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In the near beginning, just after the great darkness there was a time of chaos and fire. The dragons ruled the world with equal measure of strength and fear. The worst of their wrath was unleashed upon Scortheria, the rugged continent of the west. Countless lives were wiped out over the years of slavery and violence, nearly causing the extinction of several species. It was then that a group of scholars and great mages reached deep into the ether, their scientific and magically inclined minds building a weapon of an unholy nature.?

The Soulsteel was born, a heartless weapon that was unlike any known to the realm. The powerful weapon was considered a renouncement to the gods themselves, and many of the Scortherian people shunned the group that created it. Those that followed this deadly cult bonded to their own religion, embracing science over sorcery and slowly the Soulsteel became more powerful, and less controllable.?

When at last it was perfected, the leader of the religious clan now known as the 'Valcoul' released his weapon upon the great dragons of their land. It rained in the skies like slithering liquid, gold and grey patterns rippling across the horizon as every mage, dragon and otherwise spiritually inclined being was consumed by the metal's strength. It devoured them like acid, stealing their very essence into the core of its immense knowledge. For little did its creators know, but the great incantations that had taught it to devour their enemies, had given it a base form of sentience.?

Even long after the war had ended, the weapon had not been disposed of. The great leader of the Valcoul had been possessed by the essence of his Soulsteel as using its power corrupted him. As years passed, the lone Valcoul tower of Scortheria had been declared forbidden and as it lay dormant, housing its all-powerful cult, a fear and taboo of magic and science had washed over the continent's people. Anarchy and chaos reigned permanently in the forgotten land, but every man and woman of wisdom knew, that to the East, the Valcoul shaped the fate of their people in silent scrutiny.

...

It was long after, that the second great struggle for the dominance of Scortheria would occur. It all began with one small Wolfen village, as it was besieged by a powerful warrior who worshipped death itself. Packrun was a small outpost for a much greater kingdom of the Wolfen race, and its capture would mean a great advantage for whoever wished to wage war on its greater population.

On the fateful eve of what would lead to a great war, a vicious eagle who had pillaged many a people set her sights on the small village, the guards unable to hold her back as they had been silently betrayed by one of her own.

The gold eagle looked up at a spasming Wolfen as the blade in her grip slid deeper into his chest, her talons slicing against the handle of her sword until sparks screeched from its battered metal. "Gods, please-" the Wolfen cried as he coughed blood down over the eagle's armor, the plasma covering half of the avian's face. Her eyes were cold and empty, like that of a corpse as she slid the blade just further up, the Wolfen's bottom half disconnecting from his top as both sections hit the ground with a heavy thud.

There she stood in her glory, void of emotion, surrounded by a fresh graveyard of slaughtered victims, the army of some noble dynasty left as nothing more than cut cattle. The great eagle walked along the village streets to gaze upon her carnage, fire set to every home and Wolfen flesh surrounding the grace of her talons. "This world shall be mine!" she spoke to the heavens, vicious pride swelling in her chest as she sheathed her great sword.

"And the world shall revel in the light of its new goddess!" a voice came from her side, a single Wolfen soldier stepping towards her, no ounce of pity shown in his expression as he viewed the destruction of his own village.

"You have done well to serve me, your cunning skills led me here undetected, and the slaying of your own general... very loyal." the avian turned to grin as she looked over the soldier's handsome body, "We will consummate this first sacrifice in the blood of our spoils, from now on you are my servant, a loyal mate to seed this vessel!"

The Wolfen's fangs gleamed as he gave the eagle a toothy grin, armor hitting the ground as both warriors stripped of their clothing. The avian lay herself along the ground, carnage and gore surrounding her body as her feathers soaked in the blood around her. Her talons grazed along her chest, down to her thighs as she began to spread her glistening folds to her companion. The Wolfen's shaft and knot were already unsheathed as he lay himself down, unphased by the remains of his people as he stained his fur in crimson. He carefully pressed against his goddess' beautiful treasure, sliding himself into her damp warmth.

It was like paradise, his hips bucking into her as he took his prize. Every innocent victim around them was worth it; the great barbarian had returned and had chosen his seed over all others. He knew deep down he would not survive the full term of his pup's gestation, his goddess would slay him as soon as he no longer served a purpose, but it mattered not, the thought of fathering young gods was enough for him, and the act of insemination gave his life unwavering purpose. He kept his thrust wild and vicious, wishing to continue to impress his goddess, he could see her finger her clitoris as he pounded into her, his knot pushing hard against her soft flesh. The eagle stared wildly into his eyes as he finally hilted into her, his seed filling her womb as his knot locked painfully into her.

"Give life into me, and when the time comes, I will take it from you!" she spoke in lust as she drove her beak against her mate's neck, blood trickling down the Wolfen's side.

"This is my pact," he whimpered as she fed on his neck, scarring him as she created a large gash in his flesh, drinking the bitter iron of his life's blood, "I am a noble sacrifice to my goddess, and I will father her young gods, for this world is hers, and so shall be theirs!"

Their thralls of passion continued in the light of the village's blaze, shadowy figures watching them just beyond the horizon. "Twisted little critters" the first figure spoke to its companion, "This indeed is a harsh and cruel world."

The second figure turned to the first as it let out a soft chuckle, "It surprises me that you possess this sector, one might call this, my cup of tea."

...

As days passed, news of the Wolfen village's destruction had swept over the surrounding lands on swift wings, leaving a strong warning of the great barbarian's return. Unbeknownst to her however, there was one survivor who had escaped the village's destruction, a young cub who now braved the harsh desert that surrounded the village outpost. The Wolfen pup's grey fur was littered with sand and his green eyes were paler than usual, parched lips quivering as he was left more and more desperate for water. His shaggy dark hair was nearly ginger now from the sun's constant shine, and his muscles were left weakened.

His hope was wearing as thin as his health on the sixth day, his small rations of water depleted. Just as he was prepared to give up he stumbled upon the area he had been searching for. A small oasis that he had heard the village elders speak of often, too far to be of practical use, but often used to restock resources when the hunting pack would go on a long journey in the eastern direction. At this point the young Wolfen had begun to run in the direction of the water, his prayers seemingly answered by the gods. He dove right into the nearest pool of cool, refreshing water, the little pond cleansing him of the dirt and grime the journey had littered him with.

Despite his thirst being quickly quenched, the young pup had thrown himself inadvertently into harm's way. Before even realizing he was in danger, several paws gripped his fur in various places, yanking him out of the water and onto the pond's edge. The boy gasped as several weasels surrounded him, their gnarled faces scarred and bruised, their teeth rotted, and their clothes worn and tattered. Bandits had found the young pup and now held him down firmly as their leader held a large, almost S-shaped shaped dagger to his chest. "Dirty pig thinka comin' in 'ere dose 'e?!" the largest of the band spoke in slurred growls, "What bring such a clean an' spotty young trouble 'ere all alone?"

"Maybe 'e got lost from 'is pa and ma, kit mighta been looking for dis 'ere fountain!" another weasel spoke in the same guttural, uneducated speak.

"Well dat's too bad, ain't it?" the leader spoke again, letting his blade's edge cut ever slightly into the pup's skin, "No food around 'ere this 'ole week, so I guessings we gotta eat dis 'ere pup... sure do 'ope 'e ain't stringy!" The group laughed as their leader had claimed his command, the crowd gathering around him as he began to press his blade in deeper. "'Oi fuck!" the leader suddenly screamed as the handle of his blade turned boiling hot, the dagger glowing red as it was touched by the boy's blood, "'e's a fuckin' tricker 'e is, got da bloody shinie!"

'Beannaith' a voice called from somewhere, soft and feminine, but deceivingly powerful. The pup yipped out in surprise as he felt a warmth surround him, joy washing over him for the first time since the death of his people. For the moment the dagger seemed to hurt no more and he felt somehow protected, even as the stammering footsteps of a rabbit like creature dashed into view, almost a blur as its long staff smacked harshly against all the bandits surrounding him. The staff's head was three times the thickness of its length and broke several jaws of those around the pair, what fangs were left on them flying through the air.

"Pull the dagger out kid!" the rabbit commanded, her appearance a mystery behind her bright red cloak and plump mage's hat. Despite being dizzy and barely focused the pup obeyed, feeling the slightest sting as he pulled the weapon out, its heat somehow unfelt by his paws. _'Muirbhrucht'_the rabbit shouted as she stretched her arms out, water shooting from her paws as it grew into waves, pushing the bandits back and soaking them head to toe.

"'aha, bloody shinies get us wet, 'ow's that sposed to 'elp save 'em?!" the leader jeered the pair on.

The rabbit did not reply, instead tossing her hat aside to show off a strong pair of antlers. 'Sraith Thintri' the revealed Jackalope said in a deafening boom like thunder, her antlers glowing as they began to spark, her head lower as suddenly bolts of chain lighting shot from their tips, electricity pulsing through each of the water-logged bandits. The light show lasted barely a moment before all was quiet, the bandits left strewn about, and lifeless. The Jackalope took a deep sighing breath as she fell to her rump, panting as she whispered, 'Gnothu', the Wolfen's wounds healing until he was left the slightest bare patch of damaged fur where the dagger had once been.

"Th-thank you" the pup stuttered as he was left dumbfounded, rubbing his little bare patch as he picked up the now normal dagger, admiring its intricate details.

"What are you doing out here all by yourself?" the Jackalope asked, moving back a little as she looked at the boy and his blade, "...and how do you know Bloodspells?"

"Blood what? You mean like your 'whispered words'?"

"My what?" the Jackalope asked incredulously.

"Your 'whispered words', father always said they were known to all in this world who had paws of power..." the pup quieted as tears began to well in his eyes, the thoughts of his family bringing him pain.

The Jackolope ignored the pup's ignorance of magic, and set the knowledge of his hidden power away for now. She shuffled closer to him again, clutching him in a hug as she whispered, "Young one, are, are you from Packrun." The pup was unable to speak during his sobs, simply nodding in response to the mage's question. "You poor thing!" she said sympathetically, clutching the cub tight as he leaned into her embrace, so frightened, so alone.

Amidst the sobs and whimpers the pup let out one broken sentence, "W-what is y-y-your name?"

The Jackalope kept her grip firm and kind around the pup's young body, "My name is Alandria, and I promise to keep you safe."

"Why Alandria, why, why, why did they destroy my village?!" the pup howled as he reached down, punching the dirt.

"I don't know young one, but I promise they will not get you." Alandria was silent for a good while as she let him vent his pain, the boy going quite silent and still when the little bit of energy he had left had drained him. When he finally had calmed down he lay against the Jackalope's side, her paw gently stroking his hair as she asked, "What is your name?"

The boy did not even flinch as he let the title slide out in an emotionless drawl, "Devan."

...

As night descended upon the land, Alandria began to gather small branches that had fallen among the trees of the oasis. Devan watched with interest as she placed little stones in a circle, strange runes carved into them. After the bundle of dry sticks were collected in the centre, the Jackalope tapped at the stone circle three times with her staff, mumbling to herself until each rune lit up, a fiery red colour shining brightly as the sticks igniting into an unusually large fire that seemed to provide and other worldly warmth. "You have such interesting trinkets" the young Wolfen spoke, seemingly distracted from all his trauma in the light of the fire.

"Trinkets would be putting their beauty to shame, I prefer to call them tools" she removed her cloak as she settled down next to the pup, her previously hidden pouch set on the ground. The Wolfen admired it as he noted how small it look in comparison to the amount of items it held, but he soon lost that thought as the female's body was shown in its full beauty. Underneath her cloak she had only a couple thin pieces to keep her private areas decently concealed, the rest of her fur free to feel the cool night air. "From where I come from, my entire race is magical, and these tools are made by our village Elder."

"An entire race of whisperers?" the pup asked, somewhat frightened.

"Sorcerers, please Devan, you must learn to respect the magic of our world."

"B-but Alandria, you're entire people, w-would risk awakening the Valcoul?!"

The Jackalope scowled as she heard those words, her paws tightening for a moment before she shook the anger off, "Those heathens have been dormant for nearly an entire age, and we who are blessed with the life of this world do not fear such blasphemy!"

Devan looked to the dirt as he felt a tinge of remorse, "I have offended you, and I am sorry, my kind, we are not akin to magic, and as such we have been instilled with great fear of it."

The Jackalope sighed as she sat on the ground next to the pup, holding him close as she comforted him again, "Don't worry about it kid, it is only natural to fear the unknown, after all this world is full of it." The pup nodded as he nuzzled into the female's chest, innocently but not without blushing himself. As he stared on into the flames in silence his stomach began to rumble and his companion let out a giggle as she said, "Wait here young one, I will forage us up some food."

...

After the Jackalope had returned she had prepared a small meal for the two to it, a strange collection of herbs, berries and other wild plants. The pup's face seemed to sour as he got used to the sweet and sour flavours of the earthy meal, his muzzle clearly used to a more savoury and fleshy diet. "I know all those tastes are new to you Devan, being mostly carnivore and all, but I assure you, you will learn to enjoy them and the herbs I added will heal us both and keep our minds sharp for the days ahead."

The pup nodded as he swallowed his meal down, more weirded out than put off as his tongue kept meeting unfamiliar tastes and textures. "Where will we go?" the boy asked, the slightest hint of excitement in his voice as he began to give into the care of the powerful female, choosing hope over the sorrow that had recently consumed him.

"Well first we're going to find a safe home for you, then I'm going to get back to my quest" there was a fierce nature to the Jacaklope's tone as she spoke, the reflection of the flames in front of her only adding to the fire in her eyes.

"What quest Alandria?" the Wolfen asked with much curiosity.

Alandria shook her head as she stretched out, yawning as sleep had begun its first spell on her, "Do not concern yourself young one, it is not your burden to bear."

"B-but, neither am I..." the Wolfen spoke as he looked into the fire.

"What did you just say?"

"I said neither am I," the Wolfen spoke passionately, "You did not need to save me, you did not need to venture away from your quest to save my life, I am not your burden to bear either."

The Jackalope laughed as she pat the boy on the back, "That is very wise of you, but I do not wish you to lose more than you already have."

"More than everything?" the boy asked, a dark almost adult tone lumped in his throat, "My family, my friends, my home... my innocence is gone." He noted the serious look his protector gave back to him as he spoke to her with such weighted words, "There is nowhere else left for me now but with you... you say I have some sort of ability... teach it to me, and I will help you on your quest."

The Jackalope nodded as she could tell the boy's mind could not be persuaded differently, "I cannot teach you..." she looked as the boy hung his head in defeat, "...but I know someone who can."

...

Elsewhere, in a far off city, a very different fire claimed the surroundings of a strong, brutish looking Lizan. He held a strong axe that was stained red with the blood of the village he had plundered, his men already harvesting any useful items or townspeople that would make good slaves. Several of the younger women had been kept alive for the keeping as the village belonged to the Naga, the snake-like creatures greatly fitting the reptilian organs of the Lizan. "Hurry it up, we've more to claim before morn!" the leader of the small group hissed at his kin, "Only keep the strong women, I will not go easy on any of them!"

As he hurried along his group the stamping of hooves thud dully out as a figure stepped calmly into the scene. The chief Lizan gave a few healthy swings of his axe as a large equine stepped towards him, her fur the darkest shade of black-blue, like a sky tarnished with storms. Her eyes shone like silver as she stared him down, and her hooves clambered like drums as she walked. The most noticeable detail of her body however, was the two horns atop her head that stood out like sharp daggers, a boney white omen atop her accursed form.

"What brings you to my new village abomination?!" the Lizan asked the large Bicorn in a cocky manner, "I'm afraid you have nothing left to claim."

The Bicorn smiled as she relaxed her arms, dark blood dripping from her shoulders all the way down to her hands as she tensed her wrists. The sounds of grunts and slashes rang out as daggers from seemingly nowhere sliced into every one of the Lizan's kin, each falling to the ground as the ropes of their slaves cut apart. Within seconds the crowd of scared women slithered away in a sobbing, screaming mess, the few that knew magic frantically firing volleys of water upon their burning homes. "Actually," the equine spoke in her low menacing tone, "There is a prize to claim right in front of me."

"You dare strike down my brothers!" the chief Lizan roared as he raised his axe, beginning to charge at the Bicorn.

The large equine simply grinned as she slid a small chunk of metal into her arm, her pierced skin bulging as the metal warped into a heavy sword. It slid quickly from her skin as the Lizan heaved his axe down on her, a clashing of metal ringing in both warrior's ears as their duel began. Swing upon swing both warriors clashed their heavy weapons with equally measured skill, sparks raining above them as their duel seemed to repeat endlessly with no victor. When the Lizan had finally begun to grow tired of lifting his heavy weapon, the Bicorn pierced forward, locking tightly into the blade of her opponent's axe.

His hands shook as he struggled to grip the weight of his weapon, fear in his eyes as the Bicorn's blood began to glow. It poured from her arms to her sword and gently dripped onto the axe as she began to smile. "You must have heard of me before" the Bicorn whispered as the axe began to feel light to the Lizan, the bright metal turning into an orange glow as it was soaked in equine blood.

"Y-You're, oh god no," the Lizan whimpered as he watched the axe melt, a scorching liquid sagging on the axe handle as the Bicorn raised her sword, "You're the Red Queen!"

The equine chuckled as she looked straight into her foe's eyes, "Correct!" All that was left was one final swoop of the Bicorn's sword, and both of the Lizen's wrists were sliced clean off, the warrior eliciting an ear piercing scream as the now free mass of magma dropped to his head, burning his scaly flesh away into ash until the mass cooled into thin chunk of metal, hilted cleanly into the Lizan's headless body. The Bicorn reached into a small satchel that hung from her side as she began to rub a few strange herbs gently into her self-inflicted wounds, sighing as she looked at all the chaos around her in the village, "Well Alice, you're late again."