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The Missing Lynx, Part 4

Bring On the Bad Guys

Rhaelyn ducked down, stepping into his tent. It was a nice tent, all things considered. Nicer than most. It was a tent befitting a wizard of his stature. On the outside it was a fairly unimpressive double-wide made from blue-dyed waterproof canvas, just like any one of a thousand tents that could be purchased in the Bazaar at Ma'Karach. From its appearance it was large enough to comfortably fit two people, or more if they didn't mind being exceptionally close to each other.

Inside, however, was a different story.

The panther uttered a satisfied sigh as he straightened back up, once he had cleared the threshold. The unnaturally cool, crisp air struck him full in the face, and he absently tossed his backpack into a corner. It was roomy inside. Far roomier than it had any right to be. Perhaps not as sizable as the Alleycat's portable mansion, which he had visited once or twice, but then again the mage wasn't as hedonistic as the thief was. Still, it was more than enough room for two.

Rhaelyn leaned down, hooking his claws into the laces of one boot before deftly dissecting the knot. He kicked it off, then set to unlacing the other. The split second he was barefoot, he was flat on his back, winded and disoriented.

"Hi!" Kira giggled. She paced around the stunned panther, then caught the hem of his cloak with her beak. Her feet planted against the ground, her muscles rippling, and she dragged her prey across the floor until he was closer to the untidy heap of bedrolls and pillows that she had been sleeping on.

The mage winced, pushing himself halfway into a sitting position as he regained his wits. "Agh, Kira, come on. I think my spine just... nf... exploded." And a pause, as he thoughtfully rubbed his back. He nodded sharply, reaffirming his diagnosis. "Yes, I'm fairly certain that I'm dying now. I hope you're happy."

She laughed, pushed an assortment of pillows at the whining wizard, and then promptly flopped atop him. "Oh hush, you big kitten. You're fine. Besides, if you can't stand a few bruises, then you shouldn't have seduced me!"

Rhaelyn uttered a breathless laugh, incredulous despite being winded. "I shouldn't have-!?" He stopped himself, though, a hand set to his muzzle. The hen had her tender moments, but this wasn't one of them. Instead, he simply smiled and settled back again, letting the gryphon secure her position atop him.

She leaned down to bump her beak lightly against the panther's muzzle, the slightest hint of trepidation in her voice. "You're not having regrets, are you?"

The mage drew in a slow, steady breath, and Kira was quick to shift her position a little. Her forelimbs tucked beneath Rhaelyn's arms, and she settled some of her weight onto her elbows. The beastkin was silent, studying the hen's face for a moment before finally chuckling. "No, Kira, of course I don't. I mean, ah, I do wish that we had met under better circumstances, though."

Kira giggled, her uncertainty vanishing without a trace. "What, like at a single's bar? You think you'd have actually gone home with a girl like me?"

Rhaelyn snorted, but his smile remained steady. His paws slid along the hen's sides, and he wrapped his arms loosely about her shoulders to hold her close. "Maybe, maybe not, but at least the drinks would have been better. And, you know, I would have been spared all the sanity-obliterating agony."

"Oh come on," she grinned. "You lived, didn't you? And you've still got all your parts! I don't see what you're complaining about!"

The feline rolled his eyes, his smile fading just slightly. "Well, yes, but I could have lived without having my 'kittenmakers' launched into my ribcage. Or, ah, the part where my joints were all bending the wrong way. And, of course, I might have avoided the trauma I suffered just now. You know, what with my spine exploding and all. I'm fairly certain that I'm still dying, too."

Kira laughed again, leaning in to nip delicately at the panther's whiskers. "Yeah yeah. Well, you know what they say. No pain, no gain."

Rhaelyn arched a brow, absently raking his fingertips through the gryphon's feathered mane. "Tch, who in their right mind would actually say something like that?"

She hesitated, then cocked her head a little. "Um... I don't know. Masochists?"

The panther snorted again, barely choking back a laugh. He briefly wondered where the gryphon had even heard that word before, but he wasn't going to ask. She had been hanging about with some rather suspect types lately, Raff and Veridia included. "Yes, that sounds about right."

Kira grinned down at the feline, pushing herself back up onto all-fours. She peeked back toward her hind legs, then carefully adjusted her position to settle one heavy hindpaw between the male's thighs. The beastkin was obviously a little reluctant to let her do so, but he didn't actually stop her.

Rhaelyn was quick to addendum, though. "Not that I'm one. Ah, a masochist, I mean. I don't have any masochistic tendencies."

"Really?" She eyed him dubiously, her toes nudging softly against the crux of the panther's thighs. It only took a little probing for her to find her favorite toys, the soft orbs rolling lightly 'neath her padded foot. The male's breath caught in his throat, but Kira showed exceptional restraint - really, she was just trying to ascertain if he had finally taken to wearing armor down there.

Apparently not.

He blushed, his body heated and the small stretch of skin visible at his ears reddening. That was an absurd assertion on the hen's part, but for some reason her skepticism caught him off-guard. "I, ah... no! Of course I'm not!"

Kira clacked her beak, thoughtfully, then decided to take the direct approach. "How many times have you been kicked in the balls?"

"I, er... what?"

She grinned now, leaning down to set beak-to-nose with the panther. Her toes flexed carefully, again rolling the male's softer organs underfoot. "You heard me. How many times have you been kicked in the balls?"

Rhaelyn frowned, then thought on that for a moment. "How should I know? It's not like I keep a running tally. Ah, twenty times? Maybe more?"

Kira snorted, her head pulling back as she eyed the feline again. "Really? Only twenty? Come on, Rhae. From the stories you've told me..."

"Well," he huffed. "No. You asked about me being kicked, specifically, and the plural implies that I should only be counting kicks that struck BOTH of my... er... 'balls'. If you, ah, were to ask a broader question then I suppose the estimate might be a little higher-"

And the gryphon rolled her eyes, a smirk gracing her beak. "Okay, I see how it is. Fine then, how many times have you been hit in the balls? By anything or anyone, including yourself."

The panther blinked. "Why would I hit mysel-"

Kira sniffed, shifting her weight ever so slightly to ease more weight onto the male's twins. "How many times, Rhaelyn? Or should I just start guessing?"

He winced reflexively, but again there was no real sting to the hen's movement. The mage could certainly read her intention, though, so he quickened his breath as if pained. Honestly, without the aches and pains attached, the feel of her foot against his balls was... more than a little erotic. "Mnf... ah... w-... well, I don't know. A hundred times?"

The gryphon's brows rocketed skyward, her tail curling apprehensively behind her. "A hundred-!?"

"Fine," he scowled. "Maybe a better estimate would be two-hundred. But it's important to understand that I've been an adventurer for ten years. During that time I've also been stabbed, bludgeoned, electrocuted, burned, and hurled off of cliffs. Physical injuries are inevitable when-"

Kira clacked her beak again, looking thoughtful. "And how many of those 'incidents' also involved flirting or sex?"

Rhaelyn narrowed his eyes, trying to focus on the hen's query despite the distracting sensations running through his body a bit lower. Was she serious? That was an even more absurd question than the last one. "None!"

"But," she giggled. "Didn't you say that Raff always hit you before she slept with you? Doesn't that count as-"

His whiskers twitched, the panther's expression sliding to neutral as he suddenly seemed a hundred times warier. "Er... fine, yes. Alright, I suppose if I include my... dalliances with Raffina, then the number of qualifying 'incidents' might go as high as twelve. Perhaps fifteen."

Kira scowled a bit - he had slept with the cheetah THAT many times? She shook her head, quickly setting herself back on task. There was time for unreasonable jealousy later. For now, she was doggedly pursuing a very different course. "Well, what about the time you've spent with me?"

Rhaelyn wavered a bit, blushing again. "Well that hardly counts. I mean, ah, we don't-... I mean, we haven't actually..." He cleared his throat, his ears skewed as the gryphon glared at him. "We, um, haven't had sex yet."

She clacked her beak, irritation bubbling back up in force - but Kira managed to rein it back. The darker urges that came with it were quickly shoved into some gloomy corner of her mind, to feed her insecurities. "That's not MY fault..."

"Ah, well," the panther hesitated again, silently cursing himself for having even brought the subject up. "It's just that, er, first there were political issues, and then there were..." He gestured vaguely with his hands, his fingers interlocking in vaguely lewd fashion. "Ah, there are... mechanical issues...?"

Kira eyed him, then snorted. She eased her hindpaw off of the male's nethers before taking a few quick steps away. Twisting about, she flicked her tail at him, her eyes narrowed. "No there aren't. Haven't you had sex before? You just get behind me, and-"

Rhaelyn blushed hard this time, his gaze briefly flicking to the hen's rear before he looked back to her face. Pushing himself up into a sitting position, he drew in a slow breath. That gave him a few precious seconds to gather his thoughts, before he offered up a lame excuse. "Er, yes... well, that might work for gryphons. But I'm... well, I'm taller than you are, so things don't quite line up the right-"

"I can stand on something," she chirped casually. "Or you can grab my hips and lift my, uh, tail high enough."

The mage set one hand to his muzzle, his blush persisting. His gaze averted, he murmured half-heartedly. "Ah, yes, but I'm used to... ah... when I sleep with someone, I'm used to looking them in the eye..."

"I can lie on my back!" Kira twisted about, carefully shifting her wings about as she tried to get comfortable. It wasn't a very natural position for the gryphon, though, and it was immediately obvious to both of them that she wouldn't be able to hold it for long. Not without hurting herself. Gryphons were hardy creatures, but their wings were still relatively fragile.

Rhaelyn sighed, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Er, Kira..."

She sighed as well, squirming back upright before padding back over to the panther. She planted one taloned hand against his chest, shoving him flat onto his back, and then straddled over the male's lap before sitting on him.

"There," she grunted. Honestly, the panther always had to complicate everything. "Things are lined up. Happy now?"

Rhaelyn opened his mouth, hesitated, and shut it again without a word. Glancing downward, his blush flared back up, but he powered through it. His hands settled lightly to the hen's hips, and he dared to glance back up at her face. She was watching him, expectantly. "I, uh... yes. This could... er, this could work."

Kira tried to stop herself, but she couldn't help it. She giggled. It was always adorable when the panther was so flustered that he forgot to speak like a 'proper noble'. Her frustration disappeared in a puff of giddiness, and a grin settled onto her beak. "Ssso, does that mean we can...?"

"Does that mean-?" He stopped asking halfway through the ill-conceived question, his brows arched with sudden realization. "Oh, ah... Kira, I'm not sure if..."

The gryphon sighed again, her frustration flooding right back in full force. She leaned back, absently grinding against the male beneath her - it certainly FELT like he was sure about it. Those pants were gaudy and stylish, but they didn't really hide much. "What's wrong this time?"

"Well..." he paused, then glanced away. "Are you really sure that this is how you want our first time to be? In a tent in the middle of the woods, with an Amazon and my ex-girlfriend right outside?"

Kira followed the male's gaze to the tent flap, working her beak quietly. Finally she slumped, her head bobbing. "Okay, yeah, I get it. But after this adventure-!"

Rhaelyn smiled, squeezing lightly at the hen's hips. "Right after, I promise."

She eyed him for a few seconds, then grinned again. "Okay, fine. Right after."

And a pause, before the gryphon seamlessly switched tracks. Her gaze slid sideways, one eye fixing on the beastkin's backpack. "So, uh, Rhae? What's up with those books, anyway?"

Rhaelyn's breath caught in his throat, but then he let it out with another sigh. His smile was faded, but it held, and he finally opted for the truth. Or a watered down version of the truth, at least. "One of my old adventuring companions took to writing a few years ago."

Kira perked at that, glancing back toward the backpack. She moved off of the panther for a few scant seconds, snagging one of the straps with her beak before dragging it closer. "Oh yeah? Are they good?"

The mage sat up, absently pulling over a few pillows as he made himself more comfortable. He had laid out two bedrolls earlier that evening, but from the looks of it the gryphon had just raked everything into one great pile. "Ah, no. Not really."

The hen flipped the pack open, carefully digging a few of the books out with her talons. Her hands weren't really designed to hold such fragile things, but she liked to think that she'd been getting a lot of practice lately. A lot of practice with, er, handling delicate objects. She looked over one, and then another, and another.

The words were all gibberish of course, but at least the pictures on the covers were pretty. Her gaze lingered on one in particular as she studied the image. It depicted two beastkin standing back to back, surrounded by a dozen black-robed figures. One was a short, gray-furred catkin that she didn't recognize, but the other one...

Was that supposed to be Rhaelyn? The headfur was longer, the clothing different, and he lacked the jewelry that normally festooned the panther's fingers - but there was still an uncanny resemblance. "What are they about?"

"Well," the mage murmured carefully. "They're about his adventures. Or, ah, sometimes my adventures. He bases most of the books on real life events, although he changes a few things here and there. Spices them up with an extra dose of melodrama or risque content."

Kira arched a brow, but her eyes remained on the books. There were just so many of them! Had the panther really been on all of these adventures? "Wow. So, uh... why...?"

Rhaelyn smiled faintly. This was actually going better than he had anticipated. He gestured with one hand, leaning back as he settled in place. "Research. Of the novels he penned, my fri-... ah... my associate wrote several about the events surrounding the Amazonian Campaign. I have an exceptional memory, of course, but it helps to see things from multiple perspectives."

The hen perked, then obligingly flopped onto her side against the panther. Wriggling about, she made herself comfortable before picking up another book. "Oh, hey, Veridia is on this one!"

The panther curled an arm about the gryphon, sliding closer as before eying the novel she had selected. "Oh, yes, that's one of the books I've been studying. That's, ah-" he paused, tapping the cover lightly. "Those were actually some of Cygna's deadliest lieutenants during the war."

Kira frowned, twitching her head about to peer at the beastkin. "But Veridia...?"

"Well," he smiled. "Veridia is an Amazon. She, ah... she was raised to see Cygna as a goddess, to carry out her every command without question or second-thought. She did a lot of terrible things in Cygna's name, but she's done even more since then to make up for it."

The gryphon was silent for a moment. It was clearly a delicate subject, so she opted to shift focus a little. Her talon traced across the cover to tap one of the other figures depicted alongside the husky. "Well, who's that with her?"

"Mm?" Rhaelyn perked an ear, glancing at the novel. "Oh, that would be Dalleth. She was a Lycan - ah, a magical beast created through radical necromancy. She was the leader of the Wolfwere Tribes, by virtue of being the first one that Cygna had ever created."

He paused, his voice catching a little before he quickly corrected himself. "Or, er... the first one that she... successfully created."

Kira furrowed her brow. "Wolf... where? Where, wolf? A wolf that is where?" She abruptly snapped her beak shut, as she suddenly realized how stupid she sounded. This would have been a fantastic time for the annoying little voice to speak up again, to explain what a 'wolfwere' was supposed to be, but it was oddly silent.

The panther seemed amused, and he idly raked his fingertips through the hen's feathered mane as he pondered. "No, a wolfwere. It's, ah... they were ingenious creations, really. The result of disgusting and abusive necromancy, of course, but ingenious nonetheless. They were savage creatures, monstrous wolves that could shapeshift into a beastkin form."

She mulled on that for a moment, then cocked her head. "Well, I've fought wolves and I've fought beastkin, so... uh. What made these wolfwheres so dangerous?"

"They were the perfect skirmishers," Rhaelyn murmured. "Each wolfwere was born with the animal instincts of a wolf, but with the intelligence to take full advantage of their innate skills. They were natural hunters and trackers, with an uncanny pack dynamic that let them operate like a squad of trained soldiers without the need for any actual training."

Kira nodded mutely.

"To make things worse," he continued, "They still bred like wolves, too. The females gave birth in litters of six at a time, up to four times a year - and those pups were combat ready within six months. And Dalleth... well, somehow she had the ability to change them. The wolfweres she reared grew stronger and faster as they aged, and could heal away mortal wounds in mere moments."

Kira blinked, looking a little awed. "Wow, that's... wow."

Rhaelyn chuckled, plucking the novel from the gryphon's talons to study the image. "Yes, wow. And Dalleth here was the first, the most powerful, and the only one that could make more wolfweres. Under her, the tribes held the Blood Woods and the adjoining territories against invaders. Any army that tried to pass through the woodlands and into Amazonia was picked apart by a constant barrage of ambushes and sneak attacks."

The hen furrowed her brow, her head cocking to the other side. "Then how did you...?"

He hesitated, his expression clouding. For some reason that look made Kira nervous - there were times that she almost forgot the powers locked away inside the beastkin's form. She almost backed down, but the feline part of her was far too curious to leave it at that.

She tried prompting him. "Rhae?"

"They were vulnerable to a few things," the panther murmured softly. "Magic, for example. Silver. Fire. You, ah... have you ever heard of the Ash Plains?"

Kira shook her head, an odd sinking sensation welling up in her gut. She had a sneaking suspicion she knew where this was going.

"Well, six years ago those plains were known as the Blooming Forest." He sighed, his hand stilled against the female's back. "They were known for the two-dozen varieties of exotic flowers that grew there, and for the small beastkin village that was built there. Honeyfall. Mostly badgers, possums, raccoons... that sort of beastkin. They were a humble folk, but they maintained some of the most famous apiaries in all of Skarn."

The hen remained silent, and after a few long seconds of silence the panther continued. "When the war began in earnest, three of the wolfwere tribes moved to the Blooming Forest and slaughtered every one of the villagers. It was, ah... it was stupid. Apparently Cygna was worried that we might pass through that patch of woodland to enter the westernmost stretch of her territories, while she was preoccupied with fighting off the Pangolian Empire to the east."

"That's terrible." Kira sounded solemn, despite her own savage heritage. To a true gryphon it might have been an admirable tactic, but she had been brought up amongst merchants. "So, what did you do?"

Rhaelyn was silent for a moment longer, his eyes distant, but then he suddenly snapped back to the present. "Oh, erm... we... ah, well, the woodlands were treacherous. As I said before, any army that attempted to breach them ended up harried and hounded by Dalleth's forces, forced into retreat before it could push through into Amazonia. As the war escalated, we... ah... well, my mentor, that is, he suggested..."

And another sigh, before he closed his eyes. "We burned the woods. Not just a few trees, but the entire region. Twenty square miles of lush, verdant forest, gone in a heartbeat. We couldn't give the tribes time to retreat, so we used magic to call fire down from the sky, and just like that it was nothing but ash and bones."

"It worked so well that the other kingdoms followed suit, and soon the Frostwillow Hills and Bleakwood were gone as well. The rest of the tribes retreated back to Blood Wood, and Dalleth begged for a cease-fire. But the kingdoms, ah, so many different diplomats and nobles and self-appointed kings... none of them could agree on anything long enough for that to happen. There was a war to win, and Dalleth was just a pawn of The Queen."

"So what happened to her?"

The panther paused, eying the gryphon for a long moment. He had an odd expression on his face, akin to disappointment or perhaps even guilt. It was fleeting, though, and the expression was swiftly replaced with one of resolve.

"We, ah... we neutralized her."

Kira snorted. That wasn't a very satisfying answer. She opened her beak, but Rhaelyn was quick to set one hand against it.

"Trust me, Kira." He smiled faintly, his tailtip flicking. "Dalleth is gone, the tribes are all but destroyed, and the few wolfweres that remain are no threat. They had a strict hierarchy, and without Dalleth or Cygna to tell them what to do-" He paused, his ears twitching forward. "They're cunning and vicious, but they're not smart. In the time it takes them to adapt to something new, they're already dying of old age. They, ah... Cygna didn't build them to last very long. By all accounts, most begin to wither away after seven or eight years, and few live past ten."

"Why..." The hen seemed aghast at that thought. Gryphons were short-lived creatures as well, given their inherently violent nature, but to think that a creature might have only ten years to live an entire life was appalling. Even more so, with the idea that they had been deliberately created that way. "But why would Cygna make them like that?"

Rhaelyn cleared his throat, his hand stroking along the back of the female's neck. "Mm, well, Cygna never intended for them to last very long. Less threat of rebellion, I suppose. And now they're dying out entirely. In another five years, they'll be nothing but an unpleasant memory."

The hen frowned, but she didn't say anything. She trusted the panther's word, but to her it sounded like he was describing an army of super-powered beasts who had absolutely nothing to lose.

He fell silent, studying Kira's face for a long moment, before he finally smiled. "Trust me. We don't have to worry about them."

***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****

Kai stretched out on her throne, stifling a yawn. It wasn't a particularly good throne, but it was the best that her oh-so-loyal packmates could build. They weren't terribly handy, but they made up for it with their unwavering loyalty and dedication to fulfilling her every need. Er, relatively speaking.

The throne was made of branches gathered from the native bloodbark trees, lashed together with creeper vines and strips of reddish bark. To be honest it was unpadded, uncomfortable, and kind of itchy. Still, she stayed on it because it was a throne and she was a queen. Where else was she supposed to sit?

Not that she had a castle or anything. That was something that had always disappointed her a little. She had long since resigned herself to the harsh reality of things. It simply wasn't going to happen. Her followers had barely managed to build the hovel she was living in, so it was pointless to hope for anything better.

She sighed.

Two of her attendants appeared in an instant. They were good like that, and even in their haste they had been as silent as shadows. Not too silent for Kai to hear, though. She always wondered if that was because she was particularly keen, or because they let her hear them coming. Of course, she liked to think it was the former.

One of them spoke. "Is everything alright, Princess?"

"No," she grumbled. "I'm bored. And it's hot. And I live in a shack in the middle of the woods, with nothing but you stupid mongrels for company."

The larger of the two lycans bowed his head. "Apologies, Princess Kai."

She looked to the one who had spoken. He was tall and strong, his frame covered in a handsome coat of pitch-black fur that set him apart from the other wolfweres occupying the camp. He was the eldest amongst their number and easily the most powerful, but he was also Kai's most dedicated servant.

Kai set a hand to the beast's chest, absently tracing over the ugly scar that ran all the way down from his left collarbone to his gut. It took a lot to kill a lycan, but to survive something like that... "Arvesk, I told you to call me Queen."

Arvesk, the black wolf, indulged himself with the faintest smile. He seemed amused, as he always did when she made that request. "Of course, Princess."

She pouted, arms crossed sullenly as she slumped against her throne. Arvesk was loyal and patient, but there were some things that he simply refused to do. Referring to her as 'Queen' was one of them, although she simply couldn't fathom why. Her mother had died years ago when she had been just a pup, and all the tribes but this one had been hunted and slaughtered following the War. She was the only royal left, so by right that should make her queen.

That was how it worked, right?

She sat back up, grumbling. "Someone fan me."

Her other servant immediately picked up a broad fan made from beaten and flattened strips of bark, and obediently set to fanning her. That made her feel a little better.

She wished - and not for the first time - that she had gotten to participate in the wars. But no, she had been too young back then. Only a pup, really, still nursing at her mother's teat when the tribes had last marched into battle at the behest of their Goddess, Sig-Nah. It had been glorious, for a time.

Of course, then their so-called Goddess had been murdered, and the tribes crushed beneath the heel of the united beastkin armies. She had been too young to remember the fiercest of the fighting, but she did remember the hunts that had followed. When her kin had been ruthlessly tracked across the continent by vengeful soldiers, their homes burned by magic and their species battered to near-extinction.

Kai sniffed. Well, that never would have happened if SHE had been in charge back then. She was so much smarter and faster and prettier and cleverer- er, cleverest? More clever? Yes, she was so much more clever than her mother had been. After all, she was still alive, and her mother was rotting in a shallow grave somewhere.

Tch, some queen she had been. Queens weren't supposed to die.

"Tell me I'm beautiful," she huffed.

Arvesk bowed in reverence. "You are beautiful, Princess."

"And smart."

"You are the smartest of us all," Arvesk agreed.

She grinned, feigning embarrassment. One clawed hand set to her cheek, her eyelashes fluttering demurely as she rumbled. "And am I clever?"

They said nothing. In fact, the one with the fan had stopped fanning her as well. Her grin vanished, and she looked to her servants. They were both standing at attention, their lupine ears perked as if listening to some distant sound.

Kai blinked, her own ears perked. She certainly didn't hear anything. "What, was it something I said?"

The two lycans exchanged glances, and then Arvesk looked to the princess. "Stay here."

And with that, they were gone. Kai quickly pursued them out of the shack.

"What? No!" She scowled, her ears slicking flat against her skull. Her servant was telling her what to do? That wasn't like him at all! And even worse, it was entirely unacceptable! There was a pecking order for a reason, and she was securely perched at the very top. "Hey, who do you think you are!?"

Kai had only been a few steps behind the elder lycan, but by the time she emerged from her shack they were already halfway across the camp. The sky was dark and the moon was high, yet every other wolfwere had emerged from their dens to view the spectacle. The older lycans, the ones who had fought in the wars, all had the same distant expression that had briefly visited Arvesk's features. The younger wolves - those closer to Kai's age - shared her own look of bewilderment, but not her expression of outrage.

She snarled again, stomping her foot petulantly. "Hey! Idiot! I'm talking to you!"

Arvesk ignored her, gesturing to several of the gathered beasts. One by one, the tribe's deadliest members vanished into the woods without a sound, and soon only the youngest remained. They were adults, at least by wolfwere standards, but inexperienced and underpowered in comparison to the veterans - and at the moment they were very, very confused.

Kai narrowed her eyes, taking another few steps toward the black wolf. Was this a mutiny? Some manner of rebellion? There were only a dozen members of her tribe left now, and in her eyes they were the most useless - but for a scant few that she respected. She briefly entertained the notion of challenging her elder, but she quickly dismissed it - even as strong as she was, Arvesk was stronger. Even as prideful as she might be, there was no doubting that he could tear her to pieces if he'd a mind to.

Instead, she tried appealing to his sense of loyalty. "Arvesk, wait..."

The elder lycan looked back to her, the slightest frown on his muzzle. He seemed ready to say something, but abruptly turned his attention to another few wolfweres that stood nearby. "You two. Draev. Griff. Do not let the Princess follow us. Keep her safe, or I will skin you alive."

The two nodded hesitantly, reluctantly moving toward the female, but a low growl from the elder quickened their step. They flanked Kai like royal guardsmen, doing their utmost to look firmly resolved in their task. It wasn't very convincing.

Kai scowled, taking a step forward, and her expression darkened as one of her newly christened guards moved to block her path. Oh, endangered or not, she was going to kill him SO hard. Her lips curled back, rows of sharp teeth exposed, and her clawed fingers flexed-

"No," Arvesk rumbled. He reached out, past the trembling guard, and set one hand to Kai's shoulder. "This is important. The Goddess calls us, and we must answer, but you-" He faltered, his expression conflicted. "You are too important to us, and she has no hold over you. You must remain here with the others, for there is a good chance that we will not be able to return. The others will keep you safe."

Her rage dissipated, her pout returning as she tried yet another approach. This time she whined. "But Arvesk...!"

"No."

She whined louder, her tail drooping and her lupine ears skewed. "But-!"

"Stay," he growled. "Here."

Kai hesitated, and then grudgingly backed down. She was strong and fast, but she again reminded herself that Arvesk was absolutely stronger and faster. There was no point in arguing with him any further, or attempting to oppose him physically. At best he would fight her to a standstill, and at worse he would hogtie her and lock her in her throne room. Or, uh, her throne shack.

The black wolf almost seemed relieved, his head jerking once in an abrupt nod. "Good."

He turned, dropping to all-fours as he bounded to the edge of the camp. He paused at the treeline, glancing back once more. "We will return in a week, or not at all. If we do not, then you must move the camp. Somewhere far away, closer to the heart of Amazonia. Somewhere safe."

And with that, he was gone.

Kai frowned, a clawed hand set to her bare hip. So Sig-Nah was back again, apparently? This was, what, the third time she had clawed her way back from the grave? The fourth? Honestly, she was starting to lose track. And apparently the Goddess thought she could just poach Kai's minions without so much as a 'please' or 'thank you'?

The she-wolf snorted, her eyes narrowed. She was almost insulted. No, scratch that, she was VERY insulted.

"Okay," she snarled. "I need five volunteers. We're going after them."

Her would-be guards glanced to each other, and then one of them nervously stepped forward. "Uh, Princess. I don't think-"

"Queen," she snarled. "I'm your Queen."

"R-... right. My Queen, I don't think that-"

Kai pursed her lips, eying the quivering male for a moment. Wolfwere or not, he seemed on the verge of fainting, and even with the greatest of effort he was just barely clinging to what little courage he could muster. She knew this one. He was five months her junior, and at best only half her strength.

She scowled. "You don't think what?"

Draev drew in a deep breath, glancing toward Griff for support. He looked back to the she-wolf again, his ears skewed. She was shorter than he was, and a thin twig of a thing with muted curves and shaggy fur, but he wasn't a fool. The blood of The First flowed through her veins. He had no doubt that Kai could snap every bone in his body, or worse, so his best bet was to appeal to her sense of logic and reason.

"My Queen, I don't think that-"

Kai promptly kicked him in the balls. Hard.

Draev uttered a startled yelp as the she-wolf's leg whipped out like lightning, the top of her long foot crushing perfectly into his crotch. His eyes bulged as he lifted a good two feet off the ground, and he was already curling up before he had even hit the ground. The organs she had targeted were both caught neatly, smashed almost flat against his groin and then outward to either side against his thighs, as they desperately tried to escape the vicious impact.

"Shut up," she growled. Not that it was necessary, given that her subject was huddled on the ground now. He was far too busy coughing and whimpering and trying not to throw up. She knew from experience that she couldn't REALLY hurt him, not permanently, unless she tore him apart with tooth and claw. He was a lycan, after all. He would heal once given a few moments to recover.

Still, she knew from experience that being hit there would hurt like hell. Draev would be on the ground for minutes, at least, or maybe even longer if she had hit him just right - and she was fairly certain that she HAD hit him just right. She had practiced targeting those ridiculous little organs on many occasions. Many, many occasions. After all, she was the Queen, they were her subjects, and she was often very bored.

Kai set one padded footpaw roughly to the back of the cringing male's head, shoving his muzzle into the dirt. Fixing her gaze on her other 'guard', she snarled viciously. "And you? Anything to say?"

Griff blanched, his eyes wide. "N-... no, Princess."

Her eyes narrowed. "Princess?"

"Queen," he hastily corrected himself. "What would you have us do, er... my Queen?"

She briefly considered kicking this one as well, but she quickly decided against it. No, there had been a reason Arvesk had chosen those two to act as her guards. As pathetic as they were, and as hard as it was for her to admit it, they were better fighters than most of the other younger lycans.

She sighed. "You two are coming with me. I, uh..."

Kai glanced down at Draev, her ears perked as she listened to his pitched whimpering for a moment. It was a satisfying sound, but it also meant that he was going to be indisposed for at least a few more minutes. "Rmf... where's Venn?"

The other she-wolf appeared instantly at the mention of her name, the gathered youths parting to let her pass. "Yes, my Queen?"

Kai smiled, gesturing to the fallen wolf that was writhing under her foot. "Help Draev get back on his feet. We're leaving as soon as he can walk again."

Venn's response was carefully measured, but her tail swayed with barely repressed enthusiasm. "And if he doesn't get back up in a timely fashion...?"

"Oh, ah..." The Princess eyed the male for a moment longer, then shrugged casually. "Then I suppose you can punish him for it. You hear that, Draev? I'm giving Venn five minutes to help you get up and about, or else she has my permission to kick you again."

Venn perked an ear, a dangerous glint in her eye as her own muzzle split into a sharp-toothed smile. It was more than a little disconcerting. "Can I use my tee-?"

"No," Kai scolded. Honestly, sometimes her packmate acted as if there were an inexhaustible number of wolfweres to torment. "No teeth. I don't want him crippled, I want him walking. Those are two completely different things."

Venn sighed, but nodded. She could do nice. She didn't LIKE to, but she could manage it from time to time. The she-wolf was easily one of the most vicious and sadistic of their dwindling number, but she was also the closest thing the pack had to a healer. Given the Princess and her predilection for sudden, violent outbursts, Venn had massaged more than one of her packmate's nethers in an attempt to help them forget that terrible pain.

The Princess nodded in turn, grinning a bit as she looked back to Griff. "And you."

The other male blanched again, taking a quick step back. Not that it would do him any good if Kai decided to bust his balls as well. They both knew how things worked - if she ordered him to spread his legs and take it, he'd almost certainly obey her. He might not like it, but he would do it. After all, she was the Queen, and he was her servant. Besides, if he resisted she would simply make an example of him - and that would be a thousand times worse than a simple kick or two.

He squirmed under her scrutiny, his body shifting subtly as he angled his hips away from her. It was a familiar gesture - an attempt to get his more vulnerable parts out of the line of fire. From his expression, though, he seemed to be hoping she wouldn't notice. "Y-... yes, my Queen?"

Kai eyed him for a moment longer, biting back a laugh as he trembled like a leaf. She took a step closer, her tail swaying behind her as she smirked. Then she took another step, and another, until she was so close that she could easily lift her knee right into his crotch. From the male's stifled whimpering, he clearly knew that too.

But no, she decided that she'd had enough fun. There were more important things to do, so it was time to let him off easy.

"Find two other volunteers, and have them ready to leave as quickly as possible." And a laugh, as she turned away. She could hear Griff uttering a sigh of relief even as she moved away from him. "I'll be on my throne, waiting. Don't take too long."

"Y-... yes! At once, my Queen!"

Oh yes, she had a good feeling about this. A very good feeling, indeed.

***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****

"Fine," Kira purred. She wriggled against the panther's stroking hands, making herself more comfortable. "So the lychees aren't a threat-"

"Lycans," the panther was quick to correct her. "Or wolfweres. Either term is correct, I suppose."

The gryphon furrowed her brow. "What's the diff-"

She shook her head abruptly, catching herself. It didn't matter. Both of the names sounded stupid, and she didn't intend to repeat them aloud - especially not if the panther was so sure they wouldn't even be encountering the beasts. And the last thing she wanted was a lecture on metamagical terminology. "No, wait, nevermind."

There was silence for a brief moment, and her gaze returned to the novel. She traced her talon across its painted cover, tapping another one of the figures. "Who's this guy? He's ugly."

Rhaelyn looked to where she was pointing, then chuckled softly. "Him? Well, he's ugly because he's dead. Or, ah, undead. That is - or was - Ser Hedrick Grundle, the so-called Immortal Warrior."

Kai hesitated, squinting at the picture again. "Wait, so that's not a mask?"

"Hm? Ah, no, that would be his skull." He shook his head slightly, still looking a little amused by the hen's queries. "And, ah, part of his face, I suppose. If you can call it that."

She closed one eye, her tongue flicking out in an appropriate expression of disgust. "Ew."

"Yes," the mage quickly agreed. "The undead are disgusting. I'm happy to say that he won't be a problem either."

Kira perked, squirming about to face the beastkin. One wing folded outward to drape about him as she settled chest-to-chest. "What, you 'neutralized' him too?"

Rhaelyn smirked a little, leaning in to kiss the gryphon lightly on the beak. "Mm? Oh, no, we destroyed him completely and utterly. Burned his body and scattered his scorched bones to every corner of the continent, and beyond."

"Oooh, thorough." She crooned.

The mage nodded again. "You have to be, with those sorts. The first two times we thought him dead, he somehow came back when we least expected it. So the last time we clashed-" He paused, then offered a satisfied smile. "Well, there are reasons that people fear wizards. Grundle learned that a little too late."

Kira purred, settling in even closer, one taloned hand sliding downward to caress the feline lower. "You know, Rhae, I don't think you've ever been any sexier than you are at right this second."

Rhaelyn squeaked softly as he felt the hen's scaled fingers groping shamelessly against him. Well, now he could safely say that the codpiece didn't block out ALL sensations. He could still feel the warmth of the gryphon's touch through the sheer fabric, and the pressure of her fondling, although he did find it a little hard to gauge just how hard she was doing it.

Still, it felt nice.

"Mmn," he moaned softly. His muzzle pressed to Kira's beak, his eyes closed to slits as he savored the felling. "S-... so, that's another thing we won't have to worry about..."

Kira grinned, her talons playing just a little lower as she gave another part of the panther's anatomy a playful squeeze. "Mn, good. It's no fun fighting something that's already dead."

She paused thoughtfully, her head cocking. "Or, um. Undead. You know what I mean."

***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****

Vargos the Fleshsmith pored over his workbench. The bloodstained surface was littered with dozens of scorched bones, scraps of sundered armor, and glittering stones. He was so close to completing his life's work, and yet so far.

No, he would have to be patient. It had taken the serpent five years to come this far, and it could very well take him five more to finish the job. Or ten. Or twenty. Regardless, it would all be worth it, once he-

"Master," came the familiar whisper of his favored henchman. The necromancer turned, his sinuous body sliding against the slick stone floor as he focused his gaze upon the new arrival.

Vargos flicked his forked tongue against the air, his slit pupils narrowing dangerously. Favored servant or not, the snakekin was not one to tolerate unannounced intrusions. "What isss it, Markuss? Are there not gravess to be plundered?"

The albino ratkin gave the necromancer a snaggletoothed grin, his jagged yellow teeth glinting in the chamber's magical lighting. "But master, I have it! I finally found it!"

The necromancer's breath caught in his chest, his irritation evaporating instantly. "You do? Let me sssee it!"

Markus unshouldered the stained rucksack dangling from his back, rummaging through it for a second before gingerly removing a charred skull from within. He uttered a soft hiss, as if it burned to the touch, and hastily set it to the floor in front of him.

Vargos swooped down, his sinuous body darting in like a striking snake as he snatched the skull from the ground. Yes, even through his warded workgloves he could feel it scalding his fingers, leeching the life from his scaled flesh, but he cherished the pain. A smile slowly spread across the necromancer's glistening black features, and he whispered softly.

"The sskull of the immortal warrior, mine at lasst." And he tossed a fleeting glance back toward the groveling grave robber. "Where did you find it?"

Markus smiled as well, his beady red eyes gleaming with unabashed pride at his accomplishment. "In an unmarked tomb outside of Gallows Haunt. We lost three men to the tricks and traps they left to protect it, but it was hidden there."

The great serpent uttered a satisfied sigh, a faint trill rumbling up from his throat. It was almost like the smug purr of a well-fed cat, and it seemed entirely out of place coming from the deadly necromancer. Vargos quickly slithered back to his workbench, setting the horned skull in place.

With a few deft motions, the skull was firmly affixed to the rest of the skeletal body with wire spun from purest silver. His fingers tingled, almost numb from the raw power coursing beneath them, and his blood ran cold. It was a delicious sensation, and one that he had yearned to feel for his entire life.

Yes, this was the power he had sought.

He trilled contently. "Thank you, Markuss. That will be all."

The albino ratkin rose, but balked at the dismissal. "Er, yes master. But... my reward...?"

Vargos curled his lip, one pronounced fang gleaming. A single drop of venom dripped from its tip, hissing acridly as it struck the ground. His body writhed and his tail twitched, before he slowly turned to fix one slit-pupiled eye on the much smaller beastkin. "Oh, yess... your 'reward'."

"W-... when ever you get the chance, master." Markus shrank away, backing into one of the chamber's darker corners. The necromancer paid well, but his mood was unpredictable. More than one of his servants had met an unceremonious end, crushed in the serpent's coils or swallowed whole to satiate his unnatural appetites.

The snakekin smiled, again turning his back on the cowering grave robber. Yes, that was better. There were much more important things to tend to, so petty financial matters could wait. Darker thoughts briefly flitted across the serpent's mind - he could save himself a small fortune by simply slaughtering the rat now, but... no. What use was money to him, now that he had this?

He stroked his fingertips along the skull's charred jawbone with the tenderness of a yearning lover. It was a plain skull, the blunted muzzle and smooth horns marking it as that of a minotaur. It was heavily charred, hinting that the body had been badly burnt before or after death, and one horn was sundered to half its normal length. But otherwise, it was perfect.

Vargos hesitated. He knew he should wait and make more preparations before proceeding, but no. He could wait no longer. Now that the skull was within his grasp, his patience was at an end. He was still missing two dozen other bones, but the skull was the key. With it, the others were unnecessary.

The edges of his fanged mouth curled upward, and one hand lashed out to sieze his obsidian spellstaff from where it rested nearby. He raised it above his head, channeling power through the runed weapon.

"Ser Hedrick Grundle, once servant of The Bitch Queen, feel the spark of life again return to your sundered bones!" Vargos paused, wavering slightly as his life force was leeched into the staff, and then channeled into the piecemeal corpse. Nothing.

He gasped, drew in a deep breath, and then reached afar. Elsewhere, ten of his most loyal minions wheezed and breathed their last, and their energy was drawn to the staff. That, too, was channeled into the charred skeleton. Beyond the walls of his secluded lair trees withered and died, and birds fell from the air as they were struck dead in mid-flight.

Finally the bones stirred. Slowly at first, but then with greater vigor. A flickering green light sputtered to life in the skull's left eye socket, like that of a noxious candle, and with an unholy groan the body eased itself upright into a sitting position.

It spoke in a voice of purest hatred, a sound like the verbal embodiment of a thousand graves being desecrated at once. "Who..."

Vargos panted softly, wavering again. It had cost him ten of his best henchmen and it had trimmed a dozen years off the tail end of his life, but he had done it! The immortal warrior lived again, and as his loyal servant! Yes, this would be the lynchpin of his circuitous plans to dominate the Barrows, and then the Scarred Mountains beyond. He would be a king!

"Ssser Grundle," he smiled. The serpent leaned his weight onto the runed spellstaff, its once gleaming surface cracked and flaking from the energy he had poured through it. It was useless now, but he had a dozen more to take its place. "I am Vargoss the Fleshssmith. I am your new massster."

The skeletal knight slowly turned his head, the newly reassembled joints grinding with the unpleasant sound of bone on bone, the wires pinning his frame together twisting and bending with the sound of a dozen nails against a chalkboard. His one flickering eye studied the serpent impassively, silently gauging his worth.

Then he looked elsewhere, unimpressed. His attention turned to his arm, the joints flexing as he studied the reconstructed limb.

No, this wasn't his arm. It was a thing of enchanted metal, like a suit of blackened plate mail. Sturdy, certainly. Perhaps even superior to his original limb. But, more importantly, it wasn't his arm. He did not approve.

"This..." his unnatural voice grated once more, the armored hand raised and the fingers flexing with the squeak of poorly oiled hinges. "This is not my arm..."

Vargoes was somewhat taken aback. Honestly, he had just spent a quarter of his life force resurrecting the revenant, so was a little gratitude too much to expect? Or perhaps an oath of fealty? His lip curled, one venomous fang glistening as he muttered. "Yess, well, when you were dessstroyed five years ago, your slayer wass careful to ssscatter your boness far and wide. You should be grateful that I found thiss much of you!"

Ser Grundle looked over the rest of his body. He was also missing three ribs, four vertebrae, the lower half of his left leg, and one of his horns. His torso was barely pinned together by strands of finely spun wire and broad fragments of his once lovely plate mail. It was adequate, perhaps, but still disappointing.

His attention slowly returned to the serpent, and he fell so still that for a moment the necromancer feared that life had once again fled the mismatched pile of metal and bone.

"Yes," he finally uttered. "I am... grateful..."

Vargos persisted, his head cocked ever so slightly as he hissed. "And your loyalty?"

The knight was silent once more, the flame in his eye burning brighter. Again, he spoke only after a pregnant pause, and without the slightest hint of motion. "Where is... my sword...?"

Vargos paused, the faintest twinge of irritation flickering across his scaled visage. "Why do you need your sssword? I have it, yess, but you have done nothing to earn sssuch a reward. Ssswear your fealty, and I will... conssider it."

There was no hesitation this time as Grundle slid off of the workbench and set his hooved feet to the stone floor. He rose, towering over the snake as he absently played his bony fingers over the plates that had been bolted to his chest. Yes, he was missing three ribs, and the gaps had been covered with shards of enchanted armor. His armor. Those were definitely pieces of his breastplate, shattered when he had been impaled upon a magical lance the last time unlife had animated his bones.

Cygna had given him that armor. And she had given him the sword, as well.

His gaze flickered back to the snakekin's face, and his voice echoed again. "My sword."

"Yess," Vargos frowned. "I heard you the firsst time. I have what remainss of your ssword, elssewhere in the catacombsss. If you ever wish to sssee it again, you will-"

The undead minotaur's head cocked ever so slightly, and he smiled. It was physically impossible with no lips or flesh, but somehow the expression was there. It was something that was more felt than seen. "No."

Vargos sputtered, his tail lashing behind him as he drew himself upward to a wavering eight feet in height. The minotaur was tall, but the serpent was taller when he had a mind to be. "But I am your creator! I have breathed life back into your dusssty bones, and I have earned your unquessstioning loyalty!"

Ser Grundle chuckled, the hideous sound goading a cringe from the necromancer. It was not a sound of mirth, but a sound of torment, like someone tickled until their nerves were raw and their body begged for release.

"No..." he echoed, taking one step forward, closer to the necromancer. "The Queen still lives..."

The serpent's eyes widened, the color draining from his scaled cheeks. "B-... but, I gave you life! I am the one who-"

The sibilant words were choked off abruptly as Grundle's skeletal fingers closed about his throat. The knight had moved so swiftly that the movement had been almost unseen, but now he stood so close to the snakekin that the two were practically embracing. The serpent thrashed and bucked, his fingers clawing at the revenant's body ineffectually.

"Yes, thank you." Ser Grundle chuckled again. His voice grew stronger, firmer, as if the act of murder somehow gave him renewed strength. "Now die."

Vargos gurgled softly, struggling for a moment longer. It was hopeless, though. He was weary from reanimating the warrior, and even at the peak of health he wouldn't have been a match for the undead monstrosity. His hands curled into fists, beating ineffectually at the thing, prising at the hand was choking him, but to no avail. The knight's sturdy assembly was a testament to the necromancer's efforts, and for the first time in his life, the serpent regretted his own competence.

With a sickening crunch the necromancer fell still, and Grundle cast his limp body aside.

His head lowered, his body still once more. "I hear you my Queen, and I will heed your summons."

Markus, forgotten in the corner, finally shook himself from his stupor. The albino ratkin eased himself slowly along the wall toward the door. He was terrified of course, but his mind was already swimming with nefarious plans. Yes, once this thing was gone, he'd return and loot the workshop. Dead or not, the necromancer would still pay his debts.

For now, though, he just needed to keep himself alive.

That burning eye turned upon him, and Markus froze. The skeleton took one step toward him, and he bolted for the door! He had barely gotten halfway across the room before the creature was upon him, and those bony fingers gouged into his neck like daggers.

Ser Grundle lifted the ratkin from the ground, savoring the sound of the struggling beastkin's desperate gasps. After a few seconds, he whispered softly. "My sword?"

The ratkin gurgled again, his voice coming out in a pained croak. His fingers gripped at the knight's unyielding arm, and his clawed feet scrabbled for solid ground. This was what it felt like to die.

With monumental effort, he managed to croak out a few desperate words. "Hk... c-... can get it... for you...!"

The skeleton's fingers loosened, and the beastkin was eased back down to the ground. Markus collapsed to his knees, his hands already clutching at his bloodied throat. The flesh had been pierced by those impossibly cold fingers, but he would live. That was more than could be said for the necromancer.

The rat hacked and coughed a few times, his lungs sucking in a few more eager breaths. Oh, it felt so good to breath. He had never realized how much he took oxygen for granted - but now he savored every gulp of fetid air.

After a long moment, the knight spoke again. "My sword?"

Markus surged back to his feet, one hand still on his wounded neck. "C-... course! Right this way, Ser!"

And the ratkin cringed past the warrior, making a beeline for one of the doors out of the workshop. He silently thanked the Gods that Vargos had seen fit to tell him where the sword was kept - if only because the rat had been tasked with locating the many pieces of its shattered blade. He just prayed that the knight wouldn't kill him anyway, once he saw what little remained of the original weapon.

Ser Hedrick Grundle watched the beastkin for a moment, and then deftly shadowed him without another word. Already, he could feel The Queen's thoughts echoing in his skull, and his reconstructed body ached to fulfill her every whim. He needed to make haste.

Cygna needed him, and nothing would keep them apart. Nothing.

***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****

"Sssso," Kira purred. She squeezed at her handhold a little harder, carefully watching the panther's face as she did so. He squirmed a little, blushed, and even uttered a stifled moan - but she didn't hear the familiar squeak that usually came with rougher fondling. She chuffed softly, her head cocked a little. That was odd.

"Uh, so, who's that supposed to be behind Veri?"

Rhaelyn swallowed hard, his breath quickened as he felt the gryphon's adventurous talons working and squeezing against his nethers. The silken codpiece blocked out the aches and pains that usually came with the hen's unique brand of 'foreplay', leaving only the pleasure of her awkward, inexpert fondling.

It was nice, yes, but he had to admit that it felt like there was something missing.

The hen grinned, only the slightest narrowing of her eyes betraying her annoyance. Her talons flexed, squeezing a little harder as she bumped her beaktip against the obviously blissful feline's jaw. "Rhae?"

"Mf?" It took the mage a moment to snap out of his reverie, but he finally managed to fix one unsteady eye on the novel. The focus of the cover was definitely on Dalleth, Grundle, and Veridia, but behind them stood a half-dozen indistinct figures. They were vaguely canine in shape and female in form, but any significant details were obscured with abstract shading.

"Oh," he panted softly. "The, ah, Dogs of War. Mm... bounty hunters. Cygna's elite enforcers. Veridia was, mnf... was their leader."

Kira shifted against the panther, wriggling on her side so that she could bring both of her taloned hands to bear. She nudged the beastkin's thighs a little wider, ignoring the distinctive bulge of his rock-hard member to instead carefully capture an orb against each of her palms. She was hesitant to actually clamp down, though - what if her suspicions were unfounded? What if she actually DID hurt Rhaelyn, and badly?

She frowned, kneading at the captive glands lightly for a moment. "So, er, do we have to worry about them? I mean, uh, Veri is pretty big and scary-looking."

The panther purred, but he managed to respond ore promptly this time. "Mnn... ah, no. Most of them, nn... I think most of them died. A few retired. And I'm, mnf, pr-.. pretty sure that at least one or two of them are rotting away in a dungeon somewhere..."

Kira bobbed her head lightly, then held her breath as she finally worked up the nerve to test her theory. Her talons clamped down, firmly pinching at the feline's kittenmakers - first one, then the other. But no, beyond another slight shiver and soft groan, the male didn't seem particularly put off.

The hen furrowed her brow, then immediately set to undoing the beastkin's belt. One part of her was still suspicious - was this a wizard thing? Had he magically found a way to make himself immune to pain? She paused, 'accidentally' jabbing the panther in the gut with one talon as she undid his belt.

"Ah!" He hissed, squirming a bit as he swatted at the gryphon's beak. "Kira, be careful down there! You've almost gutted me!"

She eyed him. Okay, no, so he wasn't immune to pain. So that meant... what? Had the poor beastkin's balls soaked up so much abuse that they could no longer feel pain? Ugh, no, she felt stupid even thinking that. That wasn't how pain worked at ALL. She was just glad that the voice wasn't around to ridicule her for even entertaining the absurd notion.

Kira stuck her tongue out at the panther, then smiled as she giggled innocently. "Well sorry, Rhae! I'm just trying to get your pants off! Never thought I'd hear you complain about THAT!"

Rhaelyn paused, then laughed. He looked embarrassed again, but he was quick to slide his own paws downward, carefully guiding the hen's talons. "W-... well, just, not so fast. Here... like that..."

"So," she grinned. "No Dogs?"

The panther chuckled, his purr thrumming more firmly as the clasp finally came undone. "No Dogs. Honestly, after how Cygna treated them, I can't imagine the few that are left would be eager to rally to her aid again..."

***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****

Twenty-eight hours earlier and one-hundred miles distant, a half-breed mongrel of a beastkin sat at the edge of her humble farmstead.

Chenna Vichi hummed to herself thoughtfully, then rolled her thumb across the strings of her lute. Yes, that sounded about right. She eased the instrument gently onto her lap, then leaned over to pick up her quill pen, using it to add a few more notes to her carefully scripted sheet music.

She paused, studying the almost chaotic assembly of notes for a moment, before nodding her head. The quill went back into the inkpot and her lute was hefted again, before she began weaving the melody. The notes were all wrong individually, but somehow they worked in tandem to create something beautiful. She liked that. It was like telling her life story in music.

A piercing shriek rang out, cutting through the balmy summer air. Chenna's head jerked upward, her sharp eyes scanning the horizon. It only took her a split second to spy the source of the noise, and her ears twitched at the pitched giggle that followed the delighted shriek.

She smiled to herself. "Letta, be careful! Reco, play nice with your sister!"

The two young pups froze, then peered at their mother sheepishly. It only took a split second to resume their play though, as they chased each other over and around the slumbering wyvern that they were using as a jungle gym.

Chenna snorted to herself, still smiling. If it had been just any wyvern she might have been concerned, but it was HER wyvern. She had raised Skye from a hatchling, and the two had trained and fought together for almost fifteen years. Beyond her immediate family, there was no one that she trusted more than her loyal mount.

Almost as if it could sense her thoughts, the beast flicked one eye open, the muddy hazel pupil fixing on Chenna. The wyvern uttered an exasperated sigh as one of the pups clambered over its wings and slid down its long tail, but it made no gesture to stop him. Instead, it simply went back to sleep. Pups would be pups, and the creature seemed to understand that.

She chuckled, leaning back in her seat once more as her thumb set to the strings of her lute. She paused, though, instead taking a moment to finish scanning the horizon. From where she sat at the edge of her porch she could see in almost all directions, and she knew that the opposite corner of her home overlooked nothing but a sloping cliff and the edge of an unnamed lake.

It was as safe a place as any, in the bleak landscape that had once been lush Amazonia. Not so lush now, since the kingdom had been wracked by the horrors of Cygna's ill-fated military campaign. The forests were mostly dead, the waters brackish, and the fields barren. Some of the damage had been done by the invading armies, but much of it had been inflicted by Cygna herself.

After all, the life energies wielded by necromancers had to come from somewhere, and The Bitch Queen had been one of the most powerful necromancers to ever exist. The lifeblood of Amazonia itself had fueled her more ambitious endeavors, leaving rot and decay in its place.

Not that the lands were entirely inhospitable. For those who were skilled or stubborn enough, the salted plains and blighted countryside were still livable. And, fortunately, Chenna was both stubborn and skilled. Those were two of her finer qualities.

She absently strummed across the strings of her lute, humming tunelessly to herself as-

'Chenna the Huntress! I have need of your service once more!'

The voice cut through her brain like the white-hot blade of a torturer's scalpel. Her ears flicked back, her teeth clenched tight, and her muscles spasmed so hard that her clawed thumb cut through three of the strings beneath it.

She drew in a carefully measured breath, the air hissing through clenched teeth. That was a presence she hadn't felt in years, but it was still dreadfully familiar. "M-... My Queen?"

'Gather the Dogs of War, and wait for further instructions.'

Chenna winced again, but already she was growing accustomed to the intense presence that had taken root inside her brain. It was like a tumor festering just behind her eyes, and each word threatened to burst her skull from the inside. Still, she wasn't about to just-

"My Queen, I've retired. I can't just uproot my life and-" She hesitated, her fingers clenched so tightly that her claws bit into her palms. "I have a family now."

There was a pause, and then the voice slithered back into her brain. It almost seemed... surprised. 'You do?'

Chenna let out a slow, measured breath. It was important to keep her emotions reined back while talking to the Queen, that much she knew well. It was hard-earned knowledge that came from bitter experience. "I do. A husband - one of the mercenaries you hired during the war. We've had two children together, and we maintain a farm on the northern coasts of Old Amazonia."

Another pause, and the voice surged through her skull. 'Do you love them very much?'

The Huntress closed her eyes lightly, a black pit sinking through her gut and threatening to swallow her whole. It was a simple question, to the untrained ear, but Chenna knew well that the threat was not so much implied as it was mutually understood. The Queen had killed tens of thousands during the War, and she certainly had no qualms about killing three more.

Chenna sighed, sounding miserable. "I do."

'Then gather the Dogs of War, and heed my summons.'

Chenna started some, jumping in her seat as something nudged against her shoulder. Her eyes flicked open again, and she found Skye set almost nose-to-nose with her. Dear, sweet Skye. Her wyvern had an almost preternatural bond with her, and clearly the thing could tell that she was upset. And there, hanging off of the wyvern's horns, were her children. They both peered curiously at her.

She smiled at them in what she hoped was a reassuring fashion, before rising from her seat and turning away. Her voice was low, now. Guarded. Her pups were too young to understand what might be going on, but she didn't want any fragment of her one-sided conversation being repeated to her husband.

"But I can't- I haven't kept in touch with the others." She protested quietly. "I don't even know where they are."

'Vraka is being held by the filth of the Pangolian Empire, within the bowels of Stonegate Prison. You will meet Sheenah Redfang there, and together you will free her.'

Chenna was silent for a moment as she thought on that. It had been over a year since she had last seen Shena, and even longer since she had heard any evidence that Vraka was even alive. She hesitated to ask, but there was something she still had to know. "And the others...?"

'Dead, but for those who have betrayed me. And they will be dead as well, soon enough.'

And another pause, before the voice hissed softly through her head. 'Will you heed my commands?'

She bowed her head solemnly, her ears flicked forward in surrender. "I will. But with only the two of us, we'll have to proceed with great caution. It will take us at least a week to rescue-"

'It will happen at midnight, two days from now. You will be there and you will be ready.'

"Y-... yes, my Queen."

There was no response, this time. The presence was gone, leaving nothing but a throbbing headache in its wake - the only evidence that it had ever existed at all. Chenna set one hand to her muzzle, her lute falling from numbed fingers and striking the carefully lacquered wood of her porch with a discordant clatter.

"Letta. Reco. Go inside and wait for your father to return." She sighed, trying to remember where she had buried her enchanted longbow, three years earlier. "Your mother is going to be gone for a little while."

***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****

It was just a moment later, but both the panther and the gryphon were already entirely disrobed. Er, not that the gryphon had actually been wearing much - or anything at all, really. The disrobing had been entirely on Rhaelyn's part, but Kira had eagerly 'assisted' in the process.

Now, the two were simply cuddling again, each enjoying the feel of the other against bare fur and feather. Or, at least, Kira was. Rhaelyn was more than a little distracted by the sudden sting in his loins.

Apparently there were drawbacks to that magical garment he had been wearing.

It wasn't as bad as actually suffering through a direct blow, but the ache was fierce. The codpiece seemed to deaden the sensation as long as it was worn, but apparently the pain of impact lingered long after the swatch of magical cloth was removed. That was... good to know, if not terribly reassuring.

Kira mused thoughtfully, seeming not to notice the panther's discomfort. "So... no wolf-things, no undead, and no Dogs."

Rhaelyn bobbed his head slightly, carefully keeping his breathing as even as he could manage. Really, all things considered, the ache wasn't THAT bad. It was more surprising than anything else, and he certainly wasn't going to let it ruin his evening.

"Nf... hopefully." He grunted softly, his muzzle settled lightly against the top of the gryphon's head, pressed between her eartufts. "H-... hopefully. Were I expecting any one of them, I would have recruited more adventurers. Perhaps even a troop of mercenaries."

Kira slowed her movements, her hand falling still against the beastkin's rigid length. "Oh come on," she scowled. "They can't be THAT bad."

The mage frowned a little, kissing lightly at the top of the gryphon's head. He knew that Kira played at being naive and innocent, at times, but sometimes that naivete was genuine. "They very much were, Kira. Dalleth was a near-indestructible monster, with an inexhaustible supply of beasts under her command. Hedrick Grundle was a fanatical lunatic with effective immortality, an arsenal of deadly relics, and a trained scorpion-wyvern mount. And the Dogs, well... they were hand-picked by Veridia. They were the finest and deadliest warriors that the Amazon Army had to offer."

"Fine, so they're really scary," she snorted. She was obviously still skeptical, but she wasn't looking to start an argument. "But they're all dead, right?"

The panther chuckled again, stroking along the back of the hen's neck, then lower as he stroked about the base of her wings. "Well, most of them, yes."

Kira started a bit, her wings reflexively folding outward as she felt the panther's fingers exploring those delicate joints. Ooh, that was nice. It wasn't quite the same as being preened by an amorous drake, but the soft and skillful touch of the mage's nimble paws more than made up for that. She leaned into Rhaelyn's chest, and her purring redoubled.

"So..." she murmured. "Is there anyone else that we don't have to worry about? Any more of, um, Cygna's lieutenants, I mean?"

Rhaelyn purred in turn, his ears perked as he stroked along one of the hen's outstretched wings. "Well, there were others, of course. Dozens. Perhaps even hundreds. I clashed with several, myself, and I heard of several others who were active during the war. For every battalion of soldiers, monsters or mercenaries loyal to The Bitch Queen, she had some exceptional beast or beastkin to command them."

Kira blinked, then shook her head. "Well how many...?"

"Are left?" The panther considered that, then smiled. "A few dozen, I suppose. The ones who fled when Cygna died, or who were captured in battle. The, ah, mercenaries as well, I suppose. They had no real loyalty to The Queen, once the gold stopped flowing..."

"Well," Kira giggled softly. "Can't really blame them for that."

One corner of the mage's mouth quirked, and he leaned down to kiss the hen's beak again. "Few of them posed any real threat, anyway. Most of them were loudmouths and braggarts, and Cygna used them as decoys and distractions. Cannon fodder to clear the way for her real forces. There were some, though..."

He paused, looking thoughtful for a brief moment. "Sild Blackwater, I suppose. He was a pirate and elementalist of significant skill. And Lira Talonas, the thrice-damned Bandit Queen from the Eastern Coast. She was the scourge of every supply line, and a constant thorn in our side. Not much of a fighter, but she was cunning. Sild was executed in Karash for his crimes, a few years back, but Lira is still out there somewhere. I hear she's been plaguing the Freetrader's Guild as of late."

Kira stuck her tongue out a little, looking fairly unimpressed. "Pirates and bandits? Doesn't really sound like-"

Rhaelyn rolled his eyes, sliding his hands back down to the hen's sides as he tickled lightly against her ribs. He smiled, as she uttered a soft squawk and squirmed 'neath his touch. It was a rare moment of vulnerability on her part. "Well, fine. There were demons, too. And golems. And dragons. And shadowy ghost-assassins, who could kill with a touch. Is that more to your liking?"

The hen snickered, curling her talons into a fist so she could bop the panther lightly on the nose. "Hey, no need to be a smart-ass about it. But fine, do we have to worry about any of those?"

He considered the query briefly, then shook his head again. "Ah, no, I don't think so. Not unless Cygna has already found her way to some vast trove of riches, or a wellspring of arcane energies. If we hurry, we should be able to prevent her from enticing any of those sorts into her service..."

Kira started to bob her head again, but caught herself. She lifted her beak, peeking up at the panther's face as she looked just a little alarmed. "But wait, what about the dragon...?"

Rhaelyn paused again, the fingers of one hand set lightly against Kira's cheek. "Zura. Her, ah, name is Zura. Or, at least, that's the name she uses when she deals with lowly mortals. It's short for something in Draconic, I think. Azurana Vas Kupra-... well, something like that. I've never learned the language."

The hen arched a brow, grinning. "Wait, you mean there's something you DON'T know...?"

He snorted in return, smirking anew as he abruptly pulled away from the gryphon. He adjusted the pillows he was settled against, absently musing aloud. "Well, she shouldn't be a problem. Of all the dragons who served Cygna during the war, she's one of the few who... came around to our way of thinking. She's... ah... she should still be on our side."

Kira shifted a bit, a little surprised as the panther seemed to so lose interest in her so suddenly. Was it something she had done? Something she had said? And to think, she had been so careful not to leave any bruises this time...

She sighed, glancing around the interior of the tent. "And you trust her?"

"Well," the beastkin hesitated, looking toward the hen as he settled back onto the pillows. Ah, yes, that was much more comfortable. "Relatively speaking. Dragons are ultimately self-serving beasts, with a long enough life-span to play the waiting game for as long as need be. And..."

He paused again, then beckoned to the sulking gryphon. "Look, we'll just have to play it by ear once we get there, but I have a few tricks up my sleeve. For now, though..."

Kira perked a little, then rolled to her feet before padding over to the much-more-comfortable looking beastkin. "For now...?"

Rhaelyn smiled, his eartips reddened ever so slightly as he blushed again. "I was thinking, as long as we keep it very quiet, maybe we could try... ah..."

The gryphon furrowed her brow, puzzled by the panther's behavior, but just as swiftly realization dawned. Her eyes widened, and she grinned broadly. "Oh yeah?"

He bobbed his head slightly, cupping the hen's beak with his paws as he leaned in for one more kiss. "Absolutely. Besides, for all we know we could be marching to our doom tomorrow. Best to enjoy each other's company while we still can."

Kira stuck her tongue out at the male, the moved to settle over him. Honestly, he was so grim at times. Couldn't he just enjoy the moment? Gods knew that she planned to.

But then again, who knew? A small part of her, somewhere deep down, feared that he might be right.

She shook her head slightly, casting off those nagging thoughts, and focused on straddling over the beastkin just right. Oh, there were MUCH more important things to focus on, at just this moment...

***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****

Zura fidgeted. It wasn't that she was impatient or particularly restless, but she was a little nervous. It was an uncomfortable sensation, and one that she rarely experienced. Or, at least, one that she hadn't experienced in almost four years.

Not since the last time The Queen had come to visit her.

Of course, she hadn't been The Bitch Queen that time. She had been The Lich Queen. If anything, that had made her even more unpleasant to deal with, and even more nerve-wracking to be around. Dragons were powerful, yes, but Cygna was... she was something else entirely.

But this time was different somehow. She wasn't particularly surprised that Cygna was back, but she was surprised at how vulnerable she seemed. It was the weakest she had ever been, and by all rights Zura should have snapped her neck or devoured her whole the second she had been given the chance. But...

Well, Gods damn it, she liked Elin too much to do that.

Zura had only gotten to speak with the hapless little lynx for a short time - perhaps an hour or so - before Cygna had returned. But that had still been ample time for Zura to decide that she liked the would-be adventurer. Once Elin had gotten past her blind terror, it had turned out that they actually had a surprising amount in common. The two had been talking about the latest fashion trends in Karash when SHE had come back.

And now Cygna was sitting there, perched atop a pile of meticulously cut and polished rubies, in a body that wasn't her own. She had been meditating for much of the night, ever since taking control of the body once more. The Queen had barely spared more than five words for Zura, and even those had been an abrupt and rude dismissal.

Her back was to the dragon now. It would be so simple to just reach over there, and rend her apart. A snap of her jaws could decapitate the lynx, or a swipe of her claws could disembowel her. Or perhaps she could-

Cygna's eyes snapped open, but she didn't turn. "What are you thinking about, Azurana?"

"Ah," she jumped a little, a small avalanche of precious stones cascading below her. She recovered quickly, though, and the dragon uttered an acrid puff of poisonous fumes as she snorted in derision. "Nothing."

The Queen was as silent and as still as death. It was a long moment before she spoke again, with Elin's disconcertingly pleasant voice. "I may be weak now. Vulnerable. But I still have power enough to hollow you out, and wear you as a dress."

"That's not what-" The dragon hesitated, then snorted again as she twisted about on her painstakingly assembled treasure trove. "I wasn't thinking that. I was just wondering if, ah, there was some way I could help with... whatever it is that you're doing."

The lynx turned about with one awkward, twitching motion at a time, until she was facing the much larger beast. It was like watching an apprentice entertainer taking his first stab at operating a marionette. Every movement was wrong, and the eyes - those lovely eyes - were distant and unfocused.

"You want to help?" Cygna purred. It wasn't a friendly sound, but more mocking.

Zura fidgeted again, despite her efforts to look casual. "Er, yes? If you're plotting something, then I'd like to be part of it. I've been trapped here for too long, and-"

"How would you help, exactly? Can you still use magic?"

The dragon frowned, her gaze averted. "I, ah... no, not much of it. But-"

"Can you still fly or shapeshift?"

The beast scowled now, her expression darkening. "You know I can't."

Cygna cocked her head to one side, offering an entirely artificial smile. Her tone was still pleasant, but just beneath it there was unmistakable disgust. "Then what can you do for me, Azurana? How can you help me?"

The dragon blinked, then shifted to sit up. Her muscles rippled, her metallic scales slid against each other like a thousand tiny plates of armor, and her neck stretched out as she set almost nose-to-nose with the beastkin. "I can-"

"No," Cygna sneered. "You can't. You're useless to me."

Zura glowered at the tiny beastkin. Even with all that power, The Bitch Queen was still only a third her size. She suddenly couldn't help but think that it might almost be worth the risk, to just bite the insolent thing's head off and be done with it.

Cygna uttered a ragged sigh, evidently thinking better of her current approach. "At least," she murmured. "You're useless to me until we've purged you of all those dweomers and arcane compulsions. But for now, my energy is better spent summoning others to assist me."

The dragon leaned back, pulling away from the necromancer. To be honest, she was in no hurry to have those layers of magical binding removed. They had been placed by The Mages of the Rainbow Tower, seven of the most skilled arcane practitioners in all of Skarn. Together, they acted as an entirely magical prison - limiting her abilities, her behavior, and even how far she could travel from home.

In many ways, it was almost like being under house arrest.

The spells were potent, of course - carefully crafted things of pure thought and energy woven together by beastkin of almost unparalleled genius. But, then again, she was a dragon. A beast of legend.

She had already spent the better part of the past five years wearing away at the mystical bindings, fraying the intangible cords and siphoning off the bulk of the magics, but she had more or less left them in place. After all, were she free of them entirely, she was almost certain that Cygna's visit would have played out very differently. There would have been no pretense of civility, no posturing or threats.

No, if Zura had been in top form, then The Bitch Queen would have literally hollowed her out and worn her like a dress. She was certain that the necromancer would much prefer the body of a dragon, over the body of some poor beastkin she had spirited away from civilization.

"Of course," Zura reluctantly agreed. She glanced about, then frowned. "But... ah... what should I do until then...?"

Cygna sighed again, then turned away from the dragon once more. "I don't know. Just, go... go somewhere else, and do something. Away from me. I need to concentrate. There's something wrong with this body, and I need to find a better one. Soon."

The dragon twitched ever so slightly, her eyes narrowed the slightest bit. Yes, that was just as she had suspected. She would need to speak with Elin, if she ever emerged from that necromantic mess again. Unfortunately, the odds of that happening were rather slim.

"Well," Zura rumbled. "Perhaps I could-"

Cygna grunted, absently shifting again. She adjusted the absurd armor she was clad in, then blinked as she suddenly plucked a thin novella from her cleavage. That was... what in the world was that doing there? It certainly didn't look important enough to warrant such an intimate safekeeping.

"Here," she snorted. The book flipped end over end as she tossed it away, toward the massive beast. "Read that. See why this beastkin was carrying it. It's probably nothing, but it should keep you busy for a while."

Zura arched one scaled brow, then reached down to gingerly lift the tiny paper thing between two of her claws. She squinted, studying the painted cover as she murmured to herself. "By Beak and Claw, A Gryphon's Tail. This is-"

The dragon paused, both brows arched now as she recognized the name scrawled at the bottom of the cover. And, come to think of it, she was fairly certain she recognized that panther on the cover, too.

Well, at the very least, it would make for some interesting reading.

"Yes, my Queen." She rumbled, almost managing not to sound sarcastic. "I'll be outside, if you have need of me again."

"Good," Cygna grunted. She gestured dismissively, then waited until the dragon had left before returning to her meditations. Reaching deep down, she scratched at the Lynx's soul, trying to eke out enough power to place another summons or two.

There it was, that odd resistance. There was plenty of power to be had from this host body, even more than might be found in a fledgling mage, but it resisted her at every turn. It was odd - she had scoured through the creature's more recent memories, and there was no evidence that this 'Elin' was a mage or arcanist of any sort. As far as she could tell, it seemed that she was in the body of a waitress and brothel-worker.

She opened one eye, peeking down at her - the Lynx's - body once more. Well, at least it was kind of cute. Nothing in comparison to her old body, when she had been tall and majestic and statuesque, of course, but at least this frame had a nice rack. She could see why its owner had decided to work in a brothel.

Cygna turned her thoughts back to the task at hand. There was time enough to explore the body and its memories more thoroughly later, after she had consolidated her power. She might even keep it, if she could figure out what was wrong with it. She had never been a catkin before.

Tch, but then her title wouldn't make any sense. She could hardly be The Bitch Queen if she was a feline. No, she would just have to-

She closed her eyes, forcing herself to focus. She was wasting time, and every precious second she lost was another chance for some errant hero to stumble upon her carefully laid plans. She had underestimated those sorts once, perhaps even twice, and it had cost her dearly. But never again.

Her mind reached out, each fleeting thought taking her a hundred more miles distant. She was drawn to those who had once served her, each one stained with the indelible mark she had left upon their souls. She passed most of them by - this one was dead, that one was maimed, and another was imprisoned far too securely, but- oh. Yes, that one would do.

She smiled to herself, with a face that wasn't hers. The feline's body was nice, but that one was even nicer.

She would be The Bitch Queen again, soon enough.

***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****

The next morning, a chill wind blew through the streets of Ma'Karach. It was unusual, for such a balmy summer day, but not unheard of. After all, much stranger things happened in Skarn on a daily basis, and this barely registered with most beastkin. A few commented on the odd wind, then shrugged and went about their labors, but most thought nothing of it at all.

But for one, at least.

The dark wizard stood unmoving at the edge of the well-maintained trade road, his cowled head tilted back to allow him a better view of the sky. With methodical scrutiny he studied every inch of his surroundings - the sky, the clouds, and even the sun.

Not that this was evident to his followers. To them, it looked as if he had simply stopped in mid-sentence, to stand frozen on the forest's edge. It was impossible to follow his gaze, or to even gauge his expression, because of the layers upon layers of infinitely deep shadow that masked his features.

Kavah was the first to speak, clearing his throat uncomfortably after a few long moments. "Uh, boss? You okay?"

The tiger next to him snorted, absently scratching at his rear with his one good arm. "Guy's gone crazy. No surprise there, yeh? S'what we get, workin' fer a wizard."

Kavah frowned, subtly goading his horse forward toward the wizard. It wasn't so much that he disagreed with the tiger - ah, Gange was his name, if memory served. More, it was that he wanted to get away from the feline. He smelled atrocious, and he kept spitting everywhere.

The fox leaned in, pausing for a brief second before reaching over to shake the wizard lightly. He hissed and quickly withdrew his hand, flexing his numbed fingers. It was like the mage was made of ice, or something worse, but whatever the cause it had almost instantly deadened the thief's entire arm up to the elbow.

Still, it snapped the dark wizard back to the present. "Ah, yes. Apologies, but I thought I had sensed a presence that-"

The cowled figure shook his head, catching himself. He had no reason to explain himself, not to lowly mercenaries and thieves - especially not ones that he himself was employing. He thought back, to what he had been doing before he had sensed that malevolent presence...

Oh, of course. He spurred his undead mount, and it obediently clopped about to face him toward the mercenaries he had hired. Their horses shied back, innately fearful of the unnatural thing that he was riding upon, but their respective riders were able to keep them from fleeing outright.

"We pursue a lesser noble named Rhaelyn fa Soren," the dark wizard uttered. His voice was soft, and yet somehow powerful enough to reach the ears of every beastkin following him. "He is a dangerous man, and a practiced mage. He apprenticed beneath one of The Seven, and is heir to the Violet Cowl."

One of the mercenaries shifted against his horse, speaking up uncertainly. He was a lion, dashing and noble in demeanor, with a gilded breastplate and gleaming rapier. "I'm uncomfortable pursuing a noble, without good reason."

Gange Southpaw snorted, hawked some tobacco-stained mucus, and spit it onto the dirt road. The other mercenaries flanking him edged away a little, looks of disgust on their faces. "I'm not," the tiger snorted. "Always feels good to take one'a those snot-nosed diplo-crats down a peg or three."

Despite his disgusting mannerisms, his comment goaded a few murmurs of agreement from the other mercenaries. A wolf, another tiger, a one-eyed cougar. Far from overwhelming assent, but enough to make the lion a little more uncomfortable with where things were going.

"Ser Silver-Heart," the robed figure murmured soothingly. "I have no intention of harming him. Not as long as he cooperates. We need merely track him, subdue his companions, and... convince him to hand over what he has taken from me."

The lion, Royce Silver-Heart, seemed unconvinced. Still, there was no sense in endangering his pay simply because the wizard rubbed him the wrong way. He would just have to play things by ear. "Of course, Ser. I appreciate your candor."

There was silence for a moment, thick and uncomfortable, and finally Kavah spoke up just to break it. "Okay, so they're just a day ahead of us, headin' northwest toward Old Amazonia. They're moving fast, but they're on foot, and we're on horses. Shouldn't be too hard to catch up wit 'em and-"

"And kill them!" One of the mercenaries crowed gleefully.

"And blow 'em up!" Gange agreed enthusiastically.

"And SUBDUE them." Royce growled, meaningfully. No, this job was making him more uncomfortable by the second. He found himself wishing, and not for the first time, that he didn't need money quite so badly...

"Yes," the robed figure chuckled. "And no. We will pursue them, but we will not confront them until I know where they are going and what their intentions are. Then, and only then, we will.. subdue them... and I will recover my property."

He gestured slightly toward the fox once more, with the pale runed staff he clutched in one gloved hand. Kavah nodded in turn, and looked back to the assembled mercenaries. "There's only four of'em, so it shouldn't be too hard. There's the mage, he's the dangerous one, and then there's three others. My sources tell me its a dogkin, a rogue gryphon, and-" he twitched slightly. "A cheetah."

Royce curled his lip slightly, "The dog is an Amazon war-criminal. She is not to be taken lightly."

Gange absently picked at his teeth with the claw on his pinky, but he mumbled around it with a salacious grin. "And she's red-hot. I've seen 'er."

The lion flicked an ear, flinching just a bit at his companions crude observation. "Is she? I hadn't noticed. Regardless, she should not be underestimated."

"None of them should be taken lightly," the dark wizard murmured. "And if it comes to it, then I want each and every one of you to be ready. The item they stole from me is dangerous. Very dangerous. And doubly so, in the hands of an incompetent enchanter such as he."

The robed figure's head swiveled, the empty cowl seeming to sweep its invisible gaze across each of the assembled rogues. "You should be ready for anything. For any danger. And you should be ready, if need be, to kill."

Kavah shivered slightly, as the figure's gaze fell upon him last. It was almost as if the shadowy thing was trying to make a point, perhaps to the thief or perhaps to the others. He squirmed a bit, his gaze averted. The dark wizard had promised to pay him well, and already he had given him a more than generous down payment in the form of mild healing magics, but that didn't mean he wasn't creepy.

"Uh, yeh," the fox mumbled. "Sure, boss. Whatever you say."

"Good," the figure rumbled in return. He gestured with his staff, easing his undead mount out of the way. "Then lead the way, Kavah the Swift. You're our scout, and we've much ground to cover before our task is done."

The dark wizard leaned back some, watching impassively as the mercenaries - each of them just as expendable as the last - filtered past him as they followed after the fox. Soon the phylactery would be his. The mercenaries would see to that, or they would die trying.

He chuckled to himself, spurring his own steed back into motion as he took up position at the rear of the chain. Even if they died, he would still get some use out of them. He was, after all, the most powerful necromancer in Karash. At least, the most powerful one still alive. He had seen to that.

And soon, once he had the Phylactery in his grasp, he would be the most powerful necromancer in the world.

He almost pitied the handful of hapless beastkin who stood in his way.

Almost.