FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The occasional drip of condensation from stone echoed throughout the halls of the underground refuge. All was dark, no light could possibly find its way so deep in the depths of Nirn. The only thing that could possibly cut through the haunting dark would be a pair of Khajiit eyes. A dimly glowing pair of icy blue eyes, belonging to a Khajiit who hung from the ceiling. Al’khajir’s fingers curled around exposed roots that hung above the room, eyes carefully scanning, in search of something specific. A few bookcases adorned the walls, full of handwritten ledgers. From this height, however, he couldn’t make out the words and more importantly, dates on the ledgers. Dropping his feet from their footholds, he swung once before releasing the roots, landing in a crouch upon a desk in the center of the room with no more than a soft thud. As he held his breath, he slowly turned his head to scan the room, making sure his presence hadn’t alerted anyone; all was silent. Slipping off of the desk, he looked through the pages that had been recently written on, checking their dates. 5E 593… 5E 593… 5E 592… Everything was too recent. Not what he was looking for. Taking a few steps to the bookcases, his eyes scanned upwards as the collections of ledgers loomed over him, each individually dated. He raised a claw to the first row, dragging it along each date. Again, the dates didn’t match up, this time the years listed too far in the past to match what he was looking for. Sighing, he turned to the other three bookcases to his right. If this bookcase was 5E 567… Then… He made his way to the third bookcase, anxiously dragging his claw along the ledgers. On the second row, he found it: 5E 583. Three ledgers in total. He pulled the three books from their position, a plume of dust filling his nostrils. Waving the dust away, he couldn’t resist a tiny sneeze, which he tried to stifle with his hand. His eyes darted back to the door at the front of the room, still dark. He still had time. Returning to the desk, he placed the three books beside each other, trying to decide which one to start with. Which one would have Sun’s Dusk..? Flipping open the book in the center, he began rifling through each page. Midyear… Sun’s Height… The final page ended on Last Seed. Silently cursing himself, he slid the book off to the side. As he reached for the third book, his ears perked. The scuff of a footstep echoed in the distance, beyond the door. Still far, but a footstep nonetheless. His heart began to race as he flipped the book open. There it was. Towards the back of the book, a page titled “Sun’s Dusk.” Below it, an endless list of names, races, dates, prices… Fates. Dragging a claw down the list, his eyes scanned each name carefully. Ziss, they weren’t in alphabetical order, but rather by date. Turning the page, he kept looking until he found one that stood out. Khadal, Khajiit …. 18th of Sun’s Dusk …. 800 gold …. TRADER Al’khajir bit his lip at the last word, trying to hold back the tears that stung his eyes. He had already learned the legend, told to him by a prior cartel member under interrogation. His brother was not sold to a simple trader, no. He was sold for his fur, his fate sealed on the date written on the page. Drawing a shaky breath, he continued searching, though his claw trembled as it traced along each name. So many of them were listed under “trader” on this page; his chest hurt from knowing that his own kind would do this to their brothers and sisters. Finally, another familiar name appeared. Falani. Al’khajir could barely look at the word to the right of her name, the date only a day after his brother’s. TRADER The image of his poor, innocent sister helpless in her final moments flashed in his mind. Did they sedate her? Was she spared the pain? Did they skin her alive? He couldn’t manage the thought, squeezing his eyes shut and taking a deep breath. He was here for a reason, to find if one of them was alive. Returning to the names, he saw a familiar one just beneath Falani’s. Bizanja. Al’khajir didn’t need to look at the word to the right. He knew his mother’s fate, told to him by his own brother, who had betrayed them. The one who started this all. The sight of the two names beside him broke him; the Khajiit couldn’t help but to draw in a breath, and release it with a sob. Two tears fell beside the names, blurring the ink. The entries told a story: Falani, the timid thing that she was compared to her other siblings, clung to her mother, always. She probably caused such a fuss, begging not to be taken away. Whatever cruel trader would have been bothered by the hassle, the cartel offering a discount on his sick mother as a package deal. They would be whisked away together, to face fate hand in hand. Al’khajir could only hope they had each other’s comfort in their final moments. One more name was left, though it was not on the same page. As he continued flipping through, the echo of footsteps grew closer, though still distant. Knowing the hallway beyond the door only led from one place, he began to hurry, sniffing as he blinked away the tears blurring the vision. Evening Star… It would have been weeks of waiting, he thought, not finding the name. Hope started to glimmer in his heart, had his sister survived? As his eyes made it to the bottom of the page, he paused at the last entry, the hope quickly dissipating. He grimaced as his eyes slowly dragged over the entry. Ensabi, Khajiit … 10th of Evening Star … 1000 gold … MADREN ESTATE. Al’khajir froze. Madren Estate. Madren estate? His sister was sold as a slave! The hope reemerged from him as he stared at the name, memorizing it. Ensabi could be alive. By now, she would be twenty. Could she have survived? The fiercest of the triplets, she was strong. Unkept. Her fur was always uneven from fighting the other children in Khenarthi’s Roost. Al’khajir couldn’t quite bring himself to smile, but now had a new objective. With one last glance, he closed the book, placing it down. Looking forward, he could see the glow of torchlight flickering beneath the door, gradually approaching. His head snapped up as he looked for an escape route. A Redguard man opened the door, holding his torch out before him and sweeping it around, searching the shadows for an intruder. He looked at the desk with concern, seeing the three books strewn out across it. Approaching, he picked one up, looking at the date with utter confusion as to why an intruder would be searching through records now over a decade old… Turning again to search the shadows, he checked under the desk and around various objects in the room: A large vase, a few tables and chairs, an empty trunk. Scratching his chin, he stepped back to the center of the room, unsure of where the intruder may be. As the torchlight made the shadows dance, one particular shadow suddenly surged forward, the blunt of a blade smashing into his mouth. Al’khajir felt the crunch of teeth against his blade as he swung the blade into the cartel member’s mouth, hot blood pouring out onto his knuckles, teeth clacking as they fell to the stone floor. Before the man could keel over, the Khajiit forced a vial through the newly crafted opening in his mouth, dumping a liquid onto his tongue. The Redguard reached up to block Al’khajir, but the element of surprise combined with the nimble speed of the cat was simply too much for him to overpower. Al’khajir’s hand covered the Redguard’s mouth and nostrils, forcing him to choke down the liquid as they made intense eye contact. Fear in the Redguard’s; an insatiable lust for revenge in the Khajiit’s. Keeping his hand held there for a moment, it didn’t take long for the sleeping potion to take effect. That, or the lack of oxygen simply knocked the Redguard unconscious… Either way, he wasn’t getting back up. Al’khajir stood over the Redguard, stomping out the flame of the torch before he turned back to the door. His hands rested on his blades as he looked over at the small hidden hole in the wall he had managed to crawl through to gain access to the room, covered by a painting. But the rush he got from taking the Redguard down was so… refreshing. Cutting down a few more cartel members certainly would help stifle the burning of hatred in his veins. Pulling his blades from their sheaths, he turned to the door, taking the hard way out. Al’khajir sprinted down the hallway, dimly lit by torchlight. Ahead, the hall opened to a small room: Two guards, a man and a woman, sat at a table across from each other, making casual conversation. Keeping full speed, the woman’s eyes rose as she saw the dark figure emerging from around a corner, her eyes widening in shock as she pointed. THEY WOULD DO IT TO YOU, TOO Before a word could escape her, Al’khajir’s right blade impaled the center of her face, emerging through her hair as the forceful impact broke through the back of her skull. He swung his left blade, one clean cut through her neck to decapitate. Whipping around, the man had only stood, face full of horror at the sadistic display as he processed the scene; his hands grabbed at the sword on his side all too late. Al’khajir flung his right blade at the man, the head flying off the still-cold steel with a wet shlick before it collided with his stomach like a vosh ball. The man screamed at the sight of his friend’s face, blankly staring up at him as it splattered on the floor. Fortunately for him, the view would quickly be obscured by the two blades impaling his stomach, ripping to the right to disembowel. Wheezing, the man dropped to his knees, blood spewing from his lips as his arms hung limply at his sides, unable to reach the sword in time. His eyes rolled back, and he slumped forward on the ground. THEY DESERVE THIS FOR WHAT THEY DID The scream had drawn more attention from the next room down the hall. Two more cartel members rushed into the hallway, this time with weapons drawn; a man, in front, wielding a sword and shield, with an archer pulling back an arrow behind him and to the left. Al’khajir showed no fear, sprinting toward them and dodging to the right as an arrow flew at him. The man rushed forward with a war cry, holding up his shield and raising his sword. As he drew near, Al’khajir leapt up, kicking off of the wall in an unexpected airborne attack. Swiping his blade across the man’s throat, the war cry was cut short into a gurgle, the sword and shield clattering to the ground as the man’s legs grew limp, sliding on his face with a streak of blood as he fell. The archer notched another arrow and let it fly as Al’khajir kicked off the opposing wall of the narrow hallway. The arrow would get cut in midair, falling in two as the Khajiit descended upon the archer, sinking his blades into her chest. His icy stare met her fading gaze as he brought her down to her knees, withdrawing the blades and kicking her onto her back as she drew her last breaths. THEY ARE NOTHING Looking up into the larger room now, three others had gathered their weapons, prepared to eliminate the threat. One Breton woman to the left stared a little too long at the corpses of her companions as they laid in the hallway. Al’khajir set his sights on her, sensing weakness as she drew her blade. MAKE THEM SUFFER The Khajiit sprung into action, dashing to the left and slashing a flurry of blades at her. She deflected the strikes with her shortsword, stumbling backward from the sheer ferocity. He saw a light in her eyes he was desperate to quench. Dipping low, he made a precise strike at her heel, tearing through a tendon and watching her knee buckle. He continued past her, rolling on the floor and positioning himself into a pounce. As she shrieked out for help, he leapt forward and grabbed her shoulders, pulling her back. Her eyes briefly met Al’khajir’s as he crossed his blades in front of her throat. “Please, no–” Too late for begging now, he thought. He wondered if she made his family beg in the same way. Merciless, he let the crossed blades cut through flesh. Her head made a wet thunk as it dropped to the side and rolled, shock still etched into the face. His eyes raised just as a man wielding two axes jumped at him, arms raised high as the axes sunk through the air, aimed for the top of the Khajiit’s head. Falling to his back, Al’khajir pressed his feet into the man’s chest and kicked, the sound of the air the axes cut whooshing narrowly past his ears. The man collided with the ground, sliding for a moment before popping back up, growling as he charged again. Al’khajir’s blades clanged against the axes, the two fighting for control before the Khajiit managed to deflect to the right. The man stumbled as the pressure was released, giving Al’khajir enough time to slash at his side; a deep wound, but not mortal. The man clutched the incision and cried out, gritting his teeth. As he fell, the third man had loaded his crossbow and released an arrow at the assailant. Hearing the high-pitched whistle through the air, Al’khajir ducked, the arrow impaling the wall behind him. Al’khajir returned the attack, his hand sliding across a bicep, revealing a small throwing knife from his sleeve and moving it through his fingers. He flicked his wrist, the blade finding its target as he was busy reloading the crossbow. It embedded itself in the man’s forehead, whose face immediately dropped to a blank expression before he collapsed. SHOW THEM NO MERCY Yelling and many hurried footsteps could be heard approaching from beyond the room, echoing throughout the refuge. The wounded axe-wielding man rose to his feet, glaring at the Khajiit who stood before him. Desperate to avenge his fallen comrades, the man surged forward, wildly swinging the axes in any attempt to inhibit Al’khajir. Al’khajir swiftly stepped to the side, watching the man as he flailed the axes less than gracefully. The Khajiit sliced with his blade, cutting through one wrist. The man shrieked as his hand, and subsequently one axe, was severed. In a panic he stopped in his tracks, looking down at the stump. Al’khajir took this opportunity to dash forth, doing the same to the opposing wrist; the man continued to emit a blood-curdling scream as he fell to his knees, helpless. The Khajiit loomed before the man now, a shadowy figure; with his mask pulled over his face and hood low over his face, it was almost as if he only had a face of two, dimly glowing eyes. He took one step forth, then thrust his blades into the man’s lower abdomen. The man convulsed as he was impaled, choking on blood as it filled his throat. Al’khajir slowly began dragging the two blades up, tearing through the organs in his stomach, sawing at his sternum before the blades settled in his lungs. Using the steel to pull the man close, Al’khajir brought the man face to face as the life began fading from his eyes; letting the man see the frozen glare that may as well impale him, too. The entrance to the room began to flood with a syndicate of cartel members as Al’khajir ripped his blades out from the man’s chest and held them at his sides, standing in a pool of blood as the body fell to its side. Al’khajir glowered at his newfound audience as they stared in disbelief at the carnage one small Khajiit has created. At the front of their ranks was a tall Imperial man, hands glowing with a powerful orange aura. Behind him, Al’khajir saw a familiar tailless Khajiit, whose eyes he met. S’riss’s eyes widened as he recognized the shadowy figure. “Who are you? What have you done?!” The Imperial exclaimed, the aura glowing brighter as the rage grew in his voice. Al’khajir reveled in the uncomfortable silence that followed, his grip tightening on the blades at his sides. WILL YOU DIE LIKE THE REST OF THEM? The Khajiit was not interested in formalities, and recognized a losing fight when he saw one. The blood splashed as he broke into a dead sprint at the sorcerer, who raised his palms and let out a blast of fire. Al’khajir parried to the side, still running forth as the group prepared their defenses. His eyes remained locked on his brother, who seemed to hesitate more than the others; still, he drew his blade, knowing he was the first target. Another burst of flame shot out as another soldier pushed his way to the front, sword at the ready. Raising his blades, Al’khajir prepared a strike as the man swung low, attempting to take out the Khajiit by the knees. Simultaneously, Al’khajir sprung up, leaping over the fireball and landing one foot on the flat of the blade. Keeping his momentum, he pounced off the blade and over the group, watching as S’riss’s head raised, each other’s eyes following each other. THIS IS NOT THE END Al’khajir couldn’t help but to notice how much S’riss looked like their father; even more so than himself. He had grown the same dark mane his father once had, the same features. But his father was honorable, humble. S’riss was a traitor to his own kind. He wondered if S’riss remembered their father enough to recognize that. Landing at the back of the group, Al’khajir sheathed his blades and continued on through the hideout, the others closely pursuing. He recalled the rough map he had made the ex-cartel member draw out for him in his head: Right turn after three braziers, left turn at the kitchen, and there should be a ladder leading out to the shore beside the docks. One brazier… two brazier… Another blast, and the third brazier exploded as a ball of flame collided with it. Al’khajir didn’t dare look over his shoulder to see how close the others were, but he could hear the barrage of footsteps in his wake. He dashed to the right as the flames singed the edges of his clothes, turning down another hallway. As he drew nearer to the exit, he noted how many doors there were; hopefully the kitchen would be obvious. An arrow whizzed past his head and skittered across the floor in front of him. He watched as it rolled before he made his way past, focused on making sure his feet moved as fast as possible. Yells echoed out behind him, though he couldn’t make the words out as he was too preoccupied with his escape. Once outside he knew they couldn’t catch him. He just had to make it to the exit. Finally, Al’khajir found himself in the kitchen, marked by an oven, numerous pots, crates labelled with different ingredients. He saw the door to the left and pushed through, the wood slamming into the stone wall as he did so. “He’s going for the exit! BLOCK THE EXIT!” A voice called out behind him, and sure enough, and armored Khajiit wielding a sword and shield stood before a ladder, reaching perhaps seven or eight feet up. Just one more obstacle, he thought. The armored Khajiit guard raised the shield defensively, preparing to knock down the fugitive as he approached. Al’khajir reached into his sleeve, flinging a knife at the shield as a feint. The Khajiit lifted the shield to block the attack, the blade getting stuck as it collided. Taking this opportunity, Al’khajir propelled himself upward, using the top of the Khajiit’s helmet as a trampoline to hurtle himself to the top of the ladder. Grasping the top rung, he threw himself through the entryway of the hideout just as the ladder was pulled from beneath him. The smell of salty ocean air hit his nose as he rolled into the sand of a rather ignored section of the beach, the silhouette of Abah’s Landing above him. He quickly scrambled to his feet, now looking back at where he came: They had already repositioned the ladder and were making a quick ascent to continue their pursuit. Al’khajir quickly made a run for the sparsely populated docks, the moons in the sky indicative of the late hour. “Get him! GET HIM!” Calls echoed down the beach and across the water as the horde began pouring out from the refuge, one at a time. Al’khajir smirked under his mask, chuckling as he knew they had no chance, he may as well have evaded them at this point. With not enough people around to apprehend him, Al’khajir made his way to a staircase leading up to the city, a huge gap between the cartel at this point. He knew exactly where he was going. He turned down a dark alley and hopped over a wooden fence, pushing through a clothesline and breaking off to the right, around a building. A net hung from an awning above, which he grabbed ahold of and climbed, pulling himself onto the awning. From there, he leapt up to a ledge, swinging his leg over as he landed on a villa’s terrace. This villa in particular belonged to a noble who seldom stayed in Hew’s Bane, and thus was typically empty. Making his way to a particular window, he stuck his claw into a loose lock, fidgeting for a moment before it opened. He pushed back the curtain that shielded the interior of the home, then turned to close and lock the same window from the inside. He drew the curtain and then slumped down against the wall, finally making an attempt to catch his breath. In the streets outside he could hear yelling, desperate to search for the one who had slaughtered so many cartel members in their own refuge. The cries of a civilian woman who so happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, getting pushed around as she was interrogated as to if she had seen the fleeing Khajiit. Truth be told, his pursuers lost him the instant he made it into the city. Al’khajir knew every nook and cranny it provided, having hidden in each one at least once or twice. Al’khajir leaned his head back against the wall, bringing his knees to his chest and slowly allowing a smile to creep across his face. His sister might be alive. He still had a chance to save her, to fix things and go back to the way things used to be. What was left of it, anyway. Ensabi, this one is coming. He promises he will find you.