Divinity, Mortality, and the Stars.- Introduction
Here is the start to my first serious story attempt in a long, long while. I greatly appreciate any feed back that might be given in the comments, or notes sent to me. Constructive criticism, and encouragement all help and are loved! <3 This story is about a very large, and trouble fox that has been 'cursed' by very uncaring gods to be their Avatar. He has a plan for revenge, one that will break down the boundaries between earth, the heavens of the divine, and the halls of space where stars do dwell. The very curse that the gods and goddesses give him, is the key to bringing it all together.
As a second note, I am open for commissions from anything like short stories, to art descriptions and stories, to helping develop characters (be it just backstory or more), character descriptions, joint stories, and more! So if you like my writing, and have an idea for something you might like, please send me a note, I'll do anything (naughty included for you folks ;3). Don't be shy with any idea, ideas never hurt and i'll do my best to work with you to get what you want, for a price workable for us both!
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The dawn of a new day's light bathed the Earth, as it did every morning. The paleness of a lonely moon and faint, dainty stars far off into sky now faded from view. All apart of an endless cycle as immortal as those celestial bodies were. Such grand objects, these bodies, floating amidst the black halls of space. So far they were, apart from everything else. Only having each other, as company. For that long, long eternity that they lived for. It was a shame that they had no companions. Perhaps, much like those upon the Ear. Those rare, planet bound, beings that were immortal themselves. Whom had naught but each other to keep them company all throughout lonely time.
Poised upon a solid, gray, boulder, did rest one of those immortal beings. A hulking, bipedal, fox, that is a fox that stood upon two legs. Digitigrade legs at that, or the hind legs of a regular animal. Thick, powerful, meaty legs that looked like they rather belonged on a dragon, than this fox. Despite having the physique, and muscle mass of a Viking, the fox sat with a contemplative stare at the sun. A slightly musky, earthly smell permeated him this morning. Burnt orange fur covered him from animistic head, to broad, and black-clawed foot paws. The only discrepancy in that brilliant orange fur, was an absolute blackness coloring the insides of huge, perked ears. He was vividly, imposingly tall, as if he were a cousin of Hercules. Completely the opposite of the small, tender, little foxes one normally thinks of. Nude upon every inch of his body, he was. Revealing a dashingly handsome face, no hair to get in the way. Just pure, velvety orange fur atop his head. Piercing silver eyes of the purest quality, were charming the way they glowed under the morning sunlight. His maw, snout, whatever name it was given, was short, slim, and had a smile that could give an angel its wings. However, despite the jaw-dropping, chiseled face, and viking build, his nudity showed more as well. A body that was scarred and cratered from untold years of war and bloodshed. Even carrying over to an impossibly huge tail. A pair of orbs, and an animal's sheath were sized to fit the massive body of the male fox as well.
Here upon this unmoving boulder, the giant, mystical, creature of a fox combed through lifetimes of memories. Bringing both times of bliss, and raging nightmares to the front of his mind. His expression through it all was stoic, unchanging. Only reminiscing he was, trapped by his own thoughts and experiences of the past, and perhaps future as well. One memory eventually stood out about the rest, as the irony of the rising son set into his thoughts.
"The Romans, they indeed were a fine challenge." The deep, baritone voice of the fox shattered the silence around him. He reminisced of a time long ago, when he was traveling beyond the reach of the civilization that the world had built up at that time. Those words brought forth with them the force of a tidal wave. As more memories flooded his mind. Ones that blasted apart the gates to his consciousness, and overtook his senses.
Over rolling hills on the rare grassy landscape of a part of Europe, a setting sun colored the sky purples and oranges. Fresh rain made the grass smell of dew, even in the late evening that it was. The fox was clad in naught but the white wrappings of a monk around his stomach and arms. While a pair of tough, worn, brown, trousers made of thick leather hugged his hips and thick legs. Held in broad paws, were a pair of double-edged, steel short swords. They glowed gray under the light of the sun, in a mourning and ghoulish way. Stalking along, the fox was completely unlike any of his brethren, something out of a nightmare. So he appeared to an approaching Roman Legion, made of similar, bipedal wolves with males and females marching side by side. They were thick with muscle, but not even half his height. Coming in a varied assortment of colors, grays, whites, blacks, and all sorts of mixing there of. The smell of hot bodies wafted from all of them, clad in the mixed metal and leather armor of Roman Legionnaires.
The monster of a fox made the entire Legion halt their noisy, pounding march, though they held their tight-knit formation of a phalanx. However, the beast that was the fox never stopped, even as the officers of the Legion called out to him in vain to identify himself. The look in his silver eyes was unyielding, undeniable. The look of a warrior thirsty for the thrill of battle. He came, and eventually, the Legion would have no choice but to draw their swords. The straight, hard-forged, Roman Gladius.
A battle that was by all means a titanic clash ensued. One impossibly large and powerful, machine of a fox, fought blade to blade with the warriors of the world's greatest Empire at the time. The sun would set far on past them as this fight would rage on into the night. Driving every critter, big and small, fleeing as the sounds of steel on steel echoed over the endless hills. Fire would be evoked without explanation in the hearts and souls of every last Legionnaire. A sudden lust for war and fighting that was so unlike the disciplined mind of a Roman soldier. Remarkably spurred on by an inferno of passion that soared throughout the fox's entire, monstrous body. Moonlight, and starlight cast their palely shadows over the bodies of the wolves and fox alike. The battle was bloody, it was messy, but it was not of gore and death miraculously. For each time the fox clashed blades with the wolves, he did so with honor long since determined in the engines of war and conquest. This beast of a warrior directed the battle like it was an orchestra. Each Legionnaire would receive a fair battle with this fox, even when five, or six of them would unleash a flurry together upon him. Each clash that ended brought the warriors into fatigue and unable to fight, injured and beaten, but alive. Yet the fox became rejuvenated by every clash that he participated in. The battle directly punishing his body and mind, while somehow restoring his ability to fight, each time the ringing of steel upon steel paused at the end of a clash, and the start of another. Covered in blood, sweat, and wounds from head to toe, not all the strikes against him were the cause of his wounds, however. A wild energy that seemed to erupt through him with each swing, surrounded him during the whole night. A black maize, that had him snarling as it lashed at him as much as the Romans did. It made the Romans recoil with horror on their faces, but not a single one stopped their furious assault upon the fox. Yet, it came from him, as if an internal battle were being raged inside of the warrior. One, that claimed every ounce of his soul, warping him across time and space as it all melted before him. The battle that he wrought with the Legion only fueled an internal battle that had been going on for eons longer than this battle ever would. He fought with himself the entire time he fought with anyone else. He fought the very nature of himself that drove him to fight these soldiers.
Upon the rising of that very sun that had set upon the start of this all, the entire Roman Legion lay strewn about over the grassy hills that they had so desperately made a stand on. Not a single dead, but not a single able to lift a clawed finger against the fox, who stood in the middle of it all. The smell of bloodshed hung in the air like a heavy mist. And stained all their coats of fur a shade of crimson. When the dawn came, and they all lie there with the rush of battle draining from them in its last final bursts, he did let out a canine growl. Instinctual on a level that blasted through the ears and minds of every beaten and battered soul around him. The men and women knew not what the nameless creature was growling for, but they could feel the anguish and satisfaction that complimented each other inside the very tones of his vibrating voice. A tribute he paid to them, with that growl, telling them in a way that they didn't understand how much he appreciated their spirits for war. And as the tones did slow and wane into the passing of a thick, summer gust, the fox would erupt out into the grass from whence he had come. A running beast tearing through the lands without a shred, or need for love or passion beyond that of which was fought for.
The fox smiled upon the boulder on which he sat, finally succumbing to the emotions of those, somehow fond memories. He picked himself up from his purchase upon this solid stone, like a titan rising from its throne. A throne made of stone that to, was long-lived, but not as long as this male had been. He had fought for ages that would never even be known to this rock. Trapped in his own immortality, that so made him a, kin, to the stars, sun, and moon in the skies above.
For he was cursed, with the 'honor' of a series of gods and goddesses. A heritage that was thrust upon him without his consent, without his knowledge or consultation. A heritage that included any divine being that was associated with battle, war, and conquest. His old life had been ripped from him, completely burnt to ash, just for 'their' needs. He had been chosen to be, forever, their Avatar. An experiment, a fluke, a passion, a need, a necessity, those are the names that he was given by those that so empowered him. No care for him, no desire to care for him. Those that sat between the Earth, and the home of the stars, immortals that were actually the ones that were out, of, place. They, were those who had taken his life, and thrust him into this, their, new one.
Yet beyond this, the fox had reason to smirk to himself. A smirk of diabolic quantities and meaning. One that would not be noticed by those that controlled his direction, for he would not allow them to see it. He never had a choice in taking this path, never had a choice of leaving behind the life he once had. But, he had choice now, oh did he have a choice now. He had grown with the ages, and he knew what could be done to free him of his curse of the immortals that did not belong where they were. They were the odd ones, stuck between the earth and the stars. And they thought they were the most grand beings of any that existed. How wrong they were, and how wrong they would be proven. He felt his broken and aged body, broken not in physical injuries, but broken in a battle inside of him. Of the nature of whom he originally was, and the nature those gods and goddesses had thrust upon him. He walked down into the warming, and welcoming light of the sun that was so far away from him. Proud, sturdy, and having faith in what he believed in, what he personally, fought for. They, those haughty, divine beings, would know what he fought for soon enough. For he would bring it ramming down their doors, and crashing straight into their skulls.