Post by Arrowbid on Aug 22, 2007 19:27:29 GMT -5
Myth Keepers
Wynd awoke to the sound of hooves scraping against bark; he stuck his long neck out of the den and looked about. The desert was completely unrecognizable, the howling winds had created it anew and dunes were tossed up every which way. The sun was high in the sky but already moving downward over the land.
How long have we been asleep?
A bleat from above the den made his neck whip around; the sound that had woke him came from an Oryx scraping against the fallen Olive tree. It dug at the scattered branches, trying to get at as much of the leaves as possible. Alas it was too deeply buried by the sand; in fact all that was visible of it was its roots jutting out from the earth.
The Oryx snorted in distress at the sight of Wynd and turned heel bounding off over the sandy dunes. Unfortunately for the Oryx the only cover the desert had was a small copse of trees and cactus a good couple miles away. Wynd bolted after it, jumping from the crest of a dune and gliding over the sloping hill in pursuit. The Oryx changed direction and Wynd veered but still managed to get a hook on the Oryx despite its scything horns. He flung it to the ground and snapped its neck killing it quickly.
Streke padded out of the den yawning in the dry evening air. He didn’t take the change of scenery as well as Wynd; he snarled and padded over angrily toward Wynd and the Oryx carcass. “Great, now we’ll have to wait till night before we can move on!”
Streke thundered over to the carcass and took a chunk out of its hide. Wynd growled confused, “The stars aren’t the only way to tell which ways north.” He stood up after nipping off more of the carcass and leapt down from the crest of the dune; sending sand up in a cloud of dust as he landed. Wynd galloped over to the front of the den and skidded to a halt. Inside, the den had already taken on the scent of dragon, smelling of cinnamon and burnt undergrowth.
“We were headed east when we found the den, so north is that way” he stated and pointed his head in the direction. Streke walked down from the dune while shaking the sand from his stiff scales. “When did you get to be so smart” he growled sleepily.
“When did you get to be so dumb?”
Streke hissed and flicked his tail agitatedly, “Watch it.”
Wynd smirked and shrugged, “Sorry”.
Far from where Wynd and Streke were, across the gold desert where it’s blazing surface turned from the sun to the moon, a shadow swept across the dunes. A dark figure disguised by the rivers mist. It raced up across the desert in a blur with a trio of similar shades following closely in a strategic manner. Shouting of alarm and horror rang out through the desert and forest at the discovery of their grim deed. The villagers had already gathered around their kill, talking of pursuit and vengeance, and the shades knew it as they ran from the scene.
Their strong legs pounded down into the earth like pistons, throwing up cascades of dust as they went. They were thudding along as silently as possible, yet they could tell by the pounding earth that they were still being pursued.
The leader flicked his bushy tail and changed direction. He thundered around a small river bend, racing up the steep slope before stopping in a small secluded gorse tunnel. There the troop paused, until the shouting and banging ruckus faded to a safe distance. The leader padded forward out of the gorse tunnel and stopped at the top of the dunes crest. He peered around the landscape and flicked his velvet ears motioning the others forward. From the darkness of the tunnel, three dark shades approached. Glinting silver from the white sand, they looked as if from the twilight realm, fur spiking with grim satisfaction. But as they stepped in line beside their leader, their forms became evident.
Three huge wolves panted in the midday heat, they growled and nipped at one another with distress. The leader stepped forward and threw them to the ground and snarled, “Shut up! Do you want them to find us?!”
The three whimpered in submission and as the leader let them up, the largest of them wound up his wits and spoke up, “Are they still following us?”
The highler peered out over the top of the dune. It was hidden by gorse shrubs and cacti, and a few gnarled trees wove their way like webs in between any unhidden areas making it a perfect lookout. Below the cliff the villagers had gathered but were not alone as he had previously thought. No, the pests had brought their grunts and soldiers. The highler was about to turn away when he saw something much more menacing out of the corner of his eye. A huge ogre-like being with rams’ horns sprouting from his ugly head, pulled a bulls horn out. It was an old worn gold and carved of bone yet hollowed into a makeshift bugle. The grunt raised it and blew the horn, sending a blast of sound echoing throughout the valley.
The wolf turned away from the ridge, he wasn’t going to wait and see what was going to answer that call. But he also wasn’t going to allow himself to be beaten by the South Kingdom. Not yet. The highler whisked himself away from the outcrop stealing away from the hordes of prying eyes. His small hunting squadron stood alert at his return, they lined up quickly side by side like trim ships waiting on their commander.
The alpha skidded into the hollow growling, “Let’s move. They’re calling their steeds to them again; we’ll never outrun them on those things.”
“At least not for very long” whispered one of the hunters coldly.
The highler let a howl loose through the sky; the others pricked their ears in attention and followed after their leader as he raced off down the side of the dune. Behind them and closing in fast was something offering a reason for fear, pounding and scything their long hooves and tusks along the ground was a herd of monstrous creatures. Boars twice the size of horses, were thundering across the desert, their hooves quaking beneath their gargantuan bodies and gleaming red eyes. Upon their backs sat serpentine horned creatures, humanoid in appearance yet much more muscular and sporting large curled rams’ horns on their menacing heads. Like great unearthly ogres they whipped the boars and armed themselves with sword and shield. Haunted the place seemed, as the avengers urged their horrifying mounts onward, and in a burst of lightening and dust they were racing madly across the desert, leaving nothing behind but the mourning townsfolk.
When the crack of the whip sounded against their ears, the wolves dashed off. A spray of silver sand exploded off the ridge as they leapt off the side of the dunes. In a burst of light they were gone. And watched through their race as the sun swept across the sky and down over the planet faster then thought possible. With the moon not far behind, like the hunter after the prey; it soon rose to take its place and the wolves reveled in its eerie light, like how ghosts revel in a haunted castle.
Jaws slathered with the blood of their kill, they gaped them open in the night air, tasting it as the scents of other wolves and hunters gathered on their lolling tongues. Their legs thudded across the ground like arrows shooting a target. They were running far away from this place, their thoughts of discovery realized. It showed in their merciless eyes as they flashed red with the fear of punishment. But now they left those thoughts of murder behind and prepared. They made ready to put the next part of their plan into action, they had killed the princess of the South Kingdom, and now all they had to do was lead the boars to Traal and then they would finally be rid of the meddler.
The wolves silver fur glinted in waves of black and rippled along its muscular body as the wind threw it back. The alphas long spiked coat bushed around his head like a lions mane making him appear even more monstrous and regal then thought possible. And as he pounded along the earth, leading his devilish troop, it was evident why they called him Fenrisulfr.
“Fenris!” called the young blue eyed wolf, “they’re right behind us!”
Fenrisulfr roughly glanced over his shoulder and drove his legs faster so they became a mere blur, pounding in rhythm along with his fleet. Like drums in a war they boomed as the wolves pads turned from the sand to the field. And the dark sacred figures flitted across the hillside.
Atop the farthest dune in sight rose three giant striped boars, their eyes gleamed a mindless red as they flailed they’re cleaved hooves down upon the sand of dunes. Lion’s tails lashed at their backsides and their muscles heaved with each gallop. Their riders snarling with inhuman strength, eager for the bounty the wolves’ skins would grant.
Fenris barked, jolting forward again and again, keeping his pace ahead of the others. At that moment he didn’t feel much like the wolf god he was named for, he felt vulnerable and the drop in power angered him like the fury of Wolfbane. Fenris glanced around as he pelted over the field and sand; he had the boars’ chasing him now but Traal’s pack was still far across the dunes. A primeval force seemed to take hold of his thoughts making him think faster and wilder than before. The other three wolves whose names were Skoll, Akhlut and Hati ran farther behind their leader. As their alpha male, or highler, ran on without hesitation, Skoll, the beta, or serta, became agitated; sertas were second in command when it came to wolf packs, right behind the highler and highla. Omegas, or deckas, however, such as Akhlut were the lowest ranking.
Skoll wasn’t the fastest of wolves but he was one of the strongest and he hated running from anything, especially man. Skoll took a swift glance over the hills; the boars were slowly gaining on them. “Fenris, we can’t run like this forever!” he barked. But Fenris was already headed after Traal, his scent caught on the summer breeze.
Akhlut’s feather-like fur danced in the wind and his crystal blue eyes seared with excitement. His enthusiasm quickly turned to confusion however and he skidded to a halt, spraying up sand in the process. Hati looked behind him at his companion and barked at him in haste, “Akhlut, what are you stopping for!? Can’t you see the boars are right behind us!?”
“There’s something over those dunes” he yelped and backed away slowly, “I don’t like the smell of it.” Akhlut nervously paced, edging away from the boars and the strange scent.
Fenris glared at Akhlut, “Of course there’s something over the dunes, its Traal, and his pack is just ahead. Surely you aren’t frightened of him?”
“Of course not” growled Akhlut menacingly, “I just smell something else up there too… It’s strange to me.” The boars were upon them now, with their riders drawing arrows to the bowstrings, bending the hilt back and taking aim. Akhlut ran forward as if to prove his fearlessness, but mostly because the boars had spotted them again and were charging.
“Akhlut, you idiot! You let them catch up!” roared Fenris, and he turned heal and ran, as an arrow whizzed past his head, burying itself in the sand.
The boars busted through the dunes like they were nothing, obliterating them effortlessly. The skull chained harnesses rattled against their muscular hides and their heads throttled back and forth in the air, scything their mighty ivory tusks.
Fenris snapped at Akhlut, “New plan then, you lead the boars on through the dunes to Traal; we’ll take the long way through the canyon and meet up with you on the other side.”
Before Akhlut could protest the highler and his pack members dashed away up the rocky trail. Their paw prints disappeared on the stone and there the boars would no longer be able to follow them. Muzzle pointed forward to cut through the wind they set off up the outcrop with militaristic precision. Akhlut watched them go dismayed. However, as soon as his comrades disappeared around the bend he bowed his head and whipped it to the night. Akhlut let loose with a strong yet eerily haunting song that shamed that of the riders’ bullhorn. The sky seemed pleased by his call and the song punched a hole in the clouds letting the stars shine down upon him. Akhlut growled with pleasure as the boars followed his voice and raced up to meet him, whipping and snarling up a ruckus. As did Traal, who though, far through the trees on the other side of the desert, still heard his call.
Akhlut’s false cry for help still echoed even as he turned heel and ran, and far atop the rocky outcrop Fenris and the others raised there ears to the sound. Only Hati looked back over the ridge to Akhlut with worry. He paused as he climbed up after his leader and the serta. Ears pricked to the cool night and nose sharp he mumbled softly to the others while looking over the ridge, “Do you think Akhlut will be alright by himself with those monsters?”
Fenris uttered a low growl, “He will be fine, if he runs fast enough.”
Skoll, merely grunted in response as he bounded with cat-like agility from rock to rock, but Fenris raised his head to meet Hati’s gaze, and peered over the ledge as well.
Far below the kopje of red stone, Akhlut’s distant form bounded and leapt over the desert in stretches, casting fierce shadows over every rise. His tongue lolled from his mouth as he panted from the fast pace. There was no shelter of bush or bracken for him here, only land, sky and the mountainous golden dunes that rose up to meet him. His strong clawed paws trudged quickly through the sand, throwing showers of it up around him as he moved. As the desert sands periodically traversed from sand to stone to earth it wasn’t long before his pads became tired and scuffed.
Akhlut could only pause for a moment, any longer than that and the boars would appear again over the hill, riders ready at the bow. Even now, as he stopped atop another dune they were after him again, cleaved hooves pounding into the sand, and grunting with tireless effort.
Don’t these things ever rest?
Another arrow whizzed past Akhlut’s nose, and a banging of armor filled his ears. Akhlut’s heart skipped a beat as the riders rode up around him. A primeval force took hold of his mind turning him malevolent. The boars turned to ram him, Akhlut leapt to the side letting the creature roar past him. He snapped at the riders as they waved clubs in the air, and stepped back in anger as they swiped at him. Akhlut looked for a break in the circle as the boars stampeded around him. He dashed out just as one turned its tusks at him and he bolted. Leaving a trail of footprints in the sand, Akhlut ran without hesitation glancing behind him every so often.
Akhlut grunted as an arrow sliced through his fur, but as he ran deeper into the desert a new form of cover rose up around him. The sand dunes became more frequent and higher as they shielded what was just over the top of them. Akhlut dashed up and over one of the dunes for a brief respite from the boars. As he did so a wave of scent hit his nose, making him pause with confusion.
All around him rose huge stone monuments, castles and towers buried by the sands of time. A wind swept around him turning his trail of paw prints back to the sand. Akhlut paused, panting; he crouched low to the warm desert as the sounds of the charging boars rushed past him. Obscured by the mountainous dunes, but nevertheless still searching. The sun had once more risen over the dunes rim, casting rays of gold and red across his scarred face. He was safe for now, but he still had to find Traal, or else Fenris would have his head on a pike. The boars would soon catch his scent on the morning breeze so he had to work quickly.
Fragments from the broken outer reaches of the South kingdom now belonged to the desert and its inhabitants. Strange reptilian bird-like creatures perched atop the half buried towers. Their beady eyes burned into him and long tendrils of whiskers sprouted from their jagged beaks. They almost seemed like dragons yet he could tell these were not the creatures he had smelled, their black bodies rose to the sky like flying pterosaurs, and they scattered as he approached the time worn castle. They circled ominously above him like vultures, as if thinking any creature fool enough to come to the scorching desert must be dying of thirst. Akhlut let a low growl sound from his throat at the primordial birds, he knew these were no threat to him, but he disliked their presence all the same.
Akhlut slowly padded toward the temple looking around with critical eyes at the fleeting shapes and figures that were sneaking about the ruins. He recognized Traal and his packs scent and their shadowy figures disappeared at the sound of his pads on the marbled stone. He scuffed along through the halls of marble and crystal, sand was washed along the floor here and there like the wind had acted as the tide and waved it across the temple floor. Akhlut stood in the huge doorway, with the warm wind at his back. At that moment an unworldly sound reached his ears from over the dunes. He skirted inside, more worried about what strange creature was at his back then Traal’s, undoubtedly, approaching fleet.
At that moment as Akhlut’s foot steps echoed into the ivory temple, a low howl sounded from deep within its walls. Akhlut stepped a few paces back, his claws clicked on the sand washed stone. And now came the weirdness upon him, from where once was eerie silence now came the echoes of primordial beasts, things he had not heard in all his lifetime. The sounds of dragon call and wolf howl mixed to create one of the most eerie and unnerving sounds that had ever filled his ears. What’s worse, the bellows of the boars sounded against the sun drawn wind once more.