FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The sun broke through the clouds, burning the night time mists away. An old dirt path wound its way through the mountains, dancing along hilltops. A small company began to trudge along the path. Some bore sigils of their house, or their religious affiliation. Others came bearing packs laden with a supply of rations and traveling goods. Some came with naught but their clothes stained and tattered from a long pilgrimage. A wiry youth darted among the various carts that were being assembled around the hill. From time to time he stopped to look at the various wreaths and shrines that were being built in front of each wagon. Although each shrine varies in its materials, they shared one thing. All of them had a space where, if you were a noble family, a medallion of your family crest was hung. If you were of more common blood, then a crest stitched on silk was common. The side with the sigil was always the one that was sat pointing towards a small stone atop the hill. It was this point that was said to have been the last home of a dying god. Many had names for her, Rovandria, or the sleeper in White, but none knew her true name.

The hill was sprinkled with hundred of tiny red and blue flowers. The people who scurried about were sure to tread lightly when they came close to where the flowers grew. This particular flower could only be found here, and a couple of surrounding hills. The youth darted about, making conversation with the various people who had gathered to pay homage. He paused for a moment to thank the kind man who had brought him there from the city, allowing the lad to hitch a ride on his cart. Being from the city, the young boy was familiar with Ostralanders, Vantrians, and some of the local tribesmen, but there were so many nationalities here. There were races and accents he had never encountered. The young lad paused as he happened upon a very queer shrine. Rather than being bedecked in silk and gold and flowers, the one he gazed upon now was built out of bones and twigs and hide. There was no crest, no sigil. The only distinguishing mark was a silver wolf's head that rose out of the top of the pile. As he drew closer, the boy felt a strange sensation. The present of magic tingled against his skin, and he thought he could smell green grass and pine of a distant forest. A figure stood not far away, bedecked in a cloak of solemn grey. Something seemed strange about the person. Perhaps it was the way they held themselves, or the guttural sounds that they appeared to be making as they stood there. Their head was bowed, and hooded. The length of the hood was strange. It hung in loose folds around the face, making the boy wonder how they could see. Perhaps they were blind.

The boy reached out cautiously. "Hello?" he whispered. The person stopped their muttering. They turned their head, and two yellow eyes gleamed from under the hood. They uncrossed their arms, revealing hands which were not hands at all. They were covered in grey hair, and had thick black pads on the palm and fingers. Where they should have had nails, they had claws instead. The boy gasped, and stumbled back from the creature. The eyes narrowed, and he held up a digit, signaling for the boy to halt. The creature cracked its knuckles, and removed its hood, revealing the head of a wolf. It put a digit to his snout, and ssshhed the boy.

"Come. Follow me to my hut," the wolf man said, and began walking. The boy stood there for a moment. He looked at the person's feet. It was hard to see with the robe, but every once and a while one might catch a glimpse of his feet, more like lupine paws that human. The boy sighed, shook his head, and followed. The man led him to a small yurt not far away. Unlike most yurts he had seen, which were covered in the hide of sheep or goats, the sides of this one were made from tightly-woven red mats that hung from the top. A thin white blanket worked as the door to the yurt. The wold-man lifted it up, and motioned for the boy to enter.

The smell inside of the tent was heavy. Many small trays of incense were burning, along with the occasional candle that helped to dispel the darkness. There were a few bowls stream about, with animal bones and beaks. Some still had pieces of flesh on them. The boy winced.

"Do my eating habits disturb you?" the man asked suddenly.

"Uh... Well, yes. A bit. No offense, of course," he muttered. The man's lupine ears swiveled, and he nodded. He padded over to the center of the room, and sat down. He crossed his legs, and motioned for the boy to come and sit.

"First off, lad. What is your name?

"People call me Ambrose, uh... sir."

"A very regal name. I've noticed how you wander amongst the crowd here. Yet, I have never seen you at any of the previous gatherings. What brings you here now?"

"Well... I live in Orensdell, not far from here. I have lodgings with a local candlemaker. He's been keeping me as an apprentice the last few years, and when he is off selling his candles in other cities, I am free to roam where I please. I have no real parents, you see. I'm a kid off the streets, but I'm luckier than most."

"I see. Would you like me to teach you about the history of this festival, and what it represents?"

"Uh, sure," the boy replied.

"Well, you see," the wolf-man began in his guttural voice, "This story begins as many do. Long ago, there was a war. However, this was a conflict of gods, not mortals. In those days, there were gods for every aspect of our world, and they did not require worship to retain their powers, as do the gods of today. However, a sickness crept into their sphere. A... madness borne from another plane. The conflict that resulted upended the heavens, and when the dust settled, some were trapped here, on earth. One of these was the goddess that we pay homage to here, for she was a guardian of nature. Do you follow my tale so far?" The boy nodded. "Now, as you may know, a god's power can never be truly extinguished. It can be dissipated or broken up... and it can be given to mortals as a boon for a short time. However, the power of gods always returns. In... cases such as this, silent prayer is not enough alone to fix the damage done to our world. A council, called the Watchers gathered shortly after her death. They deemed that a great festival was needed, in the hopes that so much worship, so much memory of her gathered in one place might revive her, but it did not work. However, the festival continues, and there have been... certain signs."

"Signs?" Ambrose asked. His eyes were wide.

"Yes, well... One moment," the wolf man said, and went off to a small collection of pots by the edge of the yurt. In a moment, he returned, pot in hand. He removed the black cloth that had been draped over the top. Underneath, there was a small red and blue flower. However, it appeared to be wilting.

"I... I thought that those flowers were holy, or... Something. At least, that's the impression I got."

The wolf nodded, "Well, yes. They are... In a way. These flowers have many fascinating properties. One of these is the fact that, just before it dies, it releases a pod of seeds. Now, that occurs whatever the cause of death it. Either the end of the season, or a sudden frost, a drought, or... a lack of sunlight." The wolf grasped one of the flowers by the stalk, and gently pulled it out of the dirt. Then, he placed the flower in the other paw, and looked at Ambrose with golden eyes.

"According to scriptures, just before they die, many gods choose something in the mortal world to channel their power into. For Dovar, it was the famously enchanted springs of the Davarindrion. These flowers, however, are the expression that Rovandria chose. While it may seem hard to believe, each flower represents a piece of her power. Here, take it," the wolf said. The boy gently wrapped his hands around the stalk. The wolf-man's paws brushed up against his. They were soft, and warm. Ambrose cupped his hand underneath the flower's roots. As he did so, his hand rested on the wolf-man's other paw. The pads on his palms and fingers were rough, but cool. It was a strange sensation to feel something so bestial, yet so human at the same time. He nodded, and removed his grasp. Amrose gazed at the flower. The alternating red and blue petals made a spiral around the flower. Thin lines spread out, like veins to surrounding petals. It gave it the appearance of some strange eye, gazing at him. Suddenly, the petals drooped, and the flower withered further. Then, the center of the flower changed shape, and opened up. It drooped down as a grey-green mass was exuded.

The wolf man quickly snatched the seed pod, and deposited it into a pouch. "So," he said, "I think that ends our lesson for today. If you would like for me to teach you further, return on the morrow. Understood?"

"Y- Yes!" Ambrose muttered. He rose, nodded a quick thank you to the man, and left. That night, he stayed with the farmer that had let him ride in his cart. The cart was almost empty now, the man's stores of flowers having been bought by those wishing for some extra ornamentation to their shrine. Ambrose went to climb into the cart and sleep there, but the farmer shouted at him, and motioned for him to come sleep in his tent. Ambrose could not go to sleep for quite some times. His thoughts were occupied by that strange wolf-man he had met a few hours previously.

The next morning, Ambrose awoke to find that the farmer had already left for prayer. He stepped out of the tent to see a hundred or so people knelt in solemn prayer, in a circle around the hill. They knelt just beyond the range of where the flowers grew. He shielded the sun from his gaze with his hand, and scanned the crowd to see if he could find the farmer. Ah, well. I'll catch up with him later, he thought. He sauntered between the wagons, until he saw a familiar yurt. The wolf-man was standing as he had been previously - behind the shrine in prayer. His wolf hands were pressed together, and his head was bowed.Suddenly, two points rose up under his hood. Ambrose could hear a sniffing sound as the man turned his head. He looked at Ambrose, nodded once, and padded back to the yurt in silence. Ambrose followed, and glanced around to see if anyone was watching. The cacophony of prayer and exultation rang in his ears. As soon as they stepped into the yurt, though, Ambrose could barely hear a thing.

"Wow," he remarked, "I can't hear a thing in here."

"You might not be able to, but I sure can. At any rate, yes. These mats are extremely good at blocking off sound, as well as wind and rain. The reeds that they are woven from are great as repelling water. But that is not the focus of today. Come sit with me," the wolf said, and motioned to a pillow. Ambrose walked over. He looked at the pillow before sitting on it. It was square, and woven from thick fibers, like the rugs he had seen in the market. The pillow was covered in many white hairs, which Ambrose wiped off. He smirked at the wolf-man, who shrugged a reply.

"So. Do you remember all that I taught you yesterday?" the wolf asked.

"Uhm... Yes, I think so."

"Good. Now, let us continue. Remember what I said before about the power of gods, and where it goes when they die."

"Alright," Ambrose said, nodding.

"A long time ago, there was a god of nature, much like the one worshipped here. However, he was a wolf god. He has no true name, but many called him Lykhos. Many years before he died, he was tricked into creating a curse that made mortals transform under the light of the full moon. Now, you have no doubt wondered who and what I am, correct?"

"Yes, so you're a -" Amrose began, but the wolf-man put a finger to his snout, motioning for Ambrose to be silent.

"Now, Lykhos was quite irate, but he was not able to undo this work. So, he often visited these... werewolves, as they were called, to offer his apologies, and any assistance he could. When they changed, he would often run beside them, invisible, to make sure they didn't get into trouble. However, from time to time, they escaped his sight, and bit someone. Thus, the werewolf curse continued, for all those bitten by the light of a full moon became werewolves as well. But, it was controlled. Lykhos slowly became at peace, although his wrath at being tricked never lessened. When the War came, the very god that had tricked him seized control of his theriomorphic followers. Against their will, these men and women became wolves and attacked Lykhos. He was an old god, born in the primeval minds of the first beasts to roam our land, far before Man ever set foot here. Despite his strength, though, he was slain. As he lay dying, he channeled his power into the werewolves in one desperate attempt to keep he that had destroyed him from using the power of wolves for evil deeds. However, it came at a price. Ever since that day, no werewolf has been able to take human form again. We are... blessed with exceedingly long life spans, and the senses of a wolf, but never can we turn human."

"Oh... I'm... I'm sorry. Do you miss being human?"

"Hmm?" the wolf said, his ears perking, "Oh. No, no, no. you see, I was born this way. When two werewolves join, their child is also a werewolf. It is like the way the flowers can so readily create s seed upon death. It's a mechanism to protect the power that it represents. The more werewolves there are, the more quickly our god can be reborn. You see?"

"Oh. Yes, I think so. So, what's it like then? I mean... obviously, your diet is... carnivorous, but..." Ambrose paused, and motioned to the bowls full of bones and scraps. The wolf chuckled and said, "Hold out your hand." Ambrose did so, and raised an eyebrow in curiosity. The wolf blinked, and his ears went back.

"What?" Ambrose asked. He jumped as the wolf suddenly took his hand in his. With the other paw, he grasped his wrist. The wolf-man's claws dug into his skin as he tightened his grip. In a flash, the wolf-man lunged forward, and bit Ambrose in the arm. Ambrose screamed, and tried to jerk away, but he could not escape. He could feel the wolf's teeth sinking into his flesh, and runlets of blood trickled down his hand.

"Oh... gods! No, what are you doing?! Shit, shit, shit... Stop!" he yelled. After a few minutes, the wolf finally released his maw. Ambrose shuddered as the wolf licked his blood from his lips, and off of his teeth. "What in the world, man. Why did you do that?"

The wolf snorted, and wiped his nose with a paw. "Well, you wanted to know what it was like. Now you'll get to see firsthand," the wolf shrugged.

"Wait a minute... I thought you said that only one bitten under a full moon would turn!"

"Ha, well... No. You misunderstand me. I only meant that in the sense that werewolves used to only change under the full moon. So, ergo... that's when you would be bitten. It just requires that the werewolf be in their wolf form to transmit the curse. Therefore..."

"I'm going to turn...?"

"Sure thing. Sorry, I thought you... Might enjoy it. You seemed to be pretty interested," the wolf shrugged. Ambrose could feel a tingling going up his arm. He winced, wiping off some of the blood. To his shock, the wound seemed to be healing already. Several places of the bite mark were already forming pink scars.

"How long do I have?"

"Oh, well... Not long. Should be any minute now. Eh, it won't be so bad. 'Sides, you won't be alone. There are more of us."

"Really? How many?" Ambrose asked. He looked down at his arm, and could make out tiny hairs starting to grow from his skin. He felt bones start to pop in his hand as his fingers shortened, becoming fatter. His nails began to fall out, tumbling to the floor. They were swiftly replaces by sharp, black claws. The skin on his palms and fingers started to thicken and turn black as paw pads rose up. The hair began to spread. He whined, and looked away.

"Oh, about a hundred or so. Some are scattered, and roam about like me, but... There's a pretty big pack north of here. They should be able to help you. It won't be so hard. Then again, I was born this way, so I can't say that I can imagine what this would be like for you."

Ambrose suddenly became aware of a tingling sensation in his other hand. He looked, and discovered that it was undergoing the same transformation, and was quickly on its way to becoming a werewolf paw. The two sat there for a few minutes in silent as Ambrose watched himself slowly change. The fur soon spread up his arms. The fur on the top of his arms was brown, but it was white in the underside. Ambrose could feel tingling in his feet now, as they too began to change. The fur was spreading more quickly, and he could feel the bones in his legs and feet snap and rearrange. He yelled as it felt like someone was bending his feet, and stretching them like taffy. His clothes began to tighten, so Ambrose stripped of them, save for his smallclothes. He shuffled about. It felt like he was walking on his tiptoes as his legs shifted into a digitigrade form. The fur spread down his chest, and crept up his legs. He winced as he felt his privates shift. Something in his spice popped, and a tail began to grow. It slithered down the leg of his breeches. Then, his breeches became too tight, and tore from his increasing size. Ambrose felt fur sprout from his face as it contorted into a canine muzzle. Within moments, his face was no longer human, but that of a wolf, and with that the change was done.

The man looked up at him, and said "See? It's not so bad now, is it?"

Ambrose whimpered, and felt his new muzzle with a paw. His ears drooped. "Please... Tell me there's a cure," he pleaded. His ears flicked as he listened to his new voice. It was now deeper, and sounded like the growling tones of his lupine mentor.

"Well, I... I'm afraid not. I'm sorry, lad. I thought you'd enjoy it. Heck, maybe you will in time. You just have to... get used to a few things."

Ambrose whimpered, and held his tail in his paws. "I have a freaking tail! Of course that is going to take getting used to! I... I... I don't even know what to say to you right now. I trusted you!" The wolf-man's ears flicked back at that comment. "Well," he said, "You can always stay with me. I can teach you a few things about this new... body of yours."

Ambrose shook his head. "No... No. No, I don't think I'll stay. I'm going to get as far as I possibly can from you, and find someone who can change me back. I am NOT going to be an animal for the rest of my life!"

The wolf-man shrugged, and said "If you're sure. If you're going to leave, then now is a good time. The sun is starting to set. Looks like you slept in pretty late. It was after noon when you came to me. At any rate, if you do decide that you would like to accept your fate, then you can head north. There's a substantial group of us there who can help you... adjust."

"Ppfft, yeah... I'll keep that in mind. Good bye," Ambrose said, and went to don his clothes again.

"Don't try it. They're too small."

"Excuse me?"

"Your clothes. You outgrew them once you changed. They won't fit you anymore. They aren't really necessary, anyways. You have fur. "

Ambrose cursed under his breath, and growled. "Thanks for nothing. Good bye," he said and exited the yurt. The man sighed and picked up a slice of meat from one of his bowls. He wolfed it down, and curled up on the floor. He shook his head to himself, and muttered. Ungrateful kids. Outside, the newly transformed youth looked around to see if anyone was still around. He saw a few shapes moving between the tents, and dropped to all fours in the hopes that they wouldn't see him. He sniffed the air, smelling man sweat, incense, and the scent of other animals. He shook his head, and trotted towards the road leading down and away from the hills, and back to the city. He could see the light in the distance. His ears flicked at the sound of thunder. Clouds had rolled in, and rain was sprinkling down. He shook, feeling wetness in his fur. This would definitely take time to get used to.

The ground here was already sodden from the rain. Ambrose looked down, and lifted his from paw to see the strange impression his paw-hands made in the mud. He swiveled around and looked at the paw prints his feet were leaving behind him. He whimpered, and continued on.