Shadow-Moon Clan
Forewarning: This story is over twenty pages long, so read this only if you have a good block of time to devote to it.
The Dance of Swords...The mating ritual of the Shadow-Moon Clan...A mysterious, wonderful, and frightening thing. The story of the Dance lies with the creation of the Shadow-Moon Clan itself. It is a tale of swords and sorcery (more swords than sorcery), and also of sex between two cubs with the ages of 10 and 13. Also, there's blood in it. So if you dislike any of the things mentioned above, leave now.
I know I said I'd explain the Dance in the beginning, but this story is needed to explain how the idea came about, as well as how the Shadow-Moon Clan started, so the whole "Dance of Swords" bit comes more near then end than the beginning. Be sure to read the whole thing; otherwise, you are wasting your time reading this. Also, if you happen to be MONOTHEISTIC and the very idea of there being other gods, even in a work of fiction, offends you, leave now, 'cuz the furs in this story are POLYTHEISTIC. (Monotheistic = belief in one god, Polytheistic = belief in more than one god.)
Kael the Necromancer © 2000 by Christopher Richardson, AKA Project_Demise (If you see this name online somewhere, it's probably me; feel free to say hi or to hurl insults at me.)
The year was SMC 0001. This means that, according to the Shadow-Moon Clan calendar, it was the first year. Other clans had different years. Wolf Clan had 2643, Bear Clan had 4625, Serpent Clan had it at 1000 or so. Of course, no matter which calendar you use, it was the year of the Shadow-Moon. The year the clan was formed. The past hundred years had been a time of all-out war between the Twelve Clans. It was Predator versus Prey, Flyers versus Walkers, Magical versus Mundane. Though the Clans had battled each other before this war, the War of the Twelve was to be the worst of all, causing a severe drop in population for all twelve. Finally, the Clans, low on resources from the constant battling, decided to cut away the dregs of their society, thereby increasing the resources that could be spent on weapons, armor, food, and medicine for the warriors, instead of almost pouring money down the gullet of the homeless, the elderly, the sick, the orphaned children who were too young to learn a useful craft or join the military. The Clans, though each was constructed of different furs, thought very much alike. They cast aside their lowest people, banishing them from their cities and halls, forcing them all to gather in one place, a large valley that was totally infertile, thus being no use to the cause. Of course, nearly a thousand people is a rather large number to force out of a clan, especially when they were sent way without being given food and water, and having only a few tools between them. The secret meetings between the lords of the Twelve Clans had decided that this valley, which existed at a nearly equal distance of about two hundred miles from each clan and was surrounded by high mountains, would be the perfect place to toss their rubbish. The plan was to tell the people that should they slaughter anyone else they found there, they would be welcomed home with open arms. In truth, the Clan Lords hoped that the fighting would severely thin out their numbers, making them easy prey for mounted knights to finish off. Thus began the mass exodus of the bottom class. The event has since been known as the March of Outcast.
Over ten thousand furs, each group of a different race, marched on the long, dusty, rocky roads to the valley where they would fight for their honor. No food or water but what they had thought to bring with, the only weapons being a few tools that were unsuited for combat and their gods-given natural weapons. Hundreds of people died on the weeklong march. Most died of starvation or thirst. Others died of whatever illness had caused them to be thrown out of their homes. Many of the dead were children. Still, more than half of the people who had started out survived the trip and made it to the valley. When they got there, they were shocked. The Lords had said it was a lush, beautiful valley that was nestled between Mount Dark-Moon and Mount Light-Moon (Dark-Moon because the moons were always covered in darkness when they passed over the mountain, and Light-Moon because the moons were full when they went over the mountain), and was overflowing with food and water. The only problem with it, they had said, was that it was too close to the enemy territory. If the outcasts of the Wolf Clan (or Fox, Dove, or any of the others) could build themselves a fortress and sustain themselves, they would be welcomed as a colony of their clan. When the people saw the valley, they found a lie. Desolate, barren lands greeted the eyes of every member of the Clans that could see it. For indeed, the twelve groups of travelers had reached the site at the almost same time, a remarkable feat by anyone's standards. Tears were shed freely as the people descended into the valley, some on foot, some on wing, some on wagon, many supporting someone else. The whole place was devoid of life. It was as if the Fifth god, the vicious and cruel God of Death, had cursed this place to be the final resting-place of the outcasts.
Though the Twelve Clans were at war over what were supposedly important issues, these people, now left clanless, could do nothing but sit and cry. The outcast children, who had suffered the most from the journey, were brought to the center and made to rest, the last of the food and water shared amongst the young in hopes that they would be able to make a journey back to their clan-homes. And thus Eagle rested with Dove, Wolf with Fox, and Serpent with all, sharing warmth, breath, and what little hope that remained. The outcasts prayed to the Four, the merciful gods in their heavenly abode of Alturian. First to Sorintath, God of Fire, for the courage to continue on rather than give up. Then to Orisius, God of Earth, for the strength to continue. Then to Vierna, Goddess of Water, for a revival of their hope, the hope that they will survive. Then to Kalani Rhem, or just Rhem, Goddess of Wind, for a renewal of their spirits, for those were close to failing. Finally, the entire group finished their prayers with the final one that all children were taught from the moment they learned to speak well. It is often known as the "Prayer of the Condemned", simply because it is often used by criminals who are sentenced to death. The gods are more likely to pardon a repentant sinner than one who goes blaspheming to his grave. This is how it goes:
Merciful gods, hear our plea
Save us now, for we have need
Grant us water and some bread
Allow us rest upon thy bed
Take our lives if it does please
Spare us now of our disease
End our torment, long and cruel
We acknowledge only your rule
O great four, lords of all
Givers of life, great and small
Grant us sleep and grant us life
Save us from this constant strife
With the prayers said and night having fallen, the outcasts laid down to rest, feeling a renewed hope and the spirit of the final peace within every breast.
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Upon a ridge overlooking the crater-valley, the Twelve Lords (they were all brothers and sisters, different species but adopted and raised by one mother) looked upon the sleeping outcasts in disgust.
"Sickening," whispered Dalmadar, the lord of Fox Clan.
"Agreed," said Keezra, lady of Eagle Clan.
"I dunno," whispered Mortix, lord of Serpent Clan, "I think they look...tasty...down there."
"You only think with your stomach," complained Naina, lady of Wolf Clan.
"And yet, I have never heard you complain about my own appetite," chuckled Alcore, lord of Equine Clan.
"Why not just destroy the lot of 'em with a massed spell," piped in Vadia, lady of Rabbit Clan. "That'd clear this lot off rather easily..."
"No!" cried Bonta, lord of Dove Clan, the voice of moderation. "Should we do so, our people would become suspicious."
"So what?" growled Pox, lord of Tiger Clan. "If anyone objects, they can be silenced."
"But what if all the people rose up against us, brother?" This from Trilia, lady of Deer Clan. "What then?"
"We would wait until anarchy toppled their civilization," purred Sasna, lady of Cat Clan. "Once it does, we can pounce upon the wreckage and retake control."
"Always with the cat sayings," whined Onba, lord of Rodent Clan, his worm-like tail lashing side-to-side. "Can't you use normal ones?"
"Enough!" roared Baaltay, lord of Bear Clan, the eldest and leader of the Twelve Lords. "They will surely starve to death down there. We can simply leave them there. That way, none can question our motives. Indeed, we can call them martyrs and patriots, thus spurring the Clans to new heights of violence. Thus our game can be extended."
The others agreed. It was a sound plan after all. With friendly words of departure, each cast their spells and warped away; all except Baaltay, who stood on the rim for a few moments longer, watching the peaceful slumber of the furs in the valley.
"Rest well," whispered the twelve-foot tall Bear. "Your deaths are nigh..." With that, he cast his spell and was taken instantly to his home in the lands of Bear Clan.
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The morning sun rose above the valley, and its new inhabitants stirred. The first to waken were the children, wiping sleep from their eyes. The young of the mixed tribe stared out across the valley, eyes wide with shock, crying for the adults to awaken. When the others had awoken, some cried, some jumped for joy, others danced around.
Where once desolate wasteland had been, there were now lush grasses, large fruit trees, and lesser creatures of all shapes, sizes, and descriptions. The whole valley brimmed with life! A spring welled up in a small pool, its position slightly inside of the ring where the children had slept. From the looks of it, while it was only a few feet in width, it was very deep and, more importantly, filled with fish. The gods had come in the night and answered their prayers for aid!
The people let forth cries and prayers of thanks and joy. Then, with a new spirit of companionship that had been birthed the moment they had prayed together, the people set about gathering food for all to eat, water for them to drink, and the tools were shared fairly to craft other tools that they needed. In a single day, many pounds of food were collected (the food grew back instantly) and large communal homes were built (the trees too grew back in seconds). Joy was shared by all. That night, there was much rejoicing and feasting.
Before they went to sleep, however, they decided to choose two furs to lead them. It was decided that they would both be of different clans, and both had to be mate-less. After several hours, they chose a male of Wolf Clan and a female of Serpent Clan to represent them.
The new clan had received the favor of the Four. The moons shone brightly in the sky as sleep overcame them. One by one each and every fur fell asleep on the soft grass.
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Morning came, and with it, an all-encompassing fear. For when the outcasts awoke, they were surrounded by mounted knights. Over a thousand knights in armor mounted upon horses, with spears at the ready, waited for a word that would have them commence the slaughter. The Twelve Lords were there, watching with interest, though Dove, Rabbit, and Deer (the three most moderate of the lords), were apart from the others, ready to turn their backs when the slaughter began.
Though the three of them had argued long, hard, and vehemently against a bloodbath of such magnitude, they were ignored. Even Vadia, ever the furritarian, had been overruled. She had suggested the spell to end the outcasts without pain, suffering, and fear. Their horses were grouped together, the riders' heads down. Tears streamed down Bonta's face as he thought about what would happen. The blood of so many innocent furs would be on his hands. If only he weren't so frightened of Baaltay and Keezra. He couldn't refuse their call when they told him to bring his men. Now here he sat, regretting ever going along with their plans.
Baaltay kicked his horse into a trot, coming to rest in the center of the village. "Send out your leaders!" he cried, his voice echoing along the high walls of the valley. Two furs stood, a Wolf and a Serpent, and calmly walked up to the Bear.
"I am Vendin," said the male Wolf.
"And I am Marda," finished the female Serpent, of the Garter variety.
"I am Baaltay of Bear Clan. You and yours are trespassing upon neutral clan lands. This is a breach of the Grand Treaty, and the punishment is severe. Thus, you shall all be punished. And according to the Treaty, the penalty is death. May the gods be merciful..."
"But Lord Baaltay!" cried a Bear within the crowd. "You told us to come here! You told us there would be food and water! A place for us to live! You lied to us! You deceive-"
"Silence!" roared Baaltay. The outcast Bear went quiet. "You were supposed to slay these others, and thereby gain the right to live here! You did not, so now you pay the consequences!" The Bear Lord dismounted before Vendin and drew his sword from the scabbard on his belt. Vendin watched the Bear raise his sword, the Wolf's eyes cold while his lips moved in the prayer of the condemned, his hands creeping around behind him to grasp something hidden in the fur of his tail.
Fire lanced out from behind Vendin, striking Baaltay's paw. The Bear howled in pain and dropped his sword. "Pitiful," said a voice softly. Baaltay looked up from his burned paw, turning murderous eyes upon the bearer of the voice. His eyes widened with shock as an impossibility stood a short ways behind the Wolf.
There stood a creature...it was like a fur, but without the fur. Well, except for the headfur. It had no muzzle, instead having a small, somewhat diamond-shaped appendage upon its face. What did the history books call these creatures? Hay-mahns? Hay-oo-mahns? Whatever they were called, they were supposed to be extinct! It was impossible that such a creature could still be around! By the sound of its voice, this being seemed to be a male. And he was a magic user too. The books said most Hay-oo-mahns didn't believe in magic, so couldn't wield it. Were the history books wrong?
This creature was dressed in a simple orange-red robe, the kind one would find an Eagle priest wearing, for it was patterned with designs, making it look as though it were made of feathers. The only thing odd about his outfit was his cape. It was unlike a mage's cape, in that it almost touched the ground rather than simply the middle of his back, and it seemed to actually be made of feathers, though these were dyed the same orange-red color of his robe. His headfur was a light yellow color, and long enough to touch his shoulders. He bore no weapons, but his eyes...
The Hay-oo-mahn chuckled. "Baaltay of Bear Clan," said the creature, "I am no more human than you are..."
The Bear Lord, though shocked, regained his composure and drew himself up to his full height of nine feet. "I'm flattered that you have heard of me, Hay-oo-mahn. To what do we owe this honor?" His voice was mocking and he cracked his knuckles for show. The creature smiled, showing his teeth.
"I told you before, Bear, that I am no more human than you are. And as to why I'm here, you seek to harm those under our care. We cannot allow this."
"We?" asked Baaltay with a laugh. "There is no one else here that could help you. You're going to try and stop us? You and what army?"
The Hay-oo-mahn's cape swirled around as if by a gust of wind, but there hadn't been one. Suddenly, there were three more Hay-oo-mahns, each at a different cardinal point, facing off against the army of knights. One of the new creatures was male. He was tall, with short but curly red headfur and little brown dots upon the skin of his face. He wore a suit of armor that seemed to be made of black scales.
The other two were females. One was tall with...blue headfur? The books said Hay-oo-mahns only had six basic fur colors...but this one had a completely different color all together! She wore a formal dress that reached to her knees, the color a shimmering sea-foam green. Her yellow eyes glinted with delight. The other was shorter than the other three Hay-oo-mahns by at least a foot. She had waist-length white hair and wore silver mage robes, with a cloak of white feathers hanging down to her knees. Her face was completely emotionless.
All four Hay-oo-mahns stood with their hands clasped in front of them in a prayer position, eyes intently focused on the furs before them. The one before Baaltay slowly split his hands apart, bringing his clenched fists together, one atop the other, as though he were holding something. "This valley is under the protection of the gods!" cried the Hay-oo-mahn. "Leave now if you wish to live!"
At this, Baaltay chuckled heartily. At least, he chuckled until that mysterious wind blew through the Hay-oo-mahn's cape again. Suddenly, each of the four creatures had a weapon in paw. The male in black armor held a wicked-looking sword with runes engraved in it. The female in the dress held a long axe, its massive head resting on her shoulder, where she carried it with ease. The one in robes held an elegant staff, which split at the top. The two halves looped downward at the top, the two loopholes containing an orb apiece, each a brilliant red color. The one with the colorfully feathered cape, however, held the most shocking weapon of all.
It was a war-hammer, this Baaltay knew. But no fur had ever crafted such a weapon. While normal war-hammers were little more than adapted smith's hammers, this one seemed to be a brick of rough granite on a short metal bar. At least, it would've been a brick if it weren't a foot tall and a half-foot wide at one end. The entire block, from end to end, seemed about three feet. It was held in place atop the weapon by crisscrossing steel bands, which were bolted at equal distances into the weapon. It looked monstrously heavy, yet this creature held it with ease, as though it weighed nothing. Baaltay shivered in fear.
"W-who are you, Hay-oo-mahn?" he asked quietly. The Hay-oo-mahn smiled wide.
"Twice I have told you, Baaltay of Bear Clan, and now thrice it is. I am no more human than you are. But neither am I a fur. Rather, I am a bird. I am the Grand Phoenix, the Fire-Giver, the Life-Breather, the first Keeper of the Soul's Rest. I am Sorintath, God of Fire!" His words blew forth from his mouth like a scorching wind and Baaltay let out a cry of fear. If this being was the god of Fire, then that must make the others...
"Correct," said Sorintath, resting the head of his weapon, the Armageddon Hammer, upon his shoulder. Flames traced out intricate symbols along the front of it, suggesting powerful magicks within. But of course there was powerful magic in it. It was a divine weapon after all. The god's cold eyes, quite out of place on a fire god, seemed to peer into Baaltay's soul. "We are the Pantheon of Alturian. And as I said before, this valley is under our protection. Leave now or die!" Twice had the ultimatum been given. Should a third time come, the gods would attack and wipe them all out.
With a scowl, Baaltay turned his horse away. "This isn't over, Vendin. We shall meet again. Come!" he cried, starting his horse away at a slight trot. The other lords quickly followed him. The knights, totally loyal to the heads of their clans, turned and followed. However, three groups of knights did not leave, for their leaders had not followed Baaltay. Bonta, Trilia, and Vadia sat in awe of the Four, along with the outcasts, who realized then that the gods had truly answered their prayers. Orisius, God of Earth and wielder of the Apocalypse Blade, turned deadly serious eyes on the three lords. However, after a few moments, he lost interest and sheathed his sword.
Vendin and Marda looked on with obvious astonishment as Sorintath walked over to the three stunned lords and spoke to them in soft whispers. They couldn't understand the words that were being spoken, but as time went on, the Dove Lord seemed to perk up, sitting straighter on his horse. Silent words passed between the god and the Dove, but it was clear that Bonta liked what he was hearing. He bowed his head to the god and turned his horse around and started it on a trot up the valley path, his sisters following. The valley actually had twelve roads, which met in the middle of the valley, where the Gods-sent well was situated.
Sorintath turned back to the gathered furs, who were kneeling with heads bowed in respect for their gods. Prayers of thanks and praise rose from every set of lips, which made the God of Fire chuckle as he set his hammer upon the ground. He kneeled down and sat upon his heels, hands forming the meditative position used for temple prayers.
Without opening his eyes, he whispered several words and his cape swirled around him. A moment later, a new creature had replaced him. This being called out in a voice like a song, "Vendin, Marda." The Wolf and Serpent stood from their worship and moved slowly, reverently, to the king of the gods. They looked upon the glory and splendor of his true form.
He was beautiful! A massive bird, twenty feet tall and at least twice that from wingtip to wingtip. When he had told Baaltay his titles, he hadn't been boasting. He was truly the Grand Phoenix. A creature born of fire, whose body burned itself to ash, and was born again from those ashes. This beautiful creature of gold, red, and orange was the purest embodiment of what it means to be Fire. The colors of his feathers weren't stationary, oh no. They moved, rippled, danced like flames in the hearth. Each breath of the great bird, every gust of wind, every slight motion shifted the colors like a raging inferno. It was a sight that those who saw it would never forget, nor would their children, who would never see it with their own eyes. Many wept openly at the beauty of the Fire God as his emerald-green eyes looked down upon the outcasts' leaders.
"Vendin and Marda, Wolf and Serpent. Both of you are my children, just as all those gathered here are my children. I who breathed life into your bodies within your mothers' wombs. My children...you worship us as was the custom of ages past. Most do not believe in us anymore. The war has wiped the very idea of our existence from the minds of most of the people. Yet your people, your new clan...You keep to the ways of old. You give us prayers of joy and praise! For that, we thank you." Only then did the two realize that the other three gods had gathered beside Sorintath. Orisius, the God of Earth, grinned like an idiot, leaning against one of Sorintath's massive orange legs. The two Goddesses bowed to the congregation in thanks. "For this, we give you a gift. You shall be allowed to pluck a single feather from my breast. That feather shall grant a wish to the user, but only if they use it for the good of the clan. However, the clan must have a name first."
What followed was a lengthy, but pleasant, debate on what the clan should be called, which every fur took part in. Many names were rejected, simply because they were too lengthy, while others were tossed aside for lack of force. What was needed was a name that demanded respect. Finally, the people left the decision to their new leaders. The mismatched pair, suddenly finding the weight of such a decision upon their shoulders, took leave of their people and moved away from them. They lay down in the soft grasses some distance from the others. And though no one followed them, the clansman could hear the tender sounds of a couple mating. Knowing smiles were shared all around as, an hour later, the couples returned to their clansmen.
"We have decided a name," said Marda, laying her head on her lupine lover's shoulder.
"Look to the sky," whispered Vendin, tilting his head back. The mortals looked up and saw, to their surprise, that the three moons were risen. Moreso, they were in the eclipse phase, so all three were in shadow, hanging over Mount Dark-Moon. "We shall be the Shadow-Moon Clan. It suits us, I think." As the people considered this, they decided that, indeed it did suit them. After all, a three-moon eclipse was a rare thing, and a gathering of all the clans that didn't end in violence was just as rare. The name was accepted.
Sorintath smiled and presented his glorious breast to the lovers. Cautiously, Vendin and Marda both extended a paw and grasped a single feather. Surprisingly, they didn't need to tug at all. It came away smoothly, without any resistance whatsoever. They held the shimmering feather aloft and declared it a Clan Treasure. Sorintath let loose his beautiful phoenix cry and the gods disappeared, leaving the people to stare at the beautiful feather.
(H/N: All clans had a Clan Treasure. A treasure would have to be vastly powerful and infinitely valuable for it to be so heavily guarded that no fur could lay paw upon it unless there was a great need of it.)
They were the first of the Shadow-Moon Clan. They were kindred spirits, bound together through turmoil and fear, and had created bonds of love and friendship with the rest of their newfound people. Alas, this feeling of complete happiness would not last...
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Skip ahead a year. The Shadow-Moon Clan was flourishing. Everyone within their village was fed, clothed, and had a place to live. Few people became ill, and those that did either became well soon or died swiftly, freeing them from what could have been a long, slow, pain-filled demise.
Trade routes had been established between the Shadow-Moons and the clans of Dove, Rabbit, and Deer. These three clans had declared that their part in the war was over, and would be withdrawing all soldiers from the territories of other clans. They also established peaceful trade with each other, and Lord Bonta and Ladies Vadia and Trilia spent much time visiting each other and the Shadow-Moons.
Needless to say, this newfound spirit of love and friendship infuriated the other Clan Lords, and most especially Baaltay. Of course, "infuriated" did nothing to describe the seething mass of anger and hate that pulsed within his body.
"How DARE they find happiness!" "How DARE they find love!" "How DARE they find prosperity!" "HOW DARE THOSE GODS INTERFERE WITH ME!" These four phrases were the first in his mind. They were the first out of his mouth when he met, in total secrecy, with his remaining siblings. The others never spoke when he ranted like this. It was a harsh lesson learned by Sasna of Cat Clan, who had tried to soothe her brother and received a Bear paw to her chest. Baaltay's mind was soothed only after hearing and feeling the cracking of his sister's ribs. However, even this small bit of happiness left him, for it was soon after this that Sasna left the war and allied her clan with the "traitors", as Baaltay referred to them.
But though the Bear was enraged over this turn of events, he had already formulated a plan. And this time, the Four couldn't stop him. As the old saying goes, "Use a sword to slay a swordsman, an arrow to slay an archer..."
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The many midwives of the Shadow-Moon Clan were gathered 'round the outside of their leaders' home. There was a need for but a single midwife per birth, but this child would be important. It would be the first child born into the newly formed Shadow-Moon Clan, an honorable distinction. Even more importantly, it would be the first child born to their new leaders. This being her first pregnancy, Marda had only laid a single egg, but this egg would be looked after constantly, not only by her and her mate but also by many other members of the clan.
After two hours of labor pains and loud grunts, curses, and cries of pain (both male and female), the attending midwife stepped out into the cool morning air. The midwife, a Serpent of the python variety (being the only midwife in the village who had any knowledge whatsoever of delivering a Serpent's eggs), announced the laying of a healthy egg. It was about three stone (a stone is approx. 5 lbs.) in weight, and was at least a thirteen inches in height. Those measurements were about average for a Serpent egg. According to the coloring, surface texture (Serpents lick their eggs to clean the birthing fluids off them; if a midwife is present, she is asked to assist in this task), and shell patterning, it would most likely be a healthy male, of a poisonous variety. A cheer rose from the attending females at this news. With that, the crowd dispersed, many of them disappointed for not having been chosen to perform such a prestigious delivery.
Several hours later...
Marda, within her home, laid back against her husband, who sat behind her, his legs on either side of her tail. In her arms, she held a large white-seeming egg, though if one took a closer look one could see several nearly invisible patches of color. She licked it slowly, dragging her long tongue across the surface, making audible rasping sounds against the somewhat rough texture of her egg. A blanket was pulled to her chest, half covering the egg. Vendin's hands covered her own, adding his substantially greater mammalian heat to the egg.
(H/N: In most Mammal/ Serpent mateships/marriages [and by that I mean a male mammal and a female Serpent], the mammal will take care of the egg most, as their body heat is much greater than a Serpent's, due to their warm blood. Just a fun fact.)
Her hair was a mess, her scales were sweating, she experienced somewhat painful spasms in her nether regions every now and again, and she had almost broken her husband's paw, but Marda was happy. Her usually vibrant green scales were dulled with her exhaustion, but she was content. Finally, after all those weeks when Vendin would lock the two of them in their home and proceed to sate her heat, their tries had ended in fruition. They had a child. In three months time, the egg would hatch and reveal its occupant. And, according to the midwife, it would probably be both male and poisonous. The Poisoned Ones were both the most feared and the most revered amongst the Serpent Clansmen. Now, however, came the most difficult task of all...
"How about Slythe?" asked Marda. "It's both Serpentine and male."
Vendin chuckled softly. They had been over this issue a hundred times before, yet still she persisted. "Now Marda," said Vendin quietly, attempting to grip his wife's right paw with his own. He yelped in pain, forcing his paw to open again. Marda had really done a number on the appendage. "The midwife didn't know if our child would be born a Wolf, a Serpent, or some combination of the two, and she is not clairvoyant. She cannot tell for sure if it is even male. It's pointless to try and name a child before it's born. So stop worrying about it." He leaned forward and kissed her cheek from behind. "Besides, I like Alpha better." He laughed heartily while his wife cuffed him upside his head.
Marda then sighed. "You're right...We'll wait on naming our child until after it's born. But we're not naming it 'Alpha'." Vendin sighed dramatically, making a big show despite the fact that it didn't really matter to him right then.
Instead of arguing, Vendin leaned down and nipped his mate's neck gently, drawing a moaning gasp from deep within her coils. She playfully jerked slightly away from him, only to have his legs wrap round her, holding her in place. He nipped her neck a few more times as she giggled. By this time, Marda could feel her mate's hardened need against her back.
"You know what the midwife said, Vendin," she whispered, tilting her head to the side to allow him more access to her neck. "No mating for at least six more months."
"I know," he said with a light growl, nipping slightly harder. "She didn't say I couldn't pleasure my wife whenever I wanted, did she?"
"Mmmm no..." moaned Marda.
"And she didn't say I couldn't help you relax, did she?"
"Nooo..."
"Then how 'bout I relieve some of that stress?" His paws slid away from hers to cup her breasts.
"Yesssss..." she hissed, arching her back. Her tail/lower body wrapped 'round her mate's leg, squeezing softly.
"As my lady wishes." His long lupine tongue slid along her neck, tasting her sweat, while his paws gently worked her sensitive breasts. If she had been a mammal, her breasts would have spouted milk, sustenance for a growing pup. However, she was a Serpent, so her breasts, while being pleasure centers and fun to play with, produced no mother's milk. One of Marda's greatest worries was finding a wet nurse for their child, should he be more Wolf than Serpent. Vendin had assured her time and again that they would find a wet nurse when the time came, but his words did little to allay her fears. His touches, on the other paw, allowed her to forget, if only briefly, the cares that weighed so heavily on her mind.
With a growl of dominance, Vendin latched his teeth onto her neck, a terribly sensitive area for any fur. With this action, he threw himself into his task with a willingness that many females would've been shocked by. Most Wolf males (indeed, most males) cared little for foreplay. And that was just the way Wolf females liked it. But then, achieving orgasm after being knotted was considered an unfair advantage by those females (and certain males) who weren't created to achieve simply through receiving the knot. Lucky bitches...
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For the second time in a year, Baaltay stood atop the same ridge where he had previously stood with his united siblings. Now they were eight, where previously there had been twelve. His hate, his rage, his madness had spilled out from within his mind, taking shape in his appearance. Where before the "Falling Out", as the others called it, Baaltay had worn a suit of black Serpent scale armor, polished to a high gloss, he now wore his bed robes, which were frayed, patched, torn, and stained in many places. The Bear's eyes were red and bloodshot, with great drooping bags beneath them. It looked as though he had never changed his clothes and hadn't slept in a year. His words were the ravings of a madman, yet if any tried to question him, they were severely punished. They hadn't forgotten Sasna, or even poor Keezra, who had had her right wing-bones crushed when the Bear had knocked her down and stomped all over it. She stood silently, eyes empty of emotion, as though she were dead. Her right wing was folded against her back. Her clan's healers were working on her wing, but it would be a long time before she would fly again. And to a Bird, especially an Eagle, not being able to fly was worse than death.
"How DARE they find happiness! How DARE they find love! How DARE they find prosperity! HOW DARE THE GODS INTERFERE WITH ME!" With his ritual greeting out of the way, Baaltay sat upon the ground, rocking himself back and forth, whispering softly. "Use a sword to slay a swordsman, an arrow to slay an archer. Use a sword to slay a swordsman, use a god to slay a god. Use a god to slay a village, use a god to slay a god." The others had to lean down to hear him. When all had heard his words, it was Mortix who spoke first.
"How could we use a god to sssslay a god?" he asked, trying to sound as subordinate as possible. "They've been together for thousandsssss of yearsssss without fighting... Sssuch a tasssk might be consssidered impossssible." Mortix, a staunch believer in appearances, had done the one thing he had been trying to avoid all his life. In his nervousness and fear, he had reverted to the Serpent stereotype of hissing his S's. He jerked back as his brother shot up from his sitting position, towering over the seven-foot tall Serpent. Mortix cringed, expecting a paw to strike him down, but instead of an injury, Mortix heard something much more unsettling. Baaltay was laughing.
"My dear brother," said the Bear with a maniacal giggle, "we don't have to turn the Four against each other." All eyes were on him, even the dead eyes of Keezra. "I've figured it out! All we have to do is summon the Fifth and he'll take care of them for us!"
Pox cried out in dismay. "B-b-b-but..." he trailed off, seeing his elder brother's angry glare turned on him. "Y-yes brother..."
"I thought you'd agree..." said Baaltay, cracking his knuckles audibly. "In one week's time, you all are to meet me back here. Bring your warriors and your contributions. We shall summon the God of Death..."
This time it was Baaltay who disappeared first, leaving his siblings behind. The seven of them gathered together, desperate whispers passing between them.
"He wants to summon the fucking DEATH GOD?!" cried Onba, clutching his worm-like tail tightly to his chest. "Baaltay's seriously gone off the deep end this time!"
"I agree, but what choice do we have?" asked Alcore. He turned worried eyes on Keezra, who still seemed as though she were the walking dead.
"How about this: we break off any and all ties with Bear Clan, and pretend none of this ever happened."
"But what about our game?!" cried Naina.
"Are you stupid or something?!" shouted Dalmadar. "Do you really think this is still just a game?! Baaltay has taken his madness out on us! Us, his brothers and sisters! Look at Sasna, at Keezra! He hates the gods and he's gonna drag us down with him!"
"I'm leaving..." All eyes turned to Keezra. Her head was down and her large Eagle eyes were downcast as well. "I'm leaving. I've had enough of this. I'm done with this madness. Some of my people are down in that valley, along with those from your own clans. If you have any shred of soul left, you will do like our brother and sisters. Good evening, siblings. Kyeez Nbroga!" And she was gone. (It's pronounced KAI-eets en-BRO-guh.)
"What's she getting worked up over?" asked Naina rhetorically. "All Baaltay did was break her wing! Hell, I had my right arm broken once and I didn't get depressed about it. Not even when they started talking about cutting it off if it became infected."
"You're not a Bird," replied Alcore.
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"Nevermind," interceded Dalmadar. 'Like explaining color to the blind,' he thought. Aloud, he said "Here's what we're gonna do. We're gonna go along with Baaltay's little plan, until we reach Shadow-Moon Valley. Then, when he prepares to summon the Death God, we take him out." He dragged his left index finger across his throat for emphasis.
"What!" shouted Pox. "We can't do that! He's our brother!"
"Yet we must. It is for our good, and his own. His insanity is going to get him killed and then sentenced to walk the Stairs. Better that he should die before the summoning and have a chance to enter the Soul's Rest. We must do this thing, for the love of our brother." He gazed into the faces of his siblings. All of them looked sad, yet seemed in agreement. "One week...Be prepared."
With that, five teleport spells were cast, sending five Clan Lords home, leaving only one standing where the others had been. Naina of Wolf Clan scratched behind her ears and sighed.
"Better tell Baaltay about this." She spoke the words of teleportation, modified slightly to bring her to her eldest brother's home. She was gone in an instant.
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The next morning, the almost the entire village turned out to see Marda's newly laid egg. After the birthing slime had been cleaned off it, the egg's true colors could be seen. It was still white, but now small patches of green and black could be easily seen upon it. The gathered villagers were delighted when the new mother willingly, though reluctantly, handed her egg to someone, where it would be passed around to every fur in attendance. By the time her child made it back to her, it smelled of hundreds of different furs. It brought a tear to her eyes to think that her new clan accepted her child so readily.
If it had been Serpent Clan, she would've had to give her egg to the Clan Lord. He would've used magic to divine whether or not the child was poisonous. If the child inside wasn't poisonous it would be sent back to her. However, if it were indeed poisonous, the egg would be given to the Hatchery Slaves, furs who were made slaves after being captured in battle. They were forced to guard and warm the eggs, on pain of losing certain parts of the body. Once the Poisoned Ones were old enough, they were put in the Royal Guard, their only duty to protect Lord Mortix. It seemed rather ridiculous for one who was not Poisoned to be a Serpent Clan Lord, for Mortix was a Constrictor, of the rare breed Anaconda.
But here...here they did not follow the ancient custom. If her child was poisonous, he would grow up just the same as any other in the Shadow-Moon Valley. This thought made her very happy. Three months to go...
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A week passed, so quickly it was almost magical. The Shadow-Moons were busily farming the land (While the land provided large amounts of food, they didn't want to depend on the gods to keep them fed, especially if something happened; and anyway, the first law of magic is that no spell, mortal-cast or divine-touched, can last forever, so they weren't taking any chances), when the sky darkened suddenly. The scent of inclement weather suddenly blew in. The farming furs quickly gathered their tools and stored them in the communal tool shed. Then one, an Eagle, looked towards the northern road that led out of the valley.
He let out a shriek of warning, which was taken thus by the birds and rodents of the clan. The Eagle had seen other furs, hundreds of them, marching down the road. The Eagle, whose name was Hapahn, was the head scout of the Shadow-Moon Clan. It was his job to look for danger and give warning if he found any. And boy did he find it.
"TO ARMS!" he cried, running towards the center of the village and the armory.
The armory doors were thrown open and weapons were placed in the hands of every fur who could grip one. Males and females, the elderly and children, all had a weapon in paw. Those who had taken on the duty of guardsmen swiftly donned their armor. Eagles and Doves grabbed their bows and arrow quivers, then flew to the tops of different buildings, where they had a clear view of the approaching threat.
The approaching foes stopped a mile short of the village and formed ranks. The lords of seven of the twelve clans were grouped together, seemingly discussing battle plans. In order to deal with the Shadow-Moon Clan, the lords needed the support of their people, so had cooked up a story to convince them of the threat of the thirteenth clan. The Shadow-Moon guardsmen formed their own ranks, with minimal direction for officers, waiting only for their leader to sound the charge. Hapahn quickly scanned the enemy ranks, finding, to his relief, that their foes had brought no archers with them. What luck!
Suddenly, a loud, resounding BOOM!!! shattered the almost tangible silence. And there stood the four gods, standing in the way of the advancing soldiers, all four with their weapons drawn. They held them at the ready, waiting. A cold wind blew through the valley, making everyone shiver. 'Twas a wind of war, signifying that there would be bloodshed. Everyone present knew this. The only reason the gods were here was because a single believer had prayed to them, asking them to stop the summoning of the Fifth. If it hadn't been for that cry for aid, the gods would not have interfered, certain that the Shadow-Moons could handle themselves on the battlefield.
Everyone here was ready for war. Baaltay forced his horse to move forward several steps then cupped his paws in a cone around his muzzle. "VENDIN!" he cried savagely, damn near spooking his horse. Everyone looked around, trying to find their leader.
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"Stay inside, Marda," said Vendin firmly.
"But..." she began.
"No buts. You must stay inside. You must defend our egg. Please do this. For me..." The look in his eyes was so heartbreaking, Marda didn't argue further.
Instead, she leaned forward and kissed him on his forehead. "Go safe. Deliver death unto our enemies."
Vendin grinned and made a sign of compliance, then left the house. "Baaltay!" he cried. All eyes were on him as he walked slowly through the ranks of his people. When he finally reached the front to stand across from Baaltay, the anger that both held within them crackled and roared like a raging inferno and, in later years, many swore they could see a shimmering in the air around them, caused by their anger.
Baaltay looked down at the Wolf with hate in his eyes, a glass sphere filled with what appeared to be smoke visible in his paw. "I didn't believe you would come. I thought you would run away, Vendin Mazkarai." When he said Vendin's last name, he roared it out, causing many furs to gasp, but not because of the roar. Whispers abound on both sides at Vendin's name.
Vendin Mazkarai was a well-known Wolf Clan general. But when the March of Outcast began, he disappeared. Known as Ven the Demon to his enemies, he had commanded the forces at every one of Wolf Clan's victories since he'd attained the rank. A brilliant military strategist, he led many battles on foot, charging for the enemy. His greatest victory had been over Bear Clan, slaying over half their warriors while only losing twenty of his own. Bear Clan still held a grudge against him, though the battle had been a decade before.
"Of course, one thing others might not know, Vendin Mazkarai, is that you were once the lover of Naina, the Lady of Wolf Clan." Naina rode up beside Baaltay, sadness evident in her eyes. "Would you really give up someone you love for this band of miscreants?"
Vendin growled. "Love? I never loved her!" Naina jerked back as though she had been struck. "I made love to her, yes. But loved her? Never!I could never love someone whose only joy is sending people to their deaths! I may have led many victories, Lady Naina, but I did so to protect those who served Wolf Clan, not for your enjoyment." By this time, Naina's eyes overflowed with tears of sorrow. She had truly believed he had loved her...just as she had loved him...Then her eyes hardened with hate. She wanted him dead. If she couldn't have him, no one could. She didn't notice her elder brother's paw leaving the back of her head. She hadn't noticed him putting it there in the first place.
A grin split Baaltay's face. He raised the sphere over his head. "By the right of blood, by the right of name, and by the right of sacrifice, I summon thee, Iosen!" With that, he thrust the sphere into a cloth sling, swung it 'round his head several times, and released one end of the cloth, sending the sphere, hurtling through the air. Sorintath, standing between the two warriors, dove for it. God though he was, he was still bound by the laws that governed the world. The sphere glanced off his fingers, falling to the ground. It shattered, spilling out a puddle of reddish-black goop with large chunks of something in it. The goop gave a flash of power, and the gods were instantly surrounding it, weapons held in a guard position now, lips moving silently, attempting to force back the darkened mass as it began to grow. However, their efforts to stop the pulsing blob were in vain. The gooey mass began to grow vertically, taking shape.
"Shit," whispered Vierna, bringing her weapon, the Axe of Torrential Rains, to bear, waiting for the arrival of the Fifth. They had been unable to stop the summoning. They must rebind him!
Slowly the Death god took form, until he stood, in all his dark glory, for all to see. "Baaltay of Bear Clan," said Iosen, his voice a dark monotone, as cold as death. "Why have you summoned me?"
"I charge you," replied Baaltay, "to wipe out these Shadow-Moon fools! End them!"
Vendin, who had been staring at the new god, turned back to Baaltay, his twin daggers suddenly in his hands. However, he didn't get a chance to strike. Five spears struck Baaltay in the back, causing the Bear's eyes to widen. Then he chuckled. He shook his body slightly, allowing the thrown spears to fall off him. There wasn't a mark on him.
"So...Naina spoke true. You all intended to kill me. Luckily, I chose to wear my magic amulet today!" He raised the mundane-seeming piece of jewelry into plain sight, showing off the magical artifact. "This item protects me from magical and physical harm. Your pitiful assassination attempt has come to naught." He smiled, bearing all his brutally sharp teeth. "If you do not wish to die like dogs, you will not attempt such madness again." He turned his back on the dumbfounded Lords and to the freed Death god.
A feral snarl leapt from Vendin's throat. He dropped into a combat-ready stance. Sorintath, God of Fire as well as the leader of the gods of the Alturian Pantheon, stood before Iosen, god of Death, his hammer resting on his shoulder.
"Iosen..." said Sorintath with burning anger in his voice. "If you do this, we shall ensure that you are bound even tighter than before, and we shall place you in the deepest, darkest pit in this world. The sun shall never shine upon you again, and you shall never slay another as long as the universe continues."
Despite the threat of being banished to the bottom of the Dark Staircase, Iosen smiled, showing his blackened, rotting teeth; for Iosen, God of Death, was also the God of Undeath. He himself looked like a rotting corpse that had climbed up from its bed and walked.
"Your words mean nothing to me," said the Death god in a flat, haunting monotone. "I am summoned, and nothing you or your pitiful associates attempt can stop me. I will claim them." He raised his left hand toward the sky. A wave of darkness erupted from his palm.
Instantly, all the people of the Shadow-Moon felt a draining of their energy, a sapping of their life force. In those moments, several expectant mothers felt a stabbing pain in their bellies. Afterwards, it was discovered that the babes had died in the womb.
Vendin stared at the Death god as he felt his energy being sapped...Then he heard a voice in his mind, a voice that wasn't his own. "The feather," it whispered. Vendin's eyes widened as he reached into his headfur. Males of Wolf Clan were expected to grow their hair long, then have it braided. Vendin had had the Phoenix Feather braided into his own, so as to keep it close at paw. The shining ornament came free easily, its pure light shining forth, easing the pain the people were suffering. He raised it above his head.
He closed his eyes. "Save our clan. Stop the Death God." These words he whispered as he poured his faith into the treasure. The feather started glowing brighter, more faith being poured into it from the true believers. Iosen stared at the feather, feeling his life-stealing power being balked by the power of the feather.
Anger played across Iosen's otherwise lifeless features as he lowered his hand. Baaltay looked positively furious. "WHY ARE YOU STOPPING!" he roared, his muzzle lathering with spittle. "DESTROY THEM!"
Iosen's dead gaze turned to the Lord, who paled beneath his fur. "I cannot. Their faith balks me..." The God of Death pointed towards Vendin. Baaltay, following the god's finger, saw the feather.
Of course... "Attack!" cried Baaltay. "Destroy that feather!"
With a shared roar, born of bloodlust, the invading warriors charged. There was only fifty feet between them and the defenders of the Shadow-Moon Valley. Within his head, Vendin heard the voice again. "We cannot fight for you..." it whispered. "We must hold Iosen's power back. However, we grant you this gift. The power of Frenzy. Use it well."
Suddenly, Vendin's vision turned red and he snarled loudly, charging forth to assault the enemy, the Phoenix Feather hanging in the air with nothing supporting it. Others of his people watched in shock before each, one by one, was overwhelmed by the power of Frenzy and charged. Blades shone brightly in the light, slicing the air with such speed that echoing "BOOM!"s could be heard all around the battlefield. Arrows flew straight to their targets, piercing through armor and shattering bone.
Mortix went down with an arrow in his tail. It struck halfway between his end and his chest. His tail muscles relaxed their hold and he slid off his horse with a loud hiss of pain. His wound, though not fatal, bled rather heavily for a minute or two, causing the Serpent to fall into unconsciousness, unable to stand the sight of his own blood. Dalmadar turned his horse and charged away, only to be struck through the shoulder by a screeching arrow. He made it away from the Valley and, when he told his grandchildren of the battle, spoke often of the nightmares he had suffered for months afterwards. He spoke of a village filled with demon warriors with glowing red eyes. He even showed them the scar where the Fox Clan healers had to remove his useless arm.
Naina's horse was decapitated by a warrior swinging a sickle. As the creature went down, she slid off it and hid beneath its carcass, hoping to fool her foes into believing she was dead. Alcore had leapt off his own horse (picture that: an anthro-horse riding a horse), and grabbed his spear. He skewered several Shadow-Moons before he was brought low, a Shadow-Moon warrior whose legs had been cut out from under him having crawled swiftly and bit deeply into his thigh. Alcore died a coward's death, bleeding out from the massive artery in his leg.
Onba, a mage, barely had time to sketch the runes for death and destruction in the air before his head was removed from his shoulders. The solid, wet thump of his head striking its flesh caused his horse to spook, charging forward and colliding with Pox's own, sending the creature into a fall. The Tiger leapt off his animal and unsheathed his claws, tearing through several Shadow-Moons before a Serpentine tail wrapped around his neck. With his dying breaths, he looked up into the glowing red eyes of Marda. It was the last thing he ever saw.
Baaltay growled and leapt from his horse, throwing away his spear in favor of his own paws. One Shadow-Moon fell after another before the onslaught of the enraged Bear. His paws were stained with blood, while swords and arrows shattered against his flesh, leaving no injury. He calmly waded through the vicious battle to stand before Vendin.
The Wolf's eyes had cleared of the demonic redness, and he looked upon Baaltay with hate. He slowly sank into stance. Baaltay smiled, drawing his sword for the first time since the battle began. They circled each other, the massed crowed of battling warriors instinctively clearing a space for the dueling Lords.
Baaltay struck first, swinging his sword for Vendin's head. The Wolf ducked, then slashed at the Bear's wrists, only to feel his blades shunted aside.
'Damn!' thought Vendin. 'Forgot about his amulet.' He found himself knocked aside suddenly, Baaltay having smashed the flat of his sword against the Wolf's side. Vendin rolled and was on his feet in an instant, wondering just how Baaltay had managed to strike him. 'He must have studied my style,' thought Vendin. Then an idea struck. He swiftly sank into a stance that he hadn't used since basic training.
Ogunway, the twin-dagger style of fighting first created by the human prince Ogun, was taught to all young wolf soldiers before most of them moved on to bigger and better weapons. Those who still used two daggers usually moved on to a different style, one with more power strikes and killing blows, but less accurate. Vendin was one of those who had changed his style, preferring the style known as Wolfkrieg, which consisted mainly of quick strikes and wounding slashes. However, he still practiced his Ogunway, like his teachers had told him.
Baaltay grinned. He had studied the magical recordings of Vendin Mazkarai's fighting. He knew the style of Wolfkrieg, as well as how to counter it. Suddenly, Vendin's stance changed from the familiar one to one that was completely unknown. Unsure of how to react, Baaltay stepped into a guard, waiting to see what his opponent would do.
Vendin did not keep the Bear waiting. He ran towards his larger opponent, sweeping towards his legs. Baaltay reacted swiftly, bringing his sword down in a sweeping block, forgetting for a moment that he still wore his magic amulet. However, this was a feint. Vendin reversed his swing and launched into the air. His blades arched around and slashed at the Bear's throat. The magical protection the amulet granted the Bear protected the vulnerable throat flesh, but didn't extend to the cord that held the amulet. The razor-sharp edges of the highly polished blades sheared through the cord, stripping the amulet of its ability to stay up.
The magic charm fell seemingly at a snail's pace. Baaltay's eyes watched in horror as his clan's treasure shimmered in the air, dimly aware that its protection was no longer in effect. His eyes looked up to see the face of a snarling Wolf, as well as the shimmer of steel. The amulet hit the ground...
Shing shing shashing thuck shing shing thuck! Baaltay knew no more. Baaltay breathed no more.
Vendin launched himself away from the Bear, looking upon his handiwork. The Seven Strike Finisher, as his teachers called it, or Human Prince Disarming Spear-Wielding Fox Maiden, as it was known to Prince Ogun when he first created it.
(H/N: The second name for the finishing blow isn't, oddly enough, human poetry or simple humor. When Prince Ogun of the Humans first met his wife, Lady Sensheria of the Foxes [At the time the clans didn't exist, as the other species had still been across the sea], she had tried to kill him with a spear. After about fifteen to twenty minutes of trying to dodge her spearwork [she was a master], he used seven strikes in quick succession to destroy her spear and knock her out. After they were married and Ogun began teaching his style of combat [Ogunway, obviously], he had jokingly named the technique Human Prince Disarming Spear-Wielding Fox Maiden.)
A slash across the chest, followed by another to the inner thigh, started the series. Then followed a cross-slash to the belly, then a jab in the armpit. A slash to the left side of the neck, followed by the right. Then for the finale, a hard thrust to the center of the forehead. Baaltay's body hadn't had time to fall yet. Vendin watched, with a burning hate in his eyes, as Baaltay's vacated shell sank to its knees, then fell forward and lay still, save for minor twitches. Vendin spat on the dead Bear, then left the corpse there to rot.
The Wolf surveyed the battle with a sad smile. The enemy was in full retreat, barely a quarter of their forces able to even limp away. The Shadow-Moon's losses were...
It wasn't as bad as it could have been. Their weapons had been of poor quality, having been made of the impure iron ores that could be mined from the caves on Mount Light-Moon. The Frenzy that the gods had granted them had truly turned the tide of battle. Of the four thousand Shadow-Moon furs to fight, two hundred had fallen. Over two thousand more were wounded, some more severely than others.
And there was still the matter of the Death God, who stood surrounded by the Four, his emotionless eyes staring blankly ahead. Vendin strode over to Sorintath in hopes of finding an answer. Suddenly, Iosen smiled. Sorintath frowned.
"So much sacrifice I have received," said the Death God. "I am much more powerful now...Though their faith and that damned feather have stopped me from outright killing them, there is still one thing I can do before I depart..." The rotting man raised his hands skyward once again. Blackness issued forth from his palms, encompassing the entire valley. The darkness, almost suffocating in its completeness, refused to let up for several hours. By the time it did, Iosen and the other gods were gone.
Vendin picked through the blackness of the village, searching for his home. Using his keen sense of smell and sheer luck, he found it without severely injuring himself. He stumbled inside and into the arms of Marda, whose tongue flicked out to touch the top of his head, scenting him.
"Vendin!" she cried, wrapping her arms and several coils around him. "What's going on?!" Panic was plain in her voice. Vendin stroked her back as he picked his way over to their bed and gently sat down, a paw searching for their egg. After her Frenzy had cleared and she had unwrapped her coils from around the neck Pox, she had retreated, unsure why she had left the house at all.
"It's alright, Marda," he lied. He knew something was wrong; he just didn't want her to worry any more than she already was. "Iosen set this blackness upon us, but soon the gods will lift this darkness from our lands. For now, let's rest upon our bed, with our child between us."
Marda slowly uncoiled her body and, after a small amount of feeling around upon the bed, found her egg. She slid off her mate with egg in paw. Vendin stood and stripped away his blood-soaked clothing. When he had been a general, he had washed after every battle, simply to clean the blood and gore out of his fur. However, he didn't have the strength nor the will to hunt out the basin and wash. Instead, he climbed into the bed and pulled the covers up over himself and Marda, their bodies pressed together. They only separated around their middles, where the egg was nestled comfortably between them.
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After the darkness cleared, the Shadow-Moons went out to gather the dead. Each treated the dead to the last rites that had been taught in their clans.
Bears hung their dead from trees, where they swung for seven days, with seven Bears saying seven prayers to each body, each day. After that, the bodies were buried at the roots of the trees, so that the flesh of the fallen would nourish the plants. Serpents simply said prayers and swallowed their dead whole, while Eagles and Doves mounded stones upon their own. Cats and Tigers tore their dead to shreds and devoured the meat. Equines burned their fallen friends, while burying their foes, an insult in Equine Clan. Rodents picked through the belongings of their dead, searching for objects to place spells upon, to make sure that their dead would not rise again (Rodents are paranoid about that sort of thing). Rabbits placed sprigs of holly in the paws of their dead, then buried them in a mass grave, like family. Deer used ground antler to anoint their dead, then buried them where they had fallen. Foxes gave each member of their own dead a final bath (Foxes give tongue baths to their living and dead alike; it's a symbol of kinship, and it is considered a deadly insult to refuse a group cleaning), then buried them grouped together, like a pile of kits. And Wolves...Wolves sewed their fallen's weapons and armor to their body, then buried them side-by-side and head-to-foot, like ranks in the military, warriors even in death. And for a finale, after all rites had been finished, the first Priest of Shadow-Moon, a Dove by the name of Aseit, sent a prayer to the gods, asking that those who had died because of their lords' wills be accepted into the Soul's Rest.
Those few who survived the battle but had been unable to make it out of the valley, including Naina and Mortix, were cared for and sent home. 'Til the end of his days, Mortix would be forced to ride a horse using a specially designed saddle, be carried, or use magic to get around, for his arrow wound had severed muscles within his body that allowed him to slither. Serpent Clan healers were unable to heal them. Naina never spoke a word about the battle; rather, she didn't say much of anything in later days. Only a month after her return, she resigned her leadership position and went into exile. It is said that, having been cared for by the Shadow-Moons, whom she had always thought were simply pawns in a game, had affected her, so when she left Wolf Clan, she returned to the Shadow-Moon Valley and took up residence under a false name, using magic to disguise her true identity.
It was another six months before the people realized something was wrong. No female had gone into heat during that span. This was odd, as every fertile female of every species went into heat once a month. However, none had done so. This was a worrying prospect, so after much debate, a representative from the populace was sent to their leaders, asking them to look into the problem.
Vendin had noticed the problem, as well as Marda. They had discussed her missing heats, but had passed it off as a side effect of pregnancy and birth. They had figured she would enter heat again soon, but the news that others were suffering it as well was unsettling.
The mated pair departed for the mountains that surrounded most of the eastern half of the Shadow-Moon Valley. Aseit the Priest lived in a cave up amongst the cliffs, living a frugal life full of prayer and meditation, which brought one closer to the gods. Vendin and Marda's infant child, a male and poisonous, just as the midwife predicted, had been left back in the village with his wet nurse. They had yet to choose a name for him, simply because they couldn't agree on whose tradition they would follow. Their son was a mix of both his mother and his father, a Wolf pup that had scales instead of fur. They wanted a descriptive name, but couldn't agree on one, so had decided to leave his naming for a later date. For now, they had a date, as it were, with a bird.
After two days of trudging through farmland, the small bit of forestland at the base of the mountain range, and up into the rocky cliffs of Mount Dark-Moon, Vendin and Marda finally arrived at the Dove's abode. Aseit, as it turned out, had been having the same sort of trouble with his mate, an Eagle by the name of Oria. She hadn't entered into her heat cycle and, despite his best efforts, Aseit was unable to contact the gods for their advice. Instead, they told him to wait. And only now did they choose to offer their advice. Or rather, an explanation. This time, only Vierna, Goddess of Water, came down from Alturian to speak with them. She appeared before the mortals instantly, without any of the flashy effects that came with normal magic use. She was dressed plainly, in clothes that one might see a peasant wearing. Her axe was nowhere to be found, and sadness radiated from her being.
"Come with me..." she whispered, spreading her arms wide. A waterfall of light and sound appeared behind her, and the four mortal creatures before her shared a glance, before moving through the wall of power... Suddenly, they were underwater! Vendin instinctively held his breath, trying to paddle his way to the surface of whatever body of water he was in, yet he was going nowhere. Only when he saw the others staring at him did he calm down and take a breath. Though he was inhaling water, he didn't choke.
'Of course,' thought Vendin, angry with himself. 'She's a goddess. If she wanted me dead, I'd be dead without any trouble on her part.' Vierna herself sat atop a stone altar, barely wide enough for her to stay seated on. Her eyes were closed and her rear rested on her heels. Her hands were pressed together, fingers at a point. In short, she sat in the classic prayer position that one must adopt when praying to her.
"Be seated," said the goddess softly, without opening her eyes. Four seats, seemingly formed from nothingness into the shape of clamshells, appeared behind each. They obediently sat down. Aseit positioned his body in the prayer position. When Vierna opened her eyes, the four mortals could see the sadness in her eyes. "Ask your question, Aseit," she said softly. Like the wind, water spoke softly most often.
"Lady Vierna, Goddess of Water," began Aseit. One paw left the prayer position to sketch the symbol for water before him, before returning to its rightful position once more. "Our females have yet to enter heat. Why is this? Have we displeased the gods?" One must always be to the point with any of the gods. If one beat around the bush too long, one might find himself rolling down a rocky hill. It had happened to Aseit before.
Vierna's prayer position broke as she began to cry. Though she seemed to be trying to get a hold of herself, Vendin and Marda could see that she was having much trouble doing so. "I-I am so sorry," she whimpered, wiping a fist across her eyes to clear away her tears. Vendin had a sinking feeling. When a goddess cries after you ask her a question, you know something is wrong. It took several minutes to regain control of herself, yet her eyes were still puffy from her tears. She looked away from them, not wishing to meet their gazes.
"Please, my lady," whispered Aseit. "Please tell us..."
Vierna, the most sensitive of the Pantheon, sniffled softly. "It is Iosen's curse," she said softly. The Goddess could feel their eyes on her as she explained. "Iosen's final bit of malice, before we bound and banished him, robbed your people of their fertility. The Shadow-Moon Clan cannot reproduce." All was silent as the weight of her words sank in.
"Cannot reproduce?" asked Marda. "We cannot have children anymore?"
Vierna shook her head. "On behalf of the other three, I apologize. If we had bound Iosen sooner, he would not have been able to curse your people. But the battle had given him enough power to rob you all of your ability to have successful matings. There is nothing we can do..."
The mortals exchanged a glance. Then Vendin, a look of defeat in his eyes, gazed up at the Goddess. "So this is the end of us..." His voice held no hope. Marda placed a paw on his shoulder, but he ignored it. His emotions were in turmoil, his mind fighting his heart, his knowledge fighting his faith. He felt crushed by the knowledge that his mate would never lay another egg, that his son would never know the joys of having a family. As his eyes teared up, an uncommon thing for a Wolf male, Vierna spoke.
"We can do nothing," she continued, "but perhaps you shall all find a way. Even a god's will is not absolute. And death can always be countered with life. Remember this..."
They were suddenly back in Aseit's cave. The air within felt oppressive with the sadness the four furs were experiencing. With a quiet farewell to Aseit, Vendin began the long walk home, Marda following a short ways behind. The entire trip was made in silence as Vendin mulled over the goddess's words. Marda was also mulling things over. However, rather than pondering the water goddess's words, Marda worried about the state of her mate. Vendin looked like hell the entire way back home. He spoke not a word to any of the furs who called out to him. When they rose on the dawn of the second day, he didn't stop moving until he reached their shared home and had his son in his arms.
When Marda finally made it to the house, having been left behind by Vendin, she came home to a sight that made her weep. Her mate was holding their son close, apologizing softly. She came close enough to him to hear his words.
"I'm sorry, my son..." whispered the Wolf. "You shall never know the joy of a family..."
Marda began sobbing, snapping Vendin out of his trance. Looking up at his mate, he shifted the babe in his arms, holding him in the crook of his right arm while holding out his left in a gesture of openness. Marda slid against him, her arms going around his chest and her tail around a leg as he held her close.
After several silent minutes of holding each other, Marda whispered something. Vendin leaned down, his pointed Wolf ear right next to her mouth. "Final..." she whispered.
"Final?" asked Vendin, leaning up again.
"Final," replied Marda, stroking their son's head. The pup let out a cute puppy bark.
Vendin nodded. "My son...Final..."
Final yawned and snuggled closer to his father. Marda leaned her head against her mate's shoulder with a sigh. Final...
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The news they relayed to the others did not go over well, as can be expected. Every member of the clan was shocked and saddened by the news that they were the first and the last. In their sorrow, many cursed the gods for allowing Iosen to rob them of their fertility.
"Calm, my people," said the Wolf loudly to the Shadow-Moon clansmen who had come to hear the word of the gods. "All is not lost! The Water Goddess has told us not to give up hope! She said that death can always be countered with life, and that even a god's will is not absolute! Somehow, our clan shall endure." His words fell upon deaf ears, however.
The feeling of hopelessness that permeated the village lasted for over a year, before an army from Dog Clan, whose domain was across the sea, assaulted the thirteen clans. The Dogs were soundly defeated, though there was a major loss of life on both sides. A single ray of hope came through for the infertile clan. They now had a purpose to work towards. During the months before the "Three Months War", as it is known to historians, Shadow-Moon Village was a place of lethargy and debauchery, where young girls would peddle their bodies to any who looked like they may provide some sort of relief from the sorrow that hung over the city. However, during the war, every last Shadow-Moon of age 18 to 40 were drafted into the military. The war gave the Shadow-Moon Clan a purpose. If they could not bear children, they would train themselves in combat and become invincible warriors. For the next nine years, each and every body in the village that could lift a blade was taught the ways of combat.
For those who might ask the obvious question, "Why didn't they bring in new people to help populate the village?", the answer is that they tried. Several times they tried. However, as soon as the new furs entered the valley, they were robbed of their ability to make life. The pregnant females who came to the village gave birth to sterile children. A few Shadow-Moons left the village to test whether the curse was simply on the valley, but it was not. Any who entered the Shadow-Moon Valley were robbed of their fertility, and leaving did not reverse the effects. Thus the feelings of hopelessness. But with their new goal, those dark feelings that had once been the all were now gone
Our story picks up nine years after the "Three Months War"...
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"Come now, my son," said Vendin with a slight grin on his face. "If you wish to be a great warrior, you must learn not to hesitate. Strike me!"
Final growled and swung his practice sword at his father, aiming for the legs. Vendin's own wooden sword swung up and lazily knocked the Wolf-Serpent's weapon aside, then pummeled the ten year-old all along his chest, leaving slight bruises. Then Vendin swept the boy's legs out from under him, causing the younger of the two to fall forward. With a sharp crack, the flat of Vendin's sword crashed against his son's back, causing the boy to yelp in pain. Final stayed on his belly for several minutes, breathing heavily, his practice sword several feet away from him.
Vendin chuckled softly. "Come now, Final. Are you going to lie there all day or are you going to get up and try again?" The Wolf's pup growled softly before slowly climbing to his feet, swaying slightly and gasping in pain. The young half-breed dusted himself off and picked up his sword. Vendin frowned. "No, no. You're holding it wrong again. And you must hold it tighter. If you had kept a firm grip on it, I wouldn't have been able to knock it away from you so easily. Now, on your guard again."
"Yes, father," replied Final, drawing into stance again. He held the sword firmly with both paws. The young Wolf-Serpent watched his father's body, like he had been instructed to do. His objective during this training exercise was to strike the older wolf. And by the Four, he had tried. But his father wasn't an ex-Wolf Clan general for nothing. Ven the Demon had been a ferocious warrior and a brilliant tactician. Now, as the civilian Vendin Mazkarai, he was no different. He never let anyone beat him, not even his young son. 'Remember, Final,' Vendin had once told the boy, 'that one cannot learn simply by being given a victory. That path leads to destruction. The true path to victory is paved with thousands of failures.' Those words were burned into Final's mind.
A slight shift in Vendin's weight. Final pretended not to notice. Suddenly, Vendin's sword lashed out. Final swiftly blocked, then went into a turning slash, aiming for his father's belly. A hand grabbed him roughly mid-turn. He was suddenly pulled back against his father, the older Wolf's sword against his throat. In a moment of quick thought, Final thrust his sword under his arm, jabbing his father in the gut. Vendin gasped as the air rushed out of him. He released his son to hold his stomach. Final spun around and smashed the hilt of his practice sword against his father's chin. Vendin fell over, gasping for breath.
Realizing what he'd done, Final dropped his sword and knelt down beside his father, checking for injury. Checking for injury and praying to the Four that his father wouldn't beat him for hitting him so hard. Final was surprised to find his father lying there smiling, though blood leaked out of his mouth. Vendin chuckled, rubbing his jaw. He sat up.
"Good shot, Final," said Vendin, wiping away the blood using the sleeve of his shirt. "That was almost perfect." Final frowned at his father, giving him a look that said 'Almost Perfect? ARE YOU NUTS?' "Yes, almost perfect. If you'd hit me here," continued Vendin, pointing to his temple, "it would've been a perfect hit. The chin is a good spot, but it doesn't work as well as a temple shot." Vendin climbed to his feet, dusting himself off and wiggling his jaw some. "Come on," said the Wolf. "It's about time for dinner. And if I know your mother, and I do..." Final snickered; he'd seen his parents having 'relations' before. Most parents preferred to show their kids what sex is all about. If a child was shown early on and explained what would happen if they weren't careful, they were more likely to be careful when they had 'relations' with other children. Though the adults no longer worried about children impregnating each other, they still had to worry about a misplaced bite or scratch. "If I know your mother, and I do," continued Vendin, "she'll already have dinner ready and she'll be mad at us for being late." Vendin picked up his sword and started walking. Final grabbed his and jogged to catch up with his father.
A few minutes later, they had left the practice grounds and arrived home. Vendin's prediction came true, as Marda scolded both her men for coming home late and dirty. She made them go clean themselves up before coming to dinner. While her son and husband were at the wash-barrel behind the house, Marda sat in her customary place (she sat on the floor, on the right-hand side of the table as is custom among Serpent Clan; a Serpent's body is ill suited for a normal chair), and thought about her family. The foremost person in her thoughts at the moment was her son. Over the past ten years he had grown from a rather ugly little Wolf pup that was covered in scales, into a tall Wolf whose scales had fur growing between and over them. Her son was a poisoned Wolf, his front canines secreting venom . However, to protect others in the event that he bit someone, they had started a regimen of milking his fangs every morning, noon, and evening. By doing this, not only did they both protect the other clansmen and build up stores of poison for weapons, they also helped protect him from the chronic stomach problems that poisonous serpents face from their own poison dripping into their bellies.
When father and son came inside, they sat down at their traditional places: Vendin at the head of the table and Final on his left. While they ate, Vendin spoke proudly of his defeat at the hands of his son. When Marda praised the young Wolf, he blushed a brilliant crimson, nearly visible through his shaggy gray fur. His was a kind, loving family, but also military strict, with regimens to follow, strict food intake calculation, and a workout that was formulated around the calculations. His father had a gentle hand, unless he was disobeyed. More than once had Final been sent flying by his father's Rising Strike.
Of course, that was just the morning schedule. At noon, Final was to eat a specially prepared meal that was heavy in protein, then proceed to his training grounds. As per his mother's wishes, he was being trained not only in Wolf-style of swordplay, but also in Serpent-style, which relied on swift strikes, distraction, and much flexibility. The swords practice with his Serpent teacher went on 'til sunset, then he was allowed some time to relax, provided he wore his training weights. Other children thought his family was kind of weird for working him so hard, but Final saw the others as weird. Why didn't they practice as hard as he? They would never become legendary warriors if they didn't train. That was his dream. To be a legendary warrior like his father. To be so famous that his name would never be forgotten. And he would be, too; at least if his father had anything to say about it.
Then on the weekends, he had a nice, relaxing training session with Aseit and Oria. Though the old Dove couldn't wield anything heavier than his walking stick, he was a master at defensive magicks, while Oria was a master at offensive magicks. Because magic is all about focus, they had Final sit on a smooth rock while they attempted to distract him. Each time they taught him a new spell, they would increase their harassing. They had, however, decided on a limit to their distracting, when Final had been trying to cast a teleportation spell and Oria pressed her breasts into his face. This had caused him to jump at the new sensation and misfire the spell, warping both of them ten feet into the air. Oria had landed hard on her back, while Final had the softer landing, his head colliding scalp-first with her stomach. The Eagle had vomited and that had been the end of actual contact.
However, today was different. Though it was night, and deeply so, his father sent him out to the training grounds. Today he would learn survival tactics from Mad Yardel, a dwarf Bear. Barely three feet high, Yardel was accustomed to fending for himself and, when Bear Clan cast out its lower people, he had gone with. He hadn't participated in the battles like the others had. Instead, he lived life as a hermit, hiding away in the forestland that lay several miles outside the valley. He returned to the village regularly to barter for things he needed. However, he had had bad luck this season, as the forest creatures had become wary of him. When last he returned empty-handed, he was offered a position as a teacher in exchange for goods and services he required. The Bear had leapt at the chance and readily agreed to teach the 'whippersnappers' (as he called them) how to survive in the wilderness.
His very first decision was to split the children up into groups of two, going male/female with each. When the pairing was finished and one child had been left without a partner (the number of children being twenty-one), the Fox girl was given the privilege of being partnered with her teacher, which everyone considered completely unfair. Then their tools were distributed. Each group received a dagger, a flint and tinder, two small cans of rations, twelve yards of enchanted rope (it shrank down to the width of thread until invoked), a bottle of harsh spirits, a pair of shortswords, and a stone that had been enchanted for teleporting both members of a group back into town. The last was in the event that they came upon something that they couldn't overcome. Then, placing everything except the swords into water-resistant backpacks (these were belted at the sides of each child) and strapping them on the males' shoulders, they were off. With a wave of his hands and a blast of smoke, they were gone.
Every mother in the village feared for the safety of her child, Marda included. Stories abound of the exploits of Mad Yardel, and most questioned the wisdom of sending him off with the children. After all, he was mad. What more explanation was needed?
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When they appeared outside the dark forest, Final gulped. Not because of the forest, but because of who he was paired up with. It had been plain luck that she'd been paired with him; well, luck and an alphabetically close last name, hers being Mazeer. Her name was Kah-Li, and she was a Tiger, of the standard orange-and-black coloration. Not that her species mattered. He didn't hate her. Rather, he was quite fond of her. But she paid almost no attention to him whatsoever, except during their bouts. The only real problem he had with her was that she was an aggressive dominant. Whenever they wrestled during training, she would often wrap her strong legs around his neck and try to force him to admit her dominance over him. Those words had never left his lips, however. He was too proud, too fierce, too dominant to acknowledge another's dominance over himself. And thus they were at an impasse. This sometimes made the Tigress become hostile with him when there was no reason for it.
"Alright, Final," began Kah-Li, turning to face him. There were no others around, as each group had been given a choice of locations for their temporary homes, away from the others. He snapped out of his nervous thoughts to look into her piercing yellow eyes. "Let's get one thing straight," she said with a low growl. Final could smell the anger rising from her body. "I'm in charge here. My word is law! You obey me and we'll make it out alive." She turned away from him. "C'mon, this way!" she shouted, not looking back. Final's hackles raised at the way she barked out orders at him.
He dropped the backpack. It hit the ground with a thud. Kah-Li turned around, her eyes locking with his as anger welled up within the young Wolf. Ten though he may be compared to her thirteen, he was no slave. "Pick...that...up..." she growled, raising her paws, claws unsheathed. Final's hand strayed towards his blade. She snarled at Final, swiftly drawing her sword and swinging it at him. Final rolled back and drew his own blade, using the pommel of his blade to disrupt Kah-Li's downward slash, then unleashed a high kick on their pack, sending it flying towards her. With a quick motion, Kah-Li's blade passed through the pack, the contents within falling to the ground. Final leapt at her, slipping under her guard and driving his sword pommel into the soft space of her jaw. Kah-Li fell back, but her strong tail whipped around and swept Final's legs out from under him. She was suddenly on top of him, her sword raised above her head in a finishing blow. Final quickly blocked but couldn't get the leverage to toss her aside.
"I'm gonna make you wish you'd never left home," hissed the Tiger girl, putting more pressure on her sword, trying to cut him. All matches in training went to first blood, and this would be no different.
The word 'home' caused the magical teleport stone to activate. Unbeknownst the pair of children, the stone was being forcefully shoved against Final's back. With a puff, flash, and a wave of magic, they were no longer fighting in the forest, but were now just a few feet from the God-Spring. Kah-Li's concentration wavered for but a second as she took in their surroundings, but it was enough. Final gave a mighty shove, sending Kah-Li off him. He rolled to his feet and swung his sword up into a defensive position, just as Kah-Li's sword slammed into his own, the impact so hard that it rattled his arm. Though it pained his arm further to do so, Final slammed his sword arm into Kah-Li's chest, sending her flying. Kah-Li climbed to her feet, and Final could see her normally yellow eyes bleed to the color of bloodlust.
Those who heard the fighting came out of their houses to see what was going on. The first one to see the two children fighting took off at a run, heading straight for their leader's home. One fur tried to grab Kah-Li, only to find himself missing three fingers and a layer of fur and skin from one arm. He cried out in pain, but only for a moment. Kah-Li slammed the pommel of her sword into his solar plexus, laying him out flat. Another watcher took of running, this time for a healer. Though the next day Kah-Li would awaken with little memory of the previous day, she would automatically apologize to her father, without knowing exactly why. And her old man would just smile and hide his severely disfigured arm behind his back. It would be many months before his disfigurement was cured, and he would continue to hide his arm in the presence of his daughter.
But for the moment, she ignored the familiar stranger lying bleeding on the ground, and instead circled Final, trying to get at his back. The young Wolf wouldn't let that happen however. He circled as well, never taking his eyes of his opponent. Kah-Li snarled, then suddenly threw her sword at him. Rather than attempt to block the attack and possibly be skewered, he threw himself to the side. He rolled onto his stomach and cursed his own stupidity. Kah-Li leapt onto his back, ripped Final's sword out of his hand, and raised it high, aiming for a killing blow...
A rush of wind and a bolt of magic! Kah-Li was thrown off of Final. She hung suspended in the air several feet away from him, hissing, growling, and spitting as she struggled against her magical bonds. Final staggered to his feet, shivering a little as he stared at the bound Tiger. A male voice behind him, sounding as though he were in pain, called out, "Ah kenna' hold her long, m'lord."
A hand fell on Final's shoulder. The young half-Wolf twisted out from under it, rolling back a few steps and grabbing Kah-Li's sword from where it lay. He brought the sword up in a striking pose, only to sigh with relief and drop his guard when he saw the hand's owner.
Vendin looked down at his son, disappointment plain on his face. Final felt so ashamed of himself, just from that look, and he didn't even know what he had done.
"I can tell by the look in your eyes," said Vendin softly, "that you do not realize what's happened here. It was believed that by keeping it a secret, you children would never uncover our curse. And yet here we are, standing at a crossroads." Vendin knelt before his son and pressed his forehead against the boy's, whispering softly. "You must make a decision, my son. That girl has gone into 'Frenzy', a state of bloodlust that we achieve if we become enraged. I don't know what caused this, but you must decide. While in Frenzy, she will cut down anything that gets in the way of her target: you. If she gets the chance, she will kill you." Final's eyes widened. "The Frenzy can only be stopped by bloodletting. If you cut her, the flowing of her own blood should cause the Frenzy to dissipate. However, if you cannot draw blood on her, she will draw it from you, and from a vital source. The Frenzy forces the warrior to strike at vital points for killing blows. If you do not cut her, she will kill you. However, there is another way..." Vendin trailed off. Final looked into his father's eyes with renewed hope. However, the older Wolf crushed the boy's hope with his next words. "We can kill her."
Final's jaw dropped as he tried to protest, but a nip on the bridge of his nose silenced him. Vendin continued. "We cannot approach her with a weapon of iron to cause her injury and thus break her Frenzy. The binding spell would explosively disrupt, which would kill her, the iron-wielder, and the mage. This also goes for arrows. And as you have been taught, magical wounds do not end Frenzy. However, we can use magic to destroy her before she breaks free of the binding."
Before Vendin could continue, the mage who had bound Kah-Li cried out. "M'lord!" he shouted, his voice laced with pain. "If yer gonna do sometin', do it quick! Ah kenna hold her fer much longer!" Indeed, the evidence of this was obvious. The Tiger was struggling harder against her mystical bondage, and it was only a matter of time before the mage's strength gave out and she would be free.
Vendin turned his attention back on his son. "You must choose, Final!" said Vendin loudly, eyes locked with his sons in expectation. "Choose now!" Within his mind, Final was going over the pros and cons of his decisions. But though he weighed his options, he couldn't for the life of him figure out which way would be better. He most certainly didn't want to die, but he didn't want Kah-Li to die either. He was completely lost. He continued to look up at his father with empty eyes.
Vendin sighed and shook his head sadly. "I expected better of you, Final." With that parting shot, Vendin stepped away from his still-lost son. He looked sadly at the young Tiger suspended in the air. With another shake of his head, he motioned for one of the gathered people to come to his side. This fur, often called 'The Executioner' for his ability to cast deadly spells at a moment's notice, was called upon only if a fur needed to die. Vendin nodded to the Rabbit and stepped back.
As Final watched the Executioner, his thoughts clicked into place. Without a second thought, he ran forwards, behind the Eagle. With a quick motion, he jabbed the pommel of his sword into the Eagle's tailbone. He shrieked in pain as he fell backward, but Final was already gone. In a heartbeat he was shoulder-tackling the mage restraining Kah-Li. The Fox fell to the ground with a surprised yip. The spell that he had been working so hard to hold in place broke. Kah-Li landed on all fours with a snarl. Those gathered there dove away from the Tigress as Kah-Li charged Final, a bloodthirsty roar passing her lips as the half-Serpent charged straight at her.
They met.
They swung their blades.
They passed.
They landed a few inches apart, blades held in stance again. Then, to the amazement of the others, Kah-Li dropped her sword and collapsed. Blood streamed from a long, but shallow, cut along her arm while she shook with fright at the sight of her own blood. As she began to cry, shaky sobs echoed into the darkness of the night. Though the moons were full and the stars shone, and though many of those gathered had either brought lanterns or had conjured balls of light, she was still afraid. The demonic redness that had been in her eyes was washed away by the river of tears that fell. However, the fact that she was bleeding was not the only reason she was afraid.
She felt a pain in her lower body. A dull, throbbing pain, as though she were bleeding on the inside. She cupped her covered vagina with both hands, sobbing from the two pronged assault of pain. And as she lay bleeding and crying, looking for some help from someone, anyone, a new scent rose in the air. The adult males and females, those who had smelled such a scent before, stood spellbound. That sweet, alluring odor of a female in heat . However, for the only one within the gathered males who had never scented such a thing, it brought with it an overpowering urge.
Final could feel his penis stiffening within his trousers. This was a surprising occurrence. His parents had said this would happen one day, but not for a few years yet. It seemed that the smell, that deliciously irresistible smell, was causing this. He raised his nose and sniffed at the air, following the scent...right to Kah-Li. As soon as his nose brushed her leg, he looked up into her eyes. Her crying died down as she looked down at him. Their eyes met...
Suddenly Final was on top of her, kissing her soft lips wildly, licking the side of her muzzle amorously. Rather than responding the way her mind told her to, by slapping him upside the head, she instead returned his kisses and licks, purring loudly as he rubbed his muzzle against her cheek. She mewed with need as he slid his body between her legs, an unconscious motion, but stoking Kah-Li's inner fires into an out-of-control blaze that threatened to consume her.
As this was happening, all of those gathered were entranced by the scent that flowed from the Tiger. However, a few managed to break free of the scent's spell, Vendin included. Motioning to three others who had broken away, he and the others grabbed the two children and pulled them apart. Just as he had thought, the young ones fought with all their might to come back together. Nodding to a nearby house, they struggled to bring both children to it. Most furs would assume that it is the essence of simplicity to lift even a struggling child and carry them a few feet. However, those who actually had to carry the pair of heat-struck children found this was not so. As with any animals trying to mate, the urgent need to breed granted both children unnatural strength and ferocity, and they struggled and damn near broke free of their captors.
However, with much grunting, groaning, complaining, and cursing, the four furs managed to get the children into the house and onto a bed. The moment they were released, Kah-Li and Final collided once again, panting and kissing as Final nipped Kah-Li's neck and the Tigress's claws dug into the Wolf-Serpent's back. The adults hurriedly left the house, closing the door tight behind them and sealing off the house with magical wards. This was to keep people out as the children performed the dance of desire. Vendin chose one of the three furs who had helped him carry the children to stand guard at the door.
Vendin himself went back to the still-spellbound furs and, after much shouting, shaking, and in some cases slapping, managed to get them to go home. The wounded fur had been taken to the healer's home to have his injuries treated. Thus Vendin had only two things left to do this night. First was to pray at the God-Spring, to tell the Four of this new occurrence. Surely they would be pleased to hear of this development, if it proved his hopes true. Second, he needed to return home to Marda. He had ordered her to stay home while he went to check on the situation, and after taking a big whiff of the Tigress's heat-scent he was going mad with lust. If it weren't for the frighteningly dominant scent his son had given off upon kissing the girl, Vendin himself would've bedded the young girl and attempted to sate her heat. But that overpowering scent coming off of Final had stopped him and every other male who had scented the girl's heat.
'Enough thought,' decided Vendin. He had work to do. With a broad smile upon his face, he walked to the God-Spring and knelt down, praying.
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Within the house, the two children had broken apart just long enough to rip their clothes off and toss the rags aside. Then they were together again, grinding their inexperienced bodies together as they frantically tried to complete their union.
Though sex is a form of play amongst the young, some abstained from the practice, Final and Kah-Li included, simply because it seemed rather dull. They had no need for such dominance games anyway, so sure they were of their status. Now, however, they realized they had been wrong. The act of mating, of sex, was far from dull. For the moment the pair were content with grinding, kissing, biting, sliding, but soon Final began to hunger for more, and he could see the same hunger reflected in Kah-Li's fierce yellow eyes. Drawing on his sexual education lessons his parents had given him, Final lifted himself off of Kah-Li and grasped his penis. The Tigress, knowing what they both wanted, what they both NEEDED, spread her black-and-orange legs wide, exposing her small, wet vagina. The moment her legs opened wide, the heat scent flooded the room, stripping away the last little bit of sanity they possessed.
With a feral growl, Final lunged forward, biting down on Kah-Li's neck fur, his venom-producing fangs, one of the few things about him that were obviously serpentine, piercing through the scruff of the cat's neck as he thrust his hard cock into her body, taking her virginity. Kah-Li cried out and arched her back into him, cutting into his back with her razor-sharp claws. The adrenaline coursing through each child's veins drowned out the signals of pain as they drew blood from each other. Final withdrew his teeth from her flesh and began lapping at her neck, tasting her blood as he continued to thrust into her rapidly. Millions of years of instinct egged him on, telling him to keep going, that this was right. Suddenly, those same instincts screamed at him. 'This is wrong!' cried the primal voice in his head. 'Wrong!'
With a growl and his claws out, Final brutally grabbed Kah-Li's hips and turned her over roughly, continuing his thrusting, ignorant of the . Instinct was appeased as he continued mating her in the natural way. Kah-Li purred and moaned as her body automatically responded to the pounding of the male behind her. Her tail was up over her back and her body thrust back against Final with each thrust. The half-breed's breathe came in shallow pants and hisses, ramming his shaft knot-deep into her, blood from the Tigress's maidenhead dripping silently upon the sheets. The she-Tiger dug her claws into the bed's stuffing as she raised her hindquarters higher, taking the half-Wolf's shaft deep inside her body. Final's knot slammed into her lower lips over and over again, spreading them more and more with each thrust.
Finally, with one last hard shove, the Wolf-Serpent forced his swollen knot into the Tigress's vagina. He bit down on the nape of Kah-Li's neck as his knot swelled, locking them together. His cock twitched a few times, then began to spray his hot seed against her womb. The shocking heat of her now-mate's semen coursing along her walls caused Kah-Li to climax, letting out a feral shriek as Final reared back and howled at the top of his lungs. The sounds escaped the house and joined with the many other passionate noises that came from the villagers.
His climax ended, Final slumped against Kah-Li's back, his arms going around her front as he gently rolled them onto their sides. The Tigress mewed like a kitten and purred with contentment, nuzzling her lover's chin as he gently lapped at the top of her head. Locked together, the physically and mentally exhausted lovers quickly dropped off into slumber, no dreams daring to disturb their sleep.
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After hearing the good news, the gods separated the children during the night, allowing them to adjust to their new situation. Also, Final needed to be groomed after the ordeal, as his fur was coming off in thick clumps, revealing a new coat beneath the old, the new fur colored a poisonous green.
After the morning rituals, Vendin revealed a message he had received from the gods. It seemed that engaging in ferocious combat with one's chosen mate was the only way to break Iosen's curse. Though this unnerved some, if it could restore what was stolen from them, they would do it. The gods had also used their formidable powers to bind forever those who had fought each other. They would never be able to bear another's child or successfully sow another's womb. As a gift, the gods used their joint powers to empower fertility runes, to be sketched upon those who sought to have children.
The villagers themselves found out for themselves that, after their fight, Kah-Li was much more subdued around Final, always asking his permission for something, rather than simply doing it like she used to. After several tests were run, they found Kah-Li's normally dominant personality eclipsed by a more submissive state of mind. And Final had gained a commanding presence, an aura that screamed dominance, as well as a more assertive nature. Whatever else had happened, the fighting had changed the two children. But whether it was for the better or the worse they could not say...
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This chapter of the story has come to an end, but a bit of connecting history seems in order.
Vendin and Marda never fought against one another to restore their fertility. Though they did want more children, especially after Final left their home at thirteen, they did not wish to fight and possibly kill each other over it. Though if this historian may say so, it might have prevented much sorrow if they had.
Though Final and Kah-Li mated every time she came into heat, it was not until Final's sixteenth year that Kah-Li finally conceived (without the aid of fertility runes) and bore her first litter, which contained six healthy half-Tiger, quarter-Wolf, quarter Serpent babes (since each species called their young by a different name, heavily intermixed children are simply referred to as babes). All six grew to adulthood and gained mates, though they played no significant role in Shadow-Moon history. The young lovers were content with only six children and refrained from mating during Kah-Li's heat forever after. Twenty years after Final and Kah-Li's successful mating, at the ages of sixty-three and fifty-seven respectively, Vendin "Ven the Demon" Mazkarai and his mate Marda died. Death (a kind and gentle being created by the Four to replace the Fifth) took them in their sleep, holding each other close until the end. Though no one knows all the achievements Vendin and Marda, the one that left the biggest mark through the ages was the naming of children after significant circumstances or features. Within a hundred years of Final's birth, every child was named like he was, after something significant. Shadow-Moon Village history barely recognizes that they existed at all. This one achievement, however, shall never be forgotten.
With the death of their leaders, the Shadow-Moon villagers turned to Final and Kah-Li Mazkarai for leadership. Final accepted the mantle of leadership reluctantly, never having had ambitions of leadership, though he led like one born to the deed. During his twelve year reign, Shadow-Moon Village prospered more than ever. The half-Wolf boldly traveled across the Sea of Storms to Dog Clan, where he formed a trade alliance with his clan's former foe. Under Final's rule, the village of Venmar, named after his parents, was established on the coast, where it conducted most of the trade with Dog Clan, as well as other clans from across the sea. Another achievement he is noted for is writing a book on the rules of what he called "The Dance of Swords", as well as building a massive coliseum on the outskirts of town, so that others may watch young lovers perform the intricate swordplay. Each leader after him made it a point to read through the book before they began their leadership duties.
Final fell in battle against Ape Clan, another warrior clan from across the seas. Though the actual events surrounding his death are unknown, legend says that Final, after being severely wounded by an Ape javelin, went into Frenzy and charged through the ranks of enemies, cutting down more than fifty Apes to stand before the leader of Ape Clan, where his Frenzy faded. It is said that Koga, their leader, looked into the Wolf-Serpent's eyes and, after seeing the fierce determination of an equal warrior spirit, declared the end to all hostilities with the Shadow-Moon Clan. Final smiled once before falling dead of his wounds. The records state that the Ape Lord and his men marched upon Shadow-Moon Village with Final's lifeless body on a flower-covered cart. Koga returned Final's body to his people and surrendered to the Shadow-Moons, swearing an everlasting peace between their clans. Koga and all his descendants have since maintained this oath and have even shared sacred Ape martial arts forms with the Shadow-Moons.
After her mate's death, Kah-Li found life unbearable and committed Tiger Clan's suicide ritual to be joined with her mate again. Her children had long since moved to parts unknown and forfeited their right to rule, so another leader was chosen.
Fifty years and two leaders later, the Shadow-Moon Clan once again found itself on the battlefield, this time as the antagonists. Their leader at the time was a Serpent by the name of Sorun, a descendant of Mortix who had come to the valley to conquer it in a way his ancestor could not. After gaining control of the clan, he turned his attention to other clans, starting with Serpent, for they had denied him his birthright, the right to rule. Sorun's reign lasted two years, before Kezaan, half-breed descendant of Keezra and Bonta, ambushed the Serpent and gutted him alive. Kezaan, as clan Savior, was given charge of the clan, though he only ruled for five years before abdicating. The mantle then fell to a Bear by the name of Quinn, who had not only been Sorun's advisor on village affairs but also helped Kezaan set up his ambush of Sorun. Having been named by Kezaan as his successor, the middle-aged Bear reluctantly accepted leadership. However, mere hours after he assumed leadership, Quinn was assassinated and a new lord put in his place.
What followed Quinn's death was a long string of tyrannical and warlike rulers, each of whom was assassinated or committed suicide, until one finally succeeded in defeating the assassins sent against her. This was Lun-Yi, a snow-white Tigress. Though beautiful on the outside, she was coal black on the inside. She and her spawn ruled the Shadow-Moon Clan with a blood-soaked iron paw for almost a thousand years, at the beginning of which Venmar declared its independence from the clan. Unlike Sorun, who wished to be a conqueror, Lun-Yi simply wanted to be queen. Once she achieved her goal, she used brutal tactics to force the populace into submission, including burning down houses and castrating children. But though she was a bloodthirsty tyrant, she had faithful followers within the clan. Many merchant families chained themselves to the throne (figuratively) and for their loyalty received wealth beyond their wildest dreams.
It should also be noted that Lun-Yi was also an infamous whore, fucking any man who looked at her, whether they wanted it or not. She was the one to introduce anal sex and orgies into the clan, and insisted on having sex with anyone who visited the castle, male or female. Her actual mate (a very large but very timid Tiger; she never called him by name, simply referring to him as "My Consort") was kept chained to her bed 'til the end of his days, being used as a sex toy to the queen. Through the use of the fertility runes, Lun-Yi gave birth (over her lifetime, having taken the throne at 18) to twenty-six kittens (she had multiple kittens each pregnancy) before she reached menopause and lost her heat. These children, as they came of age, were given dominion over different regions of the Shadow-Moon Valley, which they in turn ruled in the manner of their mother. After her mate died (the poor bastard was forty to her forty-six), Lun-Yi took up with one of her own children. His name is unimportant, only his role in her death. The largest of her children, Lun-Yi quickly broke her son to her will and used him whenever the mood caught her. However, being kinder to her child than she was to her husband, she rewarded him with oral pleasure. It is ironic that this was the cause of Lun-Yi's death, for in the midst of deep-throating her son's cock, the spell that kept his cock-barbs flat wore off, causing the appendages to spear into her esophagus as he achieved orgasm. Lun-Yi choked to death on her son's dick. Her eldest son (also unimportant) took the throne and mated his sister to cement his position. And the cycle continued.
Lun-Yi's family lost the mantle two hundred years before Three-Moons and Crimson Snow Danced. Their large family (over six-hundred pure-blood Tigers) was crushed beneath the heavy paws of a Bear family from Venmar, descendants of Quinn, who had faked his death in order to keep his life, though he regretted forever after the suffering his leaving had caused his clansmen. His descendants, as rightful rulers of the Shadow-Moon Clan, fought Lun-Yi's Tiger family in what was one of the shortest yet bloodiest battles in clan history. When the final blow was struck, every last member of Lun-Yi's line had been slain, every male, female, and cub (those who were above the age of five were slaughtered; those who were younger were captured and later placed in orphanages spread throughout the clan's lands), though Quinn's family had suffered heavy losses as well. A simple coin toss between the eldest two Bears decided the ruler, a radiant beauty by the name of Red Paws (having been born with red fur on her paws, rather than brown like the rest of her fur), and her line continues to this day, in the form of her great grandson, known as Grand Paw.
Of Mad Yardel, he was executed before the council of Shadow-Moon Village (which consists entirely of representatives of each species in the village) not even a week after his 'survival exercise'. It seems he had forced sexual relations upon the girl child he was supposed to be teaching. Though sex between students and teachers is not against the law, rape is a crime punishable by death. The child (severely battered) was brought forth to give evidence against her teacher. The acts he had performed upon her (some of which completely sickened the council, while others were completely foreign concepts) were described in such detail that it was deemed impossible that the child was lying. With the victim's testimony providing reasonable suspicion, a truth spell was placed on Yardel, at which point he was forced to reveal his crime. The shock came when he began detailing other events with other children. Without waiting for the spell to wear off, the council sentenced the twisted bear to death. He was executed on the spot with a single spell and buried in an unmarked grave.
On a religious note, no one knows what the Four did with the Fifth. When I questioned the God of Fire, he simply said they had simply "bound him anew", whatever that meant. Surely he is bound much more securely than before, in a place that is impossible for mortals to reach.
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The events of this tale were given to me firsthand, after raising from the dead several of those participating in these events, Final and Vendin included, and questioning them on what happened. Some say using necromancy to question the dead is wrong. Others say it is foolish, that the dead may have lied. I scoff at the latter idea. The Dead do not lie, and indeed the Dead know all truths, all the answers to all questions. But to hear all the truths is for one to die, so one must be careful when asking what he wishes to know, else he may find himself dead. Still others protest that changing from a purely historical viewpoint to a pornographic one is on par with blaspheming. I make a rude gesture at those who believe such a thing. Those who would use this document only as a sexual stimulant are seriously ill and should consult a healer. For those who become aroused by the sheer historical weight of it all, that is normal. I experienced the same thing on several occasions during the dictation. And now, I leave you with my most famous saying, which I still believe to this day, though I spoke it many years ago: "Why worry about Life? Death is much more interesting."-- Kael the Necromancer