FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Characters:

Greggory Bast (Male, Sphinx cat (Noble), 22) Allomancer: Mistborn

Ariadne Lobos (Female, Wolf (Noble), 50) Allomancer: Mistborn

Notes:

This one feels odd, at least to me. Not in a bad way; I just mean that with the previous five chapters, I had the mental ‘introduce Allomancy’ checklist to go by. Without that, I hopefully still managed to do something with this. I tried to really make this the chapter where Greggory displays his ‘skillzz’ with Allomancy, going up against multiple opponents and using all of them to maintain his own advantage. (At least I hope that’s how it comes across lol)

Anyways, probably nearing the end of this little project! Most likely I’ll end up with eight, which is… thematically appropriate lol.

Story Text:

Red consumed his vision.

Greggory stumbled slightly, having to lean back against one of the desks, setting his hip and one red-stained hand against it for balance. He panted, blood still staining his maw from the... admittedly impromptu killing strike he'd performed. The taste of it was overwhelming to his tin-enhanced tongue, the burning heat in his stomach fueling the esoteric powers that kept him up and at least partially focused.

Biting out an opponent's throat. Admittedly, not his first choice, nor a move he'd ever done.

Broken shelves had spilled books and scrolls across the space. At the end of the long, tall library, a shattered window let mist spill into the Keep, pooling across the floor and hazily dissipating into the warm room.

A lamp, thrown in the fight, had smashed on the floor next to one of the study tables near the middle of the room. It had, thankfully, burnt out relatively quickly, the flames not spreading to the floors or walls. A blackened patch stood nearby, and it smoked, but was not threatening to engulf the place in fiery ruin.

On the floor in front of him, Ariadne Lobos, the imposing she-wolf head of her House, lay dead, throat torn out and blood pooled around her. Her eyes had slipped closed, blood staining her own mouth, white fangs glistening with red. Immaculate suit torn and stressed, stained with the same blood, slashed deeply where Greggory had attacked her. Abdomen gouged open messily, though nothing spilled out but blood, and one red-stained hand missing two fingers. Even dead, she cut an impressive image, even if it was more in the disturbing mess of crimson' way, rather than themighty she-wolf leader of a powerful Noble House' way she'd fostered in life.

The wobbling feline Mistborn gulped, trying to ignore the coppery taste. He... couldn't quite bring himself to stop staring at her body.

Jeez, his limbs were shaking. It was a good thing he had pewter; without it, he'd probably have-

The metal burnt out. His limbs, suddenly feeling every bit of exhaustion and over-working of the evening, gave out. With a thump, he half-bounced off the desk and hit the floor rump first, back hitting the edge of the desk. ``Fu- Ssh...'' he grunted and hissed in pain, arms clasping around his chest.

Ribs ached hotly, back riddled with piercing pains, coin-ripped arm throbbing. His arms and legs felt like lead weights, too weak to move.

``Fuck...'' Greggory near-whimpered, trembling in his mistcloak, the tassels tangled around his small, scrawny figure. His legs stuck out from under the mass of cloth strips, trembling, skin paled.

He shuddered, letting his head tip back and thump against the desk.

Need... more metal. Pewter. It was the fastest burning Allomantic metal. The same amount that would keep copper burning for hours lasted a fraction of the time in pewter.

Slowly, painfully slow, he brought a paw to one of the few vials of metal at his waist. Forcing his numb fingers to work, he extracted it from the leather strands holding it in place, then shakily brought it up to his lips. He had to hold the small vial with both hands to keep from dropping it, panting weakly.

Some of this, he knew... was nerves. Killing someone, especially so brutally, was... still hard for him. It was practically his only purpose in life, at least from his House's perspective, but...

Well, if he said he didn't have frequent nightmares of all those who'd fallen to his blades, coins, hands, and... now teeth, he'd be lying.

He bit the cork out, not bothering to spit it out before tipping the contents of the vial into his mouth. It was a clumsy maneuver, dropping the vial as he fought to NOT gag on the little stopper, but after a second he got enough of the metals in him, renewing his pewter and others, and-

``Ah...'' Greggory sighed, the burning pewter in his belly steadying his trembling limbs.

He relaxed a second, letting its strength wash over him, even flaring the metal a bit to push away the pains of his wounds. ``Mmf,'' he grunted, admittedly still feeling the ache of his back and arm as he spat the little vial's cork onto the floor. After a few moments, he slowly got his feet under him, rising on sturdy legs and letting the mistcloak drift around his small stature, head bowed.

With pewter, it was much easier to ignore even his mental wear.

Greggory's eyes locked back onto Ariadne's bloody corpse. And the metal glinting in her braided headfur.

His other instruction... the one his step-father had included on the sheet of information for his `mission'. Recover any metal that Ariadne had on her. It had seemed such an odd request... and still did, in a lot of ways. What value was there in stealing a Noblewoman's jewelry?

Even so, if it had been included on his goals, then there must have been some deeper reason for it. Quartermain was not one for petty thievery or slights.

Limbs steadied and feeling slipping back into them, he drifted closer, and crouched beside her body. Greggory drew a glass side knife from her belt, tucked almost hidden out of the way, and used it to hack at the thick braids, detaching them from the dead Lady's head, tucking them together in one deft paw. Using a handkerchief that he'd had tucked away, he piled the metal-adorned braids in one bundle, adding to it the rings and bracelet from Lady Lobos's hands and wrist.

Hm. Was it possible she had other metal on? Greggory flared his iron, watching for other metal lines. He thought he saw the faintest dull line leading towards her stomach, where her own metal stores would be, too thin and vague to have a chance of Pushing or Pulling. Really, it was likely only visible due to proximity and the strong flare.

And another near-invisible metal line leading-

``What's this...?'' the feline hummed softly, cocking his head curiously.

He had to use the glass knife to slit open her jacket and shirt further, exposing the woman's dark, furry ribs after pushing her limp corpse onto one side. Brushing aside some of the thick fur, the feline Mistborn saw what had caused the glimmer of a metal line he'd seen.

The glinting, flat metal head of... SOMETHING imbedded between two of the dead wolf woman's ribs. A spike, or nail?

Greggory winced; this would be... unpleasant.

He opted to just flare his pewter, slipping his sharp, fortified claws under the edge of the metal. This gouged into the flesh a little, but gave him enough purchase to slowly pull... and wince again, as sure enough a long metal spike was extracted from her chest. Inch, after inch... before the resistance gave, nearly falling out the last few inches.

Holding it in his paw, Greggory frowned at the seven- or eight-inch, bloodied metal spike he now held up to the library's light. It was... maybe brass? Why in the Lord Ruler's name would she have imbedded a metal spike into her chest like that...?

Confused, but not questioning it, he set the red, dripping spike into the handkerchief, alongside the metal-banded braids and jewelry. This HAD to be what his father, Quartermain, had commanded him to search her body for, not that Greggory had any idea what its purpose or importance was. Or if one of the other items were similarly important; most of the rings and bracelet appeared to be copper, studded with illustrious gems or `woven' bands of metal for ornamenting. They didn't SEEM special, but it was hard to say.

Tucking it all into the now blood-stained cloth, Greggory wrapped the metal and hair up tightly, tucking and securing the mass of fur, metal, and cloth into a sturdy rectangular bundle. Lastly, he slipped it under his shirt, hopefully safe enough for his escape.

Speaking of...

Flaring tin, Greggory heard motion. Fast, heavy-footed movement, growing closer.

``Ah...'' he sighed, half-disappointed and half... resolute, maybe. The feline Mistborn steadied himself, bronze burning as he felt for what was approaching.

A few Mistings, most of those that he'd felt earlier. The Seeker and both Coinshots, along with the Pewterarm that had been on the first floor. Luckily, none of the patrolling groups of Mistings from outside seemed intent on entering; that was good.

He could handle four Mistings.

Greggory strode to the middle of the room, standing near the window across from the doors into the library. He noticed, with a bit of dramatic pleasure, that he'd stepped through the spreading puddle of Ariadne Lobos's blood, trailing small red footsteps to where he now stood, imposing in his shifting mistcloak of tassels, the actual mists swirling in the windows behind him. Hood up, ears tilted low, he waited, unable to help a slight, pleased-with-himself smirk.

A little theatricality never hurt when he was on the job.

``Lady Ariadne!''

One of the guards had shouted just before entering, warning their dead Lady before they came in. The doors flung open, and eight armored men and women carrying weapons entered, coming to a stop just past the threshold at the sight before them.

The library, a mess. Their House's leader, dead.

A Mistborn, stood waiting for them.

He tilted his head up, hidden eyes locking on them, and, face still stained and dripping red with the Noblewoman's blood, bared his fangs in a toothy, threatening smile. Just to be sure he got his desired effect, Greggory flared his zinc, Rioting fear and panic in a thrumming wave at the guards. He sent it in pulses, quicker and quicker by the moment, mentally pacing himself off of a slowly panic-gripped heartbeat.

The response was immediate. All eight of them flinched at the intense surge of Emotional Allomancy, taking a near-unanimous step back.

One of the non-Mistings even dropped her spear, hands clasping in horror over her canine muzzle. Her eyes were wide as she stared at the cloaked intruder to their house, covered in their liege's vital blood.

All was silent, and still. Seconds ticked by.

It was one of the Coinshots, a gorilla man with a pouch of coins at his waist, that moved first. The feline Mistborn could feel pulses of Steel flaring from him. ``Damn you!'' he roared, forcing his fear into anger as he brought up a fistful of coins and used steel to Push them, his imposingly burly figure putting a great deal of weight and strength behind the attack.

Greggory had, of course, expected one of the Coinshots to act first. He often found that the long-ranged fighters were the quickest to strike.

The lanky feline dropped a coin beneath himself and Pushed, launching up over the attack. As before, the fistful of propelled coins smashed through the windows with a raucous crash, mist rushing into the warm library, spilling in eagerly.

The cat had just done a single shoving leap, launching himself up through the two-story library, before shifting his mental focus to iron. He Pulled hard on the armor and weapons of all the guards, rocketing down at them swiftly, yanking most of them off-balance. The gorilla Coinshot didn't have time to throw again, and for his unpreparedness, one of the non-Misting guards, a stag with a broken antler, found himself dropped upon by the lethal feline Mistborn. The impact angle sent him and the stag skidding across the floor, passing under the second-story balcony near the doorway.

Claws, sturdy and sharp, ripped through the guard's unprotected throat in a spray of blood that arced through the air, spattering across some of the other guards nearby.

Once again, all fell silent for a second.

The canine guardswoman who'd dropped her spear hadn't moved an inch when Greggory or the gorilla Coinshot had acted. At that moment, she screamed in horror. An instant later, and she bolted, the others stumbled, some shifting away, others moving to attack.

The panicked dog, spear and allies abandoned, dashed stumbling out the library door.

Two down, then.

A pair of mundane guards to one side, armed with a spear and sword respectively, came at Greggory. Using the dead deer's breastplate, Greggory launched himself up with a Steelpush, rotating just in time for his feet to hit the underside of the balcony, which cracked at the impact. He pushed the metal bladed weapons too, pressed up against the ceiling upside-down. Disrupting the attacks ensured that both were forced down and imbedded in the floor near the dead stag, wood splintering from the force, amplified by the Mistborn's firmly anchored Push.

Greggory released the push and dropped again, landing feet-first on the shaft of the spear. The hardened wood shaft snapped under the weight of his bare paws, and in a blur of motion he'd grasped the helpless grizzly guardsman's broken weapon with both hands, angled its snapped shaft up at him despite his paws still grasping the tipless weapon, and shoved the jagged wood right through the gap in his armor at his belly, flaring pewter to drive it deep into him.

The bear screamed, released his weapon and fell, clutching at his bleeding side as the wood ripped free from the wound.

The swordsman was a bit faster, releasing his grip on the long metal blade, assuming correctly that it'd be too well-stuck in the wood floor to get free quickly. Instead, he reached to his belt and drew a knife, lunging with the blade in hand. Greggory shifted again, tin eyes and ears having noted the dagger easily, its glint and shape clear in the half-blocked lighting.

He lunged closer, inside the wild stab, letting it drift passed his waist harmlessly, before grabbing the lizard swordsman's wrist in one hand. Eyes locked on the other male's face, the feline Mistborn planted his feet, drew a hand back clutched in a tight fist.

Pewter flaring in his stomach once again, he swung back-hand, aiming right for the reptile's jaw.

Snap!'`Glrk!''

The man's long face had made a great target; at the sharp strike, his whole head twisted to one side, spine snapping and muscle tearing noisily. Greggory leisurely plucked the knife from the his hand as the lizard took one step back, hands raising to his twisted head. Bloodshot slitted eyes stared wide, letting out a sharp, strained wheeze...

And then the lizard fell heavily to the floor.

At last, the Mistings moved into action. The Seeker, some kind of small, pointy-beaked bird, stumbled back, clasping his own spear tightly, but made no move to assist. The two Coinshots, the gorilla and his fluffy feline partner, took aim; the Pewterarm, a wiry and long-limbed mare, rushed him with a wood dueling cane.

The cane swept at Greggory's head, and he ducked, ears tilting low to avoid the attack fully as the woman cried out in fury. He rushed forward, rushing past the pewter-burning mare on deft feet; as he did, he dragged the knife across her hip, carving deep through muscle, glancing off the bone.

Not enough to disable a Pewtearm, sadly, but enough to distract for a second.

An instant later, coins came at him. He used his own steel to push them off-course, but not enough, as two struck his thigh. The cat winced as they dug in painfully, but kept moving, pewter fueling his agile, scrawny frame. The knife, too, was metal, but for an instant neither of the Coinshots made a move to deprive him of it, opting instead to prepare more coins to throw at him. He heard the Pewterarm behind him stumble and gasp sharply, hand clasping at her gashed side.

Using some of the dead guards' armor, Greggory PUSHED, launching himself at the side-by-side Coinshots. The gorilla was faster yet again, opening his sharp-fanged maw in a ferocious bellow, but the coins he shot sailed too slow, hitting only air and swirling tassels of mistcloak behind the cat.

Hitting the feline woman Coinshot, Greggory thrust the knife into her side, barreling into her and knocking her off-balance.

Both fell in a mass of metal armor and shifting cloak, the two felines landing hard. With his face so close to hers, he could see her golden eyes widen, jaw dropping in a pained, breathless wheeze.

Leaving the blade buried in the gasping cat's ribs, the Mistborn snatched up her open pouch of coins. Rising swiftly, he did a pewter-amped leap, twisting in mid-air and hurling the mass of coins and leather at the gorilla like a cannon ball. The simian Coinshot crossed his arms in front of his face, bracing himself and pushing against the coins, slowing them enough that the impact with his forearms would only bruise instead of shattering his wrists.

But, with his eyeline cut off from the swift Mistborn, the nimble hairless cat landed, and rushed towards him with supernatural deftness.

The path Greggory took drew him past where he'd lodged the sword and spear into the floor. Deftly, he pulled both free, spear tip held like a short-bladed knife and sword back-hand as he rushed the Coinshot, stepping over the dead stag guardsman.

He felt both weapons lurch, but flared his pewter and kept a grip on the sword. The spear-tip, however, was too small, not enough mass to push effectively; with the sword dragging him in one direction, Greggory rotated on the balls of his feet, mistcloak swirling around him as he rotated, forcing through the Push on the small spear tip, thrusting it hard and true, and-

``Gaah!'' the gorilla Coinshot screamed, the spear-tip taking him straight in the eye, clipping bone at the awkward angle of insertion. His burly paws flung up to his face, clasping the immediately-released wooden shaft, falling back and hitting the floor, still screaming at the pain of his lost eye. A slight, weak Push surged outwards, erratic and clumsy, some of the smaller bits of metal like dropped coins skidded away from the squirming, half-blinded Coinshot. Crimson gushed from under his burly hands, spilling down the dark-furred man's face as he bellowed in pain and anger.

Continuing the momentum from his twisting strike, Greggory skidded to a stop, tucking himself low, the sword held in his hand. Tin burning, he heard the Pewterarm rushing him from behind, bronze telling him how intensely she flared the metal.

A killing blow, then.

Smoothly, he slipped himself backwards, remaining low to the floor. As expected, the pewter-burning horse woman's dueling cane sailed over his head, an attack that likely would have shattered his skull or spine if it'd landed true. She'd also apparently shed her breastplate, trying to avoid his using the sturdy metal against her.

Using both feet and one hand as brief points of contact with the floor, Greggory moved himself in an arch around to the mare's flank. He brought the sword up, holding it sideways, a glinting edge pointed at the woman, who was off-balance from her attack.

Her eyes widened, and at that instant Greggory braced and Steelpushed the sword, releasing it and letting it lurch at her swiftly. The blade tried to rotate, but instead caught full-force in her unarmored chest.

The lack of armor worked against the mare, of course. From the force of the impact, Greggory felt himself skid back a few feet, bare paws sliding as her weight and pewter-hardened stance held sturdy. The metal blade carved deep into her, and she grunted, clearly trying to flare pewter to get through it.

She, too, stumbled back a step, bringing her hands up to grasp the blade. The feline watched as she made as if to remove it and continue fighting, long equine snout tilted down as she gritted her teeth visibly, face paling.

If you remove that,'' Greggory pointed out darkly, shifting to crouch low in his twisting cloak of misty strips, watching the mare immediately freeze at his cool tone,you WILL bleed out and die. And if you attack, I'll just pull it out, and nobody will get up here quickly enough to save you.

``Your mistress is already dead. My job here is done.

``... Is your life really worth avenging Ariadne Lobos?''

The Pewterarm horse panted heavily, and with bronze Greggory could feel the frantic, shoving pulses of her pewter flaring hard to keep from passing out. He watched, with tin-sharp eyes, the muscle in her neck and jaw tighten, gritting as the woman debated trying to attack again, despite her injuries. He may have nudged her, just a bit, with brass and zinc, Soothing her pride and loyalty, Rioting her self-preservation; both slight, delicate.

She wobbled, then, head lowering in shame, she dropped to one knee, still gripping the blade half-buried in her chest. On a normal person, that wound would be fatal.

For someone with pewter the wound was survivable, with treatment and time. Most likely.

He flashed almost a friendly smile as he stood up, mistcloak shifting around him and covering his slight, steady frame. See? I knew you could make the right choice,'' the slender feline told her, before glancing up at the Seeker... who still stood just past the library doors in the hall, clasping his own weapon but making absolutely no move to attack.... Hope you enjoyed the show, friend.'' Just for good measure, he gave one last Riot of fear, shame, and self-preservation to all the guards that were injured but still lived.

With that, Greggory spun and bounded towards the broken window behind him. Two steps through curling white fog near the floor, twisting up around his legs as he dashed forward.

Then, he leapt into that misty night, mistcloak tassels fluttering behind him.