FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

For as long as I can remember, the plains have always been both simple and frightening. A combination of calm and deception that caught you off guard at the worst time possible. What once was a vast plain covered with small pockets of greens and brave animals could, at the drop of a hat, morph into a wide lake or a strong river. The seasons were flighty in their coming and goings, nature was unpredictable, dangerous but at the same time beautiful. Like a wild horse, sometimes it would trample the earth with thunder and lighting while on other days it would cover our fields with blissful rains and days full of sun. This, our land, was never one for the faints of heart or those with doubts in their minds. We live and die by the whims of nature; the grim promise of death ever over our shoulders just waiting for the right time to reap our lives.

To some, our lives may seem nonsensical and arbitrary, our victories just a matter of luck while our defeats were certainties. We dance among contradictions and traditions, the very essence of live and death so intertwined in our minds that we can’t think of one without the other. This is why, I think, that our land is so rich in otherworldly creatures. From ghost to demons, from unknown strangers to mirages, my childhood had been full of the tales of the beings that walked the line between two worlds they could never belong to. Back then I used to admire them, they were the farthest thing from normal in the little town I lived in and that’s why I loved them. They all had their quirks, their peculiar rules, their way of summoning and banishing. It was all a calvacade of figures and traditions that somehow made sense; there were the three margaritas left on the door on the 23rd of each month to keep the ghosts away, then there were the holy figures dutifully placed all over the house to prevent possessions; no one would leave their houses without a silver spoon to ward off the Hunters and a few grains of coffee to protect yourself from devils’ charms.

However, there was one tale that never failed to chill me to the bone. No matter how old I got or where I was, the moments the firsts notes of her song came from the cuatro, the air would become stale and oppresive, a cold wind would sneak into the room and a tense silence would fall into the room. Then the song would begin proper, a haunting melody filled with sorrow and regret. A hundred different persons would play their songs in a hundred different ways, but if there was one thing they all agreed on, it was that the tale should always begin with her dead. Her name had been lost to time long before the song was even made, one of the many mysteries that surrounded her, She had been a rancher’s daughter more than three hundred years ago; a beautiful lass with curls of coal black hair and bronze skin. Back then she had been a willful woman, seeking to leave her mark in the plains with her infallible plans that brought many riches to her household.

One day, after a grueling negotiation with a merchant, she had wanted to take a ride in her beloved horse, seeking refuge from her thoughts in the savanna. Nobody in her family had given it a second thought, for the lady often took off to ride and they had no squabbles with their neighbors. Fate had other plans for all of them, sadly. The lady had barely been riding for an hour before she met a comely young lad, golden hair sparkling under the afternoon sun, an easy smile on his face. The lady, still high on the euphoria of her ride and sure of her own safety, approached the lad with a trot. The young man returned the greeting with enthusiasm, stopping his own horse so that the two would meet. With sweet words and a devious tongue, the lad soon had the girl trapped in a long conversation, unconspicuously leading them both close to a small pocket of vegetation with the excuse of seeking refuge from the unrelenting sun. That would be the girl’s final mistake, for as soon as the two of them had been in the cover of the forest, the rogue had produced a dagger from his vest and sunk it deep into her breast. Ragged breaths were her only answer before life fled from her body. The villanous lad would then strip her of her emerald collar and of anything else of note and left her body to rot in the forest, trusting the animals to take care of the rest.

It didn’t take long for the family to grow worried, the lady’s absence extending for far longer than she used to. Hours turned into days and the lady’s family grew desperate; searching parties had been sent and scoured the plains with all their skill, but no clue of the lady or her horse ever came. After the second week of fruitless search, the family were left on their own; the whole town had come to the conclusion that the girl was dead and regretfully moved forwards with their lives. By the time a month of the lady’s disappearance had come to pass, a blonde lad paid a visit to the family. Of the mirth and determination the family had been known for there was no sight, the parents looking more like husks than people while the elder brothers had married the bottle to cope with his loss; the lad loss no time in procure proof of the lady’s death, claiming to have found a necklace with the family crest in the stomach of a crocodile he had killed near the western river. The lad cried and apologized deeply to the family, telling them he should have come sooner but hadn’t hear about the lady but a few days ago. The family, thankful for finally reaching some closure, rewarded him richly and bid him goodbye.

As far as the town as concerned, the lady had died in an unfortunate accident, a tragedy and a pity, but nothing else. There was however, one person that knew the truth, thought she was no longer alive to tell it. The lady, her soul torn with thoughts of revenge and justice, had refused to cross over to the other world. Instead, she had spent the entirety of her undead life trying to tell her family the truth behind her murder. Yet, no matter how ingenious she might have been, how strong her will, nothing she did ever got her message across. The appearance of her killer in her own home and his blatant lies were the load that broke the horse’s back. The lady was furious, the desperation brought by her isolation and impotence silencing her better judgement. With white hot rage she denounced the holy God and his angels, she cursed her killer, the plains and the town. She cursed liers, scammers and murderers and swore eternal pain to all of them.

The lady’s soul was forever tainted by a dark presence who promised her power in return for service. She accepted without a second thought, her diabolical deal pouring corruption into her, but also, intoxicating power. It took her no time to track down her killer, barely two hours to reduce him to a crying mess and less than five minutes to leave him a soulless husk, vacant eyes staring at the sun as his broken body refused to hold him up. Her revenge didn’t stop there however, no, the killer was only one of many and she tracked them all. The jealous bachelorette who hired the lad, the contact that had introduced the two, the members of the searching party bribed to keep silent. One by one she tracked them all, one by one she broke them and all of them were left for dead by the side of the street. From that day on, the lady would go on to not only hunt her murderers, her liars, her scammers but each and every one she could find. Big or small, shallow or grave, she would hunt them all, for eternity. Nothing could stop her, nothing would dissuade her and the only warning you would get was a whisper in the wind days before your time was up. Just a whisper of her new name: Vengadora.