FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

He wasn't quite sure what to make of the woman who called herself "Arlene". Not yet, anyway. Willowy, tall, with bark-colored hair that whispered in the breeze, draped down to her shoulders. It was her eyes, though, that he found himself lost in. They were a bright, searing blue. They stared at him, the two within breathing distance. They had situated themselves by the road, behind the cover of the thick trees, as to remain unseen and unheard. "...So will you help me?"

Odah let out a breath, considering the offer she made him. He ran the details over in his head, one by one. "Let me recap, if you will."

Odah listed the informative bits, one by one, raising a finger for each. "You're the daughter of a Baron for a nearby human city. You have an aunt named Bryda, who is the Baron's sister. Bryda is also an advisor for arcane matters, and a talented witch in her own right. However, she wants to overthrow the Baron, using both her magic and her connections to make sure that no one can touch her or act on her plans without being noticed, including you."

Arlene nodded her head, wispy hair swaying, her freckled face serious, and her eyes dark with worry and sleeplessness. "Yes, that is correct."

"And you want to smuggle me into the city, into the Baron's estate, and take down your aunt."

"You're the only person I think who can."

Odah raised a brow. "You know what I am, yes?"

Arlene's bright eyes studied the figure before her. He was lean, but muscled. Furred, with black and white stripes crossing his person. He wore simple travel garments, with a pack slung over his back and shoulder. He held a walking stick by his side, carved by hand from a willow tree, the top adorned with a small carving of the same tree the staff was made of. Arlene gazed back up at the zebra. "You're a Shaman."

Odah rolled his eyes. "Yes, but that's not the point. I'm of the beastfolk," he chuffed, adjusting his stance to lean against the bark of the tree beside them, "why would you seek aid from me? You have your magisters within the cities."

Arlene scowled, shaking her head. A few strands of her hair covered one eye, and she brushed it aside with slender fingers. He doubted they had done any real menial labor in her life. "I've told you, I cannot. Bryda has friends in lots of places, and no one can move against her without being noticed. She knows who everyone is, and those who she can't rely on are spied on by either people she does rely on, or through magic."

"If magic is the crux, then surely you'd have better luck beseeching a sorcerer of your human magics from another city."

"You think I haven't thought of that? She would defeat everyone I could possibly call upon."

"But not me?"

Arlene let out a breath, closing her eyes. It was as if she was channeling some sort of inner strength to compose herself before speaking again. "You're a shaman. Yours is a magic that's wholly unfamiliar to us. I've heard the stories and studied the myths and legends, Shamans are exceptional in dueling with others who wield magic."

Odah let out a laugh. "Myths and legends are poor indicators of what magic is capable of. You, a human, should know this more than anyone else."

Her face reddened. "...You understand what I mean. You are talented in magic. You're an outsider, someone who Bryda isn't expecting. You're exactly the kind of person I need."

Odah took a breath and let it out, brushing a hand through his close-cut mane. He ran the scenario over again in his head. "How did you even know to come to me? How did you know I was traveling north, let alone that I was a Shaman?"

She blinked. "My methods are my own."

Odah narrowed his eyes. The pervasive silence was damning. She blanched. Time crawled. Her answer finally came to the surface. "...Kagha Ghamorzha."

The zebra scowled, eyes widening slightly, and then narrowing again. His knuckles tightened. "How in the fuck do you know about that?"

Arlene smiled. It was a sly thing, thin lips stretched upright at an angle. "How indeed. Now, from how I see it, you have two options. One, I could tell my father who you are and where you are, and you could have the entirety of the dwarven holdings after you for what you did. Or two, you could aid me, and I can conveniently forget that you exist."

Odah was, quite simply, furious. He grit his teeth, his face flushed, his knuckles cracked, and he snorted hot air through flaring nostrils. It would be easy to draw the knife across his hip and bury it into her, or to call upon his magic and ensure she would never be found in one piece again. He wanted to, badly. But after a few moments, his racing mind came to a halt. The daughter of a Baron gone missing would attract a lot of attention. It wouldn't be long before they suspected the beastkin. It would be easy to find a lone zebra walking the roads as a possible culprit. And if this woman was capable of finding out what he had done, then he couldn't afford any attention placed on him at all- At least, until he figured out why she knew what she did. He took several deep breaths, closing his eyes and reciting a child's rhyme in his head.

The heated hand

Of fury, hot

Can build a lasting

calmness not.

_ _

He repeated the phrase in his head, over and over again, until its words etched a rut in his mind. He sighed, gazing back at the Baron's daughter. "I will do as you say, on one condition."

She nodded. "And that is?"

"You reveal to me how you know."

Arlene chuckled, but quieted herself before bobbing her head in the affirmative. "Aye. I agree to these terms, Odah."

She outstretched a small, tender hand and arm. His large mitt enveloped it, but she tugged with a surprising insistence, pulling his face close to her own. "You need not kill Bryda, only defeat and unmask her. I can take care of everything else."

He nodded. "So it shall be." He released her from his grasp. "So, now that we've entered an agreement, how do you plan on getting me into the city in the first place?"

"This is a stupid plan."

"Oh, hush. It'll be fine."

The plan was rather simple. Odah would hide in a crate of food aboard a wagon, bound for the Baron's kitchen, in his estate. He would lie at the bottom, a false cover would be laid atop him, and the crate's regular cargo placed atop it. When ready, Odah would open the crate from within and proceed -preferably silently- to Bryda's quarters, and incapacitate her. Upon giving the signal from her Aunt's quarters, Arlene will contact the royal guard, who will arrest her. "Are you certain your aunt doesn't have a contingency in place if she's neutralized?"

Odah had trouble fitting into the crate, between stashing his staff inside, and curling into a fetal position at the bottom. He craned his neck up at the willowy young woman above him, a wooden panel in her hands. She glanced around the silent lot of the inn they had snuck onto. The coast was clear. "No, she won't anticipate a direct attack upon herself. That is her one weakness- She overestimates herself. This will allow you to get close."

Odah rolled his eyes. "Then why can't you do it if you can get close?"

"I DID mention she's a sorceress, right?"

"Ah, yes. You did. Very well."

Arlene nodded her head, brushed some hair aside her face, and lowered the lid on top of him. "Good luck."

Odah descended into darkness, and soon all that kept him company was the sound of apples rattling atop him. It was comparable to being buried alive. There was a brief moment of panic, but Odah breathed deeply, smelling the apples above, the wood all around, and the faint aroma of beasts of burden. He calmed himself, slowing his breathing, feeling the weight of the wood prison surrounding him. He could hear distant, muffled voices in the human tongue. A wagoneer. After a few minutes, he felt the wagon moving, with the sound of the plow horses tugging it along.

Odah's gaze retreated inward. In lieu of his surroundings, he searched his own mind instead, to his own memories, drifting in the landscape of his mind...

And Amrela, the daughter of Uri and Irongu, had been given the small gift of enlightenment by The Roots of the World. She learned its language, and the language of the natural world around her. With this, she could speak with nature, and allow it to fulfill her wishes. She would only need to ask, and the world would provide. However, The Roots of the World had imposed a condition upon her. She would only possess such abilities if, and only if, she promised to protect The Roots of the World with her life. She agreed, and as such, Amrela became The First Shaman.

Amrela used her gift wisely and justly, caring for The Roots of the World, and also those that dwelled within it. She aided the towns during droughts by beckoning for the rains. She bolstered the warrioresses of The-Storm's-Eye during the War-of-the-Three-Dawns, wishing for the hardest bark of the trees to envelop the flesh of her comrades. She aided in the banishing of The Hanged King of Man, deflecting his wizardry aside by calling upon The Roots of the World for aid themselves, from the energy they gave to the world.

Within time, she had found apprentices, whom she gifted with the same knowledge she possessed. The Roots of the World were content to allow her this, on the condition that all she trained, too, be bound by her contract.

And so, by the wisdom of Amrela, the First Shaman, the teachings of the world live on in each generation of Shaman. It is their sacred duty, handed by their ancient forebears, to aid The Roots of the World in their time of need, to protect them, and, if need be, to destroy those who would seek to tamper with, or do them harm. This is the Code of the Shaman.

Remember it well, Odah.

_ _

Odah wasn't sure how long he had been out of it. There was no light, but he could recognize the sounds of people talking, of creaking metal and wood, shifting earth, and horses. He was still moving, but there was something else, something beyond that. Distant chatter, of clanging, of business. Activity. He was nearing the city walls, he suspected. His suspicions were confirmed when he felt the wagon come to a halt, and voices erupt. An unfamiliar one rang out. Male, authoritative. A guard, perhaps. He announced that he would have to inspect the goods. The wagoneer agreed.

There were sounds of moving cloth and wood, barrels opened, crates peeked into. Odah felt more than a little nervous. Despite himself, he worried that, somehow, he would be discovered. He almost jumped in surprise when his crate shook around him, the sound of creaking wood above. His crate had been opened, but no new light shone through. The lid was placed back on, and the same authoritative voice told the wagoneer to proceed through the gate, and that the cargo was clean. Odah was more than a little relieved when the wagon was sent forth, trotting along into the city proper. Now it was only a matter of time. Now to wait. Soon, he thought, he would be in the estate...

He could never get the proper mindset right. The branch in his hand changed shape often, the bark bending and twisting, as if a sort of clay, rather than the stiff, hard wood it was in reality. Odah let out a high-pitched grunt. His voice was higher, younger. He was a boy of twelve. "I cannot do it, ma'am!"

The short, mature, and rather portly zebress gazed at him and smiled from where she sat. Across the wood hut, she was cross-legged by a smoldering fire. Her hand outstretched to the fire, almost inside of the flames, licking at her hand. Odah cringed, but she was uninjured, acting as if she were merely sticking her hand in a bowl of water. "Perhaps you are not asking the right questions, child."

Odah let out a sigh, placing the contorted hunk of wood down. "I've been trying to mold it into my face, like you taught, but I can't-"

The elder Shaman placed a finger on the young Odah's lips. "Shhh." She silenced him gently, placing a still hot hand around his head, running it through his mane with a little ruffle. "It will come to you. You cannot force it, you can only let it come naturally to you."

Odah sat next to his mentor, staring into the fire. There was a long silence before the woman placed both hands, quite literally, into the fire. Her wrists were wreathed in flame. Odah gasped and recoiled, but the older woman seemed nonplussed. She withdrew both of her hands, which were now caked in living fire, dancing about her fingers and her palms. She smiled warmly at her apprentice before speaking a word in the ancient tongue, and stretching her hands back out at the fire, where the flames leaped, like a serpent, back into its home. "Let me put it this way, my boy:

"You cannot force a river to flow in the opposite direction, can you? You cannot make rain fly upwards, or command a fire to cool, rather than to heat. Everything has an inclination to do something. This is their natural state. You cannot order nature to do something it wasn't intended to do. Most of the time, anyway. Do not focus on what things should be. Focus on what things could be, instead."

The Shaman took the hunk of deformed wood that Odah had been attempting to mold, running her fingers over the grain of it. "Such as this. There is nothing that shouldn't be. There is no thing as "should" with nature. Instead, what could it be, if given encouragement and guidance?"

"Like with you teaching me?"

"Precisely, Odah. I do not command you to be something you should. Instead, I guide you towards what you could be. Nature is much the same. It can suit any purpose, as long as you know how to ask- But nature can only do so much, my boy."

The younger zebra nodded and smiled with a sense of returning hope, before the older woman placed the misshapen wood in his hand. "Now, try again. Nothing shouldn't be anything. But what could this be, instead?"

Odah spoke the ancient, secret language of nature, his mind focusing on the wood, not as what it should, but what the wood could be. He watched the bark bend and twist, contort and roll in on itself in eldritch patterns, adjusting and reshaping, changing, being remade into something else. He was deep in concentration, muttering to himself in the language he had now known by heart. His mind worked hard to guide the wood toward where it could go. It was not perfect or exact, but he improvised where he could, studying the plethora of valleys, crags, and hills within the clay-like wood. However, a pattern emerged. The contorting slowed, and he seemed to soften his gaze upon the object. He grunted aloud and panted when he was done, not even realizing he'd been holding his breath. He held up the reworked wood.

It was a bust from the neck-up. It was of himself, clear as day. There were a few minor differences and errors, but Odah was clearly proud of himself, a great smile on his young face. The woman nodded, her own grin apparent. "See? You're the fastest learner I've met. You take to this like a duck to water."

Odah gazed deeper into the wood, his smile fading a tad. "But it's not perfect."

"Is anything in life perfect?"

He looked up at his mentor and shook his head. "...No?"

She smirked, and ruffled his young, messy mane. "Exactly. Perfection comes with time and experience. Be appreciative of your efforts, even if they're not the best. But learn from them anyway."

A hefty bump brought Odah back to the present, his crate moving differently than it had up until that point. One of the first things he felt, however, was how hungry and thirsty he was. He hadn't even noticed until this point, but now, given how much so he was, he figured that he had been riding in the wagon for some time, and his estimate brought him to think it roughly early evening. Or so he thought, but now, it felt like his crate was being picked up. There was grunting, and the sound of human chatter very closeby, as if two men were carrying him. Yes, he was being offloaded, he decided. He heard one say "this is the heaviest gods-be-damned crate of apples I've ever seen", and nearly laughed aloud, though he stifled it down. A minute passed, and the din of the city faded with the chatter of a few others, possibly porters or something along the lines. He was set down with an audible thud, and the noises retreated.

He didn't immediately try to escape. He personally suspected that the porters needed to move more goods into the storage room, and thus stayed where he was, but listened intently. He was correct, with the sounds of the porters returning, placing something down, and then taking off again every few seconds. However, after a few minutes of this, they left and didn't return. The silence pierced his thoughts, and despite the earlier commotion, it was all quiet. He mentally counted down to one hundred, and in that time, there wasn't a single audible intrusion. Odah let out a grunt, and attempted to move for the first time since being stashed in the crate. He couldn't, due to the confined space, and decided that now was as good a time as any to break loose.

He reached for the part of his mind that remained connected to all of nature. He could feel the wood pressing against him from all sides, natural and firm, unyielding to any normal man, but not to him. He spoke a word, silently, and asked it to part for him, and bid him release. He imagined the wooden box parting like a blooming flower.

And so it did. The nails gave way, popped loose, and the contents of the crate spilled onto the floor. A soft light hit him and he gasped, squinting at the source. It was orange and flickering. A flame. He was prone, with apples rolling across his body and onto the stone floor. It was an interior. Wood paneling, oil lamp, windowless. His eyes adjusted to the lamplight. He was, indeed, in a large-ish storage room. This part, at least, had proven to be a success, and the fact he had not yet had the displeasure of meeting the guards told him that his presence was unknown. So far, so good.

He stood and stretched, his joints cracking. He grunted with approval, straightening himself upright and at attention. Much better, he thought, before taking a hold of his staff once again, adjusting the earth-colored cloak and hood he donned, to aid in remaining anonymous and undetected to the casual eye. In the other hand, he leaned down to grasp one of the apples in his crate, and bit into it. It was sweet, and savory. Human food, he had to admit, was delicious. He savored it, but had eaten it whole with only a few bites. It was wasteful to throw out the core, and he ate it, too.

Now, he decided, came the hard part.

There was a single solid wood door leading out of the room. He placed his ear to it. Silence. There was no keyhole. He opened the door, crouching down, trying to remain as light on his feet as he could, even though he reminisced that Aden was a lot better at this sort of business than he. The portal creaked open, and beyond lay a kitchen. He remained crouched, peering only through the slightly parted door. The kitchen was deserted. He stepped outside, glancing in every direction. There were hallways and doors down almost each direction. He was thankful for the brief description of the estate's layout, otherwise finding his way would be a hassle, and dangerous. Human habitations were simple and easy to navigate, given you knew the general direction. He needed to go up. Thankfully, there was a window in the kitchen, he saw. Orange light poured in. He had been correct; Gazing through and into the scenery beyond revealed the day to be ending, with the last vestiges of daylight dipping below the horizon. He opened the window, gazed along the walls, and found that there was no one that would spot him. He climbed out, and shut the window behind.

The estate itself was fenced off by a stone wall that rose up to the first floor, some small distance from the walls of the estate proper. There were still walkways running around the estate, he was told, but it was for privacy's sake that there was only a gate at the front. He glanced up at the side of the manor. It was mostly brick, as the wood had been merely interior paneling. Good, he thought- Brick was much easier to climb up, though still difficult. He glanced in both side directions. The coast was clear. He slid his staff across a small holder along his back, inside his cloak, to keep it from interfering. With that, he grasped onto the edge of the kitchen window, and then pulled himself up until he was almost squatting on it. From there, he ascended, reaching for the next window above. Each were arrayed in a grid pattern, and thus was easier to climb. When the wall finally gave way to the scenery, he gazed out, intending to see if there were guards posted that could see him.

Such thoughts were dismissed in lieu of the sight he beheld. Houses, buildings, smoking chimneys, and busy streets lined the terrain. He could clearly hear, now, the settling bustle of the city, the individual people coming and going, concluding their business, all set against a distant sea, a few vessels out at harbor, moored to the docks with their sails up. He had seen human watercraft before, of course, but seeing them from the inside of a human city was something he was not used to. It was, quite frankly, enchanting. He suddenly wished he could stay for a while longer, but the rational part of his mind reminded him that there was a task to complete. He had faith that he wouldn't immediately be spotted, but if he was, he hoped the fact he was wearing a cloak with a hood up would disguise the fact that he wasn't even human. To be a rogue sneaking into the estate was one thing, but a beastkin sneaking into a Baron's mansion? Unthinkable.

Odah's quarry, he was told, was up on the third floor, the uppermost. He continued to ascend, taking a look through the windows when he could. There were a few signs of movement from within, but it was pleasantly quiet and still. Mostly hallways, though there were a few state rooms, lounges, and studies that he could observe by looking along either side of the wall. At last, he reached the third floor, having hefted himself up by grasping the ledge of the window and pulling. The ledges were mercifully wide and protruding, some having containers for potted plants here and there. He used them when he could, thankful for the added room for grasping. He didn't slip, but instead remained steadfast in grip until he was eye-level with the third story window. He peeked inside, but immediately retreated back down and out of sight.

In the small, brief moment of sight, he saw around five humans, some men and some women, in fashionable clothing, chatting around a fireplace. He could hear the laughter from outside. They had been facing away, and so Odah tentatively looked back up again. They were, indeed, not noticing him. He stood on the potted plants along the windowsill, mentally apologizing for trodding on them. There was the roof above was slanted upright at a slight angle- Enough for him to grasp the ledge, and so he did, using that to more or less shimmy along the outside wall. If he slipped or let go, he realized, he would likely fall back and hit the top of the stone wall, which was tipped with metal spikes to ward off those who would be foolish enough to try and scale the thing. He grimaced, and returned his attention to climbing.

Now, he figured, he could get to the balcony window from which he'd signal Arlene with when the job was done. It was connected to her Witch Aunt, Bryda's, main quarters, and thus would be his best chance. Unfortunately, his destination was on another side of the manor, and would require him to shimmy along the roof to it. He felt sweat building along his brow, but couldn't wipe it off, instead taking the annoyance, rather than risk disaster. He didn't want his dangling lower half to be seen through the windows by those on the third floor, so he brought them up until he was placing his hooves on the wall, now almost crawling sideways across the building. It was awkward, but it kept him mostly hidden from those on the inside, and that was the most pressing concern. With a glance, he looked down to see if there were men he should worry about.

There were, indeed, men he should worry about. They were armed with shields and maces, some with crossbows. There was one walking along inside the wall, while pairs of them walked along the outer perimeter of the estate's border. Thankfully, they hadn't yet looked up, but he didn't want to leave such things to chance if he could help it. He grit his teeth and set to it with haste. At least, until he came to the corner of the roof. He took it carefully, only swinging his body around when it became absolutely necessary. His fingers skidded along the roof ledge and he jittered for a split second, but his grip remained. He adjusted and took inventory a moment, gazing down at the new side of the manor. It was much longer than the side he had just left, but at the very end lay his destination. There was the balcony. Now he just had to get there.

He was actively hurrying, attempting to minimize the chances of his being seen by someone from outside, but it still felt painfully slow. His muscles burned, and even worse, he couldn't rely on his magic to aid him. Sweat made his grip unsteady, forcing him to adjust every so often, and he had to step against the wall lightly, as to not make a ruckus to those potentially inside. He no longer gazed inside the windows, but opted to just beeline for his target with all due haste. He grunted aloud from the effort, thanking the Gods that he was as good a shape as he was, otherwise such a thing would be impossible.

He, at last, reached the balcony. The stone felt cool and welcoming against his palms, compared to the hard tar of the roofing. He grasped the ledge, and then reached for the railing, pulling himself up and onto solid ground with a sigh of relief, panting. He immediately gazed up from the floor of the balcony. There were two doors made of glass, the shades partly drawn. Inside was a plush room, but dark and unlit, and thus unable to be studied closely. He pressed himself against the wall on one side of the doors and peered in, straining to see over the reflection of the sunset in the glass. He tried the handle, and it gave with a click. He swung the door open, and peered his head inside.

It was a plush room, adorned with antiques, décor, and furniture of fine quality. A bed, a large desk with books and paper strewn about. Bookcases, a large dresser, a table with various vials and alchemical reagents within, and more were placed along the walls of what looked to be a bedroom and study in one. He stepped inside the unlit room, save for the windows and the doors to the outside balcony. He went over to the desk first, half crouched to minimize noise, and began to look through the papers in an attempt to discern what this woman, Bryda, was doing. He could read, write, and speak the human language spoken in this area, but he wasn't able to look for long. There were steps outside in the hall, beyond the closed door. He gasped under his breath. He frantically searched the room for something, somewhere, to hide in... The dresser. It was tall and wide, and so he opened the doors, stepped in, and quickly shut it.

He kept it open ever so slightly, just to see out. The thin slice of vision centered on the door, and no sooner did it open. A human woman stepped forth, closing it behind her and locking it with an audible "clack". Odah took in her form. Blond hair down to her shoulders, short-ish in stature, stuffed into a very elegant, yet simple dress that flowed down to her heels. Fair, smooth skin. She was rather pretty, he thought, before he realized that this was Bryda; The witch, Arlene's aunt, the Baron's sister, she who would usurp and overthrow him. This was who he had to stop. He swallowed as she strode across the room with a sigh, wandering over to the nightstand beside the bed. She turned the lamp on, and light filled the room. It was much more colorful and lively than he had first assumed. His back was pressed up against her clothing, hanging down. He was thankful for the noise suppression, but blinked when Bryda started to undo the dress she wore. She started by wrapping her arms around her back and undoing something there, letting it split apart and fall to her ankles. She wore more plain attire underneath, but she let out an appreciative sigh, taking in the room. Her gaze settled on the doors to the balcony. Her twinkling green eyes narrowed.

Odah adjusted to see what she was looking at. One of the balcony doors was ajar. He had forgotten to close it. His eyes widened and he grit his teeth, but suppressed any noise he might've made. Bryda kept staring at the doors for several moments before walking forward on bare feet to close it with a "click". She stood still, silent as the grave. Odah could feel his heartbeat. He didn't realize it was her speaking until she was done.

"I expect a lot of things, but this- This is not one of them."

Odah felt like melting into the shadows, but such a thing was out of the purview of what Shamans could do. He couldn't manipulate light, or shadows, or what people perceived. He might've been compromised, but he remained silent, breathing slowly, in through his nostrils. His racing heart didn't help. Bryda turned back to regard the entirety of her quarters. "Whomever you are, wherever... I know there's something here." She said, placing a gentle hand on one banister of the bed. "I'd like you to show yourself."

Odah didn't dare move. Bryda let out a soft, musical hum. "If you don't, I'll flush you out." Her eyes began to sparkle more. At first, Odah thought it him imagining things, but no, her eyes were -actually- sparking with electricity. It ceased as soon as it began. "I will, make no mistake. Come."

Fuck it.

Odah opened the doors to the dresser and slid out, feet landing on the floor with a thud. He closed the dresser doors behind him, and then turned to regard Bryda, face to face. The woman merely stared at him, a little taken aback. Odah tugged on the hood of his cloak before pulling it back, and discarding the entire thing, placing it on the floor beside him, his staff in both hands. She seemed even more surprised now than before. Odah channeled his knowledge of the human language, and spoke after several long moments. "And here I am." He couldn't help but smirk, and even give a slight, theatric bow. "As per your request."

Bryda didn't visibly respond. At least, not immediately. But after a silent eternity, she let out a bark of laughter, snickering and giggling, a grin plastered over her face. She regathered her composure. "You... I'm confused, but this is a pleasant surprise." She leaned in closer, smirking. "I hope I don't offend, but I'm surprised you're able to speak the human tongue."

Odah's eyes narrowed. He liked to think he was a fair critique of character, but throwing verbal jabs at his people tended to irk him. "And I'm surprised you've the courage to stand up to me, and not immediately call for the guard to come save you."

Bryda chuckled heartily from the gut. "Awfully perceptive." She pointed at him, shaking her finger for emphasis. "Maybe that says something about what I'm capable of, not how foolish I am."

Odah placed his staff's butt on the floor with a small "thud", as if giving emphasis of his own. "Or maybe I really -am- a fool."

Bryda nodded, her eyes once again crackling with that same arcane power. Her hand lifted from the bannister, but was held out forward, palm first, in his direction, her face having turned serious without a hint of a smile. "You're not who I expected you to be, but still; I feel bad doing this."

And with that, the energy built to a crescendo in the time it took Odah to blink.

Contrary to their chat, Odah was anything but a fool. He had placed his staff in front of him for good reason. He had already poised the word at the tip of his tongue, his mind already reached out to The Roots of the World, ready to act at the slightest hint of trouble. This, he decided, was sufficient. As the energy built, he called out in the ancient, sacred language of the Shamans to The Roots, his mind asking for their energy. They were all too willing to give, and Odah found his body coursing with the brief rush of power they granted, like a heavy, satisfying weight had been put in his chest. He shoved it into the wood of his staff in the time it takes someone to process that they were about to get destroyed by arcane lightning. Time slowed to a crawl for the both of them, it seemed. The crackling energy erupted from Bryda's fingertips, streaking toward her target, but the air between the two of them seemed to shimmer and distort, a faint gleam in the wind. The room hummed, and the deafening crack came. The bolt went wild, deflected off of the barrier Odah had created, bouncing up and into the sky, tearing a smoking, blasted hole through the roof. Dust scattered from the impact, and the house seemed to rumble.

Odah grunted aloud, cracking his neck by cocking his head back and forth. His ears were ringing slightly, but he was definitely still alive. Bryda blanched when she realized that, no, she had not rendered the zebra into a smoking pile of gore. She blinked. Odah let out a small breath through his nostrils. "I assume you're... Shocked?"

Bryda's face contorted in surprise. "How did..." She trailed off, but then her eyes widened considerably, before they seemed to harden with a determined look. "You're a Shaman."

Odah gave a slight nod. "Yes."

The woman let out a breath, her hands returning to her sides. "I've... Studied the myths and legends, you know. Not all of them, but more out of a curiosity than anything." Odah remained silent, but beckoned with a hand for her to continue. "It has poorly defined rules. There's nothing written about what, exactly, Shamanism is." She chuffed. "I half suspect it's because none of you have recorded it properly."

Odah's gaze hardened, but he nodded in the affirmative. "We guard our secrets."

"Yes, you do. Which is why it is doomed to die out."

Odah tightened his grip on his staff, and assumed a posture that indicated he was anticipating a strike. "Our magic is alive and ever-changing; Books cannot do it justice."

"Thousands before through history have said those same words about countless other things. Every single one of those people are dead and forgotten."

"Because they didn't write down what they knew?"

"Exactly. If your village, or your people, are wiped out in a war, or a plague, famine, whatever it may be, there will be no way for anyone to re-learn. It will be lost forever."

"I would never let that happen. I'd die before it did."

Bryda's gaze softened. "...A second War of the Beast is possible, you know."

Odah was mildly taken aback, but his gaze softened. "...We call that The Age of Sorrow, not the War of the Beast."

The blond woman looked down at the floor for just a brief moment, as if she was contemplating on if she should speak her mind. "You're not the only ones who think of it that way." Bryda glanced back at the door to the room. There was a knock at it, and a human voice rang out asking if everything was alright. She yelled "not now!" and turned back to Odah. "Who sent you?"

Odah's lips tightened, his teeth grit, and he thought hard and fast about what to answer, if at all. There was a brief silence while he considered the variables in his head. On one hand, Arlene knew about... That thing. Blackmail at its simplest, really. He was supposed to take Bryda down, but the way that Arlene did... Everything, really, made Odah uneasy. To side with Arlene was the safe bet, but at the same time, he didn't trust her at all. But Bryda... Something about her seemed much more genuine. From what Arlene said of her, something didn't line up. A lot of things didn't line up, really. Bryda seemed like she was no stranger to attempts on her life, but at the same time, these weren't the actions of a master manipulator or puppet master. She was genuine. If else, she wouldn't have even tried to talk with him. Odah arrived at his conclusion. "Arlene. Willowy woman, young, long, wispy brown hair-"

Bryda's eyes widened. "...Arlene? You're kidding." She blanched, running a hand through her own hair. "Did... What did she want you to do?"

"Specifically? To defeat you, but leave you alive to be arrested."

Bryda's teeth grit together, her face reddened, and she appeared to be descending into the realm of fury. Her eyes sparked. Odah quickly interjected to prevent her from going ballistic. "Why's this important?"

There was a banging at the door. Several voices were shouting at each other from it. She looked back up at him. "Answer me one question."

"...Aye?"

"Will you do whatever's necessary in order to protect the innocent and ensure peace?"

Odah answered without thinking. "Always."

Bryda looked him up, then down, and then nodded. "Good. C'mere." Without waiting for a response, she stepped forward and took Odah's arm in her hand. Odah flinched, but didn't immediately fight it. "What're you doing?"

"Teleporting us." Her eyes closed, and the sparkling came back, except this time it sparked between the two of their bodies. Odah's eyes widened at the feeling of a wholly strange, new, and positively unnerving rush of energy coursing through his body. He felt like his very soul was being pulled outside of his body, dragging the rest of him along with it. The banging at the door had become rhythmic- Someone was trying to break it down. Guards on the other side were ready to take down whoever was in there. "Wai!-"

He didn't get to finish.

The chanting had grown to a fever pitch. The centermost Dwarf held open a vast, fat tome, reading from the ancient contents within. The huge tendril of otherworldly energy below them pulsed and hummed. The finale was beginning.

He wiped the blood from the hardwood blade, having pulled it from the freshly slain sentry lying dead at his side. He was out of time. He spoke the words in his ancient tongue, contacting The Roots themselves. They answered. They were afraid, and so was he. There was too much energy being channeled, being fed into the vast Dwarven machine. He didn't know what it was supposed to do, but with the vast amount of secrecy surrounding it, it had to be important. Hundreds were in attendance, each chanting and supplementing their runic ritual to bind the power of The Roots. He would not- Could not allow this to happen.

He felt for every opportunity in his mind. He examined every variable in the time it took to blink. There was nothing he could do. There was no individual to slay, no important gear to misalign or break. The ritual was, right now, bringing vast amounts of energy forth from the World.

Energy.

He had an idea. He whispered to The Roots, and they whispered back. There was too much energy. The machinery was already in place, but the energy in place was too great, only barely being kept in check. It would only take a push to send it over the edge. He grasped at The Roots in his mind, feeling the energy in his chest, the overwhelming power of life building within. It was being artificially siphoned by the Dwarven ritual. Despite their efforts, Odah had what they could never obtain: The will of The Roots themselves.

He beckoned the energy to come, and The Roots obliged. They, too, understood what was afoot. The rush of energy could be felt in Odah's bones. In his waking mind, he viewed the vast Dwarven ritual, the hundreds of Dwarves chanting. There was a slight waver in their voices, but the chanting continued. Odah pushed harder. The light from the earthen tendrils shone brightly, pulsing faster and faster, spurned on both by itself and the Shaman. The chanting faltered, and he could see Dwarves looking at the vibrating Root of the World. Worry was in their eyes. Good. He gave a final push, sweat beading his brow. It was difficult, but oh-so worth it. The vibrating could be felt in the earth. The last of the Dwarven chanting died a sudden death when the earth itself shook, the rumbling echoing through the vast underground chasm. The machine hissed wildly, steam billowing from the thing. Gears turned and pistons whirred at dangerous speeds. There was another rumble. A fire erupted from the machine, a gout of flame licking at the rocky ceiling. And then another flame appeared. Then the whole thing went.

There was a bone-rattling explosion of both mundane material and arcane energy, the shockwave knocking the zebra onto his ass. There was screaming, molten and charged debris falling onto the scattering, panicking congregation. The pulsing, angry Root, as if responding to their impudence, shook and groaned with rage. There was another shockwave. The Dwarves that were closest to the tendril were obliterated entirely in a bubble of blinding light. To those immediately after, no amount of armor or runic protection against magic could prevent the power of the earth itself. Their bodies were shattered in an instant, the rock churning and turning to gravel in the wake of the arcane explosion. The world around him shook and cracked, Odah was sent flying backwards through the air, surrounded by the screams of Dwarves and the whistling of arcane energy.

Odah landed squarely on his face. He tasted dirt. He felt sore all over, like every inch of his body had been stretched out in every direction. His joints popped when he moved them with a pained groan. He felt dizzy. The trip up and onto his feet was an uneasy one. He was about to speak, but he retched, instead. Bryda's voice was clear. "Eugh."

Odah panted, but then looked up for the first time to study his surroundings. It was a cave. A smoldering fire was in the center of the circular cavern. Furs, rugs, and blankets lined the floor. There were desks with papers, bookshelves, cabinets, workshops: Now this looked like a witch's lair. He grunted aloud, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Sorry about that."

Bryda waved a dismissive hand at the floor. The contents of Odah's spilled stomach were magically wiped away. "Forgiven. Happens to everyone their first time." The blonde woman stepped across the room to another wardrobe of hers, opening and perusing the clothes within. "Sit."

So he did. By the fire, to be exact. He let out a breath and tried to relax as much as he could. Bryda had pulled a robe from the wardrobe, and was stepping behind a folding screen. "I take it you have questions?"

Odah shrugged as she dipped out of sight. "...A few."

"Well, let me go first. You claim Arlene sent you, yes? You described her perfectly."

"Aye, that's the case."

Bryda could be heard changing from behind the screen, a few articles of clothing appearing from the other side, draped over the top. The screen itself was wood, and thus not transparent. Odah might've been sorely tempted otherwise. She spoke. "I figure you want an explanation."

"I'd appreciate one, yes."

There was a sigh heard from the other side of the simple screen. After a few moments, Bryda continued. "Arlene is the Baron's daughter and my niece, aye. But the Baron's been sickly and frail these past few years. It's no secret that he will soon pass on. Arlene wants the position, but I'm the one next in line for the seat."

"So she wanted to use me to deal with you. That way she'd be next in line when the Baron croaks."

"Exactly."

Odah tapped a hoof against the floor, staring into the fire. There was something else bugging him. "There's one thing I don't understand."

"What's that?"

"Assuming I followed up on what she wanted, I would've either been defeated by you, or I would've won."

"That's how fighting works."

"No, but in both scenarios, I think, Arlene would be able to remove me. If I succeeded, I would still be in the middle of the city with the entire guard after me. It would be easy for her to leave me to rot, or worse. And if I failed, then it doesn't matter. In either case she'd be tying up loose ends."

Bryda emerged from the screen. The robe was quaint, wrapped around her midsection. A dull red, but cozy-looking thing, really. She nodded. "That sounds like something she would do. What did she tell you about me?"

"That you were planning on usurping the Baron's position unjustly, that you had connections everywhere, and magic where you didn't have connections in order to make sure no one could touch you."

Bryda rolled her eyes as she walked to a desk, covered with papers and books. "Magic and connections? Yes, but I'm not a master manipulator. I'm not nearly that powerful. It's not about the magic, she just wants me gone, and she'll tell anyone anything to do it."

Odah nodded his head, watching her stride around, gathering papers and books, notes, a staff, and so on. "So..."

Bryda halted. They locked gazes. The woman cocked her head. "...Oh." She said, placing what she had gathered on the ground to free her hands. She sighed and shrugged. "I've given you ample reason not to trust Arlene. Why did you even agree to this in the first place?"

Odah strained to find the words. "She had... For lack of a better term, blackmail on me. She threatened to bring me to the attention of... Certain interested parties unless I cooperated."

Bryda's eyes narrowed. "...What did she have on you?"

Odah just shook his head. Bryda chuckled. "Fine, keep your secrets. It's not like I'm just trying to find out what's going on so I can help you from making a terrible mistake."

"You blasted me first, woman!"

Bryda cringed. "I did, didn't I? To be entirely fair, I had first thought you to be a rival wizard's minion, trying to steal my secrets."

Odah blinked. "...What?"

"Human wizards are... Let's say, uh, competitive. Especially ones tied to the government."

"But you tried to zap me anyway."

She grimaced. "...I panicked."

Odah took this into account, and then gave a shrug of the shoulder. "Understandable."

Bryda moved swiftly. It took Odah a moment to discover she was trying to tidy the space up. "Your human common is splendid, by the way. Are you a native speaker?"

"No, not a native speaker."

She blinked, then turned to regard him. Her expression was puzzled. "How old are you?"

"Nineteen cycles, give or take."

She blanched. "Gods be good." She muttered, turning back to what she was doing. "You've a grasp on our language that's, quite frankly, impressive for one such as yourself, nevermind your age."

He nodded. "Thank you. And you're rather... Shall I say, tolerant."

She turned back with an inscrutable look about her. "Because I'm not an asshole who thinks that beastmen are all pagans who seek to end humanity? Because I don't believe in the dichotomy that they're unintelligent barbarians? Because I was one of the few ostracized for speaking out against the recent human campaign against the Lupine to the west, about men, women, and children ripped from their homes or butchered wholesale? The fact that the Elves in their forest homes frequently use fire to burn away entire Equine villages on an indiscernable whim?"

"Okay, I get it."

Bryda huffed aloud, bent over a desk slightly, palms splayed out on the wood. She was tense. Odah stood in the silence, and placed a hand on her shoulder. She flinched, but then relaxed. "The fact that you're able to tell that these events are unjust gives me hope."

Bryda loosened her shoulders and breathed a sigh of relief. The tense energy billowed from her nose, and the fight left her as soon as it had arrived. "...What's your name?"

"Odah, of South's Eye Ridge."

"South's Eye Ridge is... Far. Further away than I care to admit." She said, turning to regard him. His hand fell away. "Why were you in the area to begin with, if I may ask?"

Odah rubbed the back of his neck and sucked in through his teeth. "...I'd, uh... Business."

Bryda raised a brow. "I just ranted about how unjust we treat your kind, Odah. Don't make me look stupid by doing something you're not supposed to be doing."

The zebra blanched. "No, nothing of the sort. It was... Shaman duties."

"Shaman duties?"

"Protect The Roots of the World, ensure a balance between civilization and nature, all of that."

"...Wait. Isn't that exactly what the, uh... What's her name... Amrela? In your mythos, isn't that her job?"

Odah was taken aback, but he nodded. "Aye, it was. She was the first Shaman."

Bryda jumped in place, a massive grin on her face, before she dashed to a desk. "Hang on! Don't say anything else!" She fished out a notebook, a quill, and an inkwell, and began scribbling notes furiously. "Amrela was the first Shaman, you said?"

Odah frowned, walking over to where Bryda was hunched over on the desk, writing down his exact words. "...Yes? What are you doing?"

Bryda looked at her notebook, halted, and then looked back up at him. Then back to the book, then him again. "No one's ever been able to get a retelling of the Zebrakin mythos down on paper- At least, a retelling of their legends by one of their own. This is a first for mankind, Odah. All we have is rumor and conjecture, speculation, and maybe a few loose translated lines of poetry. Nothing like an entire mythos."

Odah rubbed his head with one hand, the other scratching at the back of his neck. "Aye. That's the goal of the Shaman."

She gasped. "Why?! Why would you not record something like that? It's fascinating!"

Odah let in a breath, and let it out, deliberating over his words. "A large part of our beliefs revolve around the idea that we're chosen protectors of the natural world. There's a... Common fear that, if we were to properly record this information, it could be used against us, and the world."

Bryda seemed to deflate. "...Oh. That's... A shame." She set her quill down. "I suppose, but I can't tell why that would be from a glance. There must be a reason?"

He nodded. "Without saying too much, there's definitely a reason."

"But do you agree with it?"

"Agree with what?"

"The fact that your order refuse to record information for fear of it being used against you."

Odah was silent for a long while. He stared at the smoothed stone wall of the witch's hideout as he pondered. Truth be told, he had never really considered it like that. "...I'm unsure."

Bryda nodded. She let a few moments pass before speaking. "So what will you do now?"

Odah had already arrived at that answer a few minutes ago. He locked eyes with her. She let out a small gasp, but composed herself. "You're going to kill Arlene, aren't you?"

He nodded. "It's the only way I can be sure."

Bryda cocked her head. "Does whatever blackmail she have on you have to do with the fact that you're in the area on, as you say, Shaman business?"

"...Yyyyyyeeeessss."

She stared at him for a while. It was a puzzling thing, being examined so closely by a woman. She was, quite admittedly, very pretty, he thought. Her eyes narrowed. "Does this have anything to do with what occurred at Kagha Ghamorzha two weeks ago?"

The silence damned him.

"I was afraid of that." Bryda grunted as she stood, stretching her legs. "Rest assured, whatever secrets you have are, obviously, safe with me."

Odah grunted. "Color me reassured."

Bryda narrowed her gaze. "Look, I probably just saved your life back there. I could've just teleported myself and left you at the estate."

"And for that, I'm thankful."

The witch's gaze turned into one of passionate anger. "Excuse me, you're not the only one who wants to see balance between your kind and mine."

Odah took this into consideration. After a few seconds, he bobbed his head in the affirmative. "I believe you. Fine."

She sighed, releasing the tension. "Thank you." She padded over to the fire, staring into it. "I'm sad that it's come to the point where killing Arlene is the path to peace, but... I see no other way."

"Likewise. She'll likely use knowledge of what I've done as leverage, or use it to incite further conflict. Or to hunt me down. Whatever she can do with what she knows isn't good, and I've no reason to trust her with it."

"Agreed."

"So... How do I get to her?"

"Excuse me?"

"I'll do it myself. You're next in line for the Baron's seat, yes? It's best if you don't have any hand in this, for your own sake."

Bryda let out a sigh. "I know. It's just... She's my niece. How could she do this? To me? To our family, to the city, to our people? It's... Evil."

Odah closed the distance between the two of them. "I don't know, but she's made her choice. You couldn't have prevented this. Now, Arlene must face the consequences of her decisions, nothing more."

Bryda's arms enveloped Odah's shoulders. Odah was a little taken aback by the hug, but after a few moments, he returned it, squeezing her gently. She was soft and warm, and he found his muzzle burying into her neck. He sighed, and she rubbed his back before letting go.

Odah nodded. "So, here's my plan:"

Arlene dug through the trunk by her bed, rifling through trinkets, odds and ends, that sort of thing. She found what she was looking for near the bottom, brushing a bit of hair aside to gaze at what she pulled out. A small pendant, dull smoky quartz, carved in the shape of a laughing skull. She put it on, letting out a small sigh of relief. Her room was a modest thing, but well furnished. On the other side of the city, she heard the lightning erupt from the manor, but hadn't received any sort of signal. In either case, she was rid of one loose end, and dealing with Bryda would be less of a hassle now. The zebra had softened her up, as it were, and now, any sort of smear campaign would be much more well-received by the public. All according to plan, but she would still take her insurance policy with her. Just in case.

Arlene trod over to her closet, opening the large, wood doors to greet her traveling clothes. She slipped them on quickly, double-checking the pack that lay at her feet, up against the wall. It was full. She would be gone for some time, ensuring that the foundation of her plan was in motion. Before long, Bryda would be out of the way, and the seat to the Barony was as good as hers.

She nearly jumped when she turned to the door, pack in hand, to see a tall, familiar-looking zebra standing in front of the portal. The two stared at each other. Odah's eyes were unyielding. Arlene brushed her hair behind her shoulders, setting her pack down. "I did not expect you back."

Odah crossed his arms in front of his chest. "And I did not expect half of what truly transpired."

The young woman's eyes narrowed. "I was afraid you'd speak to her. She always did have a soft spot for you beastfolk. I never understood why that was, but now I see I should've hired a regular assassin."

"I'm glad you didn't, for whatever it was worth."

Arlene chuckled, letting out a small sigh. "A second War of the Beast is coming, and you can't stop it. It doesn't matter how many massive Dwarven engines of war you destroy, it'll happen anyway."

He didn't visibly react. "How do you know?"

"You didn't adhere to our bargain. Therefore, I'm not under any obligation to tell you. Regardless of what I say or do, you will kill me, so there's no point to me telling you in that regard, either." She smirked. "So you can fuck yourself, beast."

Odah chuffed, and raised the willow staff at his side, pointing the end at his target. "Strange. I would've expected much more resistance from you before the end."

"What makes you think this is the end?"

Odah scowled, but he spoke the word. The world heard him, and the energy gathered from The Roots of the World provided him the power he needed, before he hurled it out of his staff, right at Arlene.

The entire City heard a cracking "boom" erupt from the south district. The room, and half of the apartment building exploded in a shower of debris. Even in the light of the full moon, bathed in the pale glow of midnight, everyone could see the raw destruction.

In the rubble, the only tangible remnant recovered of Arlene's person, or anything for that matter, was a smoky quartz pendant in the shape of a laughing skull. It twinkled unnaturally in the sunlight, smoke swirling within.

Her insurance policy paid off.

The two days since then had gone by rather quickly, Odah reminisced. The trip had been blessedly uneventful. The occasional traveler on the road gave him a wide berth. It was a short while to the hut that Bryda and him had agreed on prior to her teleporting him back into the city, to deal with the scheming Arlene. He knocked on the wooden door of the hut, away from the road, with only a small, nearly unnoticeable dirt path leading off the main road to hint at its existence. There was a click, and it opened. Bryda grinned.

She sat, eager expression on her face as she dipped the quill in her inkwell. There were multiple notebooks off to one side, but this one was open in front of her, blank and ready. She stared expectantly at Odah, who was sitting across from her. "Where would you like to start?"

"Let's start with the first creation myth of my people: The First of the Beast Dreamers."

Bryda scribbled down the title, dipped her quill in ink again, and then smiled at him. "Ready when you are."

Odah smiled warmly, then took in a breath.

"In the beginning..."

Over the next few days, Odah would recount every myth, legend, and story he knew to the witch, who recorded each one.

And there were many.