Western Moonrise Empire, The Great Forrest
Kali grits her teeth, oddly thankful for the intense pain keeping her conscious. She struggles to lift her head off the ground, ragged breaths puffing steam into the chill northern air, to look at the heavy wound across her chest. From her position, lying on the twiggy earth below her, she sees the separated red muscle and white fat of the cut which ran from between her collar bone and left shoulder, angled downward across her chest, to end slicing her right breast deeply across the nipple. The damage was grotesque.... and fatal. Her blood is swiftly spreading across her chest and a cold numbness forms in her mind signaling the onset of shock. She loses all strength and her head falls heavily back onto the leaf littered floor of the dim forest where she had been caught after running for her life from her former "team mates". Her vision begins to dim and scenes from her memory flash through her mind, as if her whole life was but an instant, while she tries to figure out where she had gone wrong. Sounds of terrified screams and the wet crunch of breaking bones attempt to wrench her thoughts back to reality, but she denies the call to focus on her memories, looking for the mistake that had led her to this place...
Her earliest memories were of the slave house. Her name then had been B-16. She had never known her father or mother. She only knew that she was a slave, just like all the other children there, and that was because she was a beastman. She was taught, along with the rest of the girls, by her Dorm Mistress that humans and beastmen were different. B-16's ears were in the same place as a human but they were a little taller and pointed instead of rounded, plus a soft dark fur grew on the back side. The difference wasn't that much and you couldn't even tell if she wore here hair down... But her eyes were different too. She was a feline beastman so her pupils were like a cats and the color of her iris was much larger, covering the whole space between her eyelids with a brilliant green, showing no white. All of this served well to distinguish herself from a human, which she secretly longed to be, but that was the least of it. Her long, fluffy, midnight black tail, which attached to her just above the split in her butt, was the most obvious and embarrassing part of her body which labeled her beastman and slave.
They were fed regularly, allowed to bathe, received schooling, and were even allowed fabric to sew their own personal clothes. For B-16, the only real problem was the loneliness. It became quickly apparent that the dorm mistresses didn't want the girls becoming friends. Any time two girls would have more fun with each other than with the other girls one of them would quickly be taken away and a new girl brought to the dorm in her place. B-16 had even asked about this when she was seven and had been told that it was to foster independence in the girls. This hadn't made much sense to B-16. After all what good would independence be to a slave? But, seeing no further explanation would be forthcoming, she simply accepted it as a part of her life. A life that had changed soon after.
She, and the rest of the twenty girls in her dorm, had been awoken early one morning and told that today would be a special day and that they should all get dressed in their finest self-made clothes. After getting dressed and assembling in front of the mistress the girls were informed that they were all eight years old this year and, from now on, every week they would be taken in front of a person or group of people for their viewing. If these people like a certain girl then that girl would go away to live in a house instead of at the dorm. The squeals of glee and giggles of excitement B-16 heard that day would become nightmare fuel for her later on in life.
Soon, the day came when B-16 had been chosen to leave the dorm by an older man with short, dark, hair and a tired look in his eyes. She had been loaded in a closed carriage next to him and sat intently observing her lap, just as she had been staring at her feet on the walk from her dorm to the carriage. Hours after their departure, the man had not spoken a word and B-16 was feeling more anxious than she had ever felt in her whole life. When the horses had stopped and she heard men outside giving and taking orders to make a camp the man had suddenly turned to her and spoke.
"Raise your head... K-Kali..." he had said "I never want to see you looking down like that... you must be proud of who you are."
B-16 hadn't even realized he was talking to her until half way through, but as soon as she did she raised her head and said
"Yes, Mas-"
"No speaking!" the man interrupted irritably "We will speak more when we get home and you have... rested."
Not another word was said to B-16 for the rest of the two and a half week trip until they had departed the carriage in front of a large three story mansion. As she was being led up the stone walkway toward the house the man stopped her and spoke in a whisper with watery eyes.
"I'm sorry Kali..." then the man had walked away as a wet thud was heard and B-16 slumped unconscious to the ground.
When she had awakened, some time later, all she new was a world of pain. Intense pain that had flooded every inch of her body, especially her eyes, back, and ears. Over time it was explained to her what had been done. Using clever incisions and flesh scaring acid, her ears had been rounded and removed of hair to appear almost human. With a tiny needle, thrust thousands of times, permanent white ink had been forced into the flesh of her eyes, leaving only a small round circle of the green in the center like a human. Venom from a rare species of fish had also been forced in with a needle at the top and bottom of her vertical slit pupils, making it so that those areas couldn't expand. Now, even in pitch dark they would at best grow to a sort of oval, but for the most part the remained round like a human, if still slightly large. Lastly, her tail, which she had cursed so often, had been removed with nothing left but a scar.
The crippling feeling of loss at the change in her body was intense, but she had been young and from that day forth she had been treated like the young daughter of a wealthy man. Kali discovered that the man who had purchased her had lost a daughter and wife to a tragic accident and that the honest reason the man had purchased her was to fill the void of that loss. Kali greatly resembled the man's dead daughter, whose name was also Kali, and, upon seeing her, he had felt compelled to raise her and treat her like his own. She had known too well what loss fest like, and so, her sympathy, kind nature, and good treatment had led her to forgive the man and accept her strange new place in life.
For seven years the man treated Kali with love and kindness, raising her hidden away from the world with great affection. She came to trust and rely on him as she grew and even began to call him father. Though it was, she knew, a twisted sort of happiness, it was still happiness. She turned 15 and had begun budding wonderfully into a young woman with alluring hips, delicate features and already large and still growing breasts when her world came crashing down around her.
She had been noticing for weeks that her father was acting strange. He would stutter during normal conversation, he turned flush at strange times for no reason, his hugs tended to linger and they were no longer over her shoulders anymore, but under her arms and around her waist. His actions confused her very much and she had spent time actually concerned he was coming down with some illness. The night came a few weeks after she turned 15. Her father had been drinking since morning, another strange new habit, and, after joining him for a silent dinner, she had retreated to her room to avoid his drunkenness. Lying in her bed she had viewed the full moon and its streams of light shining through her window for some time when she heard her father's voice outside her room calling her. The next few minutes had been a blur as her father burst in throwing himself on top of her.
Screaming and ripping the thin night gown she had been wearing, his full weight had forced her down, helpless to resist. He had said that she was not his daughter. That he had bought her. That he owned her. That it was his right. All the while, the tearing sound of the flimsy night gown filled her ears until she was stripped naked. Raising himself, her father had placed one hand around Kali's throat to control her non-existent resistance and fumbled drunkenly with the buckle on his pants. Kali had stared up at him with dead eyes, not making a sound and not resisting. Her legs remained open and her arms were limp at her sides as her pale body shined in the moonlight. She didn't fight or even ask him not to.
He was right.
Nothing the man had said had been a lie. She HAD been bought. He DID own her. It WAS his right. Kali turned her head to the side to avoid the sight of the drunken old man and stared out the window at the full moon shining through. She had lost herself in that moon. Her mind had detached and wandered from the reality she was in. So much so that she barely felt the pain as her father had entered her and started his thrusting. He had whispered words she didn't hear the whole time and the rhythmic creaking of the bed had constantly threatened to drag her back to her sickening reality, but all Kali saw was the bright, white, moon until...
*SLAP!!*
"Wake up, little kitten... I'm afraid you're gonna have to live through this one... heh"
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Half a kilometer further North into The Great Forrest, Alaric Skolson sat on the cold ground tending the small fire he had recently built. For the last four months he had been heading due South, fighting and killing his way through the endless woods. Over the last couple of weeks the trees had been thinning and Al had been smelling faint wisps of humans, and some other strange, part human, smells as well. He could feel that the first leg of his long journey was soon to be over, as he sat near his small fire wrapped in a bear skin. Absent mindedly his hand caresses the haft of the over large battle axe sitting across his lap as he ponders what his first contact with these southerners would be like.
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The huge, double sided axe head on the long handle was forged with some type of dull black metal and had once probably been very beautiful, but now it was chipped, scratched, and a long crack ran through the center of one of the sharp blades. The thing looked like it had been made to endure a thousand battles... and then had been used in one thousand and one.
Just then, as Alaric was warming himself by his fire, the distant *ting!* of metal striking metal drifted to him, just barely audible, even for his keen ears. This sound was familiar to him. The sound of sword on sword. The sound of a life and death struggle. The sound of battle.
Smiling he stood, shaking off the bearskin, and hefted his heavy axe over his shoulder, but he didn't leave just yet. He just stood there with a smile on his face and eyes closed listening to the sound of the fight, which he could hear better now. To a man like Alaric, this sound was like a lullaby, soothing, warm, and familiar. Taking a deep breath, he opens his eyes while kicking dirt on his tiny fire. Then he turns south toward the noise and starts an easy jog in that direction.
Cresting a slight rise in the terrain, Alaric looks down into a small clearing in the wood to see four men wearing flexible leather armor,with well used swords, surrounding a woman, dressed in cleverly sewn hide leather travel clothes, wielding two thin short swords. Well, short swords might be a bit of a stretch, the skinny metal of the short blades was barely longer than some of the larger daggers he had owned in the past. Just then, the wind shifts and he can smell the group, and, once again that strange part human smell hits his nose. Staring now intently at the girl he sees that she is talented... swift and graceful, but it was clear she had never received any real instruction. On the other side, the four men were far less talented and skilled, but they made up for that with bloody experience. Their attacks were coordinated and paced, drawing blood at each exchange.
Alaric watched as the man behind the girl quietly bends down to grasp a small rock from the ground and throws it at the girl. It didn't hit her as she moved her head just to the side, but the distraction it was intended to be still worked. Her focus was lost for the time it takes to blink an eye, and in that fraction of a second, the man in front of her launched a heavy blow. The wound was deep and the girl crumpled to the ground, defeated. With a long sigh, Al began walking his whole body over the rise in the earth. Now that a victor had been decided in the fight, he intended to try and talk with these men....
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The four men were elated. They had been chasing the bitch of a beastman for hours. She had been fast but was unfamiliar with the woods, and, after following her obvious trail for a while, they had eventually surrounded her. After encircling her it had been business as usual. One or two would distract, the others attack. Simple... Worked every time... including now. As the final strike landed and the bitch fell, thoughts of the fun they were gonna have, before she completely bled out, began to fill their minds.
Fact is, the bitch should've been fucked and left breathing blood through a hole in her neck last night... But when they had jumped her in her tent and dragged her out, she had slashed out with the sharp claws that all beastmen could force out from their finger tips, taking the men completely by surprise. They hadn't brought any weapons with them, as they were sure they could over power the whore, so, after a few nasty cuts, the bitch ran off into the forest. A few hours later and now the four men, long familiar with each other, were snickering to one another, mentally trying to figure out which one of them would enjoy the girl first. That all halted though, when a loud, boisterous voice sounded out from the north.
"Brothers!!" said a man who was calmly walking down a small hill north of their position.
Gods! He is big! His hulking frame stood, easily, over 2 meters. Dressed in rough skins and leathers haphazardly stitched together, the beast of a man walked calmly toward the four mercenaries with a smile on his face. And what a face it was! Scars criss-crossed all over it with no pattern, and an especially painful looking one ran from his forehead, straight down over his right eye, to end at the bottom of his jaw, cutting through the right corner of his lips. The over all affect was frightening and turned his, probably, heartfelt smile into a leering half grin that would make babies cry. It was a face not even a mother could love... even if that mother was an ass faced bulldog... Moving on from the unlucky man's face, there was also his weapon. The largest damn war axe any of them had ever seen, and, by the shape it was in, the man must have taken up the habit of beating apart boulders with it.
"I don't know what brothers yer lookin' for, stranger, but they ain't here." Spoke the man who had made the final cut on Kali. "I suggest you move on and don't be showin' yer ugly face where it ain't wanted."
The rest of the men snicker at the comment. They weren't afraid of the savage looking man. They had ambushed and killed dozens, all of which were more powerful or more skilled than any one of them alone. Together they were strong, and if this man wanted a fight, they would give him a painful death instead.
The man stops walking and looks at the merc, standing 30 meters away from him, with a confused expression.
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Alaric didn't want to fight with these men. After four months of struggling through an endless forest, fighting for his life, and walking blisters onto his feet, all he wanted was answers to three simple questions. Food. Bath. Bed. Where are they? Just a finger point in the right direction and the four men would be his life long friends. With that in mind, he hitched up his warmest smile and tried talking to them.... one... more... time. Say one thing for Alaric Skolson... say he's friendly.
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"My brothers are here, before me." says the hulking man while smiling a cringe worthy smile "All men who take lives are sons of Skol... and also my good brothers!"
"Uggghhhh.." one of the men groaned. They all shared the same thought. Mystic. Hermit. Lunatic. Lone followers of obscure gods. These solitary crazy people were nearly impossible to talk to with every conversation turning quickly toward their, probably made up, God.
"Listen here, crazy man," the rock thrower spoke up calmly "You got two choices... One, turn around and head back the way you came. Two, keep yappin' that ugly mug of yours, and we'll do the world a favor by takin' it off yer shoulders."
*THWUMP* *THWUMP* *THWACK!*
"WHAT DA FUCK!" squawks the man standing next to rock thrower as he wipes blood and chunks of meat off the side of his face.
No one had seen it. They didn't see the man move. They didn't see the giant axe fly through the air. They hadn't even seen the man explode when the axe struck him in the chest. All they had seen was pieces of their long time friend and ally burst through the air when the too large axe had impacted his chest at an unimaginable speed.
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Alaric didn't want to fight with these men, but it was clear they were in no mood to talk.
Work to be done then.
Back to the mud boys... back to the mud.
Crashing into the remaining three men like a tornado, Alaric viciously assaulted them. Within seconds, three broken bodied copses lay on the ground and the northman was pilfering through their clothes removing coins, daggers, maps, and anything else of value. Quickly he piled the things up and calmly walked over to the injured girl sniffing the air. The strange not human scent was strong and clearly coming from the bleeding woman. Looking her up and down his eyes widen when he sees the short, razor sharp claws extending from a slit in her fingers that is hidden by the tips of her finger nails. At the same time realization dawns upon him. The girl's smell was similar to a werepanther, but far less dangerous and wild. This girl must be some type of cousin or descendant species.
Guessing her age to be about 24, Alaric observes her figure in regret. She's beautiful... and an unknown kind of creature. Reaching down he rips the hide tunic she wears and observes two gorgeous breast, ruined now, with a still bleeding gash running across her chest. It would be possible to save her. She hasn't lost enough blood for it to be fatal yet. Of course he could just back trail their footsteps and find out where they came from.
Alaric stares off into the direction the combatants had come from for a few seconds, before shaking his head and kneeling down next to the dying girl. Reaching into his wolf skin shirt he retrieves a tin can about the size of his palm and opens the lid. Pulling out a gruesome, blood stained, hooked needle and thin cordage he sets about getting his supplies ready. He had never stitched a tit before and had zero confidence in his gnarled, battle worn fingers, but leaving her here to die would put a bad taste in his mouth. Say one thing for Alaric Skolson... say he's compassionate.
*SLAP*
"Wake up, little kitten... I'm afraid you're gonna have to live through this one... heh"