FSE

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Thus begins the fall of Luci-Fur, whereby is chronicled the return of spirits to our world, in a time when humans still walked the earth.

The spirits had been strangely quiet, lately. The wind ripped through the trees as something growled deep in the forest. Tucked beneath the ancient roots of an oak tree, a bush rustled.

"Shit," shook the bush, a black nose peeking out, sniffing. Where was it?

Trying to find a stick in the forest, the wind whispered, ought not be this hard, little skunk.

A black and white head stuck itself out of the top of the bush, its ears laid back as he hissed. "Oh, NOW you want to talk to me?"

The wind sighed, and faded away. The skunk snorted, and let out a spray as he scurried out of the bush, scratching along the forest floor. He looked up, tilting his head, "Yeah, fuck you too."

The spirits flitted in and out of existence around him, sometimes taking the form of squirrels, birds, snakes. They looked at him as they scurried, floated, and slithered about, but said nothing. What was wrong with them? But more importantly... Where was his stick? Above, the Great Spirit mumbled incoherently, like the low rumble of the distant sea.

The skunk sniffed, smelling strange scents, and unfamiliar tracks in the forest.

Then, after many long minutes of searching, he felt the presence of his staff up ahead. Spirits swirled around it, chanting in low voices. As he neared his familiar weapon, the skunk felt the eyes of the Great Spirit turn upon him.

They are coming...

Who? Who was coming? Damned spirit nonsense.

The skunk stopped, sniffing the air. Smoke... Every instinct told him to run, to seek shelter. But he shook his head, thinking of the gifts the spirits had given him. No more a mere beast... he heard them chant. He scampered over to his stick, snatched it with his mouth, and hurried away.

A cry pierced the wood, punctuated by the ring of metal, and the crack of wood. The skunk turned around as he heard strange sounds coming from the other side of the large tree beneath which his stick had laid. Then, impossibly, it began to lean. A tree spirit? No... No... Shit, it was falling!

The skunk ran, and ran, his stick rapping loudly against twigs and rocks and bushes- his bush! He had to get to his bush. All the while, the tree leaned farther and farther, its trunk snapping and creaking as it gave way. Strange noises, like the voice with which the Great Spirit spoke echoed from behind.

Finally, his bush, his home came into view. But oh, the tree still fell. How tall was this thing?! The skunk skidded to a stop, his claws digging into the dirt as he readied himself to spring to either side of the tree. He let out a hiss, and scampered to the side, watching at the tree came down. But suddenly, it stopped, crashing loudly against the very tree beneath which his bush grew. It hung there, a few meters shy of crushing his only home. It groaned, twigs snapping, pine cones falling, as if to say that it might yet - if it really wanted to. The spirit of the tree faded, retreating back into the great all-spirit from which all plants, and in some ways all life sprung.

The skunk sighed in relief, before summoning the minor spirits to bless its passing. But why had it fallen? It was young, as trees go, having reached its full size only a couple seasons previous. He propped himself up on his staff, standing on his hind legs, as the spirits had taught him to do.

Footsteps sounded not far ahead. The voices came closer and closer. They are coming... echoed the Great Spirit. He felt his power wash over him, the spirits swirling around his staff, joining one to another in a dazzling tornado. They had done that before...

He braced himself as they rushed into him. His tail twitched as their power surged through him. He let out a hiss unconsciously. As the inner storm subsided, he found that he could understand the words being spoken by the strange creatures. _Words... _ So, that's what the impressions and images the Great Spirit had helped him to understand. Words, like the sounds other creatures might make - but they spoke through associations and images rather than instinct.

"Of furcking course!" a deep voice cursed, "It's stuck. We're gonna have to cut down this one, too."

This one? This one what? No... No, they couldn't mean...

The skunk raised his bottom in anticipation. They came closer and closer, the tall shadows with long knives in their hands.

"Oi.. Jonny. Lookit!" one of them grunted, pointing its weapon at the skunk.

"What?" the other gaped, "Oh, dick. A furcking skunk!" he stopped in his tracks, looking to his companion.

"Kill it, christ. Unless you got some tomater juice with you."

"Do I look like I just carry around tomato juice in my fucking pants? Hell naw. You do it. I ain't gettin' skunked. 'Sides, its your wife works at a grocery store. Get her to slide you some, if you get sprayed. But that won't happen if you just fucking take care of business. Christ!"

They are come, little skunk. They that burn and lash and fell- The Sylvangrove must not succumb to the terror of men. The humans are come... Seek out the fallen star... A grave power is come in our season of need.

The fuck? The Great Spirit was tripping some serious catnip today. Meanwhile, the figures came closer, and closer, and closer. The skunk hissed loudly at the lumbering giants. He turned his rear towards them, ready to spray.

Fear not to use your gifts, little one, the wind groaned, _For they do not see you as you have become. Their eyes see but a lowly beast. Fight back, fight back... Protect the last safe haven of our kin. _

"Goddam it, he'd gonna spray. Kill it, damn it!" The other figure grimaced, before swinging its long knife. It sliced the air as the giant stepped forward, his thick hooves stomping on the ground. The skunk closed his eyes and... Squeezed. But all that came out was a fart.

The giants laughed, "The fucker's shootin' blanks!"

The skunk's eyes opened in surprise. Damn it. He knew he shouldn't have marked so much. He was all out of skunk juice. With a hiss, he rose up on his hind legs and turned around, steadying himself with his stick. Suddenly, one of their blades came down in a flash. The skunk rolled out of the way just in time.

"Lookat that thing, running around with a stick in its mouth. Ain't that some shit for funniest home videos?"

"Ahaha," the other chortled, "Like that one with the yogurt cup onnits head?" They both laughed together.

One of them tossed the cigarette he had been smoking aside. It landed between the roots of a nearby tree, at the feet of the skunk's bush.

The dry branches of the bush quickly took. Soon, his tiny home was up in flames, everything he had ever had, every shiny rock or wrinkled leaf. The skunk gaped, letting out a hiss.

"Oh, NOW I'm mad!" he seethed.

The skunk felt the spirits inside of him, urging him onwards. The great spirit's paw stretched towards the heavens. The skunk followed it, scampering between the two giants' feet. Above, a great fire roared in the heavens like a second sun. A long tail of smoke stretched out behind the inferno as it fell.

Driven by the power of the spirits, he scurried on, panting loudly. He switched back and forth between running on four legs and two. What was happening to him? He had not always been this way.

Ahead, he saw strange machines, with glowing eyes and circular feet. Long, black horns stretched out of their heads on either side, with black velvet skin. They breathed black smoke from behind as they lay there, silver keys in their necks, idling menacingly.

Keys... Keys... How did he know what those were? The skunk paused as he tried to remember, remember something he had once known well. The spirits rose around him, bubbling from the ground, crawling from the trees before they rose into the air, bound by some unseen wind. They chanted. Green light surged around.

"The spiritwind connects us all," boomed the great spirit, "All life, wherever it springs, across the vast worlds of the universe... The invisible hand which gives mind to the primordium, memories of the ancient past... A harbinger of terror to all who destroy life, gives us a great gift from a dying world..."

The wind howled in the treetops as the great ball of fire bore down upon the wood. The skunk, screamed, taking cover. The clearing where the metallic beasts had rumbled moments before erupted into a shockwave of fire and smoke. The skunk whimpered behind a tree. When the smoke settled, he hissed, stomping embers out of his tail as he peeked back into the clearing... or what had once been one. Now, there was a crater where once were grasses, bushes, ancient stumps, and the metallic steeds.

The crater smoldered, earth and stone cracked by the heat of the impact. At the crater's heart, a jumble of metal and rock lay, remnants of the strange machines, and whatever had fallen from the sky in fire. The strange light filled the air, settling its thickest along the ground, like an unnatural fog. It flowed down into the crater, surrounding the mass.

The skunk grabbed his stick, and stepped slowly into the crater, his ears twitching at the faint sound of voices from below. He sniffed, putting the stick in his mouth as he continued on all fours.

As he approached the mass, a booming voice said "Hello, little one. I am come..."

"Who, what?" the skunk perked up in alarm, his stick falling from his jaws, "What the fuck?"

"I am the last fading ember of the heart of a forsaken world. Ah, but the same force unites us. The spirit wind is in me, other-realmer, as it is in you. I come in your hour most dire, to end those who against life conspire."

"Shit, a rock this rhymes? What am I ON?!" the skunk gasped, shaking his head.

The tangle of metal and rock shifted and hissed, wires and stone changing their shape slowly.

"You carry a weapon of power," it said, "It is blessed by the power of the spirits of this world. But their power alone cannot stand against the malice that comes, an industrial fury that has destroyed all other groves. Humanity is at your doorstep. For, where two have found you, they have opened the way for others. In ages past, the gifts that brought them hence would have made them shaman. Druids, protectors of nature... But today it is used, without them even being aware, to find victims for their unsanctioned hunt."

"Then, what am I supposed to do about it?" the skunk sighed.

"Sink deep your holy staff, young one. Them, draw forth a dark blade, a sword for the eleventh hour dawns."

The skunk looked at his staff, turning it over in his paws. He ran his fingers through the feathers tied on one end.

"My stick?" he sighed, "But why?"

The rock gave no answer. The skunk looked around, hearing familiar voices coming from behind. Knowing that time was of the essence, he climbed atop the meteor. It still glowed magmatically, but a green glow where he touched it seemed to protect him. _Was this what the Great Spirit had been talking about? _

The giants laughed, not far away. The skunk looked at his staff one last time before standing up on his hind legs. He drew his stick high above his head before plunging it into the heart of the meteor. The spiritwind flashed, crystals bubbling to the surface with that same ethereal glow. The metal and rock sizzled and shifted around his staff, which glowed brilliantly from the length of it which remained.

The two giants stood on the edge of the clearing, "HO-LEE-SHEE-YAT!" one of the, yelled, slapping his knee. "What the fuck happened?!"

"They done blew up. God DAMN it. What did you put in them four-wheelers, gas or TNT?!"

"God, fuck it, Jonnie. Shut up! I swea-"

"Look, it's that damned rat again. Look, down there... I bet he chewed up the wires or something and made'm blow up like they did."

The skunk smiled as the spirits began to return, flowing into the handle of his staff. He tugged hard, pulling it from the heart of the meteor. The crystals fell to the ground, spiritwind swirling within the, as the skunk drew his staff from within. No longer a mere staff, the metal and rock from the meteor had coalesced, reforming into an ebon blade. Despite being larger than the skunk himself, the blade could be wielded with remarkable ease. He chuckled to himself as his thoughts came to be guided by the wisdom of the spiritwind. His very eyes were guided by the sight of the Great Spirit Above.

The skunk laughed, lifting the sword high, its massive bulk supported by the spirits themselves, even while they gave him amazing strength. Tendrils of green light stretched from the blade, up to the two humans. The skunk grew, or the humans shrunk...

But at the sight of the skunk, they both gaped. "What the hell is that thing?!" One of them shuddered, seeing for the first time the true form of the creature.

"I KNEW we should'a killed it! God damn it, Jonnie you dirt clod!"

"What?! You had a machete too."

The skunk floated upwards, the spiritwind surging around him. His fur bristled with its power. "You see me now in my true shape," he and the Great Spirit said together, "for your souls have already been claimed. Your kind have destroyed all but the last of the great groves, where dwelt the spirits of the world long even before mortals did. For this you will pay the ultimate price." He stretched out his paw. Green lightning struck it, leaving a shifting green orb of light.

One of the humans began to run, his orange hunter's cap falling from his head. The skunk threw the plasma at his feet, binding them. The human tumbled to the ground with a curse. The skunk flew over to where he lay, drawing back his sword. The human screamed as the sword came down upon him, slicing through flesh and sinew and bone in a flash.

Blood gurgled up in his mouth as his body died. His companion let out a shout as he rushed up from behind him, his hands twisted into angry fists.

"I'm gonna fucking choke you!" he snarled, "What the fuck ARE you?!"

The skunk turned, raising his sword. "I am the Windseeker, chosen of the spirits. Behold my blade, Lucifur, for his power is a temptation, but a necessity, if life is to prevail. He bears a name which strikes fear into the hearts of men. It is futile to run, for you have already been chosen as his prey. No matter how far you make it, we will seek you out and strike you down for disturbing our last sanctuary."

With one swipe, the skunk chopped off the man's arm. The man cried out in pain, sinking to his knees as he looked at the stump that remained. Behind the skunk, his dead friend sat up, a strange light in his eyes.

The blade of the sword shimmered, the impression of a red hand appearing on its surface. Another soul claimed.

The skunk laughed grimly, "So, you like killing skunks do you? Let's see how you like being one!"

The man screamed again, feeling his skin crawl, flesh sizzling and surging towards the wound as something began to grow from the stump that was once his arm. It reshaped itself, folding outward like clay shaped by a hand unseen. But what grew was not a human hand. Instead, he grew a twisted paw, black and white hairs growing from the skin into a thick coat, each finger ending with a long claw.

From there, the fur spread outwards. The spiritwind blew through him as his body began to change shape. A long tail burst from his behind. He looked at it, screaming, tears in his eyes as he pleaded unintelligibly. His friend likewise was undergoing a similar transformation, his wound knitting itself whole as long antlers grew from his head, and as his feet and hands turned into hooves.

He would only become conscious that he had transformed after it was finished, as he and his friend ran off into the brush, trying to find the way they had come. But they would never find it, and the grove, for the moment, was safe.

But nothing would ever be the same.