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So this here is the first time I'm introducing the Red Tide, a group of fanatic religious freaks led by the Crimson Rovers, a dying species of immense telepathic capabilities. They have waged a brutal war against the Alliance, which includes humans. Their gods are a species from another dimension who claim to be the creators of our Universe and that the humanoid races were created in their image and that all beast races must be eliminated. Because the Alliance is made up of mostly beast races, including the monoshifters (who join their hated enemies, the humans, only after their numbers are almost wiped out), the Red Tide seeks to wipe them from existence. The Templiks were my original Red Guard, humanoid races that have allied themselves and serve the Crimson Rovers loyally, but I had abandoned them for the far more powerful, and far more fierce Red Guard. Then I decided that, in their fanaticism, they would serve the Rovers almost just as, if not more, loyally then the Guards. While the Red Guard go through extensive training and then must be individually tested and approved by a Rover, (which have been dying out from a horrendous virus that passes between them through their telepathic power) the Templiks are more liberal with their hiring, but no less aggressive in their beliefs of these godlike creatures. The Ha'trin and the Ha'tinre are both ninja like assassin orders, though one uses magic while the other does not. The Ha'trin are guided by a deep sense of honor, loyalty to their creed and order, and a desire to protect the oppressed. They are also immune to magic through a process of anti magic. The Ha'tinre, however, have loyalty only to their own order, and to the highest bidder. Even in her youth, Calsa will change the face of the orders, or at least die trying.

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I never intended to be here, sitting around this fire with my fellow assassins. The Ha'trin. It took me a long time to get here. A lot of heart ache. A lot of love. And an attitude that could cut glass. I don't normally look back on those times. They are so far behind me. But this night, the slightest rustle in the brush alerting us to our rivals, the memories flooded me as surely as blood flooded the earth beneath my feet.

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Peeking her head around the corner, Calsa looked out at the busy market. It was a ripe picking ground, full of people who were paying no attention to their money pouches. Always she came here around midday, when people were at their laziest. Not only could she usually make a few coin, but grab a meal as well.

She darted out, blending into the crowd. She found herself surrounded, most people easily able to look right over her head. She let herself be somewhat carried by the tide of movement, followed leisurely with the crowd. A coin purse found its way into her pocket. She moved on.

A little way down the street she tripped on her own feet. She used a man's belt to hold her up. The man glared at her. "Watch where you're going, boy!"

She muttered her apologies before scurrying off, taking a peek into this purse. She was used to people thinking of her as a young boy. Her hair was closely cropped, her form lithe and agile. She wore the clothing of young men, the baggy tunic hiding her small breasts from sight. Most mistakened her for an 11 year old boy, not a 14 year old young woman. A woman she was, as defined by the unwritten rules of the world. One of the few rules not written.

Walking by a produce stand, her hand slithered up and snagged a fruit lightly, continuing her nonchalant stroll toward a side alley. Ducking into a doorway, she bit into her meal, watching people move easily through the less crowded walkway. A figure caught her eye. It was obviously a man, and by his easy, strong stride, a younger man. His face was hidden by a hood that wrapped around his neck and covered his shoulders. His forearms were covered by leather gauntlets. A sword at his hip meant he was more aware of the types of dangers of this province ruled by the Templiks, a branch of the Red Guard. More religious and far more radical, they nonetheless were loyal allies of the brutal Reds, who left them in power of the islands of Kul'thar. The man also wore a light tan tunic, black leggings, and on his large belt hung a very fat purse.

Calsa grinned. How simple this would be. A high born he had to be, thinking himself untouchable from his stature in society. She slipped out of her place, following behind slowly, without any hint of of dogging him. When he at last stopped, speaking to a older woman at a clothing stand, Calsa slid past him with practiced ease, giving the slightest tug, a small razor hidden in the palm of her hand detaching the fat purse right off the belt.

She was gone long before he would have checked himself for it. Turning into an empty alley, she placed the purses into her own belt pouch before easily vaulting her small body up the cracks and loose bricks of a building. The flat rooftops made a great hiding place. Few guard patrolled them, and the ones that did often left her alone, figuring she was a young boy playing around.

An abandoned apartment at the top of the building was home. Slipping into the cool shadows, she sighed, tossing her belt onto her cot, filled with old straw and feathers. There were other such beds scattered around the two room place; the light filtered through the wooden planks nailed to glassless windows. She squatted down, pouring out the coins with many satisfying clinks. Templik currency. Perfect. As she went through it, adding her newest earnings to all that she had saved up to now, her mind wandered to soon seeing her brother again. If she made enough to bribe one of the higher ranking guards, he would release her brother since the only crime he'd been caught for was stealing bread.

"I wonder what the Templiks would do to if they discovered this little rat hole."

Calsa whipped around, crouched in a defensive posture, ready to defend herself. The pleasantly male voice came from a silhouette at the makeshift door. His attire and sword at his hip told her immediately that it was the man with the fat purse. She could have sworn he hadn't even noticed her, much less been able to follow her here! She stood slowly, eyeing his relaxed figure that leaned easily against the frame, arms crossed.

"They usually have no reason to bother checking this place, sir."

"I'm sure they would if I called for them."

Calsa's heart skipped a beat, but she held her ground, feigning ignorance. "Why would you do such a thing, sir? I'm but a street runt, living as best as I can."

The man stood erect, striding leisurely into her home, his eyes roaming around. She drew away from him as he came close, his yellow eyes flicking to her cot where the coins still glinted in the faint light. "Best, maybe; honestly, not so much."

Calsa knew better than to play around any longer with this man. She placed her back to the wall and scooshed toward the door. "I do what I can...."

His hand slammed the wall next to her head, preventing her escape. He turned his head, his powerful body still relaxed and unmoving. "I don't know what the Templiks would do to you, but I know for certain what the Ha'tinre would do for stealing from one of their own."

Her moonlight colored eyes widened. Her face paled, her breath quickening. A Ha'tinre? It just had to be her luck. She brought up her hands, palms up, in a begging position. "I-I'm sorry, sir. I didn't know. I'm just trying to survive...."

She stopped when he put his hand up before her face. He still leaned over her menacingly. "I don't care for your reasons. You stole from me and such actions come with consequences. Deciding what to do with you is at my own disgres.... Urg!"

They grappled for several moments, Calsa's swift movements making it difficult for the Ha'tinre to snag the arm that had the small razor. She had managed to cut through his thin tunic, catching him by surprise. Now she struggled to escape him, fear whipping her into a frenzy. It wasn't until she felt the cold blade hidden in one of the leather gauntlets against her throat that she stopped, panting. She stared at him in a panic.

He breathed hard, but didn't seem too fazed by her mad escape attempt. His eyes pierced her, hard and cautious. He had pressed his strong body tightly against her to subdue her. She could feel all his muscles through the thin fabric, feel his gender press against her hip, his thigh against her crotch. A shudder went through her.

"If you were a boy I'd call you stupid," he growled. She clenched her jaw. She felt him relax as he realized her gender. She suddenly squirmed again, trying to use his unguarded moment to flee. But he took a step back as she pressed forward with the razor. He grasped her wrist and gave her a tug, unbalancing her. He stepped to the side as he released her, letting her stumble past him before hooking her ankle in the crook of his own, sending her sprawling onto a dusty cot.

She coughed, turning quickly to glare up at him. He stood over her as if nothing were amiss. "As a girl, you're just foolish. Brave, but foolish. However, I rather like you're attitude." He looked out the door, noting the fading light. "It's getting late, and it just so happens I had been trying to acquire a place to bed down for the night. This seems as good as any."

"And what makes you think I won't slit your throat while you sleep?" she hissed. If he killed her for her behavior it would be better than the things she had heard about Ha'tinre punishments.

He raised a brow, a smug smirk tugging his lips as he squatted down to look her level in the eye. "Because something tells me you'd rather die." He then leaned forward, making her lean away from him. "If making you my slave could be punishment for stealing from me, imagine what it would be for killing me. Death is rarely a option when it comes to the Ha'tinre. We make sure you live, though every second you'd be begging for the end."

He leaned back, standing. He turned away from her, going to the cot with the coins still haphazardly discarded upon it. He carefully picked out his own currency, sweeping the rest aside. He sat onto the cot with a small grunt, his fingers touching the wound she had given him.

"That's my bed," she growled.

"Consider it your punishment." He pulled the tunic over his head to get a better look at his new wound. It had already clotted, but it was still very tender. He sneered, "for a girl, you have some skill."

Calsa glowered at him. "I'm not a girl!"

He glanced at her. "Oh? Well unless I'm mistakened you're not a boy."

She stuck her chin in the air proudly. The light was waning fast, but she could still see well enough, her eyes reflecting the fading light as well as his did. "I'm a woman!" she declared.

"Heh!" The Ha'tinre grunted in humor. "I think I'd believe you being a boy before I'd believe that!"

Her brows furrowed in anger. How dare he insult her in such a manner! "I am too! I've had plenty of lovers."

"Ha! I doubt that. All street runt boys, if that!" He leaned back against the wall, his legs stretched out before him. He discovered the waterskin that Calsa always had beside her bed, and he took a short swig before dripping some onto his finger and using it to wipe away the dried blood from his small wound.

Calsa leapt to her feet, finding his baiting to be nothing more than an affront to her adulthood. Wisdom, as they say, comes with age, and she had always had her brother and his gang to protect her. "I've been with men!" she growled.

The Ha'tinre shook his head calmly, his smug little smile only infuriating her more. "You'd have to prove that. I doubt greatly any of these street rats could be considered men."

She stomped over to him, her eyes full of youthful, righteous anger. She would prove it to him, by the gods! She would leave him breathless and amazed at her skill. She stood over him and placed her hands on her hips. "Fine, I'll prove it! But you'll be sorry!"

He raised a brow at her. With another humored grunt, he placed his hands behind his head, closing his eyes. "Well in that case, think I'll just keep considering you a girl. I dislike being sorry, plus I'm not all that into deflowering strays like yourself."

He heard her growl, heard clothing rustle. When he peeked, she had removed her leggings, though her tunic hung down just far enough to hide her gender from his view. His eyes followed her long, shapely legs and he could feel himself stir as he thought about how wonderful the rest of her young body must be. He closed his eyes again, staying relaxed and calm. She suddenly plopped down onto his lap on her knees, straddling him.

He looked at her through one eye. "Just like a child. You don't even know what to do. Quit wasting my time, I have a busy day tomorrow."

Fuming now, Calsa pulled at the strings of his leggings. "I know exactly what to do!" She didn't stop to think about anything but defending her own pride. Once she pulled his pants open, though, she hesitated. He was larger than the other boys in the group she had been with. And it had been a month since they had all been caught and she'd been left alone.

"Scared of it now, are you, girl?" he mocked. He was hard, throbbing at the sensation of her small hands holding him.

She glowered up at him. "No," she snorted, though with less enthusiasm.

He nodded sharply. "Well, I'll give you credit. For a virgin girl you got quite far...."

That was the last straw! She positioned herself over him, guiding him to her entrance. "I'm not a girl!"

He suddenly gripped her shapely hips and pressed her down onto him. A deep gasp filled her lungs as he filled her inside. Then he grinned at her mockingly. "Oh, well, now I believe you."

She squirmed, feeling more filled then she had ever before. She breathed hard, not quite sure what to do now. She had proven her womanhood, but this was a new, wondrous sensation. The Ha'tinre chuckled. "I see you're no virgin, but you still haven't proven you know a thing about pleasing a man."

Clenching her teeth, Calsa tightened the walls of her passage, feeling some sense of accomplishment when she saw his jaw muscles twitch. Then he moved. He brought her up off of him and then pressed her down as he thrust up, impaling her. A moan forced its way from her throat. But he didn't give her a moment to think about it. He thrust hard into her, pulling her down onto him again and again. She moaned and panted, the intense pleasure replacing any thoughts.

He tilted his hips as he leaned her back, his movements precise and fluid. The sounds that escaped her, so instinctual and uncontrollable, tore from her throat though she tried hard to hold them in. She'd never had trouble staying quiet before. Even the very first time, when her older brother came to her bed when she was 13, after a narrow escape from several Templik guards who had discovered her for what she was, telling her he could never forgive himself if he allowed any of the Templik dogs to take her first. Even then she had been quiet to not alert the other sleeping boys. But here she was, unable to stop the sounds that came from almost as deep within as the Ha'tinre was, ravaging her heated sex.

He moved even harder and faster as her sounds became more urgent and harsh, her body writhing in his grasp. Her passage was tight but was getting wetter and wetter until he could feel it dripping down his inner thighs. He could feel her young body move against him, knew she was getting close to release. He tilted her back just a little more, a small amused grin on his face when he felt her whole body shudder, every fiber of her filling to bursting with the pleasure until it was as if the whole world melted away, her body tightening up and convulsing.

It took a few moments for the fog of her orgasm to pass from her glazed eyes. She found herself panting hard, leaning against the Ha'tinre's body, her head resting comfortably on his broad shoulder. She could hear the deep resonation of his chuckle with her ear against his body. She squirmed, still feeling him throb deep inside of her. "Finished already, are you?"

Calsa sat up, glaring at him. "I was letting you rest."

He raised his brow, his grin growing wider in his entertainment. "Oh, why thank you. So kind of you. And here I was thinking that was so mind blowing you were going to fall asleep from exhaustion."

Calsa snorted. "It wasn't all that great!" she remarked haughtily, though her voice was much too husky for her own liking. She was tired, wanted to just lay back against him and fall asleep, but damned if she let him know that!

He grunted in humor, his hips thrusting up again, making her give a small moan before she could stop it. He leaned forward, his lips touching her throat, making a shudder run through her. "Guess I'll just have to try harder," he breathed into her ear as he nibbled along its edge. As he thrust into her, he didn't have to guide her as much, her body matching him instinctually, trying to reach the next moment of bliss. His mouth continued to tease her throat, her jaw, her ears. He bit down at the base her neck, close to her shoulder, feeling a little shiver run down that side of her body, a deeper moan accompanying it. She obviously liked it rough.

She rode him as fast as her body could allow, hitting him into her each time, her moans turning to small cries. She grinded hard on him, shivering with each bite he gave her. He leaned her back again, nipping along her chest through her thin tunic. And then he bit onto her hard nipples, leaving her suddenly breathless, her whole body gyrating and grinding wildly, stars bursting before her eyelids.

Now she was panting hard, very nearly spent. She'd never felt anything so intense. None of the boys in her gang would bite her for fear of marking her, which would then alert her brother and incur his wrath. She never knew she liked it quite so much. Sweat gleamed on both of their skins. She had her forehead resting against his shoulder as she tried to get her wits back. After a moment, he moved, making her look up groggily at his amused expression. "Done now?"

With a snort she shot upright on him. "Don't flatter yourself."

He chuckled as he began to move again, but his hands moved up her hips, slowly pulling the tunic off her, and over her head as he spoke calmly. "Well then, I guess third time will have to be the charm." He jerked up hard as he tossed the tunic aside with one hand, the other wrapping around her and pulling her to his lips, muffling a cry. He kissed her with the kind of rough, dominating passion she'd only dreamed of. Holding her close with one strong arm, his other hand cupped a small breast, toying with the nipple until it was throbbing and aching for more. He tugged at it harshly, making her whimper with intense pleasure.

His mouth moved from hers, traveling along her jaw and biting her neck once again, hard and long until she was weak and he had to help her keep the pace. She gave another cry, but his lips quickly stiffled it. "Quiet," he muttered against her mouth. "Don't want the Templiks joining." He felt her nails against his chest and he gave a small groan, digging his own nails into her back, feeling the reaction of her body. She pressed her lithe little body against him, her tight nipples poking into him. He could feel himself grow close to release, could feel her body begin to tighten up. He kissed her deeply, using all his dominating personality, his nails raking her flesh, holding her tightly against his hard body as he thrust powerfully, adding a groan to her muffled scream.

It took her a few moments to realize he was done. She lay against him, his head leaned back against the wall, his breathing as harsh as her own. She squirmed, feeling the head of his rod swollen within her, tying them together for a short time. He opened his eyes just a crack to look at her, a little smile tugging his lips. "I hope that time was at least satisfying."

She was having trouble keeping her eyes open, but she still sneered weakly. "It was... alright."

"Well, glad I could at least make myself memorable." He chuckled quietly at her, seeing how it was a struggle for her to keep her eyes open.

"Don't count yourself so... lucky," she growled lightly. She meant to say more, but she couldn't remember the scathing remark she had come up with just a second ago.

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Calsa woke with a groan. She stretched, feeling all her muscles tight and aching. She winced when she raised her arms, noticing the ring of bruises on her shoulder. Teeth marks. The Ha'tinre!

She suddenly sat up, looking around. He was gone. She snarled, tossing the blanket off of her. How dare he just come to her home and mock her into giving herself to him and then up and leaving? Well, she was going to teach him a lesson!

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He peered around the corner. There were four guards. Easy enough. He could walk up and stab the first two in the neck, severing their spines and vocal cords. The other he could toss a knife at, and the last, which he anticipated would run, he could shoot with his crossbow. It would be over in just a few seconds.

The hairs on the back of his neck rose up, letting him know there was a presence behind him. He whipped around, the hidden blade in his gauntlet hissing as it sprang out. He grabbed the figure by the shoulder preventing escape as he drew his arm back to stab. The moon like eyes that stared back at him made him stop. He snarled. "You stupid girl...."

"Not so stupid. If you went toward them you would have set off the siren and dozens of Templiks would have been running here. These Templiks use many different types of technology they don't make public for the rest of us." She pointed at a small half globe of black glass along the wall right before the guards that he hadn't noticed. "Lasers. If you crossed it without the right kind of armor, it would put up a forcefield, trapping you while you were being surrounding."

The Ha'tinre glared back at her. "How the hell do you know that?" He put his arm down, letting go of her shoulder.

"Why do you think I'm an orphan?" she growled back at him. She pulled the shawl from her face and over her head. "My parents were resistance fighters. They both fell for it and paid for it. The whole fortress is covered with those things. You'd have to snag a guard out on patrol. They also have triggers in their armor that let them alert the others that they are in danger. That's why they travel in groups of 3, always."

The Ha'tinre grunted. "Obviously our spies aren't as well informed as we were led to believe. We were told the Templiks here were less equipped than the Reds on the mainland."

"Then you Ha'tinre aren't as clever as you like to think!" she scoffed at him. He was about to growl at her when they heard heavy booted footsteps coming toward them down the street. The Ha'tinre grabbed Calsa, dragging her into a dark doorway.

Pressing her roughly against the wall, he peered around the corner. Her heart pounded, both with adrenaline and arousal, feeling his hard body pressed so tightly against her. He quickly drew back into the doorway. "Two of them," he hissed as the footsteps drew closer.

Indeed it was two Templiks. Their crimson armor, trimmed black with the symbol of their order engraved into their chest plate, gleamed in the light, the same light that gleamed on twin blades, their gentle hiss the last thing to be heard by these two. They crumpled to the ground quietly as he helped them down, making sure not to make too much noise.

"Hey guys, can't a man take a pis.... What the...?" The Ha'tinre turned in time to see the guard's eyes roll into his head as he stiffened, falling to his knees and then to the ground. His helm was dented, blood flowing around his neck from a horrific head wound. Calsa stood over him with a large sharp rock. She dropped the rock and looked at the Ha'tinre.

He pursed his lips but said nothing. He dragged the guards into the doorway before beginning to strip one. Calsa came over and began to pull the armor off the other. The Ha'tinre glared at her. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I'm going in with you." She didn't stop what she was doing, didn't even look at him, her voice firm.

"Like hell!" He suddenly grabbed her shoulder, whipping her round and slamming her against the wall. "You are going back to your flea ridden lair and forgetting all about this."

"I thought you were the one who had hoped to be memorable!" she snarled back at him, her eyes burning with rage. "My brother and friends are in there. I intend to free them. Or at least to see that they are alright."

"So that's why you're stealing money. Hoping to bribe the captain, were you?" He still didn't let her go.

"The Templiks may be religious fanatics, ranting about their false gods, but they have their faults. Now let me go, I'm going in with you whether you like it not! I at least know how to get past most of their defenses, traps you'd fall right into." Then she smiled smugly at him. "Face it, you need me."

The Ha'tinre snarled. He was not happy about it, but she was right. He slowly released her and backed away, then held up a finger to her face, making her look up into his yellow piercing eyes. "It's not so much I need you as we need each other, so don't go being a hero. I have a mission I must see through, if you help me with that, I'll help you free your friends. Deal?" He held up his hand.

"How do I know you won't just bail out on me once you've done your mission and leave me to the Templik's mercy?" She looked at his open hand thoughtfully.

"For being so young and naive, you aren't so dumb. A Ha'tinre's word is his life. If I didn't do as I promise, I'd have to kill myself." After a moment's hesitation, Calsa placed the back of her open hand against his, sealing their deal. He then turned back to the dead Templiks. "I don't know how well this will work, this armor is much too big for you. I doubt it will fool those guards."

"It doesn't have to fool them, just the sensors. I know a way in where we don't have to deal with any guards." She struggled with the heavy armor, the straps not tightening down enough. With a little rumble, the Ha'tinre turned to help her, tugging the straps sharply. "Careful of the trigger. See the middle of the eye? You hit that and it's all over." He nodded as he pushed the helm down over her head. She growled at him as she adjusted it. She could barely see out of it. It all weighed so much she could feel her knees shaking. But she was bound and determined to not let him know she was weak, especially from their romp last night. So she led him around through some alleys so that no one would see them, then darted back over to the wall of the keep. They skirted along for a while until coming to a tunnel that poured filthy water out into another drain.

"The sewer?" The Ha'tinre sneered.

"What else were you expecting? They don't guard this because there's a forcefield. The armor should let us past right through. I hope it doesn't set off an alarm though."

"You said...."

"How many guards do you think would be trying to get into the keep through the sewers?"

He grunted. "True. Well," he placed a hand on her shoulder, "if the guards do find us out, I'll kill you so you don't have to go through their torture chambers." His voice was both mocking and sincere. She thought of remarking, but she knew she would prefer that he did. She gave him a small nod, turning away to hide her fearful dry gulp.

The Ha'tinre started in through the ankle deep water. When they reached the gleaming forcefield, he hesitated before walking straight at it. He passed right through it. He gestured with his head for her to follow. They continued through the water til they came to a clean tunnel dimly lit by several small lights. They turned into it and followed it to a large wooden door which was unlocked. He removed the helm for a moment to place his ear against the door before replacing it and cracking the door open to peer out into a long empty corridor.

Swinging the door open, they made their way to a spiraling staircase, which they quickly ascended. At last they came to another hallway. They made their way toward the brighter lights at the end. It split five different ways. The Ha'tinre turned and looked at Calsa. "Do you know the way to the general's chambers?"

"No, I just knew how to get in, the rest I was hoping you knew."

"Great." He looked down one of the halls.

"Halt there!" They both whipped around. A Templik guard stood at the other hall entrance, one hand on his sword, the other hovering over the eye of his engraved symbol.