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Anthro Sex Squad Story 1 - Vibra's Story

By Killenor

Arc 1 - Origins

Chapter 9

Wethers smiled as he bounced his son upon his knee. The young lamb was the spitting image of himself right down to the shape of the white patch of hair on his muzzle. He son was a whole year old and before this day he had been cared for by his ewes in the maternal house. He hadn't seen his own son since the day of his birthing. His son had even managed words and by his mother's account and was able to leap the rocky hillsides with ease.

"Perfect," Wethers said, joy ebbing from his every syllable, "He is just perfect Dainey! I have not been so proud since I was elected head of our herd! I want to name him Obdami for the joy that he has made me feel today."

"But..." Dainey interjected, "But he is your firstborn sire-Wethers. Tradition is that the first-born of a new chieftain be named Wynono. Should not he be given this honor? I want my son to be recognized by all for coming first from your loins and mine."

"Have you ever heard the name Obdami? I haven't. I just made it up. It was the sound my soul made when I thought of how happy I was. Worry not my dear, with such a name as that no one will fail to recognize him, tradition or no. I'll not let my leadership be tainted with silly rules that some other sheep has made. If I say it is a name of honor, then it is. And may any dissenters challenge me as is right to do."

The ewe nodded and smiled in agreement. "It will be an honored name then. A unique name is not usual for our kind, but none shall challenge you."

"I had often felt we sheep-folk had become mired in our ways and that if I had a chance to lead that we would become great. The blessings of the ones above are obviously upon me. Stay by my side Dainey and I shall do great things for the good of our people and we shall not follow blindly anymore."

"I ought to put him to bed my ram," Dainey said as the babe on Wethers' knee gave a great yawn, "He'll be needing fed soon as well. Also do remember that Andei, Rieu, and Therese have sons to present to you tomorrow. Harriette has a daughter the day following."

Wethers allowed his favorite woman to take the child. He paused her for a moment and stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers.

"You do know it is you I love Dainey. Above any of the other ewes I would choose you again and again."

Dainey laughed softly, "You always were the sentimental type. No doubt that is why I love you back my ram."

With that, Dainey took their son and retired to the maternal house. Wethers sat back in the modest hand-carved throne that had stood in the chieftain's house for generations. What a triumph he had this day. Sons to carry his legacy and daughters to bring him grandchildren in his waning years. His fields were burgeoning and the winter was light. Such good signs for his first years as head of his flock.

A sigh of contentment passed from him. All the bitter rivalries and difficult battles he had fought seemed well worth it now that the rewards of being alpha were upon him. Best yet, he had won the heart of the woman he had dreamed of since they were children together.

Wethers took a deep drink from the resin mug resting at his side and gritted his teeth at the strong bitter liquid. A warmth was spreading through him, making him just a bit more giddy. He sank back into his chair and was content.

***

Outside the village stood a circle of the lesser sheep-folk males. Those who had lost the male challenges early in the year were made to stand guard against predators in the night. Civil-beasts they may have been, but a canny coyote or mountain lion was still a match for their horns alone. The cougars especially liked tactics of stealth and were it not for the village protectors they would sneak in and steal children from thier very beds.

Orin peered into the darkness, his back to the fires inside the square that allowed him to see much further than starlight alone. A second year adult, his horns had not yet grown large enough to challenge any of the elders for their revered spots. He clutched his spear and huddled under his heavy woolen cloak to keep out the autumn night chill.

Some thing moved...

...maybe. Maybe he had just been seeing things when he moved... his own long shadow or something. No need to worry, with one bleat he could summon a dozen other males from around the settlement in a few moments. All he had to do was stave off the initial attack... if there was one.

Just night-time paranoia he decided. Jitters, just like the old guard had told him when he had started his duty.

Another movement, black against the dark ground.

Orin leaped to his feet, spear at the ready and his eyes wide. Should he call someone? He would be in trouble if he called the others for nothing.

Something sounded like rope being stretched... like the winches for moving blocks of stone around.

Orin had to call someone. Something was wrong here, he knew it. He turned, drew breath and cupped his hands.

A second of sharp pain in the back of his neck was the last thing Orin ever felt. Without a sound he collapsed, snapping the arrow impaled through his throat as his numb body slammed into the dirt.

A dark figure planted a foot on the corpse and yanked the arrow free. It cursed silently, seeing that it had been broken. Still, there was a mission to accomplish. The black-clad sheep-man drew a great breath.

The perimeter alert call sounded out around the village sending a dozen spear-wielding rams running to the site of the disturbance. To a one they stopped in shock when they came upon the body of the young ram that had been on watch. One, an old ram past his prime, stepped forward to inspect his fallen comrade.

Something was set under Orin's body. A few curious guards, wondering what it was turned the body over.

***

Wethers was nearly asleep upon his chair when he was jarred awake by a mighty bang that shook his entire cabin. The haze of his drink was shoved away as he jumped to his feet in alert. Running out the door he snatched up his bludgeon and spear that were kept on a rack near the entrance.

Screams greeted his ears as he stepped out into the night. Fires were everywhere, burning upon the roofs and through the streets. He saw his kin and subjects running through streets, pursued by rams dressed all in black. Worse yet, the black-cloaked rams bore torches and weapons, human forged swords and axes. Ancient claims to these lands forbade that a ram should ever bear the works of man, elf, or goblin for those peoples would drive out their claims to the mountains and plains of their home.

Wethers let out a roar and charged, horns out at the first enemy he saw. The unfortunate ram was busy chasing a sky-clad ewe who held only a sheet about her. There was no time to turn and face the charging alpha before he was upon him. Wethers grinned in satisfaction as he felt the bones of his opponent's ribs crunch under the impact of his head.

Wethers was a seasoned warrior, he had to be to have achieved his rank. The instant his momentum was halted by the now-flying ram he swung about and flung his spear. The projectile found its mark through the chest of another black-clad, flying right through and pinning him on his back a full three hands above the ground.

Once the black-clads were alerted to his presence, Wethers found that they all converged upon him. Without missing a beat, he flung his bludgeon into the face of the closest assailant, smacking him squarely on the forehead with enough force to send him sprawling. Using the momentum of the mighty throw to drop into a roll, Wethers snatched up the dropped sword of his first victim and twisted to bring it to bear on the next charging ram.

The point of the sword punched into the oncoming rams stomach, but Wethers failed to overcome the speed of his opponent's charge. The now-screaming ram fell on top of him and the raging alpha was borne to the ground. As the bleeding ram coughed out his last breath Wethers heaved him away.

He was too late. Though the rams bearing down on him scattered as their comrade was hurled upon them, more still rounded upon him and soon he was being beaten and kicked from all sides. Mighty or not, Wethers was soon bloody and in far too much pain to resist. Worse yet, the coppery taste in his mouth told him they might have done more damage than he cared to admit.

A hoof crunched down upon one of his hands and the pain and crunch told him it was broken. Wethers rolled, clutching his hand to his chest and blinking at the dust in his eyes. No further kicks came, but now a cruel laughter sounded in his ears.

"The mighty Wethers, son of a worthless peasant and a whorish ewe. How dare you even exist you disgusting goblin-sputum."

Wethers gritted his teeth at the voice.

"Wynono," Wethers spat in the loudest voice he could manage, "You mangy rat-filth, by what right do you dare?! Allying with humans? Raiding in the night? You are the son of an alpha and you would stoop to using these tactics against me?!! I beat you fairly!"

A swift kick silenced Wethers, but only long enough for him to spit a few pieces of tooth from his bloody mouth.

"Coward and weakling! You shame your grandfathers and grandmothers!"

The next kick had Wethers just a breath from losing consciousness. His head swam in pain but he was determined not to allow Wynono the satisfaction of seeing him fall senseless.

"Bind him!" Wynono snapped, "Take what you wish and round up the women and children. Kill any other male you find."

He grabbed Wethers by his horns and jerked his head to stare, eye to eye, at his rival.

"And bring my tools," Wynono hissed, "I shall take care of this one personally."