FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

This is my first time posting anything on this site other than on the forum. This series will have multiple stories and each story will have multiple chapters, because I am long winded, also each story can be read stand alone however all are interconected, I will explain why after the prologue as well as why the keywords are so vague. My stories will be tastefull even the yiff scenes, I will need feedback to feed or bruise my ego a little of both is prefered. This story takes place in your perspective when I say you I mean the reader. I hope you will enjoy. OH YEAH!

IF Yrs>17 goto Prologue Else Exit. There!

Prologue

Darkness. All the worlds contain darkness, but what is there truly to fear in what u can't see?

You inhale as the life giving warmth enters your lungs and nests itself in your breast with a promise of hope against the icy talons and fanged absolution of death that has stalked you hither. Plip, that sound. What is it? The sound of blood, of danger, of the fear and terror that lurks just behind your clothing that clings to your being like a second skin. Plip. That sound with its rhythm beckons you to the wind chilled horror that one would find lurking at the horizon of the Abyss, not the calm autumn night it would have been mistaken for. But like all such disguises it was shed and the face of terror had come to replace the quiet gentleness the day had shown.

The drips of water off your rain drenched clothing causing your senses to come back from the mindless daze your resent encounter had left you in. It is so very cold, the freezing rain next to your body only bolds the statement and then is punctuated with a stroke of Lightning. *sigh* You look to the door you just used to escape the horrible night and the 'daemons' that stalk you still. They must have passed you by; please God let them have passed you by. You don't know why you were so slow to hand them your money or why you couldn't just keep your head down, but you know damn well why you ran. You will not die in an ally and not for some punk muggers, so ran you did. But where were you now? You've never seen this shop before, then again, you're not usually one to cut through shadowed allies and unknown streets because of rain. Even if you were grossly underdressed for the torrential downpour that blankets the city this night. The muggers must have seen you duck into one of the allies to escape the pelting assault of rain and followed expecting easy prey. How wrong they were. A full mile marathon through the worst weather that has tormented this city in an age was one thing they weren't expecting, nor were you for that matter.

As you stand there in clothing soaked by sweat and rain your gaze finally falls to the shelter you chose in your moment of panic and desperation. To say this place was odd was an understatement, it was down right weird. From the Shops lack of light fixtures and windows, save the one on the entrance door and it was tinted, darkness draped the room like a fine coating of dust in a forgotten part of time. This place could be mistaken for a curiosity shop except for the lack of curiosities. They were items behind the counter, none too strange, and books lined the other three walls covering whatever windows may once have existed in this place. Some rocks or crystals more likely lay under the glass top counter for display and some bottles filled with strange liquids and powders locked away in a cabinet completed the illusion. No one item was strange, odd or even out of place but to have them all in one place, not to mention the lack of a cash register and no back room door, made this all very unrealistic.

You shiver as the exhausting run coupled with the bone gnawing cold has finally caught up with you. The flu would be a blessing compared to what illness you'd catch should you stay as you are. Suddenly, you feel dizzy and disoriented, then just before your flight into unconsciousness you hear foot steps. 'Oh God they've found me', then only darkness.

* * *

The glimmer of a dieing street light and the smell of decaying city streets is all you can sense. Then the flash of a blade or the cocking of a hammer attached to a bringer of death, then a quick splash of blood as the sidewalk rises to meet your face.

You awaken. Where are you? Your warm and seated in a high back chair facing the source of a flickering light too big to be a candle and too warm to be a reflection. You are wrapped in something large and soft as though you were tucked in by your mother's own tender loving hands. The dim glow and odd sensation of strangeness stirs your curiosity and wipes the cobwebs from your mind as you risk opening a single eye. Cozy, that's how you would describe this room, medium sized with dark wood paneling and a large fireplace, an honest to god fireplace in this day and age, how strange. As you scrutinize your surroundings you would think this room came right out of Sherlock Holmes, complete with dark figure 'Dark Figure!'

Your life blood freezes in its veins and your heart races as you hold your very breath praying that it doesn't notice you as you try to will yourself right into the back of the chair hoping to meld with it and avoid whatever fate it might have in store for you. A shadow shrouded figure sits not three meters away hunched over a desk facing the far wall, clothed all in black with flowing robes and hooded cloak that covers its head. The figure seems to be writing something in a large book, yet unlike any book you've ever seen, using an ink well and black feathered quill, the figure seems not to notice you and continues to blacken the pages of the odd tome with ink. This was too strange, Halloween was a full month away and there was no movie cameras in sight; this had to be a hallucination from the utter exhaustion coupled with the mugging from earlier. You attempt to compose yourself as you chase away stray thoughts and inquiries; if harm was meant for you it would have came and passed long before this. You try to summon forth your courage from its dark hiding place to greet this 'scribing shadow' and find your way to a phone as to end this nightmare and erase it from your memory.

Standing you feel the blanket slip and fall from you, followed immediately by your bottom jaw. Looking down as to not trip over the fallen blanket, you can only stare speechless as you find yourself without apparel. "How did you...when did you...who?', these thoughts assault your mind as question after question crash into each other as your mental highway experiences a traffic jam. The figure as though summoned by your confusion rises from the tome and turns to face you, the robes almost reaches the floor while the cloak drapes the shoulders and the hood halts the passage of light from ever reaching the owners face, thus making the identity of the 'robed scribe' known only to the darkness that flows about its visage. Quickly retrieving the blanket you attempt to salvage what remains of your modesty as the figure approaches you only to move past you as though you weren't even there. Moments later your clothing resides in the chair you previously occupied, placed there by your still unknown host. Returning to the desk the 'Dark Author' continued to write as though nothing was amiss. 'Not a word' you think to yourself, 'not one single word about anything, how you got here, where here is, not even why you're naked.' Let's try this again; now where was that courage, hiding and sucking its thumb no doubt. *cough* "Um, Hello", there was no answer at first, then from everywhere and nowhere came a voice that seems to penetrate your very being, breaking all barriers and walls in its path. "Good evening, welcome to my home."

The voice though soft and gentle seemed to resonate from the very walls of your mind and envelope your very being, just as the blanket surrounds and embraces your body. "Please, sit" he coaxes as he turns to face you and gestures with his hand to the chair where your clothing still remains folded. "Come now, you can't be too comfortable standing there in the nude." Noticing your nervous state he adds, "If it helps I'll step out, I need to reshelf some items as well as attend to some... business." He walks to the door located opposite the fireplace, a slight grace to his strides as the darkness rolls off the robes like magnets repelling their twin, then turning back just before his exodus through the hardwood portal. "Please young one, the squall has only redoubled its wrath upon your city, so stay and make yourself comfortable, it may yet be some expanse before you can exit the way you came in" and with that he exits, but not before giving a low and humble bow. You almost chuckle as the strange gestures and remarks made by this dark keeper before leaving for some 'business'.

As your eyes roam the walls and floors you find it odd that there are no clocks, windows or even a newspaper, not a single object that would dictate that this wasn't the Victorian era or even earlier. Upon redressing yourself you find your clothing is dry and warm, 'How long have I been here?' this thought continues to resurface as you look here and there in your shelter from the night. The owner of this shop is as curious as his merchandise, though somehow he had the air of authenticity and genuine age that clings to antiques. You hear a mighty thunder clap that jerks you back to reality, your hair stands on end and you can feel the tingle of static in the air. "He wasn't kidding was he?" you ask to no one in particular, maybe I can call a cab. You take a moment to look around for a phone, but after a few minutes you realize that even if he owned one, which he seemed not to, you have no money and nothing to pay for a cab. So you return to the chair and your previous resting position in front of the crackling fire.

Warmth begins the massage away your fears and worries as you relax into the strange environment that appears so alien and yet so, safe. Moments become strands of temporal thread that begin to nit and weave together into a tapestry of boredom as the non-existent clock ticks away the night.

* * *

Tick...Tock. That's what it would sound like if a clock were perched upon the mantle place above the fire, the consistent and repetitive clicks as the time keeper punctuates each moment as it passes into eternity. 'How long have you been here? Where was here? Who was that? What was he? Insane?, no, more like eccentric, his mannerisms and place of work pointed to that much at least.' He seems like the type to give lectures on comprehension of Old English literature than a shop keep of any type. As your eyes open to seek out interest in this time of wait you see the same room you have been in for the last few hours or has it been only minutes, you really can't seem to grip time as it slides past you like water that flows past the rocks in a stream. Should you remain stationary, there is a feeling of being ground away by time's withering caress to become nothing more than silt at the bottom of its eternal flow.

Sitting forward you begin to let your eyes wonder about the room, it appears to open up to your roaming gaze and allow wanderlust to fill your mind as items and object beg to be noticed. There were many books that lined what could only be a study, all of which untitled and plain. They were all leather-bound and larger than any book you have seen before save maybe a few reference books at the back of a library and no real order in which one could find anything. Beside, between or on top of these tomes were items of still stranger descent. Like the rings, crystals and wooden carvings that decorate the abode. Rising from your source of comfort, in this place sheltered from that which might stalk you still, you begin to take a much closer look at your host's unkempt world. Your eyes continue to return to a single place on the desk that has sparked your curiosity. As you approach, the books on their shelves seem to become less dusty and worn as if to straiten themselves up and become more presentable as if longing to be touched, caressed, and explored by any who would dare. 'It must be a trick of the light' you think to yourself, as you shrug off the would-be advances of the eager tomes and continue to the item that has captivated you. 'He was writing in this one wasn't he?' Looking at what could only be described as an ancient tome you wonder what could possibly be written in those pages by a man that could only be described as mishelved from his proper place and time. The tome was on top of a very uninteresting table maybe enough room for two to dine upon. Across this desk was an ink well and a quill, made from a large black feather that seemed to glisten as though metallic, many loose papers, thick and yellow with age, written in English but still incomprehensible as though they were stereo instructions for the worlds earliest phonograph. 'Secrete time, aether circuits, temporal momentum, parallel motion' none of it made sense, almost like science meets fantasy in some strange union that seems to threaten realities fragil hold. Suddenly, ice forms in your veins as thoughts of movies with sacrifice and evil rituals rise to the surface only to be suppressed by your more logical side. 'Get a grip, this place is making you loose your hold on reality.' As you inhale and exhale to bring your sudden childish fears under control your attention is once again peeked by the source of your plundering. It doesn't seem like much, if placed on a self next to another book it wouldn't be too out of place, only the lack of title or author made it seem like more than just another book.

As your gaze traces the binding and metal trimmed corners you find your hand has moved as if by its own accord and has come to rest on the front cover of this 'book'. Warm, it's actually warm, but not from the fireplace and not from the cozy feeling that permeates this almost vacant study; and yet somewhere deep within its pages you swear you could almost feel the smallest pulse as though the book had a heart beat all its own. Your fingers curl and retreat to the safety of their owner's chest as your gaze intensifies as thought attempting to pierce through its leather bound armor and see what lies beyond. Then as a wave of logic pours over you, once again you find your train of thought derailed and replaced with a modern skepticism that has been instilled in all the common populous. Suddenly, anger and agitation well up inside you all because some strange book from a weird antique vendor is creeping its way under your skin and eliciting thoughts and fears you haven't had since you stopped believing in the boogie-man. 'No! Its just the mugging, the rain storm and let's not forget Mr. I'm creepy with my black hood and eerie voice, has gotten me jumping at shadows, that's all' then as though saying it out loud had banished the ghouls and goblins back to the story book world from wince they came, a sigh of relief escapes your lips and you chuckle at what had previously occupied your mind. 'I must be loosing it to be afraid of some dumb book' then just to strengthen your point you turn to walk back to the chair to wait for the return of your host.

Time drifts past, and then time slows, and finally grinds to a halt. 'Leather bound, metal trimmed, it's obviously old, but then why would he be writing in an old book' It's empty. Why is it empty? Maybe it's a journal. Nah, who writes in books anymore, and what's so important to have a lock on the out side. But it's not locked is it?' With that you snap out of your reverie and shift your gaze toward the questionable book. The clasp lay open and to the side, beckoning any prying eyes that might dare seek its contents. You shift in your seat and glace away from the book, then toward the door, then to the fire and finally back to the leaf filled temptress disguised as text. You rise and walk toward the shelf to look at the books and objects that decorate the room of seemingly ever present books. Everything is old and somewhat otherworldly almost surreal, and yet the air of authenticity that clings to the atmosphere, like dust that should cling to these books, seems to call to something inside like a memory almost forgotten yet still...

'What...when?' your eyes dart back and forth from the shelf to the book in your hands, you don't remember picking up the tome, you don't remember approaching the desk, you don't even remember leaving the bookshelf. Its weight is more than most books yet its lighter then you would have guess. It doesn't feel warm and you don't feel any 'beating', so it was just your over active if not bruised imagination letting off some steam in this already mind boggling study. It does indeed seem unlocked and yet the clasp has no holes or catches and the front of the book has no locking mechanism. 'Humph, well if the book doesn't lock and it's all just for show then there's nothing wrong with reading it now is there.' Having thoroughly convinced yourself that it's not invasion of privacy and that you were just curious you set your gaze and opened to the last place written marked by some strange cloth.

Upon opening you notice nothing too strange right off it appears to be written in some other language, why does that not surprise you, but other that that he seems to have good penmanship it looks almost mechanically typed. The purple marker is nothing special just a piece of torn cloth that seems to have part of a symbol on it, but it seems to be silk or some other fine material. Looking back to the odd text you notice it seems at first blocky and complex, like oriental decent, and yet each character was elegant and wispy, almost like sand script, but more like moving water or air currents, also each character twisted back and forth curling on itself again and again almost as if it were drawn in a single stroke. It seemed more like intricate designs then words and sentences. Each character was at least one inch square and the page was almost full in a checker board pattern. Although each seamed similar and yet no two were just alike, turning back a few pages you continued to find that no two were exactly the same, some radically different and other only subtly so. 'No wonder he doesn't need a lock it's in code or something similar' you think almost disappointed. You flip back to where the author had left off in his encoded work, looking at the last 'block word' you reach toward it placing your finger over the bottom edge of the symbol wondering if it was dry. Studying it very carefully you try to find where the character starts and then following it very slowly with your mind you attempt to trace the quill strokes, suddenly emptiness fills your thoughts and your senses become null as an ocean of emotions break upon the shore of your mind and then retreat back until only the symbol remains...

The Scream was shrill and mind numbing, you could feel the hurt and anguish pierce your very heart as dread and fear filled your thoughts, unknown forces twist your gaze to the young girl that was being drug towards an opening kicking and pleading to be set free with the promise of gold and favors, though her cloths told that she had none to give. The smell of terror that fill your nostrils and the acrid taste in your mouth told you only inklings of the sheer horror that filled her young mind and thoughts of blood, rape or worse that awaited her just inside the darkness. You can almost feel the bonds cut into her flesh as your heart races at the scene that plays out before your eyes. Wishing only her freedom you will your legs to move...

You drop the now warm tome, you barely manage to catch yourself before you follow it down, and tears now blur your vision as you attempt to catch your breath as the memory fades away. 'No! Where is she...what?' your throat now dry, you try to piece together what just occurred. Your thoughts turn over and over seeking an explanation; exhaustion, nervous breakdown, perhaps even being drugged. 'No, I don't think so, it was real, I can still smell it and my ears still ring with her scream, her scream...who was she?'

Her image is fast fading away and detail of what you saw, heard, smelled, and even tasted are also fading away like a dream once its bearer has awakened. 'This is too much, I should have never read that book' with this thought your attention snaps to the wayward tome now crumpled at your feet. You quickly retrieve it and make sure no permanent damage it dealt. It seems fine and its warmth is fading away again. 'This is crazy, what is this thing and why did I think and feel all that.'

"Because, that's what happens when you experience someone else's memories, that's why." 'Well that makes sense' you tell yourself not even noticing your answer came from nowhere in particular. 'Whose memories are they?' you wonder. "The one who wrote them in the book of course." Nodding your head in agreement you move on to your next question still not noticing your thoughts are being answered by someone else. 'What happens to her, the girl I mean?' "Why not sit and find out, but might I suggest starting from the beginning?" 'What a great idea, I'm going to be here a while anyway, I might as well relax some.'

Moving back to the chair you sit down and open to the first page, seeing it contains the same writing as before with little differences between each 'word'. Placing your finger on the first symbol you begin concentrating on how it was formed, the book warms and begins to pulse once again and just as the room begins to fade into the void only to be replaced with nothingness, one final thought comes to mind 'Who was answering my questions?'

END

********************

This Prologue is only to set the stage for further writings and to test my writing skill and see if anyone would be interested in reading a story like this.

Now to shed some light on the 'dark author'. Each story pertains to a different book in his library and therefor a different world. Be it past, present, or future this world or another. That is why the keywords are so vague, because each world might have different spieces (some with humans some without) or be fantasy(with Magic) or SciFi(space or futuristic) etc etc. The only connection from one story to another is 'The Dark Author'. He has visited many parallel worlds on many planes of existince, his age and knowlege are emense; however, he is only mortal, a very old mortal but mortal none the less. You can think of him as a cosmic wonderer. He has normal feelings and is plagued with his own troubles, some stories might center around him while others he mearly influences events from the shadows.(Also each story will reveal a little about him, his name, abilities, speices etc)

Some stories might take place in a universe you already know of(kind of like a fanfic),including ones on yiffstar and others in the furry community.(I will have to get thier permission first and I will try to keep their characters true to the original) However this first story will take place in one of my own universes though.

See you all soon and I look forward to hearing from you.