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Tales Of Morveria: Thy Flesh Betrays

A Tale of Savagery and Mercy

By Mantrid Brizon

Part 1: Our Father

Sifting through the debris, broken shields, splintered spears and shattered blades, the young acolyte of the Order of Guiding Light searches for signs of life amongst those who've fallen. His leather shoes, simple and thin in their construction, slip on the blood which pools atop the dew-covered grass. It'd rained not long before the surprise attack, masking the enemy's footfalls. Examining the split skull of a felled warrior, however, the acolyte knows that a lack of rain likely wouldn't have made any difference.

He looks over the remaining men, who struggle to ram their blades through the few surviving warriors, who cough and choke on their own blood. Though they'd fought hard, he knows they're exhausted, hungry, and more than a few are suffering illness. Their mission has been difficult, the journey arduous, and every battle brought with it more pain and suffering, as they often do. No one said it would be simple or easy, for such is the way of following The One's guiding light.

The Campaign of Light, or “awakening by blade" as some of the men prefer to call it, has led the soldiers deep into the jungles of Mogashen. What began as a peaceful and inclusive religion under a single, loving creator, one which sought to bring humanity to the beast folk and put an end to the barbaric practices of those who worship the pantheon of ancient gods and goddesses, has devolved into raw conquest. The teachings of The One, the creator of all that is and shall ever be, do not speak of war, and yet war has occurred.

With the bulk of Vetosk and whole of Travan converted, the newly fervent human kingdoms have begun the march. Eager are they to spread the words of peace, even at the tip of a sword. Deep into the wild lands of Mogashen, they seek to convert the settlements and cities. While the acolytes seek only to preach, protected by the soldiers who march tenfold among their ranks, it is the prosperity of the oldest human kingdoms that attracts the new converts. Perhaps by praying to this new, solitary deity, they too shall enjoy the splendor of peace and wealth?

The biggest obstacle to their mission, in fact, has been the untamed beast folk. Those wild and savage brutes who still live without metal tools, the wheel or oftentimes even clothes! The nearly speechless and entirely illiterate bands they've come across either flee or attack them on sight. They fight with such power and skill, even without the benefit of superior weapons and armor, and unfortunately for many, such as the poor souls lying dead at the young acolyte's feet, they will never see their homes again.

“Radin! Stop stalling!" A voice yells.

“Just a moment. I'm looking for any who might wish to be guided through the light." The young acolyte replies.

“They're dead, and those who aren't soon will be. We need to return to the nearest safe city and collect more soldiers, if not end this misadventure altogether..."

Turning toward the speaker, Radin, the youngest of the acolytes at only sixteen years of age, finds himself looking at a most imposing figure. Hamon, the most senior soldier still alive, stands a head and shoulders taller than Radin, and is nearly twice his age. He's a direct and confident man who speaks his mind, unlike the subdued, quiet and genteel Radin, who now serves as their party's only surviving member of their religious order. Throwing aside a bloody rag, which he'd used to clean his iron sword, Hamon sheaths the blade and motions to the young acolyte.

“You would leave the wounded to die, without hope of finding peace in the hereafter, with The One?"

“Their souls are their problem. Ours still have functioning bodies, now make haste." Hamon replies.

Radin turns his head, hearing a groaning from a pile of what appear to be corpses. Beneath the mangled body of a Vostii of the rabbit-kin, a hand begins to emerge.

“Do not force me to fetch you..." Hamon sternly warns.

“Can't you give him a moment?" A more forgiving soldier suggests.

“Quiet, Tonis! I'm doing what's best for the lot of us, and the last thing we need is to lose The One's guiding light by failing to protect even a single acolyte!" Hamon snarls.

“Yes! Hamon is right, and he's in charge, now that Baltzer is dead! We should do as he says!"

“Be silent, Stirk." Tonis rolls his eyes and sighs.

“Do you not believe his words are true?!" Stirk gasps.

“No, Stirk. I believe The One would show us favor if we allowed the acolyte to do his duty. I also believe that it would be better if you entertained your own thoughts, rather than embrace the thoughts of others with more power than you." Tonis retorts.

“How dare you!"

“Alright, enough!!!" Hamon lets out a frustrated sigh.

He turns toward another soldier, a loyal man who stands close to him, and with a motion of his head he sends his subordinate into action. As Radin attempts to reach the wounded soldier, who lies buried beneath the corpse, Hamon's minion approaches. Just as Radin carefully removes the Vostii's body, attempting to show respect to another of The One's beloved creatures, he's shoved to the ground. The wounded and wheezing soldier lifts up a shaking hand, pleading for aid. Instead, Hamon's minion rams his sword through his neck and at a downward angle, reaching into his chest.

The other soldiers are horrified, frozen in place by what has just unfolded before their eyes. They turn to Radin, who sits in the muck, then to Hamon. He crosses his arms and exhales loudly, almost growling as he glares at the youthful acolyte.

“Why? ... Why did you do that?" Radin asks, his voice quivering from sorrow.

“He was already dead. His body just hadn't the time to realize it. I'm sorry, Radin, but we do what must be done."

“There was no need to do that!" Radin yells, tears streaming down his face.

“You cry as if you knew that man. Did you?"

“No... But he was alive. His life had value..."

“And what of that filthy beast you were dragging off of him? Do you value that creature's life as well?" Hamon snickers.

“All life has value, Hamon! The One molded a soul for each of us, human and beast folk alike, and you had no right to do that!!!" Radin roars, his body trembling with sorrow and rage.

“How old are you?"

“What does that matter?!"

“You answer Hamon when he questions you!" Stirk interjects.

“Sixteen..."

“I'm thirty-four. Do you know how I managed to live so long as a soldier? By being practical. I understand The One's teachings as well as any of us, but there is a time and place for that kind of thinking, and it isn't lost in the depths of a hostile jungle." Hamon casually explains.

“And what of them?! Are you going to do the same to them?!" Radin points at several wounded and bandaged men.

“That's different. Their wounds do not appear to be fatal, and they can still fight. So can you, now get up and let's begin."

“Where are we going?" A soldier eagerly turns to Hamon.

“Back to Yozh. It's the closest city with a garrison. I believe it's our best hope, and it's the only plan I have at the moment." Hamon answers.

“So, no more awakening by blade?!" Another cheerfully asks.

“Our time here is over, at least for now. We're going home."

The joyous shouts from the weary soldiers completely erases the most recent horror. As far as they're concerned, Hamon is their new leader, whisking them away to safety and to their families. Tonis approaches Radin, who sits defeated in the muck. With his legs pulled close to his chest, he stares at the dead soldier and the Vostii, who lie within arm's reach of each other.

“May The One's guiding light draw you both into the warmth of the hereafter. May your past misdeeds be forgiven and may you find eternal peace." He speaks softly to their bodies.

“Come." Tonis extends a hand. “You still have work ahead of you."

After looking apprehensively at Tonis' hand, Radin takes hold and is pulled to his feet.

“Stay close to me. I'll lend my blade, should the need arise."

“Thank you, Tonis."

“Just promise to pray for my soul. It needs all the help it can get." Tonis grins.

“Don't we all..." Radin murmurs.

Part 2: Lead Us

Boots thump along the ground for many miles. The day becomes night, and after a brief respite, the soldiers press on. For several days, they march through the wilderness, growing increasingly weary. Proper rationing maintains their food supply, but there's only so much to go around. The suffering of the men who are wounded increases with their malnutrition. Radin, with Tonis' aid, does all that he can to preserve their lives, but weakened bodies give way to infection and disease.

After four days of wandering, it's taken a toll. Of the dozen or so men who'd managed to survive this long, three are showing signs of weakness. As one begins to cough and struggles to follow, the group stops to rest. They shade themselves beneath a particularly large tree. While Tonis and several other healthy men leave to collect water in their water bladders and search for wild edibles, Radin tends to the wounded. Stirk, who'd ingratiated himself with their new leader, approaches Hamon with great servility.

“Pardon me, Hamon, but if I may... How much longer?"

“Not long." Hamon casually replies.

“I see... Perhaps you could show me on the map where we might be?"

Slowly turning around, Hamon glares at his subordinate.

“Are you questioning me, Stirk? Do you not trust my sense of direction?"

“I'm not, Hamon, and I do trust you, implicitly, but... The men. They're weary, and some are becoming ill. I believe one is developing an infection in his leg."

“Yes... I'm aware. It's unfortunate."

“They'd feel better if you spoke to them. Perhaps their feet wouldn't feel so sore?" Stirk sheepishly suggests.

“They're strong. They will manage."

“Of course, Hamon." Stirk bows his head.

“Although, you are correct. Their sluggishness is increasingly frustrating... Perhaps the stronger should take charge and move ahead of those at the rear?"

“Hamon?!" Stirk's eyes widen.

“Hmm?"

“Are you asking my opinion?"

“Oh, just thinking aloud. Caring for the wounded is quite taxing, and our slowed pace is making this take longer than it should. I'm just wondering if moving ahead is something to consider."

“... And what of the wounded?"

“We'd send aid to them, of course." Hamon swiftly answers.

“Of course..."

“Yozh has far more resources to aid them than we, after all... I thought you trusted me, Stirk? Are you not a loyal soldier?" Hamon flashes a sinister grin.

“You know I am."

“And will you follow me?"

“... Yes."

Overhearing these words, Radin is horrified. Sitting just beyond the large tree, where he relieves himself behind a bush, he cannot believe Hamon's suggestion. To abandon these men would spell doom for them; he's certain that no rescue party would ever find their ravaged bones. Waiting in the brush until Hamon and Stirk are out of earshot, Radin promptly returns to the wounded. He arrives just as Tonis and the others bring a bounty of berries and fruit, and having filled every bladder with water.

“Tonis! Tonis!"

“What is it, Radin?"

“We need to speak! It's Hamon! He's planning to-"

“Planning to what?"

Stopping mid-sentence, Radin's hairs stand on end. A chill runs up his spin, and it's a struggle to merely turn around. When he does, however, he finds Hamon standing a short distance away, Stirk and another soldier by his side.

“What am I planning to do, young acolyte?"

“You're planning to abandon these poor souls and march ahead with the healthy." Radin speaks in a soft, shaky voice.

“Am I, now?! Whatever gave you that idea!"

“I heard you. I was behind the bushes when you spoke to Stirk about your intentions only moments ago."

Hamon walks with heavy footfalls, approaching the young acolyte with a menacing gaze. He stands before the trembling youth and growls.

“Were you behind the bushes? Did you really hear me speak those words?"

“D-don't try to intimidate me, Hamon! I heard you!"

“Hah! Your voice shakes even now, and I have yet to raise a hand!"

“You're a strong warrior, while I am but a young acolyte of the Order of Guiding Light. I admit to my shaken nerves, but I will not deny the truth. The One does not abide liars! You spoke of abandoning these poor souls!"

Hamon's brow raises in surprise and he cocks his head, a little smirk spreading across his lips.

“If I didn't know any better, I would have thought I was speaking to a man! You show courage standing before me, Radin, the scrawny whelp that you are... I respect it."

“Then are you going to stand before me and deny your own words?!"

“Don't test me, Radin... Fine! I admit to my thoughts!"

Several of the men gasp, while the wounded, who lounge against the massive tree all glance at each other with unease.

“Who here cannot claim to have thought the same?! Even those, who lie there with festering wounds and flooded lungs must have realized, even once, that without them, the rest of us might have already reached Yozh!" Hamon speaks loudly, arms raised as he addresses the group.

“They need care! They are not to be discarded!" Radin yells.

“Be silent!" Hamon abruptly shoves the youth to the ground. “I admit to my thoughts. I entertained the idea, but not with any level of seriousness. Do not attempt to undermine me, little one; I am your best chance at survival."

“Because you hold the map?" Tonis asks, stepping toward the pair and extending a hand to Radin.

“Because I am the oldest, wisest and strongest soldier still alive... And also because I have the map. Now, cease this waste of our precious time, and prepare to carry on!"

As Hamon and Stirk take charge of the others, Tonis helps Radin to his feet and brushes him off.

“You did very well, for a youth."

“Thank you..." Radin stares at his feet, feebly brushing the dirt from his robes.

“I mean it..." Tonis insists, grabbing Radin's cheek and forcing him to look him in the eye. “You did what you felt was right, in the face of a beast of a warrior, a man whom you've witnessed slaughtering dozens of humans and beast folk alike. That took strength, Radin. Do not deny yourself the small victories. Sometimes, those are the only victories we can claim in this world."

“Alright... Thank you, Tonis. Thank you for supporting me."

“You're quite welcome, Radin. Come. Let's try not to be left behind." Tonis says as he drapes an arm over the youth's shoulders. “In many ways, you remind me of a younger me, the innocent and vibrant man I once was."

“What changed you?" A curious Radin asks.

“I made love to a woman, and then I joined the military. Those two things, more than anything else, will alter your perspective on life." Tonis smirks.

After a long march, they make camp for the night. Radin and Tonis tend to the wounded, one of whom suffers gangrene; a gash in his leg, near the ankle, has begun to fester. Sitting on a rotted tree stump, Hamon watches the pair attending to the wounded soldier. The man beside him coughs continuously, suffering from an illness common to the humid environment of the Mogashen region. Without proper treatment, however, he will quickly be consumed by the illness.

“Hamon?"

Turning back, Stirk raises a bowl of soup while bowing his head in reverence.

“Thank you, Stirk. You are a fine soldier."

“Thank you, Hamon! ... ... Hamon?"

“Yes?"

“May I ask what you were pondering as you sat alone?"

“Nothing..." Hamon mutters before sipping on the stew.

Later that night, as the men sleep, Stirk and another soldier keep watch. Hamon heads for a bush to relieve himself, only to glance back and see if his compatriots are watching. Moving quietly, he creeps around their camp until he finds the wounded. They've been kept at a distance, due to their illness, and the others have avoided the man with the gangrenous leg, due to the smell. Kneeling beside the head of the man with the wounded leg, he glares at him. How much faster would they be without this man slowing them down?

Hamon pulls his leather gloves from his belt. He pauses to take one last look around at their sparsely populated campsite. No one is watching, and if he does this right, no one will hear. Reaching out a gloved hand, he places it over the man's mouth and nose, while the other grips his forehead. Instantly awakening, the man with the wounded leg begins to writhe and attempts to scream. Hamon, however, has formed a tight seal. Throwing a leg over his torso, Hamon tries to hold him down as he suffocates the man.

After several seconds, he loses consciousness. Hamon, however, is an experienced killer. He holds his grip for no less than several minutes, then checks for a pulse, ensuring the man has been killed. Afterward, he creeps around the camp once more and emerges from the bushes.

“That was quite a while, Hamon." A soldier remarks.

“Stirk's stew devoured my gut as feverishly as I devoured his stew." Hamon jests.

“I hope you were far enough away. The last thing we need is another stench." The soldier quips, glancing toward the wounded.

Hamon returns to his bedroll, with none the wiser. Awakening the next morning, Radin says a prayer over the deceased man, whom everyone assumes succumbed to his infection. This is why Hamon used his palm; strangling him by the throat would've left unseemly marks, and a broken neck would be obvious. Though it costs them precious time, Radin and Tonis bury the man. The others willingly wait, leaving Hamon and Stirk standing at the front, to grow impatient. Even the soldier who'd joked about the stench of his wounds appears torn by the man's death.

They make haste during their march, trying to recover their lost time. When the man with the cough slows them down, Tonis urges Radin to stand on the other side of him and assist in carrying the man by his arms. Upon stopping for a rest, well after their usual mid-day meal, Hamon once again slips away to relieve himself. Once he has finished urinating, he returns to camp, only to pass a tree and find Tonis standing beside it.

“Hello, Hamon."

“Tonis! Come to use the bush as well?"

“No, Hamon. In fact, I've come to speak with you."

“Oh?" Hamon raises an eyebrow.

“Yes. You may have noticed one of our number is falling ill. His cough is quite severe."

“Yes, my ears still work." Hamon sighs with frustration.

“Then I hope he won't succumb to his wounds, either." Tonis narrows his eyes.

“What are you implying?"

“Don't insult my intelligence, or my eyes..."

Hamon's heart sinks.

“Yes. I awoke during the night. I thought I saw shadows in the distance, near the wounded. One appeared to rise, and then I saw you emerge from the bushes and return to your bedroll. I am not a fool. You murdered that man." Tonis begins.

“Let us assume that I did... What do you intend to do with this information?"

“... Nothing. To speak to Radin and the others would only further destroy our party. If that happens, I don't think any of us will return alive. I only ask that you refrain from assisting the others into The One's guiding light. They will be called at their own time."

“Alright..."

“I have your word?" Tonis asks, extending a hand.

“... You do."

After a tense moment and a handshake, Tonis and Hamon return to camp independently of each other, so as not to draw attention. The weary warriors collect their gear and the sickly, pressing on after only a short respite. As they prepare to look for a place to make camp, however, a foul stench offends their noses. Drawing their iron swords and readying a few bows, they move carefully, cautiously. Peering through the brush, the source of the foul odor is obvious.

“Well, now! It would appear someone has done our job for us!" Hamon snickers, sheathing his sword.

Lying in a bloody, festering heap, a group of Vostii are piled atop each other. They appear similar to red pandas, and are a breed not known to be native to Mogashen. Searching the pile of rotting corpses, some bloated and other teeming with insect life, they appear to be both male and female.

“That's unusual. Typically, females are captured alive and used for breeding." A soldier remarks.

“Call it what it is. Rape." Tonis grumbles.

“I believe they would prefer to think of it as survival." Hamon rather cheerfully retorts.

“By The One, if that isn't the most foul stench I've ever endured." Stirk tries not to gag.

“This is odd..." A soldier remarks.

“What is?" Radin turns to him.

“I see a baby in this pile, and a much older child."

“What's so strange about that?" Another soldier questions.

“The beast folk breed quite consistently. I would expect to find a middle child in here, somewhere." The first explains.

“Come on. We should continue." Hamon instructs.

“May we stop and rest for a moment?" Radin asks.

“I'm not resting near these rotting carcasses!" Hamon snarls.

“We'll continue about a hundred yards, and then we may rest and wait for you. Would that be acceptable, Radin?" Tonis asks.

“Yes. Thank you."

Hamon glares at Tonis, who has issued his first order since Hamon took charge. Just as the men are preparing to march, Hamon quietly grumbling as he scowls at Tonis. Radin heads toward a rather large tree with roots that extend like the legs of a table. As he prepares to kneel and say a prayer for the dead Vostii, his kneecap presses into a root.

“EEE!!!"

Startled, the men draw their swords. Radin falls backward as a small being springs forth from the roots of the tree. What he'd knelt on was not a part of the tree, but the tail of a small Vostii! Covered in dirt, leaves and varying grime, the child hobbles away from the group whilst clutching to its injured tail. As Radin rolls over and extends a hand, the Vostii turns back, shrieks and then trips over a branch, landing face-first in the dirt and eliciting chuckles from several of the men. Rolling over, the child feebly crawls backward, whimpering loudly.

Finally pushing himself to his feet, Radin approaches the child only to see that it is a young girl. Wearing only her fur, as most untamed Vostii prefer, the naked child could not be more than seven or eight years of age. She trembles with such fear, and appears to have endured a hellish affair. What thoughts must have coursed through her mind as she lay in the dirt, hiding and smelling the stench of her family's rotting corpses? It tugs at Radin's heartstrings, and with an outstretched hand, he stops a short distance from her and drops to one knee.

“It's alright. I'm not here to hurt you... Du'zhe'lu."

Hearing the Hitrosian word, her rounded ears perk and she cocks her head.

“Du'zhe'lu." He gently insists, leaning closer and offering his hand.

“You never told us you could speak beast." Stirk remarks.

“I know a few words." Radin says, smiling warmly at the child.

“I think she's too young for you." Hamon snickers, further amusing the men.

“She's just a child!" Radin looks back and barks in anger.

His sudden outburst startles the Vostii, who tries to scurry away. Running past him, Radin manages to reach out and grab her.

“EEEEE!!!" She shrieks, kicking and screaming.

“Ot'sa'na! Pra'kat!" Radin pleads, gripping tightly to the little girl's body.

She fights and struggles for some time, even biting a hand when Radin tries to stroke her filthy hair in an effort to calm her down. In spite of the pain, he persists, and the terrified and orphaned child loses the will to fight.

“Spo'ko'vii. Zo'pas." He coos, petting her head with a bloody hand.

“Mmrrmm!" She whimpers.

“We're not going to hurt you. You're safe now, child."

Radin speaks with such warmth that even Hamon is briefly touched. The men look to him for direction, and as the girl ceases to fight, clutched in Radin's arms and weakly whimpering, so too does the warrior. Taking a deep breath, Hamon exhales loudly and with obvious frustration.

“Fine. If you wish to have a pet, feel free, but she is your responsibility." He sternly begins.

“Understood!" Radin chirps, a little smile on his face.

“I will not sacrifice anything, do you understand? She shares your rations."

“... What?"

“Hamon, she's just a child." Tonis steps forward.

“Do not undermine me, soldier! ... Do we have an understanding, Radin?"

“Yes. I will accept these conditions... Come, little one. We will take you to safety."

With a fearful whimper, the girl is scooped into Radin's arms and carried. She looks back only to hold up a hand and wave her little, clawed fingers at the pile of putrid corpses. Her sorrow is so evident that Radin cannot help but shed a tear. Upon seeing his pain, the young Vostii rests her hands on his shoulders and examines his features before staring into his eyes. With the subtlest of nods, she seems to accept his condolences, then rests her little head upon his shoulder.

“How are you enjoying your new pet?!" Hamon chuckles from the front of the line.

Radin doesn't respond, merely holding the Vostii child as he struggles to keep up with the others. Though weighted down by her, he refuses to abandon the innocent girl. After more than an hour's walk, Hamon finally decides to stop. If any were to ask him, Radin is certain that Hamon kept them moving longer, to try his patience and his will. Once they stop to rest, Radin shares water and food with the child. She gobbles up the berries and salted meat in seconds, even as he tries to warn her against it, lest she upset her stomach. He can hardly blame her, however, as the growling of her belly was quite audible throughout their march.

With time to spare, he uses water from a nearby stream to clean the dirt and grime from her fur. As he wipes near her legs, he notes how the old rag he uses turns crimson. There is blood in her fur that is not her own. How close had she been when her family was slain? Did the assailants misplace her in the fracas or did they abandon her in spite? He can only assume it was the former, as her youngest sibling was also murdered and thrown into the pile.

“You poor thing..." He murmurs, bringing the old rag to her chest. “What nightmares you must've had, hiding in the roots of that old tree... I can promise you this; I will not allow you to suffer."

She stands as still as a statue, letting the stranger clean her fur. Though she's quite skittish, she can hear the tone in his voice, and his consistent warmth has earned him a modicum of trust. Without warning, she steps forward, wraps her little arms around his neck and embraces him.

“Making friends already, I see." Tonis suddenly remarks, approaching the pair.

“She's a sweet child. She's just scared and confused." Radin replies, softly petting her back.

“Aren't we all?"

“You're especially cheerful today." Radin facetiously remarks.

“It's been a trying time." Tonis sighs, looking toward Hamon.

Returning his attention toward Radin and the girl, he watches as the monk continues to wash her furry body. He pauses to examine her bushy tail, looking for the spot where he'd injured her. She whimpers as he touches it, only to apologize and pet her head. Thankfully, it's a superficial wound; he'd squeezed her a little too hard, but nothing feels broken or dislocated.

“You've really taken a liking to her, haven't you?" Tonis remarks.

“Perhaps..."

“Why?"

“She's a child." Radin furls his brow.

“That's not what I mean."

“Oh... I suppose because she is the only innocent creature we've seen on our campaign. I feel... Compelled. I have a burning desire to preserve her, for if we lose our innocence, what else have we but vile putrescence? What kind of world would that be, without innocence?"

“That's a dark frame of mind." Tonis remarks, his brow raised.

“Yes, I know..."

“Have you thought of a name for her?"

“Wouldn't that be unnecessarily cruel? To just rename her on a whim. What if she already has a name?" Radin retorts.

“Have you asked her?"

“She doesn't answer."

“Then I think that is the answer, Radin... I understand your desire to protect her. I think it's quite admirable, but never forget what she is. She's vostii. She isn't human, nor will she ever be. Don't put too much of yourself into a-"

“Don't you dare say 'animal'." Radin interrupts with a growl.

“I wasn't... I was going to say 'vostii'."

After the tense moment subsides, Tonis leans against a tree and watches as Radin tears portions of his own garment. With the girl sitting in the grass and playing with a little beetle, poking it with her claws and directing its movements, Radin uses a small utility knife to cut three holes into a long strip torn from his robe. He then trims a second portion and looks to the girl. Gaining her attention, he presents her with the garments.

At first, she is quite reluctant, fearful as he tries to wrap a little skirt around her waist. She marvels at the clothing, allowing Radin to manipulate her arms and slip on her top. It hangs from her shoulders by two thick straps, and is long enough that the ensemble gives the appearance of a short dress.

“There. That's much more civilized, little one." Radin says with a smile.

“Very stylish." Tonis softly chuckles.

“I don't know why you're bothering. She's just a Vostii, and far too young for there to be anything interesting to look at." A soldier snickers.

“Shut your mouth!" Tonis growls.

After another long march, they make camp for the night. True to his word, Radin shares his rations with the Vostii child and dares not ask for extra servings. Though his body may be young and weak, his heart is as large as Hamon's muscles, and his will is just as imposing. The strongest among them watches in silent awe at the young acolyte's care of the child, but his attention is diverted by the harsh cough of one of the sickly soldiers. By now, the second man has also begun to display weakness, his wounded shoulder becoming red and puffy with infection. Hamon narrows his eyes as he stares at them.

That night, as most are resting, Hamon sits up. He looks to Radin, who sleeps with the young child curled into a little ball and tucked beneath an arm. Tonis sleeps sitting against a tree, sword in-hand as he attempted to guard the sickly and wounded men. Carefully rising to his feet, Hamon wonders which of the two he could do away with, without awakening the others or arousing suspicion. Just then, however, he hears a noise. A bush rustles. He whirls around, only to find the glowing eyes of beast folk looking back at him!

“Intruders!"

As his men jump from their sleep and struggle for their weapons, Hamon is set upon by no less than three Vostii of the cat-kin. Clothed in naught but their fur, the beast men have yellow and black speckled fur, with creamy patches on their athletic chests. Carrying wooden spears with stone tips, they yell and hiss as they descend upon the foreigners who've dared set foot in their territory. Before he can awaken, a soldier has his neck impaled by two spears, while one man is shoved to the ground by a leaping Vostii. They roll as they struggle, and blood begins to spew as the Vostii bites his throat.

Radin collects the child and scurries away, trying to avoid being caught by the vicious and primitive warriors. Tonis comes to his aid. A Vostii grabs the back of Radin's neck and presses his claws into his flesh, only for Tonis to sever his hand in one swing. Hamon throws one of the warriors into a tree and his back cracks loudly. The beast man writhes on the ground, his legs as limp as if they'd been removed from his body. Stirk fires a bow into the eye of one warrior, who falls to his knees. How is he not dead?! Without an ounce of mercy, Hamon grabs the arrow, twists it and shoves it even deeper.

Warrior after warrior, he cuts down his foe. Soon, he finds himself of the edge of the battle, near Tonis, who struggles with two Vostii. He manages to push one away before impaling him with his sword, but the other leaps onto his back and tries to bite his throat. Without thought, Tonis hurls the Vostii over his shoulder. He lands on his back, the air forced from his lungs as Tonis stomps on his chest. Slipping on the bloody ground, he nearly topples over, but regaining his footing, Tonis hastily stomps on the beast man's throat, cracking his neck and killing him.

He looks for his sword, unaware that Hamon has been watching him for the past few moments. Bending down to grab the handle of his blade, his eyes widen as he tries to scream. Shock takes him, however. A blade pierces his kidneys, shoved skillfully beneath his armor, which had shifted as he bent over. Without hesitation, Hamon removes the sword from Tonis' body, brings it up and slashes his throat. He looks to and fro but is relieved to see that none are watching them, busying themselves with their own battles.

Stepping on something firm, Hamon finds a severed hand. Picking up the hand, he uses the claws to mask Tonis' wounds, marking his back and throat in only a few seconds before throwing the hand into the forest and returning to the fray. It's a chaotic battle, but within moments of rejoining the others, the furry warriors begin to retreat. With great haste, they flee for their very lives, darting away as fast as they'd attacked. As Hamon demands names be called, several are silent. To his shock, Radin appears from the darkness, having hidden within some brush, the girl still in his arms. They're unharmed.

The brief skirmish had done Hamon a great favor. While many of his men are also unharmed, both the wounded and sickly men have died, and two who were close to Tonis are now also deceased. Furthermore, no one suspects him of Tonis' murder. Now, including the young acolyte and his pet, their party numbers seven healthy individuals.

“We need to leave." Hamon coldly instructs.

“But we need to bury them and say the prayers for their souls!" Radin pleads.

“Are you daft?! How can you be so simple-minded?!" Stirk berates Radin.

“This is obviously their territory, otherwise they wouldn't attack with such ferocity." Hamon continues.

“Look at how many we've killed! There must be two dozen Vostii lying dead here!" A soldier exclaims.

“A group that large wouldn't travel far from their home. We may even be within earshot of their village." Another chimes in.

“Stay and say their prayers if you like, Radin, but we're leaving. Come with us or don't. I don't care." Hamon remarks, making his way toward his bedroll and supplies.

“You wouldn't do this if Tonis was still alive..." A sobbing Radin growls.

Glancing back, Hamon scowls and shakes his head. Hearing a strange noise, he and the others look toward a single Vostii, alive but gravely injured. Taking up his sword, Hamon stomps toward the beast man whose back he'd broken after throwing him against a tree trunk. Kneeling down, Radin watches in horror as Hamon grabs the weak Vostii by the hair, lifts his head and slashes his throat. Rising to his feet and covered in blood, Hamon glares at the men.

“I regret nothing..."

Part 3: Into Temptation

Marching throughout the night, Hamon leads the soldiers away from the battle, but without the aid of the sun, they quickly lose their direction. Radin, still caring for the child, forces them to stop on several occasions, frustrating Hamon and the others. Daybreak brings with it the realization that they've walked on an angle, against their destination rather than toward it. This only adds to the frustration, made worse by Radin's vocal conscience. By the time the sun has reached its zenith, most have had enough.

“When will we be there?!"

“How many days do we have left?!"

“Do we have enough supplies?!"

“I cannot believe we are still in this jungle!"

The soldier's complaints are like nails scraping against a stone wall, stinging Hamon's brain.

“Silence!!!" He yells.

He whirls around and glares at the men, intimidating many with a mere look.

“I am doing the best that I can, given the circumstances! I did not ask for us to be attacked or for our leaders to be slain in battle! I did not ask to march back to a city so many days away, without adequate supplies! I asked for none of this, but I am trying! And should you wish to survive, I say we stop with the delays and press onward! Without the wounded and the sick, we can march much faster, and Yozh is just beyond that horizon!"

“But what of the girl? We need to stop to give her rest!" Radin pleads.

“In case you've forgotten, young acolyte, Tonis is dead, and I'm far more concerned with my life and those of my men. She's your responsibility, remember?"

“How can you be so cruel? How can you live without a heart?!"

“Come on, men... We'll eat and drink as we march." Hamon growls, motioning to the others.

“What if we fall behind?! What if we die?!" Radin pleads.

“That will be on you!"

“Hamon." Stirk steps forward.

“What, Stirk?! What could you possibly want?!"

“... Could you at least grant them extra rations?"

“What?!" Hamon chuckles from shock.

“We know that they'll fall behind, and we've become adept at foraging as we march. Give them a little extra, and then when they fade into the distance, they'll still have a chance." Stirk begs.

“... Fine!"

Collecting a few water bladders and a satchel of food, enough to last one person for three or four days if properly rationed, Hamon presents the supplies to Radin.

“Keep up or don't. If we happen to see you at Yozh, remember this good deed and mind your tongue when we pass on the street... Now, you say, 'thank you, Hamon'..."

“Thank you, Hamon..." Radin speaks, bowing his head as if ashamed.

“Good boy. Carry on, men!"

Hamon leads the march with Stirk right beside him. Though Radin and the girl make a concerted effort, they find themselves being gradually left behind. On the rare moments when Hamon and the others stop to relieve themselves, refill their water bladders and rest their feet, Radin and the girl manage to catch up. However, upon seeing the acolyte and the exhausted Vostii child, Hamon presses his men, demanding they continue. This occurs once more, before Hamon and the others are so far ahead that even stopping to rest doesn't allow Radin and his ward time to catch up.

It's made worse by the girl's weariness. By the early afternoon, the young acolyte is forced to carry her in his arms or on his back. By the end of the day, Radin and the girl find themselves alone, with darkness approaching and no sign of Hamon or the others. Striking a small fire and keeping it low, he sits with his back against a tree trunk. The Vostii child curls up against him, her little arms clinging to his body as she rests her head against his chest.

“We're going to survive, little one. I promise you that I will never leave you." He speaks softly, nearly whispering as he pets her head.

“Mmrrmm..." She gives him a squeeze, trembling with fear.

“It may seem dark now, but the light is over the horizon... In some ways, you're like a light in the darkness. Having you here gives me something to protect, something to be courageous for. Yes, you're like a little light..."

Tilting her head back, the little girl peers up at her savior and protector, who held her and kept her calm as the others fought the bad men. Seeing the only friendly face she's known since her family's slaughter, the red panda girl gives him a little smile and squeezes him a little tighter.

“See? We're safe now, little light... Alita! How's that for a name?!" He suddenly chirps.

“Hmm." She hums, once again resting her head against his chest.

Glancing back at the obvious path they'd cleared, Stirk lets out a little sigh.

“How far behind do you think they've fallen?" He asks the others.

“It doesn't matter." Hamon says, setting aside his empty bowl. “This jungle will eat them alive, perhaps even literally!"

“You sound rather pleased about that..."

“Hardly..." Hamon grumbles. “But the facts are the facts. His type doesn't last in a world like this."

“Perhaps I should stay up and wait for them?" Stirk suggests.

“You will stay up, but only to keep watch. There are five of us, now, so we much be vigilant."

“Yes, Hamon..."

Stirk keeps his head on a swivel, and after several hours of wait, he attempts to awaken the next in line. Though the soldier rises and remains awake until Stirk closes his eyes, he soon succumbs to his own exhaustion and returns to sleep. Awakening in the dead of night, Hamon rubs his eyes before glancing around. To his horror, there are no guards watching over them!

“Imbeciles... It's a wonder I survived at all." He whispers to himself.

Rising from his bedroll, he makes his way for a bush to relieve himself. As he stands within eyesight of the camp, urinating against a tree, he hears a noise. His heart sinks at the footfalls nearby. They're far too heavy to be a mere animal, and from the wrong direction of where Radin and the Vostii child should be coming from. No, these are someone else, someone who stands a short distance behind him. Whirling around, Hamon swiftly places his hand on his sword, only to stop and stare.

Peeking out from the brush is a Vostii of the fox-kin, but this one is vastly different from those they'd fought. With the soft features of a female, the Vostii stands in the shadows. Moonlight illuminates her; the tips of her black fur glisten with a strange, blue hue while her red and white fur gleams in their colors. Her eyes are like large emerald pools. Upon opening her mouth, as if to smile at him, he witnesses her large and sharp teeth. They're still quite white, indicating her youth. Stepping closer, a pair of modest but perky breasts bounce and jiggle, attracting his attention like a hunter's prey.

She is a youthful Vostii, a young adult who has likely just begun to explore beyond the confines of her tribe. The red fox woman scans the soldier, who takes his hand away from his sword. Seeing the glint of the metal, her eyes gaze upon it, only to shift toward his right. Her little smile grows wider and she steps even closer, her large, paw-like feet crunching the leaves so softly. Looking down, Hamon realizes that he hasn't returned his manhood to his trousers; the button is undone and the entirety of his manhood is displayed.

The Vostii girl has no fear or shame as she reaches out and gropes his flaccid member, stroking his shaft with considerable familiarity. Hamon, so shocked by the turn of events, steps back, until he finds himself pressed against the tree which he was urinating on only moments earlier. She moves even closer, until her furry body nearly presses against his own. Without his armor on, he can feel the warmth and softness of her fur, even through his shirt.

“So'vo." She coos, her black, canine nose brushing his.

Hamon understands this word. It's one of the few so important as to be known to all. He blinks and his brow raises. Emerging from the dark wilderness, the beast woman wants to mate! Though the Order of the Guiding Light has grown in strength and done away with the laws abolishing half-breeds, many still avoid their creation. That is to say, they have sex with the beast folk as often as they please, but ensure that neberum tea is used. However, something inside of Hamon awakens. A carnal beast claws at his logical mind.

What an interesting opportunity he has. What fun would it be to breed a beast woman whom he will likely never see again? How would he feel awakening to the knowledge that he'd planted his seed without consequence? The Vostii woman tugs at his manhood, which begins to rise for the occasion. He takes the next step and grabs hold of a breast. He squeezes and kneads her womanly mound, to her pleasure, and causes her to gasp as he pinches a glossy, pink nipple. With a lustful grin, she grips his masculine organ and leads him away from the camp, and the protection of the others.

After a short walk, Hamon finds himself in a clearing. A bed of cloves and dainty, purple flowers glows faintly in the moonlight. The Vostii kisses him, and though her hands showed considerable skill, her stiff lips and clumsy tongue reveals her youth. Feeling emboldened by the less experienced female, who may very well be out of her depth, he grabs hold of her and lies her down. She gasps and briefly appears afraid, but her expression softens upon him pulling off his shirt and removing his belt. After taking off his trousers, he kneels before her in only his bare flesh.

Eager to continue, she beckons to him by spreading her legs. Hamon does not disappoint, and penetrates the fox woman without a second thought. She gasps and her eyes grow wide, only for her to wince. As her claws rake his back, he begins to wonder just how inexperienced she truly is. While working his lover, thrusting into and out of her taut loins, he finds blood. A virgin! What luck! Further emboldened, Hamon dominates the female, ravaging her like a beast even more fearsome. Thankfully, she enjoys his methods, as he feels her climax as much as he hears it.

Some things simply cannot be feigned. Though she's finished, Hamon has not. He continues to use her body, pummeling her womanhood with his endowment for quite some time. Perhaps it's the circumstances which led to this moment or perhaps it's who she is? He certainly hasn't enjoyed many of the beast folk, with the exception of a Korutan of the horse-kin, a servant who once belonged to his family. Though the Order of Guiding Light had long pressured kingdoms to abolish slavery, unable to live any other way, that particular generation continued as though nothing had changed.

For much of his early years, his family's former slaves lived amongst them as though they were still property. In spite of this, they appeared content, especially his lover, who was a decade his senior. The loyal servant not only sought to claim Hamon's virginity, actively pursuing the young man, but gleefully schooled him in the ways of pleasuring women. For several years, they maintained their unusual relationship with nightly visits, until the buxom Korutan succumbed to a wave of illness which struck his village. He was still a young man, then.

It was because of losing this Korutan that he sought to become a soldier at all, eager to be away from the pain of her absence. Excluding her, his first and most favored lover, this strange, tribal Vostii is only the second of the beast folk to be taken by him. He uses her with the strength and vigor of his first lover, who'd often pinned him down in much the same way as he does the fox girl. His pleasure mounts. The groaning and whimpering female wraps her legs around his waist, her ankles crossing behind his buttocks.

Finally, and after considerable work on his part, driving his partner wild, Hamon orgasms and spills his seed deep within the Vostii of the fox-kin. She wriggles and writhes, her chest heaving as she pants. Hamon is equally exhausted. Slowly releasing him, her muscles lose all rigidity, her wide eyes staring at the starry sky. Hamon removes himself from her loins and lies on his back, beside her. She turns her head toward him and stares, a strange little smile gracing her snout. After stroking his cheek with the backs of her furry fingers, she closes her legs, rolls onto her side and cups his testicles.

“If this was what all conquests were like, I'd never return home." He says to her, slipping an arm around her furry body.

She cannot comprehend him and he knows it, but her response is to kiss and then hold him, eliciting a soft chuckle. With that, Hamon closes his eyes and sighs. Opening his eyes to sunlight, he doesn't feel the Vostii beside him. Was it all a dream?! Sitting upright, he finds himself in a small field of cloves and dainty flowers, a break in the canopy allowing a beam of golden light to warm his bare skin. Nearby sits a pile of his clothes, as well as his sword. Nothing appears to have been stolen.

Though the Vostii woman is gone, the cloves and flowers are crushed from where she lay, and his scrotum shows the caked blood of her former virginity. Upon even closer examination, some of his seed has dried over and around her virginal blood. That was no dream he'd enjoyed.

“Where did you go, my lovely pet? I bet Radin wishes he found you instead of that little whelp." He chuckles to himself.

“Hamon?! Hamon!!!" Stirk's voice frantically shouts.

“I'm here!"

Hastily collecting his clothes, belt and sword, Hamon emerges with none of his men the wiser. When questioned on his whereabouts, he admits to relieving himself, finding a comfortable spot and then falling asleep by accident. The soldier who'd failed to remain awake is surprisingly forthright about his mistake and begs forgiveness, which Hamon grants, to the shock of all.

“Are you ready to continue?!" He chirps.

The others agree and eat their breakfast as they march. It isn't long, however, before they stumble upon a deer carcass. Sticking out of the fresh and still bleeding corpse are several primitive spears. Before they can react to the sight, the bushes shake and several Vostii of the fox-kin appear. Seeing the strangers standing armed beside their kill, the beast men stop in their tracks, some of them sliding across the loamy soil on their footpads. Eyes dart back and forth as they decide what to do, long and bushy tails hanging low.

Hamon cannot help but notice that they all have identical fur and emerald eyes, like his lover. No one wants to fight over the deer, though Hamon knows it would be a blessing for them to claim its meat. Unsure of how close they are to the Vostii's village, it's safer and wiser to avoid a fight. Perhaps they can gain something with trade? With a wave of his hand, Stirk and another soldier lower their bows, while Hamon takes his hand away from his sword. The Vostii are quite surprised by this show of submission and furl their brows as they look between each other.

“We merely wish to pass." Hamon speaks in a soft and non-threatening voice.

Looking them up and down, the biggest and strongest of the Vostii warriors takes a step forward. After a tense stare, he passes his spear to a companion, squats down and grabs one of the legs of the deer. He lifts the creature and presents the leg to Hamon.

“Is that a gift?" A soldier asks.

“What should we do?" Stirk wonders.

“Not cause trouble when we're too weak to fight." Hamon says with a smile, taking hold of the deer's leg. “For now, we bide our time and see where this path leads us. Perhaps we can use them?"

The Vostii are quite pleased and the lead hunter squats down to grab the other leg. As the rest of his hunting party pull their spears from the carcass, he motions to Hamon and his men, urging them to follow. Though they're unsure of what awaits them, Hamon, his mind still dwelling on the virginal Vostii he'd entertained, is content to accompany them. This may be a golden opportunity. His men follow, and they soon find themselves being brought to a village. Many large, dome-shaped huts constructed of branches, big leaves and palm fronds encircle a communal fire, upon which, a spit big enough for the deer and a bubbling stone cauldron sit.

As they make their way into the village, following their guides, they notice a great, wooden totem. It appears to be the visage of a woman of the fox-kin. Blocky and primitive, the sculpture is visibly pregnant, with a large, rounded belly and swollen, sagging breasts. Arms are bent and palms raised into the air, as if in a position of prayer, while the woman squats down, her tail curled beneath her as if being used as a stool. Before the totem is an altar made of many stones, with a large, flat stone with an oblong shape serving as the top. It is far too small to be of any practical use, likely only holding bowls of offerings.

“Perhaps this is their village goddess? I've heard many of the tribal Vostii and Sabaarii still worship local deities." Stirk remarks.

The hunters direct Hamon and his men toward the communal fire, whereupon the leader drops the deer's leg. Hamon does the same, and stands with his men. They're attention is constantly drawn, as the village teems with life. Villagers stop to gawk at the humans, obviously curious about the strangers. As his eyes scan the growing crowd, a particular female catches Hamon's eye. A man so experienced can detect their subtle differences in personal grooming, despite their nearly identical physical appearance. A little smile spreads across his lips.

There she is. Hamon's lover stands beside a woman who works on cleaning jungle fruit. As she finishes, she places the fruit into a basket held by the young woman. Looking toward the growing crowd, the fox girl notices the strangers and loses her grip on the basket, which tilts to one side, releasing its contents. Realizing that her attention is being claimed, the older female growls and appears to scold the younger woman. Hamon's lover responds by bowing her head in reverence. The older woman rises to her feet and points at the ground, demanding the girl retrieve the fruit. Is that her mother?

Finally noticing the crowd, the older female turns toward them. Now that he can see her face, Hamon immediately notices the familial resemblance. Furthermore, this woman, whom he'd guess is in her early or mid-thirties, is as beautiful as her daughter. Her breasts are larger and more full, yet equally perky, while her hips are broader and waist more sculpted. The athletic female is as nude as the other villagers, the fluffy, white fur of her belly responding to the wind and imitating the motions of a field of wheat during a breeze. Narrowing her emerald eyes, the mother turns toward her daughter, who stares at Hamon with what could only be described as shame.

Turning back, her mother grabs her by the back of her neck and points toward Hamon and his men, only for the sheepish daughter to slowly and methodically nod her bowed head. Releasing her daughter, the mother approaches the group, and though the others note her gait and posture, Hamon waits with patience and without a hint of fear. Standing before her daughter's lover, she looks up at the tall and powerful human warrior, her clawed hands on her broad hips. Her expression is not that of anger or rage; if he were to hazard a guess, Hamon would say she almost appears jealous!

With her emerald eyes gazing at his crotch, a strange little smile curls around her lips. The mother, adorned in jewelry made of the bones of small animals and birds, with colorful river stones interspersed, suddenly lets out a strange and guttural cry. Several other females emerge, all of them older, all of them being followed by young females who appear to be similar in age to Hamon's lover. The matriarchs approach the men and encircle them, their eyes drinking in their form. Clawed hands caress their shoulders, torsos and thighs, and a familiar look of carnal desire enters their eyes.

With an innocent smile and a stroke of his cheek, his lover's mother urges Hamon to follow her toward a large, communal hut. It's a familiar structure, as many Vostii tribes employ them for identical use. The other soldiers quickly comprehend the matriarchs' intentions, their faces lighting up at the thought of womanly companionship.

“Hamon? Is this a good idea?" Stirk sheepishly asks, as they're led toward the rectangular hut.

“Perhaps this will placate them, and what could it hurt to give in to their desires, Stirk?"

“That depends..." Stirk murmurs, an unease in his voice.

“Then I implore you to ponder this thought. In our state, what else is there for us to do? Surely, warriors so toned and healthy could prevent our escape." Hamon poses, a hand caressing his lover's mother's taut buttocks.

“Mmm..." She coos, reaching back and tenderly stroking his hand.

“Why not indulge them?"

Part 4: Amen

Walking throughout the day, Radin has since been forced to carry the Vostii child, whom he now calls “Alita". Her little legs struggle to keep up, and his heart dares not force her to press on, and yet he knows their survival depends upon it. With the girl alternating between lying in his arms and clutching onto his back, depending on the strength in his weary muscles, he trudges through the trail blazed by Hamon's group. After many hours, he comes upon an abandoned campsite. How long has it been since they departed?

They've been walking for so long and at such a sluggish pace, that he wouldn't be surprised if Hamon and the others have already made another camp and are relaxing by a warm fire at this very minute. After a short respite, only long enough to eat and hydrate, Radin and his ward press onward. As the sun nears the horizon, the darkness drawing near, Radin finds a patch of bloody grass. A new trail heads in another direction, away from the city of Yozh, which was their destination. Why would they diverge? Is this their blood? Do they need help?!

For the first time since discovering Alita, Radin is forced to make a difficult choice. Recalling the ease with which Hamon and the others abandoned them, the disregard for the child's safety or for the sanctity of The One's precious creatures, an anger bubbles within the young acolyte. Closing his eyes and shaking his head, he then looks over his shoulder and smiles at Alita.

“They're warriors. They'll be fine. Shall we continue?" He asks in a soft and sweet tone.

With a little smile curling around her short snout, Alita gently squeezes him with her little arms before nuzzling his face.

“That was my thought, as well." He chuckles.

Pushing through the jungle, Radin continues in the same direction, forced to blaze a new trail with his bare hands, as he does not carry a sword or an axe. It's a slow and tedious process, and the fact that Hamon and the others abruptly altered course scratches at the back of his mind.

“I'm certain they'll be fine..." He murmurs, trying not to look back.

With his head bobbing and feet swaying, Hamon lay upon his back atop a bed of wooden planks, covered in dried leaves. His hands grip firmly to the swaying hips of his new lover, the mother of his previous. Straddling him, the buxom fox woman bounces, rocks and swivels her hips as she pleasures the both of them in ways he hasn't enjoyed since before the Campaign of Light began. That was more than a year ago. Beside him and in the communal breeding hut, Stirk and the others enjoy the carnal passions of their own lovers, as they have for some time.

The mothers of the younger females, ten matriarchs in all, attend to the five men. They are still quite young, in their late twenties to mid-thirties, and all of considerable social standing. They are greatly skilled in the arts of sex, and enjoy the humans, two to a man. One man, who'd already finished, spilling his seed within the loins of one female, found himself being given a potion which prolongs his endurance. It's clear to the warriors that all ten matriarchs require their hunger to be satiated before they will receive respite.

However, considering the long suffering of their journey, temperance is imprudent; indulgence has a purpose, and pleasures of this sort will go a long way toward recovery. They may even pleasure the females enough to earn assistance in their journey or perhaps a home. It isn't long before several others also endure a powerful climax, spilling their copious seed within their current lovers. Hamon, having already seeded the older woman's daughter, tries to withstand her, and though he makes a fine effort, by the mother's second orgasm, he fails to maintain his position.

He floods her loins with nearly as much seed as he'd given her daughter, and just as he'd witnessed from the other women, his lover, while still straddling him, brings a wooden bowl to his lips. As his upcoming lover holds his head up, he's given a potion with a sweet flavor and considerable viscosity. He'd describe it as a partially congealed stew of tropical berries and animal fat. Upon ingesting the stew, Hamon's body burns and a fog envelopes his mind. It's as if a haze of carnal desire has settled over his entire body, and nothing else matters except mating.

He turns his head and the room lags behind. Once his vision stabilizes, he can see the other ceremonial beds. Stirk sits up, his latest conquest straddling him as he buries his face in her ample chest. She pets his head, her claws weaving through his hair and she wails toward climax, her snout pointing at the ceiling. Another man, beyond Stirk, has somehow rolled over with his new lover, and dominates his second female. She wriggles beneath him and claws frantically at his arms, back and sides.

A sensation draws Hamon's attention, and he looks toward his own partner, who lifts a leg as she climbs off of him. The woman who'd held his head moves into position. With his manhood uncommonly firm and still covered in the fluids of previous passion, she inserts him into her vagina. She sits upon his lap and envelopes his manhood with a speed that matches her desire. The entire process of mating begins anew, as the potion has given him the strength equal to his own when taking the first female.

His hands reach out and clutch her equally impressive bust, as his new lover begins her own session. Meanwhile, the other females, their cravings now satiated, stumble toward wooden and stone stools. They perch themselves at the foot of each bed and relax, furry hands covering their groins as they watch the men ravaging a second set of women. As the haze of the potion begins to wear off, their pleasure builds and man after man climaxes for a second time. Sitting upright, his arms around his lover, Hamon notices something unusual.

With the flap of the communal breeding hut left open and his bed closest to it, he peers over the shoulder of his current lover and watches the villagers. Males of the village, some from the hunting party, stand outside with their arms crossed. They appear displeased. Others, such as the leader of the hunting party, seems disinterested, almost as though none of this was occurring. Meanwhile, the daughters of the women with whom they are mating with, gather around the totem and appear to worship it.

His first lover, the young woman who'd found him during the night, emerges as the leader of the congregants, many her junior. She holds a bowl which seems to smoke with incense, then instructs older men to light a fire. Interestingly, these men obey her without question. Hamon loses focus on the happenings outside of the hut, as his latest lover rocks her hips with such force that she shakes the bed and draws him closer to his second climax. He does not last long, as this female, though somewhat younger than his previous lover, has nearly twice her skill.

Upon achieving orgasm, just as his current lover endures her third, Hamon fills her with his seed. He didn't think he had any left, and yet his emissions are similar to what he gave the woman before her. Perhaps that was due to the potion he'd been made to drink? Joining the ranks of his men, Hamon's body falls limp. He'd lasted longer than all of the others, who now lay flat atop their beds, exhausted and panting. They turn their heads and smile amongst themselves. What an excellent idea it was to follow the hunters to this wonderful village!

Slowly and with noticeable weariness, his second lover rises to her digitigrade feet. She gasps upon removing his endowment and quickly covers her groin with a hand. To Hamon's delight, she requires an assistant to walk her out of the hut; she lets out a strange yelp, which summons her daughter. The younger woman, though clearly not yet an adult of breeding age, helps her mother hobble from the communal breeding hut, glancing back at Hamon with visible jealousy. Suddenly, several of the hunters enter, startling Hamon and his men.

They attempt to sit up, but their first lovers, all of whom are still seated on stools and watching them, take swift action. Retrieving pouches stowed beneath their seats, they take handfuls of a strange, greyish-white powder which they then blow into the men's faces. The effect is almost immediate, with Hamon, Stirk and the other three soldiers falling limp. Their bodies no longer respond to anything but the most concerted effort to move, and yet they can still feel. The hunters wait for the females to give them a signal, and only then do they act.

Each hunter grabs a man and drags or carries him out of the communal breeding hut, as strength permits. By now, the entire village has gathered near the totem, watching as the naked and furless males are dropped so callously onto the dirt. They leave them there, without fear of escape or reprisal, preparing their strange ritual. The elderly matriarchs of the village bring forth the women who'd mated with them in the hut, as well as Hamon's first lover. She looks so grateful to partake in the ritual.

It's clear to Hamon, who lay on his back in the muck, paralyzed but retaining his mental faculties, that she must've returned and shared her encounter or been caught by her mother as she snuck into her hut and confessed. Regardless of how, she now enjoys a place in the ceremony, beside her mother and the others. They're participating in a variation of a fertility ritual he'd read about, dropping to their knees and chanting a single word as the elders waft the incense around them. As the chanting continues, the other villagers join in, but at a designated moment, indicated by an elder raising her hands high.

“La'go'slo! La'go'slo!"

They cease as soon as she lowers her hands. This is clearly something they have done several times before, as the entire village is well-practiced. An elder places a small fire upon a newly constructed, miniature altar, also made of stones. It smokes before the wooden totem, which is protected with wide and thin rocks, and a coating of resin near the base. Suddenly, a soldier is collected by the hunters, who hoist him into the air by his useless arms and legs. The chanting ceases and the mated females turn to watch.

The hunters place him atop the small altar, on his back. They hold tightly to his arms and legs to balance him, as the altar is only meant to hold an adult's torso. The soldier's head rests on a small ridge of stone, allowing him just enough support so that his eyes may turn and watch, should he so desire. Producing a knife made of black, volcanic glass, an artifact of considerable value and rarity in a region such as Mogashen, an elder stands between the soldier's legs. She holds up the blade, eliciting a brief chant from the mated females and the village as a whole.

“La'go'slo! La'go'slo!"

Abruptly grabbing the soldier's manhood, she squeezes his shaft and testicles at the base. His sack bulges at the webbing of her hand, near her thumb. Taking the blade, she casually cuts him, emasculating him with the skill, confidence and coldness of a butcher. His screams elicit no sympathy, even from the two females who'd only moments earlier felt him inside of them and now carry his potent seed. Once his manhood has been removed, a gaping wound betwixt his legs and pouring blood, the elder moves toward the small alter and presents his body parts to the women who'd enjoyed them.

The hunters turn away, wincing as they hear the sizzling. The mated females place the soldier's manhood into a bowl, cooking it with incense before their totem. With a nod of her head, the elder instructs the hunters to continue. They silently count to three as they swing his body by the arms and legs, before throwing the screaming man into the communal fire. He lay still, screaming through the all-consuming flames. Hamon and the others lie in horror, begging and pleading as they lay paralyzed in the dirt.

Who will be next?! What sinister mind would devise such a terrible fertility ritual?! Hamon had not read of such sacrifices before! The hunters collect another man and a pattern is noted. The shortest lasting men are the first to die. One by one, they're sacrificed in brutal fashion. Stirk, who outlasted the other three, watches helplessly as he's lifted off of the ground. He attempts to turns his eyes toward Hamon, whom he cannot see.

“Curse you, Hamon!" He shouts, as they rest him upon the altar and spread his legs. “Curse you and all that you've done to us! May The One burn your soul to ashes as they will burn my body!"

Though he attempts to continue with his curse, the pain of mutilation as he's emasculated ensures that only shrill screams leave his lips. Hamon, who stares at the altar, waits for his turn. It isn't long. Lifted from the ground, his head falls back and he's finally able to get a good look at the crowd who watch the awful ritual. Turning his eyes, as that's all he can still control, Hamon sees no Polotan or Tretik among the villagers. Clearly, these females desire hybrid children, knowing their strengths and their virtues, and yet there are none present.

Furthermore, all of the villagers are Vostii of the fox-kin. How, then, are they so practiced in this cruel ritual?! Do they perform this annually, to their own males?! As Stirk's final scream emits from the blazing fire, where his body had been heaved, Hamon is placed upon the altar. His limp arms and legs are held tightly by several of the hunters, and as he looks to them, he now realizes something telling. What he thought from a distance was jealousy and disdain as he enjoyed two of their beautiful females now appears to be a sinister relief. They look amused to have these humans take their place in the sacrifice.

As the elder stands between his legs, Hamon turns his eyes toward her. The graying fur of her hands is soaked in blood, and as she grabs his manhood, squeezing it quite painfully, she notices his glare and pauses. Is he the first to watch? She raises a brow, curious as to his reaction. She lifts the blood drenched dagger and sways it with sinister intent. Knowing that his death is near, he refuses to give them any satisfaction. Hamon continues to glare.

“When more of my people come to awaken you by the sword, I hope they impale you from groin to skull, you evil wench." He growls.

With a confident smirk, the matriarch cuts around the base of her hand, slicing his manhood. He grits his teeth and struggles through the pain, which is unimaginable. He focuses his thoughts, wondering what will the fire feel like. Once his phallus, scrotum and testicles have been removed, the matriarch presents it to all three of his lovers. The young woman looks to her mother, who allows her to take the lead in the burning of his parts. As he suspected, however, they seem perturbed by his lack of wailing. It gives him strength.

Perhaps the cries of pain are required to appease the goddess and grant them healthy offspring? In that case, he will remain silent in the hopes that they will all die in childbirth. After waiting in vain for Hamon to scream, the perplexed hunters turn to the elders. With a disappointed sigh and a dismissive wave of her hand, the elder with the dagger gives the order. They heave him into the raging fire. What agony! The flames are so hot he feels as though he were thrown into a blizzard! Still, he bites his tongue and waits. Again, he focuses his thoughts. What with the guiding light be like?

Hamon dies, without ever uttering a sound. Night falls, and the villagers carry on with their lives as if nothing had happened. The hunters continue the hunt, never noticing the faint trail blazed by the final survivors. After running out of food and water, and walking until his shoes wore through and his feet bleed, Radin finally emerges from the jungle, Alita still clinging to his back. There, in the distance, Yozh sits like a beacon of hope. The sunrise creeps over the city, causing the vivid paint of the many structures to glow.

“There! We've made it, Alita! ... Praise be to The One..."

“Mmm!" Alita gives him a squeeze, sharing in his joy.

“I wonder..." He groans, struggling to carry the girl as he trudges along a field. “What will Hamon and the others think when we arrive?"