packs under the bed, and helped get Aaron comfortable.

"I'm going to head into town and get a few things; I'll lock the door behind me and be quick, alright?" Maroc told the sleepy cub. Aaron smiled and just nodded.

"Be back soon Maroc" he said sleepily. Maroc replied he would, and headed down the stairs and through the tavern. The three suspicious furs, that Maroc now saw were wolves, were still there, but paid no attention to him, the lone customer at the bar was missing though. As the waitress was cleaning the table they had just eaten at, Maroc decided he could use some directions.

"Excuse me," the dragon started, the waitress merely nodded in recognition, "Can you tell me where I can get some food for travelers?"

The waitress didn't answer until she had finished wiping down the table, she then turned but made a point not to make eye contact with the dragon. "You can find all the supplies you need in the shop across the street."

"You mean the one marked 'Supplies?'" Maroc asked, but she was already walking away. Maroc, frowning a little, made his way out of the building and onto the street. The building, 'Supplies', had no windows and looked a little worse for wear, but they needed some sort of food, or at least a flint. As Maroc made his way towards the shop, he made note of the sun starting to be embraced by the earth to the west. He'd have to be quick.

As he pushed open the door, it creaked so loud any sort of bell would have been unneeded. The shelves seemed quite empty, all except the ones in the back, but even then they were sparsely covered; the dragons hope at finding what he needed here was fading. As he made his way towards the back, he saw no shop owner, of any kind. But, when he approached the counter, he heard a loud snore. Startled, and a little taken aback, Maroc looked around for the source of the odd noise. As another rattled off, it became apparent, it was coming from behind the counter. So, walking around to the side, Maroc soon found the sleepy shop owner. He was an ancient looking goat; at least, Maroc thought it was a goat. He was so small and white, Maroc wondered if he had built the shop as a young one; the thought made him snicker a little.

The noise, surprisingly, awakened the sleeping goat. He grumbled and coughed loudly, trying to yell before he was even awake. Maroc stepped back quickly as the old one tumbled out in a furry mess, calling out grumbling and coughing loudly. When he finally stood, the dragon got a good look at him. He had a long white beard that almost touched the floor. He was clothed in old looking brown clothing and stood hunched over. As the short goat stared up at Maroc through squinted eyes, the dragon scratched his scaly head, not sure how to proceed.

The old goat seemed to sense his confusion and waved it away with a gruff word. "What you want?"

The abrupt question caught Maroc off guard, and before he could reply, the goat coughed loudly and shook his head. "What? Are you mute as well as dim?"

This brought the dragon back to his senses, a little offended. "I'm here to see if you have a flint, and that's all. I have money, I just need to know if you have the supplies."

The goat laughed at this, wheezing and coughing. "Oh that's rich! A dragon needing a flint!" He abruptly stopped laughing and picked up a snarled looking branch that may have been a cane. "Don't take me as a fool boy!" he jabbed the cane into the dragon's leg with each word, forcing Maroc to back off. "What do you want from me? Secrets? Well, you won't get any out of me you young squirt!" As he went to jab at Maroc's leg again, the dragon caught it and held it fast, causing the goat to bleat in anger as he tried to pull back the branch.

"Just listen for a second!" Maroc shouted, causing the goat to pause, "I don't have the foggiest idea what you mean by, 'secrets', and I have my own reasons for wanting a flint. And if you make some easy money off of a dim dragon, what's the harm?" The goat paused in thought at this, and finally sighed and nodded, so Maroc released the branch. The shop owner, leaning heavily on the twisted wood, walked, or more waddled, over to the counter. As Maroc followed, he saw the goat bend and retrieve something from under the counter.

"Here," he said tiredly, putting an old looking flint on the counter, "That'll be twenty coppers." Maroc's widened a little at the high price, but before he could argue, and before the goat could grumble some insult, the dragon placed the money on the counter. After all, he really did need it. As he picked up his merchandise and turned to leave, the goat coughed to get his attention.

"Dragon....I like you, and I think you're honest. So I'll tell you something." His voice dropped a little, forcing Maroc to stretch his ear fins and turn to catch what he was saying. "Lock your door tight, shut your window, dowse the lights, and most important of all; do not look it in the eye..."

Confused he turned fully to question the old goat, but as he looked, he wasn't there. Figuring this was some old man's rambling, Maroc shrugged and left the shop. As he stepped out onto the road, the sun was all but gone. Still light enough though, Maroc decided to walk a little before turning in for the night. As he walked down the street, he noticed all the cart sellers had left, not one remained. And the children that had been playing by the homes down the road, were gone. One was still out, but his mother soon ran out, and quite forcefully, dragged him inside. A little odd, but maybe the cub just didn't want to wash up before bed. The oddities, though, continued to occur as Maroc walked farther down the street.

As he observed the doors of the homes, they all had iron strips across them with small spikes. As if they were never meant to be opened. The windows, too, were small at best, and had bars across them. To top it off, Maroc distinctly heard the sound of metal bolts sliding home. Looking around, Maroc suddenly felt as if he were in the middle of a battle field with an army hiding behind every door; the feeling of dread before an ambush. Turning quickly, flattening his wings and whipping his tail out, he looked around to see if some fur actually was sneaking up on him. Nothing but shadow, as the last of the sun vanished, was there to greet his gaze. Unexplainably, Maroc was scared, at the sounds that were raising from the edge of the forest, at what might be coming, and that the villagers knew about. It was then that the shadows appeared. It was like something dark moved within the natural shadows, flowed like smoke on a frozen lake, but with such speed that it would be on the dragon in less than a moment.

Maroc's mind was frozen, but his body moved, it knew, in some deep primal fear, it knew, that whatever this was, if he didn't get inside before it touched him, he would cease to exist. So, he ran like he never ran before, bolting for the tavern door. As soon as he moved, the darkness seemed to know of him, and surged forward toward the same point, planning to intercept him. Ducking his head down and pumping his legs, having his wings pulled in tight and painfully he tried to get to the door just a second before it did. As his clawed paw clasped the handle, he made a mistake; he looked up. His gray eyes met darkness, and he couldn't move. All around him was darkness, above him, blow him, everywhere. He peered deep into it, and he could make out a small rough outline of, some creature. It had a lean body, but most of all, were its eyes. There were pitch black, darker than the emptiness of the night, of the dark that surrounded it. It was so bleak, the eyes seemed to take over everything. Maroc couldn't feel the ground, his armor, his own skin. He couldn't even remember his name....all that mattered, all that his being was, was about those eyes.

Suddenly, he felt as if he had been pushed, or rather pulled, and felt the pain of hitting his head hard on the floor of the tavern. It was then that he realized he could feel again, and remember. As he looked up, darkness was trying to flood in through the door, like an evil black wind. The only thing slowing it was a small fur that Maroc recognized as the bar maid. She was screaming and crying in pain, fighting against something stronger than her. Maroc quickly got up off of the floor and tried to help her shut the door, throwing his weight on it. The added force was enough to almost shut it, but then he felt cold, so cold. The shape he saw in the darkness was slowly walking through the gap in the door. Maroc tried to avoid looking into its eyes, but he knew that if they didn't close the door, it'd kill them all. So, he did the first thing that came to mind, he pulled his left arm back and punched it in the head.

As he moved to hit the being, the girl screamed loudly, "NOOO!" but it was too late, his arm was already moving. As his fist made contact with its head, his head exploded in pain. The shouting filling his thoughts, and living deaths of its victims over and over again, but also, he felt it fall back though the opening and out into the street. With the last of his strength they slammed the door shut. As Maroc heard the click of the door connect with the frame, he collapsed and let the darkness take him away from the pain. Before he was completely gone, he heard the girl screaming his name, her hot tears falling on his right arm. And his last conscious thought was, 'How does she know my name...?'

The dragon awoke, his eyes burning, his head throbbing, and his body on fire in pain. All but his left arm, which was strangely cold, even in the warm sun that flooded the room, seeming to almost erase the memory of the darkness from last night. He leaned up and held his head in his right hand, and it came to him. He remembered last night, but that wasn't it. He had felt darkness similar to that before. It was that John who he battled.

He was back in the field, with the moon shinning on the lake, and the black tiger staring at him. All of the sudden, darkness seemed to explode from him, and he was enveloped. Maroc struggled and fought, clawing at the darkness as if he could tear it away. Soon, though, the last of the moon disappeared and fell still, but he continued to scream. And then, those red eyes come, in his mind, he saw.... Before he could remember more, he felt a sharp pain to his already pained head. Crying out, clutching his new wound, he realized he had fallen onto the floor. The bar maid was to his right, concern in her eyes, and the shop owner from across the street was there too. He was clutching his twisted cane, and Maroc realized he had struck him.

"What in all the Lands is wrong with you?!" Maroc shouted, taking his hand away to try and get up.

"No, don't!" The girl called out, causing him to stop. "You're hurt, let me help you..." she got over and, wrapping his arm across her shoulders, helped him back into bed.

"You were having a fit, screaming," The goat replied, less than sharp as he was back in his store. "You were seeing something, so I had to bring you back before whatever it was, got you." Maroc nodded, understanding, clutching his newly sore head with his good arm. He was having trouble moving his left, as soon the two noticed.

"How...how did you do that..?" the girl asked him, a mix of wonder and fear in her eyes. "You, know...punch it..?"

"I honestly don't know." Maroc replied, "I just made a fist a struck it."

The goat sneered and shook his head. "I honestly don't know why you'd keep the secret to winning our freedom. Just tell us!"

"Hush Dean! Can't you see he's hurt?" cried the waitress at the shop owner.

"Well....alright," Dean said, mellowing out and watching the dragon. "But as soon as he can properly walk, he should either kill it, or show us how." Maroc nodded in agreement.

"Is there anything we can get you...?" the waitress asked. Before Maroc could answer though, he stomach rumbled quite noticeably, causing him to chuckle a little embarrassed, and the waitress to look at him with a small smirk. "Well, that answers that! I'll be right back with a broth, sit tight, alright?" she said, to which Maroc nodded.

As she left to head down to the kitchen, the goat continued to watch him, not really with sternful eyes, but more out of elderly curiosity. It dawned on him what should have come to the dragons mind as soon as he awoke. "Where's Aaron? Is he alright?" the dragon asked quite concerned now. The goat tilted his head at this.

"I really have not the slightest idea to whom you are referring to." Maroc started to worry if he was hurt, but before he could pester the old one, the waitress retuned carrying a tray with a white bowl of thin broth and a piece of buttered bread.

"Where is Aaron?" repeated Maroc loudly, worry in his voice, enough to cause her to stop and look at him confused.

"The....raccoon companion of yours...?" she asked, unsure of what else to say.

"Yes! Where is he? Is he hurt?"

"He shouldn't be...he's in your room you paid for, he hasn't come out yet."

"He's blind!" Maroc stated, making the poor waitress start, having to set aside the tray on a dresser in fear of dropping it. The dragon pushed himself out of bed, ignoring the stabbing pain in his head and arm, pausing only for a second to fight off the dizziness before limping toward the door. The young waitress tried to stop him, though.

"Wait! You can't get up, you'll hurt-" she started to protest, but Maroc just gently pushed her out of the way with his right arm and made his way down the hall, looking for his room.

"Get back here boy, or I'll thump your skull again!" Dean cried after him. Maroc had no doubt he would, but since the hallway was only big enough for one to pass through, it'd have to wait. Soon, Maroc saw their door, and as he approached, his ear fins caught the sound of quite breathing. Maroc stopped, and listened harder, and soon heard a soft snore from their room. Sighing, he knew he was still sleeping so he'd have to be quite. Walking softly, the other two in toe, trying their best to stop him, he opened the door to the room.

Aaron was curled up in the bed, sheets pulled tightly around him as he snored quietly in the golden sunlight. Maroc smiled contently, and walked over to him. When he was at his side, he gently awoke the raccoon at a touch.

"Aaron? It's time to wake up. Need to get some food, alright?" Maroc said soothingly, gently shaking his shoulder. The cub grumbled, yawned and stretched, trying to wake up.

"Morning Maroc," he said cheerfully. "Sunny day we're having, isn't it?" he joked. It was when he turned towards Maroc, who picked him up with his one good arm that his scar was made fully visible towards Dean and the young waitress; who merely covered her mouth at the sight. The dragon struggled to carry the cub down stairs, and almost tripped once. Aaron squeaked and dug his claws into Maroc's neck instinctually. While painful, it did give him the focus he needed to make it the rest of the way towards a table. As soon as Aaron was comfortably seated, Maroc collapsed in a chair next to him, exhausted. As the waitress saw he wasn't returning to bed, she placed her hands on her hips, shook her head and stormed up the stairs to retrieve his broth.

"You alright..?" Aaron asked, a little worried at the way Maroc was acting.

"Been better, let's say." The dragon was leaning back and rubbing his head, already missing his bed.

"What happened?" Aaron seemed concerned, so Maroc decided to tell him the truth. No point in coddling the boy, not after what he's been through.

"Apparently, one of this town's main attractions is a black fog creature that attacks at night. It almost got me, and the kind waitress here," the dragon nodded in her direction when she returned with his food. "Saved me." It was then she realized what the two were talking about, and she soon grew embarrassed.

"Oh! It was nothing, really!" she said, looking away after placing the tray in front of Maroc, hiding her face by brushing some hair out of her eyes. Maroc just smiled gratefully.

"Thank you," he told her, meaning more than just the food. She nodded and went back to the kitchen.

Aaron, though, was scared. "C-creature...?" Maroc looked at him, wondering what he was thinking. "You think...it could be...him..?" the cub trailed off, shaking a little in fear.

"Oh no!" Maroc quickly reassured him. "I may not know what he looks like, but this creature is almost more feral, and it seems it's been here for quite a while, based on the modifications made on the buildings." Aaron nodded at this, a little less fearful of it.

"Aye, it has," said a new voice, one Aaron didn't, but Maroc did, recognize.

"Who's that?" asked the cub.

"This," said Maroc waving over the old man to sit with them, "Is Dean, an owner of a shop across the street. He sold me a flint just the other day."

The reminder of their transaction drew a short laugh from the goat as he slowly sat in an old chair that seemed to be just as old as him. "That'll never get old that one, a dragon needing a flint!" he chuckled quietly and turned his attention towards the cub.

"So, I hear ya blind huh?" he said, examining the gray scar.

Aaron nodded. "Yup, both eyes" The old mind smiled at his joke.

"Haven't given up, eh? That's good," he then spoke to Maroc. "Come by my shop before you leave town, I might have something for the boy." The dragon just nodded, though not sure what the old man could offer.

"So, you know of the creature?" Aaron tried to turn his head in the direction of Dean.

"You could say that, you could" he nodded as he said this. "But I'm not about to part with my secrets just yet. I will tell you, though, it's been attacking this town for ten years, and only comes out on the night the Moon Goddess plays with her sister."

This drew a confused look from Aaron, who turned to Maroc for clarification. "Nights with no moon," he told the cub, who nodded.

"Bah, kids these days. Parents not teaching them the Tales of Creation anymore," the goat just shook his head, causing his long white beard to rustle against his clothes.

"Well, mother tried to teach me, but, it just kind of poured out of my ear really," said Aaron. Maroc was a little surprised he could talk about his mother so soon, but didn't say a word. Before they could continue, though, the waitress made her way towards them, carrying two bowls. One she placed in front of Aaron, the other in front of Dean. Aaron's was piled with mashed potatoes and gravy, and topped with vegetables. He took one whiff and started to spoon the breakfast up faster than was healthy. Dean's was just boiled wheat with butter in it, he ate his with practiced motions.

"Um, I didn't..." Maroc started, a little confused

"I know," she interrupted, "But after what you did, I think we can feed and house you for free. And Dean always gets his meals here." She then looked at Maroc's untouched meal. "Though you need to be eating," she said quite sternly. The dragon nodded and started to spoon the slightly cold broth into his mouth.

As she walked away, he tried to properly thank her. "Thank you miss..."

"You can call me Jane," and she turned into the kitchen to clean leftover dishes.

The dragon nodded, and the three continued to eat in silence. That didn't last long, though, as someone started to bang on the outside door. The three looked up quickly, startled at the sudden noise. Jane, though confused, made her way from the kitchen to the door, wiping her paws on her apron along the way. By the time she made it to the door, the banging was accompanied but inaudible shouts through the thick door. When she finally opened the door, an ecstatic brown wolf was there to greet her. His sheer size towered over Jane, enough for her to take a small step back. The wolf saw this and made his way in, looking around, before she could properly refuse him.

"Sir! We are not open yet! Please, make..."

"Shut up!" the wolf yelled, spotting and making his way toward Maroc and company. "Is this him, is this the one that beat Black?" the wolf asked, pointing as he marched up towards them. Jane, to no avail, tried to tell him to leave; he just ignored her. When he was at their table, towering over the three, he scrutinized the blue dragon closely.

"This puny excuse for a lizard couldn't have possibly hurt Black!" he scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest and turning up his nose at Maroc.

"Who are you?" Aaron suddenly asked, innocently.

"Who? Who am?" the brown wolf leaned over to Aaron, placing his big paws on the table, and sniffed his head. "I'm the rightful owner of most of this town you little piece of grease," he growled at him, causing the cub to shrink in his chair, easily able to tell how big this fur was.

"Leave the boy alone Greon!" Dean said, trying to have him step back. As Greon turned to Dean and growled, Maroc acted. Standing, he put his right hand to the wolf's chest and gently, but forcefully, pushed him away from the two.

"Back off," the dragon said, standing in between him, and Aaron and Dean.

"Did you...? How dare you touch me you little piece of shit!" the wolf was clearly irate, and as he pulled a dagger on Maroc, Jane cried out in shock at what was happening.

"Just wait!" Maroc shouted, holding up his right hand, causing the growling wolf to pause. "Look, if you really have a problem with me, and us in general, is this anyway a respectable land owner should handle this?"

When Maroc saw the wolf consider this, he continued, "How about this, we worry about, 'Black', first, then we can finish this squabble later, alright?" Geon sneered at the dragon, but returned his knife to its sheath.

"You have one month, on the day of the black night, you better have a plan or I will kill you were you stand," he turned, then, and walked out of the tavern, slamming the door behind him. As soon as Maroc was sure he was gone, he collapsed to his knees.

"Maroc!" Jane and Dean cried, both running towards his aid.

"What's wrong?!" Aaron called out, scared at what might have befallen his friend.

"I...I'm alright, I suppose..." Maroc tried to reassure the two as they helped him up. "Just, pushing him away was like trying to move a stone wall." He chuckled at his own joke weakly.

"You need to rest, now," Jane told him sternly.

"But I'm fine..." Maroc said quietly as they helped him up the narrow stair way. When they placed him on his bed, they soon brought up Aaron. By then though, Maroc was already asleep.

The proceeding weeks passed by rather uneventful. Maroc recovered as best he could, his left arm remained a little stiff, but other than that he was fine. He trained every day he could, trying to be as prepared as he could. Greon continued to jeer at him and say that he was in no way a fighter with such a puny sword, and the way he wielded it was no proper way to attack. Maroc just ignored him. The villagers wanted to help attack Black, but based on the stories he's heard, that was a no. Anyone who normally touches it, is consumed in the darkness forever. Though, they didn't sit idly by waiting for the dark moon, Maroc had them set up barricades and traps for the creature. At first, though, when they started this, Dean tried to stop them.

"You don't know what you're doing!" he yelled at the dragon one day, as Maroc was laying out the plans on a barrowed table in the village square. "Why do you think we never left? Or tried to keep him out of the village before?!" The villagers grew quite at this, looking down. Maroc, though, was curious.

"And why is that, old one?" he asked him, crossing his arms and leaning on the table.

"Because, if any of us permanent town folk try and leave, or set up any type of defense than we already have, it kills us!" the goat yelled, flustered and pounding his cane on the dirt for emphasis. "If we do more than this, we forfeit our homes protection and Black can just walk in! If we leave, it hunts us down and leaves the body torn to pieces as an example!" Maroc thought hard on this. It did explain a lot, but also, Black can only come out once a month.

"Thank you for this information, Dean," Maroc said, nodding to the goat in thanks. "We'll just have to make me an easier target to kill first, won't we?"

"But if we help you, and you lose, we'll die!" Dean shouted at the dragon, causing many in the square to look over at the commotion.

At this, Maroc sighed and stood up. "Look, if you just hide in your homes, you'll die anyway. I'm offering you a chance at freedom, if you don't want to help, I can't make you." Maroc than turned and waited to see who would leave. Some did, but those who stayed, he had go out in the woods and collect timber. Greon, though, refused to help a 'weak little fool'. He said that when he failed, he'd buy up what property was now open to those who died in the attack.

The plans Maroc had made, involved a low wall covered in spikes around the entire town, and around every home was a taller wall of similar design, and Maroc would be waiting in a ring in the center of town. Maroc would wait and light a fire on the outside ring, and inside ring when Black crossed those using flaming arrows. The dragon had no idea what kind of effect the light would have on it, but he hoped it'd weaken him. Certainly make it easier to go forward than back. Soon, though, the moon waned, and the walls weren't finished. With the dragon working late into the night, he and the villagers had them finished one day before the moon vanished. With a tired body, Maroc went up to his room in the tavern, and slept the entire day.

Jane woke him roughly five hours before sundown. "Maroc..? You need to be up, Black is coming..." the dragon, grumbling, was sprawled across the bed, his tail and wings stretched out and covering most of the available floor space. Slowly, he got up, put on his tunic, and went down into the tavern with Jane. He was greeted with a majority of the village there. They all had mugs of mead, even some of the young cubs, raised in honor as they cheered at him. Most, though, had a twinge of fear in their eyes, thinking this'd be their last day on these Lands. They all wished him luck as they drank, and the dragon just smiled. They must being drinking for freedom, or as a last drink before death. Maybe a little of both, he thought. Maroc sat down at his now usual spot, Jane at his side.

"What'll it be today, then?" she asked, smiling. Maroc, though, could see the fear in her eyes as well.

"Just bring me a jug of water, please," he asked her politely.

"Aren't you hungry, though?" she asked, a little confused.

"Well...we have a way of eating, before fighting, if we can help it." Jane's curiosity was clear on her face as she turned her ears forward to listen. "We, on the eve of battle, consume nothing but water, so if we do get sick at what we do, or see, we only have water in our bellies."

"Very well," Jane said, nodding. She soon returned with the jug, and sat across from him. They sat there in the crowd, quite silent, until Jane spoke.

"I...hope you can forgive me, for what I asked you, when you first came here."

"I can," Maroc told her, nodding as he took a sip of the water. "Though I can't help but wonder, why would you think you need to resort to such measures? Your tavern seems to be doing well." Jane nodded at this, then looked him in the eye.

"Greon owns this tavern, and I unknowingly bought it, two years ago, before anyone told me of Black. That's part of this curse...once you buy a building here, or build on this land, unless you can pass it on for others, you're stuck. Black can't travel outside of this town, unless you leave. Than he can find you anywhere, no matter how fast you travel, how hard you hide, he can find you." Jane sighed and looked down, pausing before continuing.

"On my first night, it was a hot summer night, so I left the windows open. If you leave anything open, he can get in. He almost killed me...but he came so late in the night, not knowing I was new here, he had to leave before sunrise...I never made that mistake again on a black moon.

"Greon, though, was furious at the damage he caused. I told him that it was Black, and I didn't know. He just yelled I had three weeks to find out, and I had to pay for the damages. When I told him I didn't have that kind of coin, he....almost finished what Black started...." Jane pulled down the collar of her tunic just enough to reveal three scars on the left side of her chest, avoiding his eye. When Maroc saw this, he was angered, and clutched his jug to try and keep his cool.

"Dean, though, came in and...he stopped. He said I'd have to pay him a tariff ever month, and for each month I didn't meet the amount....he'd come over and add a scar..." Jane was tearful now, wiping them away with her wrist. "I haven't missed one yet....but..."

Maroc's mug than shattered, causing both of them and nearby town people to jump. Looking down, Maroc realized he had been gripping the mug tighter and tighter till it broke, spilling water on the table. Sighing, Maroc tried to apologize, by Jane waved it off with a smile.

"Don't worry yourself, alright? Not the first that'll break and certainty won't be the last." As she went to get him more water, a nearby fur handed Maroc a cloth to dry himself off a bit. Maroc thanked him and tried to wipe down the table as best he could.

The next few hours were spent in merry spirits, laughter filling the room. But as the sun fell, the jokes ran dry and the town drank in a quiet murmur. When the sun connected with the mountains, the company methodically filled out of the tavern and into the streets, hugging their neighbors and friends, before walking into their homes and locking the doors. Soon, just Jane, Dean, Aaron, and Maroc were left.

"What...what if you don't..." Aaron started.

"Shhh..." Maroc quieted the cub. "Don't think of that, alright?" The dragon then got down on his knees and hugged the young cub close. Aaron just shook quietly, crying as only he could. He then gave Aaron to Dean and Jane to look after. "Hide well, and don't come out till the sun is up," he told them. Dean nodded and, holding Aarons hand with his free one, and walked back towards the tavern. Jane, though, was teary, and looked to Maroc like she wanted to say something. But before she could, her courage left her and she turned and ran to catch up with the two, tears falling from her cheeks.

Maroc, sighing, took up his weapons. He went and climbed over the center wall, and using his new flint, lit two torches. The dragon had already made special arrows for this, the ends wrapped in cloth and soaked in oil. They were heavier than he was used to, but they'd do. He also had a quiver of the arrows from the original owner leaning up next to the flame ready arrows. He wasn't sure what damage they'd do to a shadow, but they might do something. So, with the sun sinking fast, he took his katana and placed it nearby. He then sat, and prayed.

He prayed to the vanishing Sun, to the missing Moon, to the Earth beneath him, even to the far away Ocean. He prayed to all the Gods, to grant him strength in this dark night, to help him defeat this evil. He prayed his armor would be just enough to save him, his aim to be just enough to hit his target, and his blade be just sharp enough to end Black. He prayed for the same reason any of us pray, to whatever god we call our own. Maroc prayed, because he was afraid.

As the sun's rays vanished, and the cold wind started to blow, Maroc stood and retrieved the bow, notching an oil soaked arrow, and waited. The dragon had expected Black to appear in a furious explosion of shadow, ragged at what had happened here, but he didn't. As the seconds crawled by, Black had yet to appear. The seconds turned to minutes, and minutes into hours. The dragon continued to scan the outside of the town, trying to stay loose as he could in the mounting tension. Once, at a noise, the dragon dropped to one knee and aimed a now flaming arrow at...a child that had wondered out to see what was going on. Before Maroc could yell at him, his mother quickly retrieved him and shut the door behind him. Sighing, Maroc stomped out the burning arrow and grabbed a new one, furious at himself he almost killed a kid. As he turned to the front of the town he was literally face to face with Black.

Crying out in fear, his training left him and he backed up fast, tripping in his own clumsiness. Falling back on his tail hard enough to bring tears to his eyes, he saw Black slowly pad toward him. Black then whipped his head almost like a weapon at the dragon. Some force, resembling a strong wind, knocked Maroc in his gut and sent him crashing through the low inner fence and into the outer fence. The impact was enough that Maroc heard his wing bones snapping before he screamed in pain. As he doubled over and coughed up blood, he felt it hard to breathe as if he took an arrow to the chest. Spitting blood and wheezing, Black slowly made his way toward the injured dragon. Black's fog was thin tonight, and one could see its form as clear as one can view a shadow. He resembled a feral wolf, his mane flowing from his back and pooling around him into a cloak of black shadow. As the dragon tried not to look into Black's eyes, he noticed something unique. Under the creatures eyes, were silver lines.

Maroc, though, had no time to wonder what it was. He did his best to pick himself up, groaning loudly in pain as his broken wings moved, looking back to see bone sticking out in a few places as they wept blood. Doing his best to ignore the pain, he focused on Black. The bow and oil soaked arrow wouldn't do much now, what he needed now was his blade. Black padded closer to the hurt dragon, in no hurry to end this, seeing as Maroc was practically defenseless. As the distance between the two shortened, Maroc could think of only one thing to do. So, he took aim with his single arrow, and let it fly.

As the arrow flew, Black actually stopped to watch its flight. It clearly was too high to hit him. As it sailed by, the creature turned and realized its destination, just as it hit. The arrow hit one of the torches, knocking it over and setting what was left of the inner wall ablaze. The resulting bright light caused Black to duck and growl in a bone grinding noise, his maw agape revealing long jagged teeth made of shadow. As the light reached him, some of his mane shrunk, hiding in the seemingly monstrous shadow that the creature cast. Black turned back towards were Maroc was, furious at his actions. But he was no longer there, and Black noticed movement inside the flames.

When Maroc saw Black's attention follow the arrow, he dashed as fast as he could without drawing attention from it, behind the buildings and toward the inner wall. When the creature turned back where he was, Maroc lunged for his blade in the inferno, quickly grabbing his blade and backing away from the fire. While the arrows burned into ash, Maroc's katana was only warm to the touch. When Black realized he'd been tricked and spotted Maroc, he wasted no time, bolting at a speed almost as fast as blinking an eye. The dragon dived off to the left and felt the freezing cold of Black's body on his side, barley getting out of the way. Drawing his blade and tossing the scabbard off to the side, he prepared for the next attack.

Black, landing without a sound and more control than is natural for such a speed, turned and observed Maroc. Having regaining his composer, Black didn't attack thoughtlessly this time. Instead, he circled the dragon, who did his best to match his pace, wincing at the growing pain in his wings. Too late, though, the dragon realized what he was doing. As soon as the dragons shadow from the fire behind him, fell on the creature, it attacked. The only thing that saved Maroc was that his blade was pointed at him when he lunged, forcing him to go for his legs. As soon as the fangs of it sank into Maroc, his brain froze in pain, everything changing to gray. Things seemed to move slowly, the pain reaching new levels from his wings and his legs. He fell in slow motion, the impact on his head feeling like it had been smashed. As Black started to drag him away, his wings felt like they were being pulled apart with a million tiny hooks. While the dragons entire body was tearing itself apart in pain, his left arm actually felt warm. It seemed to move normally, unlike everything else.

When Black finally stopped dragging him, and walked around to finish him off, Maroc reached out at him. Black's face, if it could, probably had an expression of shock as Maroc gripped his throat. As soon as Maroc was the one attacking, the gray around him shattered, the rest of his body returned to normal, fire racing through his veins as he held the struggling creature in his left hand. Helpless, and powerless, as Maroc squeezed, grinning at the sight, his dark gray eyes wide in excitement. He wanted to torture it, show it what it had done to so many others. He felt he should know how to make it feel the cold, the pain, to rip it apart piece by piece. But before the way came to mind, though, he heard a whine. Black, was already in pain.

In Maroc's grip, the fogs flow slowed, and Black squirmed trying to get free, his paws pushing weakly at the dragon's tight grip. It was whining, and when Maroc listened closely, it almost sounded like cries of pain, of torture. Looking, surprised an evil being could feel pain, he saw something that broke his heart. Black's eyes were squeezed shut, but he was crying sliver tears. The sliver lines were stains from ten years of tears, of pain. Broken, Maroc no longer felt pleasure in Black's suffering. Looking up, he sent a prayer to the Gods to guide this poor being; as he stabbed him once with his blade, through the chest. Black shuddered, but the sounds of pain ended, and he grew still. As Maroc looked back down at him, his body was now relaxed. When the dragon laid Black gently on the ground, black fog trickled out of his wound.

The sky was noticeably growing brighter as night started to turn to day. Maroc looked up, at the coming sun, but when he returned his gaze to Black, he was looking at him. The dragon almost jumped, afraid to be caught in his eyes again, but he stopped. Black's eyes were pure silver now, and they seemed tankful toward the dragon. Maroc, a little confused, just nodded at him, and Black smiled warmly and rested his head back onto the ground with a contented sigh. As soon as the sun broke out of the earth, Black began to vanish, fading. Maroc, confused and torn, tried to block the suns light by stretching his shattered wings up and creating shade, crying loudly in pain as his broken bones were force to move, ripping new wounds open. This slowed Blacks disappearance, and drew his attention. Looking up with sad, hurt eyes, he shook his head, pleading with the dragon. Pained and saddened, Maroc dropped his wings, the sun's light hitting Black, and he smiled, happy. He disappeared like water in a hot pan, gone, leaving Maroc's weapon on the ground. But, before Maroc could let a single tear fall at the sad history of him, a bright light appeared. Blinded, the dragon called out as his eyes burned, but he didn't dare look away. In front of him, was Black. Or more, it was the real, Black. He was upright, on two legs. He was white, with silver tipped fur. His mane flowing from him into eternity, seeming to be brighter than the Sun Herself. Such beauty, freedom, it shattered Maroc's heart to know what he once was. Looking down at the broken dragon, drew a frown to the beings face. He reached down, and pulled Maroc gently to his talloned feet, and when the dragon was upright, he realized he was healed. His wings were repaired, and all pain was gone. It was then that Black spoke to him, and Maroc nodded, understanding, and he was gone.

Soon, furs started to appear out from their homes, and realized what had happened. They started cheering and tried to swarm Maroc with questions. He stayed quite, though, and retrieved his blade. When he made his way to his scabbard, Jane, and Aaron made their way towards him.

Jane started yelling in excitement "Oh praise the Gods! You did..." But she was silenced with Maroc's look, and so was most of the town.

"I need to attend to a few things, before I tell you what happened," the dragon said, sullenly. "I need Dean and Greon to meet me in the tavern" he announced to everyone, making sure the message would be carried to whom it concerned. And with that, he left the crowd, headed for the tavern. When Jane and Aaron tried to follow, he turned to them and stopped them.

"No, I need to do this alone, and don't worry Jane," Maroc placed a hand gently on her shoulder as he said this, "I promise we won't break anything."

An hour later, the three were sitting there. Maroc had borrowed Jane's key and locked up all their weapons, even poor Dean's cane, before returning it to the waitress outside.

Greon tried to take charge immediately. "So you wanna tell us what-"

"Shut up," Maroc growled, staring at him with hate.

"Ya, Greon, this dragon just saved the entire town! Show him some respect!" Dean chimed in, happy to see the wolf pissed.

"You too, Dean," Maroc said, turning to the old goat.

"Me? But..." Dean, though, quieted when he saw the dragon wasn't kidding.

"Both of you have things to be ashamed of," Maroc told them, as he walked around and leaned up on a table. "And I'll see how bad you feel and administer punishment accordingly."

"What?!" Greon yelled, enraged at the dragons gall. "What gives you the authority to do this?!" Before he could continue ranting, Maroc spoke.

"Dean knows, don't you? Tell him, tell him how you're the last to be alive as of ten years ago, go on," Maroc encouraged him, folding his arms and staring at the goat Dean, at first, pretended to be shocked, but soon grew sad and hung his head, his beard touching the floor.

"Ever since this village was founded, there've been oddities. We used to mine beautiful crystal in a mine long lost, and this was a thriving town back then," Dean's eyes grew teary at the memories when he spoke. "It wasn't long, though, before we found out we were thieves to an ancient race. They had grown the crystals as a sort of temple to their God, and we had defiled it."

"Wait, wait, wait! You're saying that you were alive when this was a mining town?! Bullshit! That was over eighty years ago!" Greon yelled at the old one. Maroc, though, walked up and slapped the wolf right across the muzzle, causing him to stagger and hold his stinging face.

"Not...another...word..." The dragon growled, and the wolf finally grew smart and nodded, his tail curled around him pathetically. "Continue, if you would," Maroc said, gesturing at Dean, who nodded.

"We angered the ancient ones, and one of their kind came to us. He said that we'd be forgiven if we could reclaim most of the crystal, or find some of equal value. They weren't unreasonable, they just wanted us to fix what we did wrong, and nothing bad would come to us...

"Though, while some of the miners and such, ran off to find the crystal and restore it, some of us plotted against them. We saw what kind of power they had, and we knew if we could change one of them to our level, we'd see eye to eye, and we could all obtain some of that power."

"Our...level..?" Greon asked, genuinely curious.

"Well, think of them as the Gods chosen, granted powers beyond our belief," Dean explained, "And we are the normal beings, nothing special, but of higher intelligence then the Attuned. So, we sought to, in a way, digress the chosen to our level." Greon nodded, understanding.

"We, had our priest look into what little magic he knew, and we found some sort of spell that might work. So, we did what we had to, and preformed a ritual." Dean sighed and looked around for something to drink. Maroc, noticing what he wanted, went behind the bar and retrieved him a cup and a water jar. Dean nodded his thanks, and continued his story after he had a drink. "I'll spare you the details, but the spell worked...too well. He didn't fall to our level, he fell to an Attuned level. And, since they are more infused with magic, and controlled by their emotions, he grew in fantastic power. At first, we were amazed, realizing we could have this power and more, so...they reached out to take him.

"Their souls were sucked in, and crying out, they became part of his power. Realizing what he had become, his light grew dark, and he attacked us. We named him Black, after the black fear he spread in us. He knew, though, that the light from the Moon or Sun Goddess would restore him, or even the salt from the Sea Goddess, but he was filled with hate and anger, and refused to return until we were all dead. I'm the last left."

"So...you put the entire town at risk because you were too stubborn to die?" Greon asked, his voice rising. When Maroc moved a little, he whined and flattened his ears.

"No, no Maroc, he's right. But, I believe in my heart, that Black wouldn't have stopped when I died, seeing all of the new towns people just as guilty. And, I am that old, Greon, a curse on the original guilty, to what we did to him. Eventually my body would have died, but my soul would join Black. Though, now, I'm not sure what'll happen," Dean turned to Maroc, wondering what he knew.

"The ancient race, specifically the one known formally as Black, wants me to tell you two what you must do. Dean, you have three days, then he will come and take you gently, as you do not belong in this time." Dean nodded sadly at this, but accepted his fate. "And you, Greon, you will return the land back rightfully, or else face the wrath of them." Greon whined and nodded, upset with his punishment.

After all agreed, Maroc went and told the town what happened. After three days, Maroc stored up, and Aaron and he set out again, leaving the town to its fate. It took them another two days to make it to the Elder village. Some were in those two days, many things happened. Aaron, for one, grew more comfortable with his blindness. Maroc, though, found something interesting. In his bag, was a tightly folded piece of cloth. Inside were a small gold ring, and a note. The note, written in small neat letters, read,

May you find this in good health. This ring was my mothers, the last thing she gave me before she passed. She said, "May this ring guide your heart to who you care for. And may it guide them." My door is always open to you, Maroc.

Love~

Jane

Maroc, looking down at the ring, held it close, a little saddened that he had to leave so suddenly and abruptly. Sighing, he placed it back into the pouch and placed it deep in his bag, to be kept safe. The other thing he found out was what Black told him. When Aaron was asleep, one night, there fire burning low and a good meal in their bellies, Maroc decided to try what he told him. He held up his left arm, it still a little cool to the touch, and focused. Soon, he had a small spark leap from his claws and disappeared into the night.

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