FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The fire crackled before the circle of orcs, giving their green skin a yellow glow. A placid air hung over them as the fire kept the chill of the night at bay, their bellies filled with meat and beer, the best way to finish a camping trip. Small groups were formed around the fire: lovers, friends, siblings, all gathering together after months of separation by the brisk pace of modern life. No words were exchanged, there was no need, their bodies spoke enough for them, in a way no human could hope to match. This was a bond that only orc tribes could have, a sacred tradition passed down for so long, their best scholars could only refer to its origins as The Beginning. For everyone else, it was the Age of Blood, the time were the first orcs walked the earth, struggling to survive against endless dangers.

An old orc with a mane the color of ash rose up from her place int he logs. Her body trembled with the weakness of age as she leaned on her cane. Her eyes, however, were filled with fierce determination and knowledge. All the other orcs lifted their heads, their tusks covered by their lips in reverence. With clear effort, she gave her tribe a deep bow, her grave melodic voice weaving a song. Once the last note left her lips, all the orcs moved like a single being and poundedthe earth with strong legs. Their elder rose once more, her eyes misted with memories of old days: the first time she had led the ritual, the first time she had helped her own teacher and those blurry occasions when she had seen the rituals as a mere child. She tapped her staff on the hard earth, a cloud of dust raising and mixing with the fire. Another orc rose from the logs, his black hair peppered with white strands while his slim body shone with sweat.

The elder nodded towards the man, her cane tapping a rhythm on the earth. Without a word, the man started to dance, his every move and shifting scent weaving a tale for all the orcs present. It was in the beginning, after the first orcs were blessed by the nameless Gods, that the first tribes were formed. Born out of sorrow and desperation, for the earth had grown thirsty for orcish blood and sent theirmany children to hunt them down.

The dancing orc's movements grew harsher, dust raising under the strikes of his powerful legs. His musky scent shifted, from its masculine undertones to more acrid ones. Images of battles and blood danced in the gathered orcs eyes, desperation closing their throats. The shadows drew closer to the orcs with every beat of the stick, hands searching comfort in a loved one's comfort.

With flowing, patient moves and an earthy scent, the dancer kept his story. Families had gathered for the first time and, without a to communicate to each other, they had prayed from help to any and all who heard them. Such was their need that the Gods answered from their ethereal thrones. The skies had grown darker, the earth had rumbled and lighting fell in the middle of their gathering, scorching the earth. Cries and panic spread through the gathered families, the shape of lighting seared into their eyes.. But as they turned to flee like a single mass of people, a few perceptive orcs noticed something. A new swarm of smells that invaded their nose, stronger and clearer than any they had before, and with the smell, came a new sensation at the back of their head. Their voices rose, a tone of unflinching command clinging to them, and all the orcs came to a stop.

The dancer's move picked up on speed once more, his legs stomping the ground between jumps. His arms shot up in every direction like lighting while his skin glistening with sweat. His scent changed once more, turning fiery and sweet. The story carried on, the images of their ancestors dancing in the gathered orc's eyes, their muscles relaxing one by one. Struggling to understand their new senses, the leaders of each family had gathered and talked for two nights and one day before a decision was reached. To forever walk side by side, their arms supporting each other, their backs sharing the burdens of life, and through their new senses, to form golds as strong as the earth itself.

The orcish dancer came to a stop, his hands lifted high into the air, as if offering his soul to the silver moon. His breath came out ragged, his pupils were dilated and a satisfied smile hung upon his face. The rest of the orc tribe was in a similar state, the intensity of the ritual had taken its toll on them all. Their elder was the first to compose herself, straightening her back with an air of authority and wisdom. With a reverent air, she pulled out a bundle of herbs from her dress and threw them into the fire. The flames rose higher, the smell of peppermint and sandalwood spreading through the air and bringing out the rest of the orcs from their dreamy state, their ritual coming to an end. The elder orc sat back on her log, a soft smile on her face, secure in the knowledge that there was another who could pass on their story.