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Echos of Juena

First Retreat

Foreword:

In the 37th generation of the first retreat the harpies came. Born of Owlkin and Hawk Singer they had hands of an owl, feet of a hawk, wings of a raven and the bodies of fair maidens. Their faces though, their faces were wrinkled and crone like with horrific scowls that struck fear in to the hearts of man. They could also deform their expressions, like one might frown or smile and appear to be the most beautiful maiden you had ever seen.

The harpies fed upon man, devouring their seed to reproduce and devouring their flesh to feed. Too they would claim the women and corrupt pure flesh until the innocent became foul and took on the likeness of their harpy kin. The harpies would feed solely upon man, and in those early days of the first retreat, they were the worst threat to the brood of blessed Juena. This tale was relayed to us by the brother of one who had been fouled; he however perished shortly after.

White Wings

Ch. 1 - Capture

"Are you sure we should be going this way father?" Emia asked with a tremble in her voice. Four days they had made their way through the sandy basin with only the sound of wind in pine to accompany them.

Donan was a powerful man, her father and renowned smith who crafted great weapons of war. "No my child, but there is not we can do. We are here now and the road intended is blocked by the ravages of war. The Dir`thribe have taken Omock, what would you have me do? Stay in the path of carnage or feed you to the wolves?"

"Yes but..." She began, then trailed off again at his glare. The night was closing in around them, but neither felt comfortable camping among the silent pines. Not an insect to chirp, no bird to call, not even the rustle of a squirrel or rabbit. Four days in silence was enough to drive any one mad, "Why? Why is it so still?" She at last asked of him.

"I know not child. Just think of a warm hearth fire and steep walls around you. It is only another three days to reach Verenai, your brother will be quite pleased to see you I am sure. You've not seen each other since you were knee high." His words soothed her some and she did, for a moment, feel the comfort of a fire and the steep city walls. Then Donan told her, "Keep the pace for a while, I will nap, wake me when the moon is setting."

"Yes Father." She replied and pulled her cloak about her. The horses were tireless in their march, demon bread and as powerful as her father could buy. They moved day and night without stopping without sleeping and only eating what scrabbling grass they could pluck as they moved. The cart on the other hand was iron bound and heavy, filled with tools and supplies they might need; even so they made great time.

It was shortly before moon set when a shadow passed across it. Great dark wings, silent as the eerie night. Emia's head lifted, startled, but she saw nothing against the bright night sky. Another shadow passed and this time she got a look of it, like a strange four legged bird. She reached over to touch her father's shoulder and shook gently, "Father please rise, something comes!" It was too late.

Emia was plucked from the cart like a flower from a garden. Great black owl like feet curled about her shoulders and jerked her in to the sky. She rose with a scream but her father too had been snatched away right behind her. Harder, larger claws grasped at her thighs and held her, spread eagle to stop her squirming. She screamed again as the ground rushed away, the rip of road between the dune pines shrinking to little more than a trail below her. She heard then the scream of the horses and caught a glimpse of dark shapes swarming the cart.

The moon set and cast the forest in to darkness. The night was torn only by the muted flap of wings, her cries, and the echos of her father shouting after her. When at last the flight ended, she found herself upended on to the side of a cliff, her head cracking on a stone and rendering her unconscious. The last thing she knew was the sound of her father landing not far away.

Ch. 2 - Goodbye

When Emia awoke again, it was high noon and she was in pain. Her head ached, her skin was burned, and sharp jagged sticks were poking her from every direction. Eventually she sat up and shook the clouds from her mind, then screamed at the sight. Around her were bones, she was laying in a nest of them, in fact it was made of them mixed with twigs and mud. Then something rushed past her with dark wings and a feathered body. Her eyes tried to follow but stopped when she found her father.

He was laying on his back, naked, with one of the bird creatures atop of him. His penis was erect and throbbing as the beast sank down on him, impaling herself. When she rose again, his cock glistened with milky yellow moisture and it spat a glob of precum. He was panting while his powerful body twisted back and forth, caught in a fever dream. The harpies were swarming on him, at least twenty, and each vying to be the next to impale themselves upon him. Emia didn't know what to think.

Suddenly as she watched, he cried out the name of their dead mother, then came and flooded that beast with his seed. Another who was straddling his chest, whispered sweet words to him. Her face when she caught a glimpse of it was a perfect replica of her, so many years gone. Her fake mother slid forward and pressed her father's head between her feathered thighs and Emia watched in disgust as Donan began to lick and suck at the filth caked cloaca. She turned away then, unable to watch any more and huddled herself amongst the bones, wishing to wake from this nightmare.

Hour after hour she could hear her father grow weaker. Hour after hour they raped him, tricking his fevered mind in to seeing his dead wife. Once the entire brood had finished with him, he was allowed to sleep again. With that Emia crawled from where she hid and knelt at his side, "Father?" She asked as she gazed down upon him.

"Emia?" He whispered feebly. His body was covered in harpy shit and what skin she could see was red and angry with infection. His penis was swollen, still erect and looking horribly bruised. His face was swollen shut, barely able to breathe.

"I'll end this, father." She whispered, and with tears in her eyes she reached down to grasp a sharp shard of bone and lifted it. She tried, oh how she tried, but she could not bring herself to stab him. It mattered not though, a few hours later he died wheezing for breath.

As the sun rose the next morning, the harpies returned to find him dead. She feared their wrath, feared they would be upset by this, but no. It would haunt her for the rest of her life, that last memory of her father. His body swollen and ripe with death and they feasted upon his flesh. Carrion eaters they were, and whether they created the carrion themselves or found it, it did not matter. When they were done there was nothing left but a stain of blood upon the sun bleached bones where he had died.

Quivering against the filthy stone face, she stared out in horror, awaiting her turn as their play thing. She was next, she knew, and tried desperately to prepare herself for that horror. What could you do however? So she sat there as her body shook with silent sobs and her eyes stared unseeing in to the afternoon sun.

One of the horrid beasts eventually came to her, its face a twisted mess of wrinkles and teeth, with no nose to speak of and wide black eyes that pierced her soul, "You will be my chick." She said with the voice of a crone and stepped closer. A fluffy claw rose to caress her cheek; Emia could feel the caked filth scraping away against her skin and the scent of ammonia rising from the creature nearly choked her.

"Chick?" Emia asked, then coughed and turned her face away from the foulness.

The harpy said nothing more but she did grab the human girl and drag her down in to the bones. The beast's stomach protruded awkwardly, fresh from the meal she had eaten of Emia's father, and she settled it over the human's body, sitting upon her hips with claw upon her shoulder. For a moment they stared in to each others eyes, then the beast's belly gurgled and with a splash the harpy emptied her cloaca in to Emia's lap. The stench was worse than she could have imagined, and the feel of it running over her stomach and down between her thighs turned her stomach. She vomited suddenly, head cast to the side, but only clear bile of an empty stomach came up.

The harpy strained and squirmed while holding the human down, then she sat up on her knees, her body arching to try and force the intrusion out. It was large and the harpy seemed in pain. Emia stared aghast as that shit smeared entrance stretched open, and with a cackle the harpy shat her father's skull in to her lap with a second gush of yellow filth. Emia could only stare in to the vacant eyes of her father, horrified. The skull laid there, its jaw missing and the bones etched clean by the beast's stomach.

"W...Why?" She asked, then heaved again on her empty stomach. The harpy left then, still cackling as Emia laid, reeking, in that puddle of shit. Her mind for the moment lost, she simply curled around that skull and hugged it, desperately.

Ch. 3 - Fever

By morning Emia was feverish. Her body shivered and ached from head to toe, and between her legs where the harpy had relieved itself, her flesh was swollen and red. When the creature returned she tore the girl's clothes free, exposing her red streaked naked flesh and explored. The harpy's tongue dragged from the crease of her ass to the fold of her ear, and everywhere in between. The yellow saliva left her shuddering in disgust but her mind was warped, trapped in dreams that made no sense.

"You must be hungry chick." The monster whispered in Emia's ear after her caress stopped... then she slid around and pressed her filthy entrance over the girl's mouth, "Feast chick... regain your strength." Emia opened her mouth and reached up. At the touch of her tongue, the sticky stained pucker opened and moist pink flesh protruded. The girl wrapped her lips about that prolapse and began to suck at it; the harpy shuddered in pleasure and started to grind down in to Emia's mouth. With the sucking came a slow trickle of runny shit to fill the child's mouth.

At first Emia gagged and retched, in her dreams she was drinking at her mother's teat but the milk was black and sour. But at her mother's kind face she obeyed and began to swallow. Her stomach swelled as the corruption poured in to her and with it the fever grew worse. The fire inside burned hotter and her body grew weaker, but still she drank from her harpy mother with the filthy slurry running over her cheeks and down her chin. When the beast was empty, she flew away to find her chick more food.

Deep within the dream Emia laid in her mother's arms, her body on fire. She hungered for something she didn't know, something that would satisfy the fire inside. Moment by moment the dream turned to nightmare as her mother's face wrinkled in to age, then split along a gash of a mouth, lined with uneven teeth. She screamed as that mouth descended on her, a great gaping darkness trying to swallow her up. She felt herself engulfed and fought against it, helplessly until she was sure she had been digested.

With the morning sun came her mother again, that wrinkled terrifying face hovering over hers, grinning from ear to ear; or at least where her ears should have been. Emia reached up with one trembling hand and laid her palm to that face, then whispered, "Mother... you got old."

"I always was chick." The gravely voice said, then she settled herself atop Emia and pressed her reeking cloaca to mouth, "Drink." She said.

Emia did. This time her mind was clear of fever and dream, but still she drank, hungering for her mother's 'milk'. The sour taste didn't bother her anymore and the sticky sweet corruption was like nectar to her tongue. She drank and drank until the fire in her belly was satiated and she laid back to sleep. Her mother rested atop of her with a claw stroking along her protruding belly, "Mother..." She whispered to the harpy, "Sing me a lullaby?"

As a child her mother had sang to her, and rocked her to sleep when she was sick. She could not remember the words or the rhyme of the song, but as the harpy began to screech and coo, it felt right. She snuggled in to the chest feather's of her mother and clung as her weak body began to change. Day by day she grew stronger but the human was gone. Her wings tore free with a spray of infected blood, her legs twisted in to hawk's feet, and her hands gnarled up like an old man with arthritis. Downy feathers sprouted all over her body, pale white and beautiful; but soon stained yellow by her mother's milk.

Ch. 4 - Family

She emerged weeks later, a white harpy with great beautiful wings and a face without wrinkles. Her mind was clear now, she remembered everything, her mother before and her mother now. She pressed her lips to her harpy mother's cloaca and gave a final affectionate lick before taking flight. She soared for the first time in her life, free of the chains of earth that had bound her for so long. She soared for hours until hunger ripped at her gut and she began to hunt. Instinct drove her then, to find, to corrupt, to feed. A poor hobbled mule fell to her claws and while still alive she relieved herself over its wounds and settled down to rest in its glowing warmth. All through the night it whined and bawd weaker and weaker until shortly before morning it died.

When she tore in to it, the corrupted flesh was as sweet as her mother's milk, no sweeter, to her tongue. It went down like honeyed plums she remembered from childhood. By the time she was done, she was bathed in blood and reeking of filth; but she didn't care. It was like a badge of honor, her first kill, her first meal. She returned home, stained and beaming, then fell in to her mother's arms. The tribe was gravid, all pregnant with eggs sired by her late father. Soon there would be a laying, then a hatching of a thousand eggs and their forces would swell.

A month later, shortly before the hatching was to be; Emia rose early in the morning with her father's skull clutched in one claw. A single memory niggled at the back of her mind, her brother. She saw him playing, splashing her in the pond, his young body naked under the water. She had been no more than four or five at the time, and he in his teens, "I must save him." She told herself as she took to wing, "he must flee before the eggs hatch."

She submerged herself in the clear river above the dam and washed away the filth and blood. Then in the dark of night she stole in to the city and sought out her brother's home. She only knew it by description, written in one of his many letters. He was a smith, learned at their father's knee for many years before taking a bride in another city.

She found him, working late at the forge with a stack of unhilted swords prepped to be shipped. He was as powerful as their father, muscles built and honed before the great fires. She watched him for a while from the rafters and basked in the heat of his work. His muscles rippled like the cords of iron he worked, sweat beaded on his tanned skin and occasionally ran off to sizzle in the coals. Her belly felt as hot as the coals he worked as she watched him and as the forge cooled she couldn't help herself.

"Brother." She whispered from behind, still in the shadows of the rafters.

He spun about with his hammer raised, "Who?" He asked.

"It's me brother, Emia... I missed you." She whispered.

His hammer lowered and he cast about, trying to find the source of her voice, "Where are you sis? What happened to you and Father?" They were late, months late, "I gave up hope to ever see you again. Please, let me look at you."

With a quiver in her belly, she fell from the rafters and caught the air long enough to land. She was taller than him, standing proud on those powerful hawk legs. Her feathers were glistening white, freshly washed, her face was smooth and clean, a perfect memory of what she had been before, "I... I'm not the same brother. I just... I just came to warn you."

His fist tightened on his hammer, as if he was about to swing, but at her words he calmed. His brow furrowed, so like their father's singed and soot smeared, "What has been done to you Emia?"

She took a step forward and laid a claw upon his massive shoulder. Under her touch she could feel him tense, those powerful muscles bunching, "I have been reborn..." She told him, then laid her feathered crown to his chest and sobbed once, "You must flee... everyone must. In two days my sisters will hatch, when they do this entire country will be overrun."

His hand came up to cup the back of her neck and she felt for a moment, secure in his touch. Then he lifted her and gazed down in to her dark eyes. She felt him then, as his nostrils flared, as his eyes dilated. Just the scent of her made his heart flutter and his stomach clench. She felt him rise against her naked thigh, a lump in his breeches, under his leather apron, "Sis..." He breathed.

She kissed him, helpless to quench her own hungering fire. Her womb burned for his seed, her instincts drove her to her height, but her mind; she wanted to bare his eggs in to this world. He laid her to the anvil, the cooling metal still hot against her back. His breeches came open and his member rigid, pierced her virgin cloaca. She cried out in lust and clung to him, desperate for his gift. He was helpless as he surrendered to his base instincts and bred his sister like a beast rutting another. In truth she was a beast, and the scent of her turned him in to one as well.

For hours they laid together, well in to the night. Even as the fire cooled in them, he stayed within her, "I know you will leave." He told her, "But I don't want to lose you again." His hips jerked and he drove his point home in to her womb.

She shivered and lifted her aching hips to his thrust, "I know brother..." She whispered and began to cry. She told him what had happened, every detail, and even told him where to find their father's skull, resting against a great willow tree by the river above the dam. She told him of her new mother, she told him of the fever dreams and the coming hatching. She told him of her love for him and in that heated moment, he confessed his for her. When dawn began to thread its aura of fire through the heavens, she finally rose and pulled away from his maddeningly still erect member. It was swollen and angry red, hot as the sun itself, fever starting to burn within.

She left him there with the story on his lips as the fever overtook him. Tears ran down her face as she took to wing and left, abandoning her dying brother far behind. He had been her last connection, her last link to her human life. Her mother was dead from fever long ago, her father died at her side, pleasuring the harpies. And now her brother, sacrificed to her own instincts. For a moment she hated herself, for a moment she wanted to rip her own wings off and let herself fall to the earth below. But within her womb she felt his seed, warm and safe. She still had family, just not yet born.

Epilogue

And so the harpies drove the retreat before them, city after city lost. They learned from the women they corrupted and the men who's seed they stole. They harvested humans like cattle and forced them in to slavery. For ten generations they ravaged us under the lead of a great white harpy. For ten generations they stole, raped, pillaged and murdered from the Skywall to the Sea Stone bridge. When at last she died the harpies lost their cohesion and fell in to roving bands. They are as smart as we are, their intelligence stolen from us with every child they take; but their strength is ruled by jealousy and petty hatred. As long as they fight one another, they will never rule us again.