FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

My time is coming to an end. My pupil is almost ready to take my place in these darkened halls. And so I write in these pages my story, if only so that I may put it from my mind.

I was once one of the Wolfkin, an ancient race that has wandered the forests since before the memories of man. We are known for our very wolf-like features and our skills as hunters and craftsmen. We were once proud warriors, wielding powers far beyond that of the other tribes. It wasn't until the aftermath of the old wars that we realized our errors. Some Arts are best left forgotten.

Since then we have become a peaceful race; loyal to our allies and we have now preferred working out peaceful solutions rather than resorting to violence as we had in the distant past.

I myself was a skilled hunter and fletcher. My bows were considered works of art and were often purchased by my kin, other beastkin, and even humans. It was being a hunter that saved my life.

I was in my early 50s, young for my kin, when the village was attacked. The nearby human city, once our allies, had grown increasingly distant from us after their old king died. It seemed that the new king, a petty and corrupt nobleman who bribed and cheated his way to the throne, hated us for reasons known only to himself. Over the years he worked to turn the public's opinion against us.

A detachment of his soldiers attacked the village while I was away on an extended hunt. When I returned I found nothing but death. The bloody mud clung to my paws as I walked through the remains of my home. Something within me broke when I saw what lay in my family's hut. I ran, at the time I did not know where I was heading or even what direction I was facing.

I finally stumbled to a halt at the foot of the mountains that lay at the edge of the forest. Before me was a narrow path the lead up to an ancient temple. I'd heard of this temple in my kin's legends. Its walls were seamlessly chiseled from the basalt bones of the mountain, it doors were solid ebony trimmed with tarnished silver. Its tall narrow windows looked over the forest like sightless eyes.

In my desperation I climbed that narrow path and knocked on the great doors. A great echoing boom sounded with each fall of the ancient sliver knocker.

Much to my surprise the great doors swung open, revealing nothing but empty blackness. From this stepped one of my own kin. His fur, eyes, skin, and even his teeth and tongue were pure black.

No, my fur was black. His was something darker, more like a complete absence of light. I might as well have been looking at a shadow silhouetted against the pale light of day.

"Welcome, child. Please, do come in." He turned, vanishing back into the darkness of the temple.

His voice was little more than a harsh whisper that sent chills down my spine and made the fur or my neck and back stand on end.

At the time I was too shocked and exhausted to anything but obey. Besides he seemed to be one of my kin.

As I stepped across the threshold the great doors swung silently shut and some thick heavy material slid from the windows. The fading light shot through the narrow slits for what must have been the first time in many long years.

The inside of the temple was stark at best, the floors the same seamless stone as the walls. There were few decorations, tattered tapestries and empty torch brackets hung from the walls.

A large dark stone alter sat at the far end of the main chamber, covered in a deep scarlet cloth. The same color as my eyes, though I wouldn't make the connection till several years later.

The strange man was standing by this alter as I entered the room. He turned towards me, his paws making no noise on the hard stone.

"Tell me Boy, do they still tell stories about this place at the village?" his hoarse quiet voice carried easily in the silence of the temple.

"The village is gone." My voice cracked and shook.

He bowed his head, "I see. And you escaped its fate by fleeing here?"

"All I know is that I ran. This is where I ended up."

"Interesting. Please, come."

He gestured for me to follow. He led my through winding passages until we came to a small sitting room. He gestured for me to sit, taking a seat on the far side of the room. The only other chair was across from him, on the other side of the room. Even the fur of my tail was on end by now.

"Would you like a drink?"

I nodded, unsure of what else to do. He poured me a glass of what looked and smelled like red wine.

A long tendril suddenly stretched from one of the dark corners of the room. It was smooth but the same color as the strange wolf. It gently picked up the glass and brought it to me.

If I had any energy left I would have ran. Instead I sat there, frozen with fear.

"Go on, take it. It won't bite." The old wolf said, a touch of laughter colored his voice.

Almost as if hypnotized, I tentatively reached out and took the glass. The tendril brushed my fingers. It felt soft and warm and strangely comforting. I found myself relaxing in spite of myself at its touch.

The old wolf saw this and a genuine smile lit his features.

"You remind me of myself when I first came here. If I remember correctly, even my eyes and fur were the same colors as yours. I imagine they look quite different now. Now tell me what happened to our village."

I told him of how I was out hunting and how the village was destroyed when I got back. He bowed his head and muttered one of our kin's funeral prayers.

"I suppose now I owe you a story of my own."

He told me of how he came across this temple, a temple from the oldest of our village's legends. He told me of how he found the secrets of a lost Art, the ability to control darkness and shadows. He came back here day after day, learning and refining the once lost spells and rites. When the elders found out they banished him in their fear and ignorance. He has been here ever since, perfecting the Art.

He offered me the chance to learn from him and I agreed. After all I had no home, and no one left to return to.

Two and a half years passed; I proved to be an able student, quickly mastering the basics and making strong progress on the more delicate elements of the Art. I learned to shape darkness and shadows into armor, weapons, tool, and even clothes. Perhaps the most useful thing I learned was to conjure prehensile tendrils strong enough to crush stone to dust but also able to pick up something as delicate as an egg.

Every now and then I left the temple to hunt. My master never left the temple nor did he ever ask me to hunt for him. During my hunts I sometimes met travelers and traders. They told me of attacks on the villages and towns of the other beastkin. They were luckier than my kin, the many cat tribes scattered when they heard the soldiers approach, while the dragonkin fought off the attack then fell back to their desert homeland. The news of the attacks enraged me but there was little I could do.... then.

At the end of the two and a half years my master called me into the main chamber. We sat face to face in the center of a large circle carved in the stone before the altar.

"I'm afraid there isn't anything else I can teach you, Boy. There's only one last rite left."

My blood ran cold, I had read about what the final rite entailed.

"But won't that...?" he held up a hand, silencing me.

"There's no need to worry about me, boy. I'm more than ready to face whatever's in store for me."

With that he started the rite.

I remember little of the rite itself. It's all a swirling and chaotic mess, I was buffeted by immense forces from all directions. Some pulled, other pushed, and even more worked at me in ways I don't think we will ever understand.

When I came to, thick curtains of darkness covered the windows leaving the temple pitch black. Yet I could see perfectly, I could even see what was in the other rooms. There was no longer any distinction between my physical body and the darkness in and around the temple.

That was when I saw my master sprawled across the ground at my paws. I knelt besides him.

"So you survived, well done Boy."

His voice was weaker than usually and his breathing shallow. He was dying.

"No need to worry about me. Besides I died years ago."

With that mysterious utterance, his body dissolved into a shadowy mist that sunk into the depths of the darkness.

I know now what he meant by his parting words.

I wandered the halls and chambers of the great temple, alone once more. I was at a loss for what to do. Until I remembered what the travelers have told me. The corrupt human king and his carnival court needed to be taught humility. The corners of my muzzle lifted into a cruel smile. And who better for the job than me?

I made one last pass through the temple, it would be a long time before I come here again. I conjured a heavy black robe from the darkness of the temple, the hood deep enough to hide my wolfish features.

The trip through the forest was easier than it ever had been. I flitted from shadow to shadow like some bizarre bird, my paws hardly touching the ground.

It seemed fortune favored me as I got to the human farms at the edge of the forest. Two famers were in the middle of a most interesting little chat.

"Seems Lord Rickert's upped the livestock tax again."

"Aye, he's already had old Ingard dragged off to hang for not payin'."

"How's he 'spect the old man to pay, he ain't been able to work for years and since they dragged his sons off to the army..."

"Aye, this is all startin' to be too much."

That's when I decided to step in.

"Morning, sounds to me like you want Lord Rickert gone."

They looked startled and scared at first, looking around like cornered animals. Finally one of them spoke.

"Aye, we wouldn't mind seeing him gone but what do you ask of us?"

"Not a lot, just tell me what you know of the sudden hatred towards the beastkin."

"Afraid we don't know much about that, all a few years ago Lord Rickert and a few others came through and ordered that any young men that didn't own a farm was to join the army."

"That's more than what I had....by tomorrow Rickert will be dead." I turned and headed towards the small township where the farmers gathered to trade.

It look little more than some casual eavesdropping to find that the overall opinion of Rickert was pretty low. It was obvious he wouldn't be missed.

It didn't take me long to find his home, a large manor estate on the edge of the township. Surrounded by high walls and guards at the gates, it was obvious that he knew he wasn't popular. Pity all that security would do him little good.

I found myself wondering how I'd even be able to kill him. Like the rest of my kin I had been peaceful. I had even mutter prayers for what I killed while hunting. But that was before I saw what had lain in the ruins of my village.

I hid in the dark mouths of alleys until the sun hung low in the sky and the shadows stretched toward the manor like hungry claws. That cruel smile split my face once again as I melted into the shadows and slithered toward the estate. I flowed through the gate and under the door like flood waters. The guards didn't even notice the wisps of shadow worming its way past their feet.

The inside of the house was disgusting. Filled with tacky trinkets and treasures, petty toys to entertain a petty man. The servants were all forlorn looking young women. Daughters of the farmers most likely. The noble probably bought which ever ones caught his eye. Gold and silver ornaments were stuck to the walls like plague sores. The air was thick with the stench of exotic perfumes. It was obvious that the lord wasn't using the farmer's gold to fill ruts in the roads.

My presence spread through the dark corners of the manor like a swarm of locust. It didn't take me long to find Rickert. Much like his home, the man was a feeble and petty attempt at grandeur. Rich clothes hung off his frame like even they didn't wish to be seen on him and he sported a heavy gut, carelessly nurtured by alcohol and laziness.

I concentrated my presence into a single darkened corner and stepped out into the room, purposely clacking my nails against the polished wood floor. He stumbled back, his beady eyes darting around the room. I could smell the alcohol on his breath from across the room. His eyes widened in fear as he saw me and he started to cry out to the guards.

That's when I made his shadow leap up and clasp its hands over his mouth. I walked towards him, drawing a dagger of shadows from my sleeve. His shadow pulled him back onto his knees. As I drew closer I pulled back my hood. His eyes widened even more.

"I thought all you bastards were dead." He slurred through his shadows fingers.

"Tell me what you know of it." I growled back.

He stubbornly stayed silent; I pressed the blade to his neck. I could see him trembling and smell his fear. His shadow jerked his head back by the hair, leaving the pale flesh exposed.

The shadowy blade was sharper that steel, it took only a small twitch for the blade to bite deep into his neck. Blood sprayed from the severed arteries and splattered against my robe. As I watched the body crumple to the ground I only felt a savage joy.

I decided to search the manor before I left. Even though he refused to speak, Rickert seemed to know something of the massacre of my kin. Sure enough I found what I was looking for in a letter left on a writing desk in a small study.

Lord Rickert,

I appreciate your vigilance. The royal spymaster was very pleased to hear your reports on strange movements by the forest's edge. After all it would be an embarrassment to our fine army to learn that some of those foul beasts have escaped their fate. We will send a detachment of soldiers to you soon.

Happy hunting

Lord Petrus

I tucked the letter in to a pocket of my robe and left the manor the same way I came in.

From then on I became what the humans would call an assassin, my kin no longer had any words for what I did.

I traded only for information, tracing down anyone who had a hand in the destruction of my race. Each kill brought me the thrill of a successful hunt and new leads to follow. Soon the people caught on, criers shouted the latest news of my exploits from the street corners. They came up with some rater interesting names, the Ragged Monk and the Wraith of Aenthreloth were two of my favorites. They never found that I was a Wolfkin.

After the news began to spread one of the soldiers that was in the attack on my village boasted that he could take me in a swordfight. I decided to humor him, I appeared amongst the shadows of the crowd and conjured an executioner's blade. A heavy blade with a blunt tip and a single edge, it was an ugly and heavy thing with only one purpose. The crowd parted before me, most were silent with shock. I calmly walked up to the soldier and struck a mocking salute. I'd give him credit for being fast, he managed to get his sword up to try and block my swing. It was no use, my blade shattered his. I had vanished into my shadow by the time his head hit the ground.

When I wasn't on the hunt I was digging for yet more information. Eavesdropping from the mouths of dark alleyways or from the dark corners of dingy taverns. It was at one such tavern that I heard rumors that nearly made my hear stop.

Human hunters had spotted many creatures, similar in appearance to my kin, in the far reaches of the forest. Between this and the letter I became certain that some of my kin survived. I followed this up with a contact, a young man who ran a black-market with the surviving beastkin tribes. He confirmed my suspicions.

Sure enough several, if not many, of my kin escaped my village and warned the surrounding villages. By the time the soldiers found the smaller villages the huts lay empty.

But the news was bittersweet, I would not be able to return to my kin. They would not understand what I have done or why. Besides, I've developed a taste for my new line of work.

My later kills got rather... creative. One noble, a particularly greasy sort, was sound asleep when I found him. Out of curiosity I touched a lit candle to his flesh. He went up like a tallow candle. Laughing, one of my tendrils picked him up and tossed the screaming mass through a window. His bedroom was on the highest floor.

But the general that lead the attack on my village, that one was a work of art. I had my contact purchase a dozen long nails from a blacksmith, the day before. The sunrise brought quite a sight: high above the streets the general sprawled, crucified, the nails driven deep into the stone walls. I pinned his heart to the wall above his head. There was now only one target left in this panic ridden city. It's not often you get to kill a king.

Getting into the castle was easy, the high vaulted ceilings providing many shadows for me to enter through. Finding the king was the hard part. I wanted to strike when he was alone, I had no intentions of going after the guards. It took hours but finally the guards left him in his chambers.

I made a dramatic entrance, my shadows dripped from the ceiling and extinguished the candles. The only light came from the bloody rays of the setting sun. I stepped into his view from the darkest corner of the room. He recognized me as the supposed murderer that went after nobles, he thought to beg and bargain for his life. He fell silent as I dropped my hood then pathetic sounds came from him when he tried to run and found he couldn't move. Dark hands reached from the shadows that pooled at his feet and fastened themselves around his legs. I stared into his eyes and said nothing, even as my tendrils tore his head from his neck.

By morning I had reached the edge of the forest. My work was done, the city's gentry lay moldering in the ground. I passed by the site of my old village first. The huts had collapse and underbrush had overrun the gardens, but the old clearing in the center remained. Row after row of graves ran it length, decorated in the traditions of my kin. By noon I had found the new village, larger than the old. I drifted through the shadows of the village, like a ghost among the living.

I watched traders and artisans gather at the village center, the sounds of bartering filled the air. I saw children playing, watched over by vigilant mothers. The most painful though was the hunters returning home to open arms. I knew there would be no one waiting for me so I passed through the village and headed for the ancient temple.

For almost a hundred years I have sat here, refining the Art until my presence spread beyond the cold stone walls. Silently I watched over the village as it grew, and eventually the wolfkin began to reforge old relations with the humans. Some of my influence even stretched to the human city, I watched new nobles rise and fall and the rule of two kings. They were far from perfect but almost anything is an improvement over the old.

At some point my body failed and I lived on as a strange specter-like entity. I drifted through the temple and eventually found a stack of caskets, made from the same stone as the walls. Once my body was sealed away my tendrils gently lowered the casket into one of the many open graves in the temple courtyard. Searching through the temple library I found why it failed, our bodies could not cope with the Art and, eventually, they would burnout. Though the Art keeps us alive in a quasi state.

Almost six months ago I heard the sound of the knocker on the great doors. Turning my focus back from the far city and village to the dark of the temple's eaves I saw a young Wolfkin standing nervously before the great doors. His fur was black and his eyes a dark scarlet. Perhaps this was my chance for redemption, my master taught me how, now I would be the one to teach why.

I allowed the doors to open and conjured a physical body for myself.

"Welcome, child. Please, do come in." my voice was little more than a hoarse whisper.