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In a distant land now forgotten, a time wiped from the easily corrupted minds of history, a tyrannical kingdom ran powerful. It was run by the tigers, their lord was, Cold Turkey, and his slave, the beaver. With a dark paw that he held clenched on the arm rest of his throne, he would sit like Lucifer himself, watching from any ebony tower, as tigers of wealth whipped the beavers of poverty. The tight ties of leather, flying through the air, making shreds of the beaver slave's malnourished flesh, blood spraying like rain onto the dark-red roads of the evil kingdom.

For days on end, for most of the years of their life the beaver's toiled under the leather whips of the all powerful tigers. Their small and stout form unable to stand up against the vicious felines, they believed the tiger to be immortal. For many generations the beavers submitted their children, their lives, and even their souls to the tyrant Cold Turkey.

Hope was held by the slaves however. For they knew if they waited, and they prayed, that someday a hero would be born. The gods were testing them; they just had to endure this harsh treatment until their savoir came.

For many years, trust was in their hearts; love for the gods was in their hearts, and it never once ever thought about leaving. It was in the twentieth year of Cold Turkey's regime (Cold Turkey now being 26 in age) that this hero would finally come. Coming from unknown origins a baby beaver was found hiding in a basket by a river. A male slave-beaver finding this infant immediately took him under his paw. Sneaking him back to his communal shack, he used his rags to shroud the innocent beaver from the devil eyes of Cold Turkey's guards.

Mission complete! The beaver had saved this child's life. However, upon showing the youngling to his shack-mates, fear erupted. The new caretaker of the young beaver child could only stand alone as his shack mates verbally lay siege to him and his new find.

"We cannot hide a child from the all powerful, Cold Turkey. He will surely be angered if he finds what we have done!" One beaver spoke, gnawing at a wooden bedpost.

"But this child has been born pure. His parents hid him in the cabbage patch. Perhaps with hopes that he will be able to escape slavery." The caretaker of the beaver child pleaded.

"No one escapes slavery! No one escapes this kingdom! They have magic; the t-t-t-igers have magic, that's why they are invincible." Another shack-mate called out while urinating in the corner.

"They are not invincible. I've seen them bleed. The only power they have is the power we've given them! Why can't we look past our fear, and find compassion. Compassion to save our kind from this horrible life."

"Be quiet! You'll get us all killed!"

"Oh don't be a damn fool! We can protect him, hide him from the guards. What if this beaver here is our saviour? We must protect him for the good of our people." The caretaker cried out, holding the child high for all to see. The beaver baby's black beady eyes glared in delight and cuteness, as it made a soft coo-ing noise. Some people tell that when the shack mates saw this child, they felt as though they were in front of a great leader, that somehow this beaver had already developed charismatic skills. The caretaker smiled seeing the reaction of his mates, "Will you let this child fall into the iron bondage that has scorned our life so?"

"That child is the saviour! I can feel it!" One beaver cried out, jumping off his bed bunk to admire the child closer.

"I agree, we must protect this child!" Another voice cried out.

"This child will save us, with him in our presence I know nothing bad will happen to us!" The beaver who was urinating screamed in delight. Then in a quick of a second the shack door was kicked open and a powerful guard stood on the other side. His armour impressive, he held a spiked club in his paw, the punishing device for beavers.

It was said that the armour of the feline was stronger than mountains themselves. That if the gods were to throw a lightning bolt it would simply bounce off their breastplate. Pure silver in color, it shined in the sunlight ominously. The plate was crafted to look as though every guard had rippling abs and pectorals. Dual Pauldron's sat on the guards shoulders, spiked horizontally and patterned to look like thorns. Captains wore a Galea with a red brush top, and matching cape. Normal infantry wore headbands. From waist down they wore a silk and chainmail hybrid fabric (also silver in color), that draped like a curtain over the front and back of their near naked legs (leather bonds were tied in spiral up their legs; these were used for holding weapons). The guard was wearing a helmet, therefore he was a captain.

"What the hell is going on here? An orgy?" The guard smiled, his posture relaxed as he held his arms crossed, the bludgeon standing out from his paw.

"No sir, we were merely cheering of the great harvest that has come upon us." The caretaker looked to the guard, baby beaver held hidden behind him.

"That's too bad, I want some beaver tail, and the harem seems to be full. Why don't you pleasure my oh so full balls. "The guard pushed his waist-curtain to the side, exposing his sheath and balls for the beaver.

"Sir, you have no right to treat us farmer slaves like this. We are not harem boys, we are harvesters. By your lords law we do not have to whore ourselves out to you." The beaver growled in a low tone. The tiger just smiled and uncrossed him arms, making the beaver end his mutiny.

"Why, you're a slave? Is a slave a tiger? No. Are you a tiger? No. So I guess that makes you a slave, and therefore you must submit to my divine will. And I command, you pleasure my needing genitalia."

Normally to prevent punishment, a slave beaver will obey any command. But when burdened by a child hiding upon his back, one can't use his paws for pleasure. The caretaker smiled and said, "I may be a slave, but I do still have my dignity. And with that dignity one day, I will be a free beaver. I will not submit to your so-called divine will."

The caretaker glowed with a brilliant confidence. A flame that was easily doused when the divine guard brought his spiked wrath upon the side of his face. Not killing him, but ripping out head flesh all the same. A bloody mess, his head fell to the floor, the young beaver no longer hidden by his caretaker's shadow, was now sitting where he had been standing. His eyes black like charcoal, but glowing like embers.

"What in the god's ass is this? A child? A symbol of treason!" He spoke to himself, before raising his powerful head to address the furs before him, "Beavers and undignified slaves of this shack, what have you been hiding? No child shall be saved from your lifestyle. You should learn to accept this. For now you have disobeyed direct law. There is no testimony, for evidence is clear. I shall write your writ for a hanging tonight. Till then, I command that I see you all in the torture chambers."

"And what of the child?" A slave called out.

"He shall be assigned to harem duty." The tiger smile was now darker than any hell imaginable.

A moon rose over the land and sorrowfully cried for the souls that screamed in futility from the sub terrain palace chambers. Indeed the tigers knew how to torture a body. The moon did fall, but the screams of torture did not. In the next day when presented for the hanging the bodies we're no longer beavers, rather zombies of the once alive.

"My fellow people of this fine kingdom, and undignified, worthless slaves." A royal orator, said to a massive ensemble before him. Dressed in a silver robe, he held a paw waving with his palm in the air to the crowd. When silence was given, he jolted his arm to his left, where a group of decrepit beavers stood, tight nooses against their scrawny necks. The area around him was a marble crafted amphitheatre, with the orator standing on a wooden stage in the center. The soon-to-be-deceased beavers were on a wooden platform, trap doors at their feet. "Here standing before us, are offenders of the law. For that, they are to be hung in front of this congregation! Their crime, the smuggling of a beaver child and conspiracy against our king. " The robed tiger pointed eastward, where Cold Turkey's ebony tower stood erect. Standing in the center of a golden palace, its black stone created an evil lustre when the sunlight played against its structure.

"All Hail Cold Turkey!" A tiger of rich fortune called out from the audience, "Hang these traitors! How could such filth even try to rebel against our lord!"

At those words the crowd cheered into a frenzy of obscurities, as the Orator waved his paw for silence.

"Let this be an example to you, dear beavers. You cannot stand against us. You cannot hide your young from us. There is no hope for freedom within your ranks. We have given you shelter, jobs, and...shelter. No young is protected from our lord's Divine Will. For your actions this beaver child-"the orator lifted up his robe to show a small beaver in his other arm. "-will become nothing but a mere harem boy. A disgrace even among your ranks. As these bodies fall, and this child is sent into whore-ism, think about the lesson we have taught you. Do not fight us, and your lives will be less miserable then they are now." A black cloaked and hooded man then joined the Orator on stage, the crowd was ecstatic (except for the slaves of course) as he made his entrance, moving to stand beside a wooden switch.

"Hang them! Hang them! Hang them!" The crowd cheered in unison as the black clothed tiger placed his paw over the switch. CLANK! WHOMP! The trap door swung open and the Beaver's fell, the rope pulling up and snapping their necks upon tension. The orator then did a formal 180 degree turn and walked off the stage throwing the beaver child into the black-clothed tiger's hands. A small hiss coming from the beaver child's infant lips.

And so seasons came and went as the years grew older and so did the beaver-child. As a harem boy, however, he would not grow up healthy. Rather underfed, and over slandered by the males who choose him as their toy. He was baby-faced at the age of 17 with a ribcage that played like a xylophone when caressed. His ankles and wrists furless from iron bonds that were often tightened during bondage-play. The rest of his body covered in claw, bite, and scar marks, not to mention a variety of diseases that had infested his young body. However, even with these circumstances, the passionate fire that he developed as a child never did die. Given the name Phi Leos, it would not be until his eighteenth birthday that his true label of saviour would be verified.

**

"He he he, if it isn't young Phi Leos. Eighteen years I have waited to have you as my sex toy." A crude voice called out to the darkness of Phi Leos cold and stone sleeping cell. Phi Leos instantly recognized the voice. Waking up upon its vile sound.

"They say, I was mad for waiting this long. When harem boys get to about your age, they've probably been lain with so many times it would be a danger to my health to pound that tail hole of yours. But, there's something special about you. Yes, I can feel it standing here so close to you now." A paw came down and touched the beaver on the head, he yelped in surprise, "I couldn't play with you as a child. I needed you to be older when I got you. I wanted for you to remember this. I want you to have my image pounding on your sweet rump forever in your brain!" The tiger growled and pulled upon the beavers head towards him. As he yanked forward the side of Phi Leos' head came in contact with a soft tiger dick. He grinded his wrinkled member into the beaver's dirty fur, purring in delight, "Do you recognize me? Do you know me as the one who ruined your life?" He growled again, his member thickening as it became more aroused. "Do you remember how I found you? How I clubbed your only chance of a father and then sentenced him to a hanging? Do you remember the feeling you had when you first saw me? Tell me what that feeling was like?" The tiger pushed the head away and Phi Leos fell into the darkness. Phi Leos remained silent until he felt a strong paw grab him by the neck and lift him in the air. "Tell me bitch? What did it feel like?" The tiger dropped the beaver onto his hay bed and then grasped the sides of his face, the beaver remained silent. "I know you can speak, you better speak before you really piss me off." Then the beaver finally spoke,

"It felt good."

"What?"

"It felt so good, the anger..."

"Ha ha, you think your lunacy will get you out of this?"

"It felt so good, the anger, how it foreshadowed the feeling of sweet revenge. "

"What? Why you little brat."

The tiger moved his paw to snatch his dagger which (although he was naked) should have been at his side, but instead he grasped nothing but air.

"Loose something?" Phi Leos laughed, and at those words the elderly tiger screamed as he felt a sharp metal point jab deeply through his genitalia. He fell to the ground in despair. A stream of blood pissing itself out from his wound.

"Impossible." Is all he could let out as his body was like a turtle on the ground.

"The revolution is on, my tiger friend." Phi Leos spoke lifting the dagger from the tiger's crotch and jabbing it in between his eyes. Picking up the keys from the captain's corpse he made his way out his own cell and to the other slave's cells, unlocking them all.

Whispering quietly he spoke to exactly three hundred freed slave, "Be quite my brothers. The revolution is on. It is time to fight. It is time to bear arms against those who have suppressed us."

"How is this possible?" One beaver spoke out from the crowd.

"Any man is free to do what his will shall able him to do, and any will is able to change." Phi Leos said nodding his head in the darkness.

"But we cannot fight? We have no weapons!" Another harem boy cried out.

"I believe I know where there is a small weapon cache. It is merely right above us. The weapons used to torture us will now be our liberator! Now let's go, lest we will be caught empty handed."

Banded together under their leader Phi Leos the flock of slaves all snuck their way into the weapons cache, where they armed themselves with toys normally used for a sexual and painful purposes. Whips, chains, cold irons, and even some daggers were now in the paws of the harems boys, as the prepared themselves to charge.

And charge they did. It was said to be unfeasible that any fur of their health and age could overcome the animal-tanks that Cold Turkey's guards were, but what few seem to realize was that with night fallen they had the element of surprise. In their beds tigers were sent to damnation as their blood was spread across their chambers. And with each murder brought better weapons for the beaver revolutionists, so in the end all three hundred rebels were armed with short swords, spears, dirks, and hatchets.

Their blood lust continued on as they worked through the insides of the palace. Throats were slit, blood was spilt, and no soul was sparred as the still three hundred, still strong, beavers worked their way to the ebony tower.

Blood covered and savage the group of misfit soldiers stood behind their leader, who was now armed with a well crafted tiger-made spear. When they finally stormed up to the large and ominous gates of Cold Turkey's ebony tower they were greeted by a massive armada of royal archers. Their arrival was silent and quick as they assembled like shadows along the outer palace walls. However, when armed, there silence was broken, but lethal nonetheless.

Phi Leos could only stand in silence as his band of harem boys dropped their weapons, giving up. Phi Leos then turned around to address his soldiers.

"I'm sorry." He said, tears developing around his dirt covered eye fur.

"There is no reason to be sorry, we have done the impossible. We have proven that we as a people are worth a damn. You have shown that there is hope for beavers like us. You have started not a revolution, but a change in hierarchy. "A harem boy spoke out to his leader.

Phi Leos then clenched his fists as the drawstrings of the archers bows moaned in tension. Looking high up into the air he cried out to the tyrannical Cold Turkey himself, "I will defeat you! I will not die in vain!" The beaver screamed and somehow his small lungs bellowed a war cry that the entire kingdom could hear. After that, there was a momentary silence before the archers released their arrows in unison.

It was a massacre.

Like porcupines the 300 laid on the ground, drenched in a river of their own life essence. Stillness came across the land as the great Phi Leos lay motionless among his harem brothers. Cold Turkey could only smile from his throne as he gazed upon the slaughter that was now under his paw.

**

"Just give up Phi Leos. You have failed them, your duty as savoir has been done, just give up." Phi Leos found himself talking, even though his lips remained motionless.

"Phi Leos? You lay before me like a slain pig, truly I thought you as a worthy candidate to set your people free. Perhaps I am mistaken." A glowing apparition appeared before the slain hero. His frame a silhouette of what appeared to an anthro-Orca. Phi Leos immediately recognized him as the immortal being he was.

"I am sorry, my lord. I have failed you. Even now my breathing is coming to a halt."

"Dear child, I did not give you my blessing to have you die like this. Even now you have rallied the beavers together to aid you in your cause. In the town they burn and pillage, and soon they will make their way to join you at this very spot. However, with you dead, it may drain their sweet spirit. Do not give up my child, I know you will win."

"I have faith in you milord, so I will not die."

The godly figured smiled through his shady glow. Reaching down to his midsection with both hands he moved his paw over his crotch only to have a strong shaft assemble there. Rising up, it was a thick and powerful tool, black in body with a pink point at the end. Erecting from his crotch he gave it a few good strokes before smiling at the beaver, "With this spear, I label you by the name of Beaverspear. Now go ahead, touch it."

The beaver hesitated before raising his near dead paw into the air to grasp the thick and hard shaft of the god's spear. Immediately a rejuvenating power was casted as waves and waves of euphoria rippled outwardly through his body.

Then there was a bright flash, and the royal archers could only gaze in amazement as Phi Leos' corpse was gone and the gates to the tower were wide open.

Inside the ebony tower was only a spiral stair case leading upwards. Beaverspear stood at the base of the stairs, his long black spear grasped firmly in his paw as Cold Turkeys personal guard came rushing down by the hundreds. When they came close to the bottom the whole guard couldn't help but laugh as standing before them was a mere beaver. A short, bone-skinny, buck faced beaver.

"This is the uprising that has caused such panic? I can't believe it, how could a mere-"One of the guards said in a merry giggle before he was caught off by a sharp metal object shot through his head. Strong, fast, and precise the beaver had perfect form, after that there was no laughter but an immediate charge forward. They were all slain within minutes.

The staircase to the top was long, steep and narrow. Guards came running down endlessly only to be skewed upon Beaverspear's dark weapon. The hike continued but he did not lose his stamina. The guards charged, but not once did he let himself be hit. He was a shadow running up the stairs, and nothing was able to oppose him.

It was inevitable that he would reach the top.

The base of the stairs was now a pit of mutilation, as tigers laid dead piled on top of each other. The stairs ran red with blood and entrails, as the walls were now a canvas painted red. Beaverspear triumphantly stood before a silk curtain, his spear drenched but still thirsty; on the other side would be the chamber of lord Cold Turkey himself. He proceeded forward after ripping the curtain down and throwing it over the stairs.

The chamber of Cold Turkey was fit for any royal monarch. The walls were draped in gold and ivory curtains that danced angelically off the metallically smooth structure. The floor was carpeted with hand woven fabrics that when seen from a higher point resembled the king's face. Cushions slept lazily around the giant room as the king's bed lay authoritatively grand in its environment. Directly forward was a balcony where the king's ebony and ivory crafted throne rested, its gaze hellish over the land.

Beaverspear kept his eye on the throne as emerging from it came the tyrant lord himself. It was said that his armour and his strength could make a man's soul leave in fear. The armour was a specially crafted plate mail that was gold in color. The plate mail was crafted to look as though a black and green snake had coiled its way up his chest: its tail at the feet, and head along the back. The head was also a sheath which held a claymore crafted of the same metal as his armour. On his head he wore a grand helmet, crafted to resemble a lion's head only with two long ivory horns sticking up from his forehead. His voice was a bit muffled but laughing in lunacy he growled towards the small beaver,

"And what makes you think, you can beat a god?"

"This!" and in one quick movement Beaverspear jolted forward, his spear ready to lunge, as he dashed towards the king, the pointed head of the weapon immediately collided with Cold Turkey's armour. There was a cracking noise as Cold Turkey was knocked to the ground, head coming to the edge of his balcony, and mask-helmet falling to far ground below. Beaverspear stood back as Cold Turkey rose to his feet,

"My helmet!" He felt at his head, "My armor!" He felt at his chest, indeed a small crack had formed, "I'll admit. You are strong. But I'm afraid; you will not be able to defeat me. I am a god. You are a slave. What chance is there?" The tyrant kept his sword sheathed, as his tiger faced remained loose and joyous.

"You insult yourself by calling me a slave. For it will be a slave that shall defeat you. " Again Beaverspear lunged towards the tyrant, his speed perfect, and his precision flawless. The shaft and head like lightning came towards the tiger, only to be stopped in mid air as his armoured paw grasped the shaft. Gawking in amazement for only a second, Beaverspear was then punted to back of the room after hanging motionless off his spear.

"You see, I let you hit me. Although, it might have been stronger then I had planned, I was still able to analyze your fighting technique. Good job on cracking my armour and I guess in a way decapitating me, but I'm afraid that's where your victory ends." Cold Turkey then grasped the black spear in-between his paws and broke it over his knee. Smoothly it fell into two halves. "I guess with your weapon gone, I won't need the burden of my armour either." Beaverspear remained plastered to the wall, as cold turkey took off his armour, tauntingly. Underneath he wore a rainbow coloured thong with a gold tunic. With armoured plating on the ground, he bent down to unsheathe his claymore. Staying still only to give the small beaver a wink, he then charged towards him, two paws lifting the claymore over his head.

WOOSH! The sword came down, just before Beaverspear managed to roll out of the way. Hitting the wall the blade cut through the black metal with great ease. This was no ordinary sword.

Beaverspear wasting no time immediately scurried under the bed for cover. Not to retreat, but to buy him time to think. The laughing of Cold Turkey was cruel as he slowly sauntered his way over to his bed.

"HIYA" He slammed his goliath of a claymore into the bed easily ripping through its structure. The blade landed only inches away from Beaverspear's head. Beaverspear then scurried out from under the bed and over to the balcony. Only to have his back paw cut by his own spearhead. He fell to the ground stumbling a bit. The back of his foot, more precisely the heel had a rather viscous looking cut on it. Cold Turkey only had to let out another laugh before walking toward the beaver. Sword purposefully dragging along the ground.

"And now young hero, you - will - die." He declared his face cruel and means as he stood directly in front of the beaver, sword slowly lifting into the air as the rodent lay helpless in front of the tiger. Blade pointed, so that when it fell it would immediately skewer him into the floor.

"Beaverspear! Beaverspear! Beaverspear!" A trumpeting crowd cheered out from the ground below. A congregation of beavers, a sea of brown fur, all raising pitchforks, hoes, shovels, and whips in the air. Cold Turkey could only pause and let out a series of blinks in confusion, before feeling a heavy thump into his chest.

"What the hell?" Were the last words as he felt four more thumps drive powerfully into his heart. Looking down he saw Beavespear, lying on his back, bottom half of the spear in his paws and pointed at the tiger. Indeed he had been hit with the deadliest manoeuvre of them all, the "Five-Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique."

Cold Turkey let the blade drop to the sides as he coughed up a bit of blood. "Your right. This whole time I really was insulting myself." At those words, Beaverspear moved off to the side as Cold Turkey took five steps forward and fell off his balcony.

And so came the fall of Cold Turkeys tyranny, and the rise of the Beaver Empire. Under the rule of Beaverspear the tiger's were forced out of their fallen kingdom, and sent across seas. Slavery was abolished and social hierarchy was formed into a more people oriented government. And for the first time in history, in a land now forgotten, there was peace.

****

There ya go, you fine furs of yiffstar.

I'm not going to leave much comment because it's long enough as it is.

I had two reasons for writing this story:

1) I wanted to write a hero myth type story (even though I probobly killed the genre with this tale) featuring my fursona.

2) And after seeing that a certain favourite artist of mine chose Cold Turkey's story as a favourite..I have to admit, I became a little jealous of the oh so wonderful CT.

So after asking him if it would be okay to write this story, I went ahead and wrote it.

Oh and sorry for the lack of yiff, my next story is to be a love-love, Mush-Mush story (non-trageic I swear!) that will supply enough yiff for both stories. Oh and possibly another story in the near future featuring Dawn (from the Dewie series), Me, and Cold Turkey.

Then I might complete the Dewie series

>_> Maybe.