"So it was in the time of myths, that a great plague descended upon the Palace of Man. The winds howled a terrible cry and the titans raged with bolts of thunder and fire - and sent their herald, a titanic tree that could walk - to pass judgement upon innocent men. So it was that the Gods quailed, and shook, and could not stand against the great Ent, for mighty was its power.

The land called for a hero, but none could be found. The people prayed for a guardian, but none answered. The people begged and burnt and wailed, for seven days and seven nights, until a lone beast stood before the mighty Ent.

"I do not wrath against you, beast, leave my path."

The great beast sat, half wild and half tame. Brown of chest, grey of snout, and onyx of ears.

"I do not have battle with your kind. Move."

The beast stayed still, waiting, his ears high and tail stiff behind him.

"Last I will speak - Move from my path, or suffer my wrath."

And only upon the threat did the great beast stand - and launch himself forward with the might of the gods own hammer. He leapt upon the Ent, though sorely outmatched, and battled with it - tugging at branch and taking mighty blows against his frame.
The beast twisted and snapped, cracking branches as the Ent swung, breaking ribs. The two fought in a widening circle of battle, which flattened the great forest and the hundred thousand allies of the Ent, who waited for opening. The claws of the beast sent up terrible rents in the earth, which built the great mountain range of Ourgedyi, and the blood spilled to become a great river mixed with the Sap of the Ent. 

The two battled, branches snapping and claws breaking, teeth gritting and splinters digging deep, but they wrestled and fought, and battled hard upon the face of the earth - that the Titans quailed and shrank back, their storms ending as the Gods began to Rally against the tyrants of eternity.

Still the beast struck and fought - guarding the den of his companions - and battled with vigor that the sun began to shine bright, to burn the tree and his leaf. It was a great battle, until all went silence with howl and a great snapping of bark and wood.

It took many days for the beast to drag the mighty Ent to the home of his companions, who had been cursed to not leave their home during the Titans storm. They wept upon sight of their great companion broken, but cheered his name as the beast brought the broken Ent to the house of Man, and laid it out in offering of his might. And with a breath, satisified, the beast lay his head upon his paws, closed his eyes, and gave a last breath.
But it was that the heavens had no Heroes inside of it for the Beast and his kin - the companions who risked everything for their bretheren and fought with valor that made heroes envious. So it was, that the Gods took the final breath of the great beast, and elevated him to the heavens - to ignite the heavens with a new star and make it a beacon to all heroes who were alone, and all beasts might sing to their young of.

So is the story of Tash - the guardian of heaven, the companion of Man, slayer of the Ent and champion of Dogs. So is the legend of why a Dog always brings a stick as but a toy, and Man shall always hae the compaion at his side.

Drink now to Tash, God of Beasts, Hero of Heaven, Companion of Man, and Champion of Eternal Loyalty. Remember him as your beast lays his head near your babe - and know as long as he lives, the Titans themselves will fear to harm your hearth.

Protests again. I sit, on the bus, staring out into the sea of faces - and listen to the anti war chants. I think there are a few prayers from the daughters of peace as well, calling upon the goddess to lend strength to the protest. I don't care. I light my pipe weed, and take a long drag to steady my nerves. Fucking hippies.

I look at my hand, then down to what is left of my right arm a stump with a yaun-ti graft on it, special gift of the surgeons of Saigon. A snakes limb, it isn't a hand, and can't hold a rifle, and can barely grab my dick when I need to let off some stress. I grunt, coughing. The pipe-weed is going to give me cancer. That's what the diviner said, anyway. Fuck 'em, he took an MM to the forehead and painted my gun red with his brain matter. 

Lucky bastard.

"END THE WAR! END THE WAR! END THE WAR!"

I want them to shut up. I glance out, the sea of grey and white moving against the armored, rune-marked chasis of the bus, just enough strength in the push to touch, but not enough to over-ride the antipathy marked into mithril.

Six warforged stand to form an honor guard for we wounded vets. I glance at 'Tet, a little bronx kobold who lost an eye and had part of his jaw rebuilt. He's uglier now, but has no shame. I bump fists with him and pat his back. I've got him, little fuck helped me out there.

Warforged. Feh. Protests about the 'mechs as well, I presumed. They were created, who cared what the 'bots thought and wanted? They didn't even have souls. But I respected the uniform it wore - and looked at the six that formed an honor guard - each pulling out the chamber-wand and preparing to deal with threats as required. Non-Lethal magic only. I wasn't a wizard I just used the tools given to me. I'd have dropped a few fireballs on the crowd.

I slithered forward, my snake tail dragging. I drew my hand down for my mithril knife, but remembered it was left on base. We were all disarmed before being released. I felt my fangs extend. I wanted to bite them.

"Liam?" 'Tet said. His small voice a squeak, but strong. He was stronger than I wanted to admit.

"Yes?" I hissed, gazing down at him. He never feared me, the grunt he was could stand up to a Lamia Ranger and not blink. 

"Relax. I've got your back."

I looked up. The doors opened, and the ward lowered. I would have to move to the life of a civilian now. Wounded, missing an arm with a useless snake tail, and hated for being a soldier when my country called.

Fucking hippies.

"I know." I said.

"Don't have to be scared. Come on, let's get a room, before we figure out what to do, alright?"

I nodded. Little fuck was right. I faced the crowd, and slithered out...

A hand at fanfiction

Because writing stories at 3am and under the influence of sleep deprivation is fun!



The second moon was in full wane when I woke up one crisp day. The chill wind blew through my open window, and ruffled the thin sheets I wove around me to sleep, my sheets thin enough to keep me from overheating in the hot-time weather. My windows were open to let the breeze blow in the scents of the day, and it reminded me of harvest, of fresh tilled earth and black soil ready to give the bounty of harvest.
It would be a good day.
I rose from my bed, the sheet falling from my naked legs, and I strode to my closet to grab an outfit for the day – nothing complicated in this day and age. I hung the suit over my left shoulder and went to bathe, to cleanse the night scents off of me, and I relished the cool water which soothed me. I enjoyed the morning shower, the best part of my day in the hot season.
Outside it was warm, the grasses rippling in the early light of the dawn, the golden blades tinted pink under the distant rising sun. I let my toes flex against the grass, and enjoyed the gentle stimulation against my bare feet. The earth was kind, and the distant crops would feed many, and feed well. I was glad for this; I was doing my duty, even if I could not join into the great calling. I took a humble pride in this.
I strode forward, my limp barely felt as I strode through the grasses. A limp, it is what set me apart from the rest, though it did not stop me from my work. A limp, showing the corruption of blood that was mine to keep, my limp was a punishment to the ancestors for their hubris. I did not dwell upon It though, for there was work to be performed, and I would not be mocked for my failure to perform my duties.
“Yetha.” I heard my name. Turning my head, I looked at the tall grace of the field-maiden, who was a head taller than I. Her jaws split into a coy half smile, though scars ran the side of her face – she had seen, participated, in combat in her past. She was strong, and working the fields did much to keep her healthy.
“Maiden Aspa,” I inclined my head to her, eyes lowering from her pale gray hide, and looked away, to the machines that would require my hand. Big beasts of labor, they had once served as combat vehicles in the long past, now repurposed to the duties of field work. A noble legacy for ancient weapons, I thought – now serving the people who made them even beyond their first purpose.
“You are needed to repair the master-control of the field tractors, and then return to maintain the rest of the systems.” She was beautiful, her long fingered hands strong, but feminine. She was wed to an Ultra, one of those who lead operations against the enemies of the Sangheili people and our allies. I was envious, but I would unlikely wed in my lifetime. I would be wistful, but I did not let it interfere with my duty. “Should you have time after this, do check the new purchases for damage and repair schedules”
“Yes, Maiden Aspa.” I spoke, and bowed my head in acceptance of her words. She gave a smile and patted my cheek gently, then continued on her way. She had been a crèche mate, and when I had been refused from service for the twist of my left leg, and the tremor of my left arm, she had pleaded my service to her mother. I worked, served as an apprentice to the mechanics of age upon the grand estate farms. I owed her love, and I gave her loyalty, for every day I drew breath and awoke in a bed was upon her sufferance, nothing more. “I will, sister.”
I limped towards the service hub, which gave broadcast to the great network which was overlain upon the field and farming network. Of late, there had been chaos upon the system, possibly a fault in the base programing that made me grind my teeth in frustration. I had been patching the bug for several weeks, but every time I fixed it, it broke again, worse. I prayed not to be forced to announce a need to get a new system. I would beat it.
I climbed the circling ramp that lead the outer edge of the grand tower, and gazed through the thick panes which let me take a grand view of the fields, which stretched for kilometers in every direction. I ascended up to the top, at twenty meters from the base, and made my way to the hub, which glowed with red and green lights. It ran hot, but all machines did. I set to work on the operating system, sitting before the machine with my back to the windows.
Perhaps, had I been looking, I could have responded to the sudden sight of a ship plummeting from atmosphere, and falling apart in high orbit. I would have recognized that it belonged to a freighter, and had time to get into the security bunker beneath the estate – but I didn’t. So when the windows shattered and high strength clear aluminum flew through the room, I was caught off guard, but for a red lance of pain running through my back and shoulders, and then hot metal pounding into the back of my skull. I collapsed forward, into the machine, hard enough to crack the chassis and nearly my skull. I did not awake for many hours.
By then, it was too late.

Howl

                The moon alights the sky beyond my window, and beckons me out into the wilderness beyond the deck.  The woods are dark, cast in a mighty splendor of shadow and moonlight, and begged me to run beneath green pine and over moss-stained rock.  I gaze, and I tremble at the offering that sings in my blood and makes the dark hair over my body lift, tinged with a wild energy that begs  to let go, to run, to flee this trapping, this cage of wood and glass and electronics.  I pace, wearing a trail into the carpet, and feel the stain of sweat cross my underarms and throat and back and groin, and yet I know I need to stop, to pause, to breath.  I breath, a cool breath that fogs out.  I am steaming.  The windows are open.

                 Breathe in.  I taste the cold air that stings my nostrils and burns down my throat like fire, making me gasp for another breath.  The scent beyond tells me of prey, a doe rabbit that would taste good, and the sweet copper beneath her breast.  The scent whispers the stories of the small pack that runs beyond the cabin, drawn to me as I am drawn to them, they knowing my scent, as I know their trails, marked across the whole of the mountain.  They are unchallenged, and they are mine.  Another breath.  Water, melt from the snows a thousand feet higher, wet, some fish and even the musk of a bruin.

                I breath out and snort, clawing at my arms with nails, and fighting the build of need.  I pace, my nails caress the walls, leaving gouges in the wood that would be quite a bitch to cover.  I stare at the torn nail, twisted by the force of wood and splintering pine, and then rip it off.  The hot flare of pain sends a tingle up my arm, and makes me growl, but it fades, letting me control the need again.

                Yet again it builds. 

                The pain flows away to the gnawing hunger of the inner self, the instincts that caress up and brush across my face, and the ripple of dark hair that flows up and fades away.  I want to scream and claw and tear through the house, but I know not to threaten my domain.  I have fought this change for too long, and I have to let go.  I do not want to let go, I am afraid to let go, I want to stay a human for a little while longer, but no, I know I cannot hold back.  Like the crest of copulation, I feel it well in my gut and slowly tighten, threatening to push me into the oblivion of the run, the chase, the hunt.  The pack howls, and they call upon me to join them, to let free what I am and take my place.  My head rushes, a throb of blood that threatens a headache, a splitting migraine, the rearranging of my visual cortex making my vision blur, then sharpen.  Colors lose definition, others rise up that have no word.  I am losing myself again…

                …I am almost free.  I am almost awake.  I can run!  I can...

                ...In the fight to be myself |a little longer, my hand shifting into…

                …clawing the metal why wont it open why wont it let me out trapped in my den…

                …claws, the knob hard to turn.  I snarl, biting at the air as my face begins to contort, twist, bone cracking.  I held off too long, and it was going to hurt.  Like being denied the touch of a lover, my body twists from the sudden rush, and I throw the door open, enough to twist the hinge.  My body rips, as muscle and bone and sinew begin to change.  I am a large man, already nearly 130 kilos, and two meters tall, and this translates directly as fur ripples across my body, sending my back twisting.  I claw…

                ...held by restraints must get free tear free of the body the cloth the binding the pack howls I must run…

                …the shirt off and feel my nails twist.  Already the torn nail has reformed, and the nail grows longer, into black claws.  My thumb twists, a sharp snap reforming the bone into a better shape.  My teeth crack and grow longer, fangs showing…

                ...runrunrunrunrunrunrunrun…

                …in the gleam of moonlight.  My snout shows as I drop, feeling the earth.  I begin…

                …to howl.  I sing, and the pack answers.

Incomplete story

               

                I held it with a hand, and felt it shiver in the frosted cold of early October morning.  I held it, the long, sinuous and rubbery form of what looked to be a black and purple armed snake against my body, and wrapped my jacket around it, to keep the warmth close.  As thick as my arm, perhaps as long as I was tall, it was not a snake, for it had not hissed, bit, or done anything to me when I approached it, near a burning wreck of a meteor.  Its arms clenched to me when I bent to study, and it drew to me, wrapped me, held me and shivered.

                I had panicked, but as it did not bite, squeeze, or attack beyond wrapping me, I chose to just hold it, while it leeched heat from me.  I was glad my jacket was warm, and long, and covered me against the cold – for I was chilled enough.  The thing held me, small claws digging into my cotton shirt and the tail end tucking up, and wrapping about my hips and thighs.  It had an odd scent, like oil and latex and melted rubber, but a heady pungency of reptilian musk.  Still I held it, sat against the brown grass and back to a tree in full fiery molt, and waited for it to let go.

                The meteor was a silver and black shade, half melted from the heat of entry into the atmosphere, but oddly smooth along the back.  I could not move closer to investigate it, nor would have even if I’d wanted to, for it was still hot from thirty meters away, where I had found the creature, the mutated snake of unknown shape.  The head rested upon my breast and the eyeless shape was long, mouth opening into three splits to take a breath, and I saw the many teeth, sharp and back angled, meant to grip and bite and pull in, or so I guessed.  The edges of the mouth were deep red, against the black and purple of the body, which felt oddly slick, like sweating plastic.

                In time it lessened the grip on my thighs, enough that I could stand, even with the extra twenty five kilos of creature clinging to me.  The small hands, of which there were six, held onto me like a raccoon held onto a tree, and it burrowed against me, against my belly and chest and around my neck with its own, keeping there to drool onto me with the open gasp of its breath.  Each wheeze was pained, each whisper raspy, even as the pointed tongue flicked up against my ear, tasting me, but not biting.  It was cold, the sun was setting and it would begin to rain, if the silver-gray clouds ahead were honest.

                The walk was difficult – it had been a long climb to the hill top, and a longer walk into the depths of the thick bramble woods to find the smoldering meteor – and even harder when I had to carry a strange creature on me.  The mouth gripped my shoulder without piercing, and it drew its head from my jacket to study without eyes, mouth opening to hiss in a breath, and head swiveling as though it had no spine – and for all I knew of this snake thing, it did not.  But it did not bite, and it was too weak to be a threat – so I did not pressure it to leave, nor do I think I could have even had I wanted to.

                The walk home was quiet – not even the crackle of sticks as I walked would dare to echo through the quiet woods.  I rose and climbed the steep hill and passed the clusters of rock that the moss did not try to grow to, not this late in the year.  I ascended up the hill as sprinkles of water wet upon my face and brow, and I hugged the jacket tighter around me, as the creature ducked down and hid from the sting of cold.  I looked up to the trees, their bows bent under a coming wind, and the heady rumble of storm not too far distant begged me to hurry.  I was squeezed tighter, enough that I had to gasp to take a breath – though I was sure it was the tiredness from my walk.  Still I strode – passing to the crest of the hill, where I paused to look down – the pathway different than I recalled.  I could spot home, a small trailer on an unremarkable plot of land.  My father was not there – and I was glad for it.

                Entering up the three steps, I pulled the door open and looked inside – where the dim light could barely pierce the curtains and smoke-stained windows.  I stepped past the threshold and entered into the den, where the old shag carpet clung to my damp shoes, and the mismatched furniture troubled the eyes.  I walked past, into the kitchen – I was hungry, and I was sure the creature around my body hungered as well.  I gazed into the fridge – the brittle yellow handle crackling as I pulled at it. 

                There was little to eat, and less to share.  I took a beer from the fridge and a cold hock of ham – this I warmed onto a plate in the microwave, which the creature shied its face from and buried down into the front of my shirt, making me jump.  I felt sticky from the touch, but didn’t wrestle it off of me – it still had a small shiver, and felt cool, as though it were recovering from hypothermia.  Not a fun thing.

                The meat was drawn out, hot, and the creature perked up and lifted its head from my shirt, to draw forward and take a breath of the heated food.  It lunged, dragging me with it, and buried its face into the meat, the sharp teeth cleaving through the meat and devouring in great chunks the food.  It unwrapped me as it ate.  I popped the beer tab and took a swallow – it was horrid, but cheap.  I shouldn’t have been drinking for another five years, but, since when did that actually matter?

                The creature ate – juices streamed the side of its long, smooth head, and its throat and neck bulged with the great slices of meat it ate through – even the bone began to slide down the throat, where it took it completely in, like a snake would.  Soon, nothing remained but the plate, which had been licked clean of the ham soak.  A small sound, like a belch, left the snake thing.  Did snakes belch?

                Water.  I felt thirsty – and the beer, already drunk and giving me a mild tingle at the back of the scalp, wasn’t cutting it.  I pulled out a glass and a bowl, and filled them both from the tap – which seemed to fascinate my blind companion.  It drank from the bowl with long swallows, gulping down like a dehydrated man.  I swallowed in turn, finishing my glass, then refilled for another go.  The snake coiled its mouth around the tube and began to drink when I pulled the glass away, and didn’t stop for a full half minute.  Thirsty guy.

                Guy.  Somehow I knew it was male.  All my instincts told me that.  I slid an arm around the suddenly very heavy creature and tried to lift it – and it slithered about me, distributing its weight and letting me carry it to the bedroom – where it slithered onto my bed, and I, kicking off my boots and slugging off jacket, joined it.  I felt the chill in the air – and the creature was more than content to coil up against me, holding me, hugging me, sliding across me.  It enjoyed my company, or simply savored the heat of my body.  The six arms wrapped around me, the hands held me, and it laid its head under my chin, content.

                I felt dizzy, and then I felt tired.  And then I slept, held in alien arms.

                I awoke before dawn, alone.  My shirt clung with sweat and my pants were tangled around my knees, as was my blanket strewn along the bed.  I kicked off my jeans, and sat up – rubbing my thigh with a hand.  I felt a few bumps in the flesh and looked down – scratches near my inner thigh, red marks that did not hurt, but tingled.  Goosebumps tickled where I touched – and I tried to shake it off – while making it out of the bedroom.  The creature was not with me – I was alone in the bedroom, and I heard the buzz of the old television from the living room.  I stepped out to investigate, and peeked around the corner to see the ophidian curled up in front of the glow of the screen, flicking its tongue and seeming to listen to a myriad of noise, the white snow of no station.

                “What are you doing out here?”  I asked, and came near to sit beside the creature.  It drew to me, head on my thigh as it bent, restful now.  I lowered my hand to touch the back of its neck, and caressed slowly.  The texture was smooth, more slippery than it had been when I first met it, yet warmer, fuller.  I caressed it slowly, drawn to the mysterious and magnificent sense of its being.  I felt comforted, my thoughts taking on a warm tingle.  I felt good, as good as I had been in a long time.

                A hand fell to rest on my side, another to touch knee, a third lifted to shoulder.  I looked upon the six limbed creature, and drew a long touch across one of the splits that made for the curved mouth, and stroked down to the tip, then back up.  The mouth opened and drew my finger in, a coiling tongue sliding across my hand to squeeze once. 

                “What are you?”  I asked softly.  The face of the creature drew higher, and it rested before me, the mouth hovering near my own.  I could smell the muskiness of its breath, the scent of the meat it had eaten a few hours earlier present.  The breath blew across my own, and I stared, feeling a flush rise to my cheeks.  It exhaled again, a tingle running through my scalp.  The hands were on me, all six, as it drew over my body, and held, pinning me to the couch. 

                The jaws parted widely, wider than a snake, wider than any creature of the earth, and the three sectioned jaws closed against my face, gripping, biting with teeth and suckling at my face to draw out my breath.  I felt a surge of panic, then a wash of heat – as the two senses of fear and wonderment battled through me.  The body coiled and nestled atop me, the length of its figure pressed between my legs, against my breasts, over me, atop me, coiling me and surrounding me with him.  I felt dizzy still, as the teeth gripped but did not break skin, as the tongue fluttered into my mouth, and wetness crossed my sense of taste.  The buzz, like good whiskey and bourbon, went through my body, and I arched up against him, gasping for a breath that I could not get, subsumed by his being, and consumed by what he was, which I had no words for, but knew it right to be where I was.  I tasted his venom, and I savored it, I loved it, I drank of it greedily.  I was his.

                Quivering, my body shuddered against his when he drew back from me, leaving trickles of blood on my cheek and chin and jaw, where he had bitten.  He drew back and studied me through no senses I knew of, holding me with a coil of arms and serpentine wonder.  My body was aflame, hot and wet and electric. 

                I felt my stomach burn, and the heat radiated through me, when he drew me up to sitting, and withdrew his uppermost hands from my shoulders.  Head tilted, he studied me, giving me a moment to think where it would count.  I did not want to – I felt lost without him.  Whatever he was, an alien from distant lands, an entity from other worlds, a demon or god, I didn’t have any reason to care, or words left to question.  I was held, and nestled against.  It felt good.

                

In the heat of summer, under the dry oak along the river, I fished. It was a hot summer, yet a day to let the fields grow and the animals have a free time to themselves - a time that young men enjoyed, or so the elders say. I know the truth that I enjoyed it, fishing with my dog Vallejo sleeping lazily beside me.

My pole bobbed and wiggled, some small fish might nibble at my bait - but I'd yet to really find anything worth the time to reel in. My dog snorted as his long gold tail swatted the air, and I chuckled, feeling drowsy under the sun and shade.

My pole wobbled again, as I looked into the clear blue, and let a smile touch my face. I felt the cool brush out, pleasing my senses. I bowed my head to the cool on my face and the sun my scalp - and it helped me slip into a state that was closer to sleep than I'd have given credit to. It felt good.

And then I shifted, hearing the sound of wicker being shifted and the scent of wet skin. I grunted, grabbing for my pole and turned, to stare on the length of wet scale, marked red with a hint of orange. I stared, blinking, and trailed up, to the swell of hips and soft, dusky skin - flesh that made my cheeks flush with how exposed it was, and sight of a female back. She faced away - this half snake, half woman - she faced away and worked at getting my lunch basket open - the strewn sight of bread and ash-jerkied fish strewn about, eaten on.

And then a gasp. A gasp, as I looked up at into large almond eyes, and a lady with long ears and hair, who gazed upon me with curious surprise, and a flush to her cheeks of guilt.

A lady Lamia, a pilferer who was eating my lunch.

She had on little - but the snake-folk were not known for their wealth, at least, in this place. Her banded back shifted as she shied away from me, as though afraid of my presence and notice. In truth, I was a little upset that my lunch had been pilfered from me, but the nervousness softened me, as did the thinness of her sides and tail. She looked damn hungry, and the bruises on her body did not look old.

"Should have waked me." I replied, trying to act cool under pressure. She shied away from me further, the tattered wrap for her chest in bad need of repair, and it barely hid her large bosom. I looked away, wanting to pretend modesty, while busying with my pole. My damnable dog looked over, sniffed curiously, then rolled back onto his belly, to get some sun. Lazy mutt.

"Go ahead and eat. But, you should have asked. I might have been upset if you weren't so hungry." I reeled in and looked at the copper hook - which had a fish on it. I grinned faintly - lunch wouldn't be ruined after all. "Go ahead, eat. You could probably use it. Do you talk? Are you lost? We don't get many snake-folk in these parts."

"Ye-va dun-kalla monjessan." She replied. I squinted, that was no tongue I knew. She had an exotic look, darker of skin than the average of her kind - the few gypsy travelers who made rounds to our village.

"Really?" I asked, pushing the basket to her with a foot. "Facinating. If you've nowhere to go, I can take y' to the village. Lord Sheshka knows that those who watch for travelers will be blessed."

She gave a dry nod, perking on hearing a familiar name, I supposed. Sheshka, Lord of the Snakes, He who held the sun in his hood and let it rest from the journey, before being pulled across the sky by the Surya in the morning. They blessed any who guarded the lost traveler from harm.

"Come along." I said, extending a hand and offering it to her, as I rose. My dog grunted, but raised to his paws and stood, ready to return home. She shyly took my hand, and followed.

My village of Raesupl was small - many farms surrounding a central meeting place - which held the central hub of the elders and the learning places for the young. A temple to Sheshka and shrines to the other gods lay ready for any who would welcome worshipers. There were many roads, this was a common stop for traders heading north - but had few natural resources save for food and a great river.

We continued forward, she slithering beside me shy, her body warm and the scent of her musk present in the air. It was intoxicating, oddly enough - the sweetness of serpentine skin and a womans flesh made me dizzy.

We continued - to my home - a small place set on the edge of my fathers property, which was a great farm. At least the land was owned, even if taxes were high.

I continued along, letting the girl follow me home - where I let my father know I had a guest.

I suppose I could get out of further field work by helping this visitor of the village out - a blessing, in essence. I continued on - leading the girl into my home and held a hand out to her, inviting her to my table. I set aside rice to boil and the fish to cook, and handed her a cup of wine - cheaply brewed but meant for guests. She took of it and smiled shy, sipping of it and chattering to me in her native tongue. I was entranced by the soft of her lips, and the flickering sight of a forked tongue.

"Well, I am Bahata, and this is my home. Tomorrow I suppose we can find out where you have come from, and perhaps find a way to return you there. If you wish to go, perhaps it is not your dharma to return there. Perhaps it was to come here."

She smiled, unsure, but patient, perhaps glad for the food. I spoke to her, as the evening wore on, and invited her to my bed - where I would sleep upon a mat in the dining room. She said little, just a shy smile. I smiled in turn - feeling blood course to my loins unbidden. I shook it off, and let close the dividing curtain between she and I, and lay my head to sleep.

Awakening in the dawn, I found myself unable to move. I was cool with an open window permitting the breeze, and cool with the feeling of scale and flesh against my bare chested form. I looked down to a hand that held my belly, and another that rest against my armpit. Her head was tucked to my shoulders and her tail held me abdomen to foot in a squeeze that was pleasant to every one of my senses. Her scent had cooled but was exotic, a scent of the jungle and places she had been in the past. She was drawing the heat away from me, and savored me with a kiss on my back - though unconscious the brush had been. The dark haired woman nestled into me. She spoke in her tongue, strange words that made me wonder.

I was too comfortable to move, and did not wish to awaken the slumber of this sleeping girl. Softly I stroked her hand and drew it up to kiss her palm, then shifted a bit, to get comfortable on my back. Her head laid on my chest, holding me closer.

"Where do you come from, girl?" I asked soft, and stroked her neck. My eyes caught a strange brand upon her shoulder, and a chafing of skin at her throat, as though bound by too tight leather.

"You aren't a slave, are you?" I asked, suddenly disgusted by the thought. There were lots one were born to in life, and paths that must be followed, but Slavery was outside of the paths lain by the lords - and disrupted rightful paths of dharma. I hated it - all in my village did.

But slavers were powerful men, and held much in the way of might. I grunted, worried. Did I have what belonged to someone?

I looked to her. I decided it did not matter - let them come with a mountain of men or a thousand elephants, I would not let them take her. It would be injustice.

I was in love, as surely and truly as anyone could be. She was a gift from the Gods.

"Son. Son. I heard you had a guest, but did not expect to see you wrapped in coils."

I looked up to see my bearded father, who gazed down with a look of surprise and amusement. He spoke softly to me, to not awaken my guest. I flushed sharply, gazing upon him then down to she who slept against me, and I cuddled in close against her, holding her.

"Yes, father. She came upon me, and I found her eating my lunch yesterday. She looked hurt and tired, and I took her here, to let her rest and eat, before asking the Elders for what should be done. She bares a brand, and her neck is chafed."

"That does not bode well, Bahata. Is she a slave?"

"Slave or not, it is against the Gods to make one serve who commits no crime, and never are they to be abused. The brand, and the chafing, would violate this."

"I know, son. Let us take it to the elders. Her ... owner may come to reclaim her, and we cannot fight off a powerful man and his armies."

"Then we will not. I will take her away."

"You are wise, but trust the elders first." She gently hugged me, still drifting in the deep sleep of one who found safety.

"I will. But I will also trust the Gods."

The elders met that afternoon, after I had bathed, and she had annointed herself with honey and milk - to wash away the dust of her scales and hide. She gleamed beautifully, in a borrowed long robe from my mothers selection, and her hair had been done up in long series of braids as she had prepared herself in the tub. She went with me - as the Elders had asked, and was lead to the grand central hut, and into the shrine dominated by a mural of Lord Sheshka, who we asked for wisdom from.

"A Slave is not a good thing to have, nor is it good to risk the whole of the village for one we do not know, nor one who is not human." Argued one, an old woman sat upon a long divan. "She is not known to us, and may belong to one who could bring great harm upon our lands. Is the life of one worth risking all?"

"Would not the lords of heaven do the same for us, to protect us from those who would harm and bind us from our rightful dharma. We cannot let another do this, or we will be guilty of it by negligence."

It was for hours that they argued back and forth, discussing and debating the merits of helping and the merits of sending her away - all while we knewnot her langugage, and only her name.

Kammian.

"We could request aid of the lords and ask them to send protection, for we have evidence of wrong-doing performed in our home. It would benefit."

"And he might return her, and make us guilty of the same crime. We cannot impose upon him - for he is already at war with the lords of the north, by rule of our King."

He was, of course, right. She sat bewildered as we debated, and I attempted further to communicate - she had been hesitant with a name, but I found it fetching. She knew the word for food and for drink, for water and sky and then name of some of the gods. She was not a heathen.

The debate lasted three days - two of which I was present for, and a third where I worked the fields, and the lady of scales joined me, working beside me with quick hands, and an eagerness to spend time in the sun. I worked with her and she showed me a secret mantra to make the rice shake itself from the stalk, and yet still remain planted to grow more. It was with a days work we performed the work of seven days, and though tired, I was joyous for her gift - and kept it in a secret place in my heart. Each night I would sleep upon my grass-woven mat, and each morning I would awaken with her wrapped around me, like a lover. But never would I take of her, nor did she offer - I knew she saved herself, and though my loins ached and heart yearned, I let her perform at her own pace.

And at last, after seven days of working the plants and practicing the mantra of harvest, the Elders announced that they would guard her. She was a guest, sent by heaven, and we would honor the ways of our Gods, as they honored our devotion.

A good thing, I knew, for when I awoke on the first week plus a day, I found her shivering in a corner, and a terrible not played from a bulls horn - a note which rang terrible in the sky and made my home shake.

A single look out into the wood and towards the river told me of the terror we had brought upon ourselves - as I saw the masked faces of the Raksha standing in neat rows, held in metal armor and wielding great scimitars.

The village cried in horror, and I held her, to help stiffle her tears, as the lord of the Raksha called for his property to be returned.

To my shame, the elders agreed to return her, and they marched with the general to my door and knocked upon it three times, calling for the girl to be turned over. Three times they asked, and each I denied them - three times the face of the Raksha general grew angrier and his might grew great, until he hewed the door from the hinges with a terrible blow of his blade, and demanded that what was his be returned, and my blood in payment for defiance.

Defiance, which I redoubled, when I stepped from my room and held my knife, a knife which had once slain a tiger by plucking out his eye. I stood, and calling upon the gods, demanded the Raksha leave, for I had oathed to defend her, and would do so, as was the path of my dharma.

He laughed, until I attacked, and cut his hand. In rage, he struck me down and sent me back, blood leaking from my head and mouth. But I lived, and he stormed away, commanding his soldiers begin to burn the village.

I knew pain, and horror, but I knew I would not stand to let an innocent be harmed. And I stepped out, with the tiger-wounding blade in hand, and prepared to fight, and asked the gods to aid the girl, as I knew my life would end this day.

The soldiers came, their blades high, and their motions in unison - their approach with the ferocity of a bull elephant, and as terrible as the thunder during the seasons of rain.

But I stood, alone of the village.

Alone, until I heard a laugh behind me.

He was a creature of fur, and stood perhaps to the chest of a man, but his eyes were fierce, like the sun after an eclipse. In his hand lay a golden stave, as long as he was, and the creature of golden fur and a monkeys grin tossed it hand to hand, like a performing animal. He was swathed in a red robe and pants of white, while laughing again. His eyes were like lotus, as he stared with a grin that showed no fear.

"You fight to protect innocent?" He asked, his voice speaking the tongue of the heavens with a clarity that sent me shivering. He spoke as calm as though he were about to go for a walk to work his digestion, not face the ravenous hordes of raksha with only his staff and I with a simple paring knife.

"Yes." I said, nodding grimly and setting my face to stone. He laughed again, and waved a hand at them dismissively.

"Boy, I fight bull elephents, and wrestled with Dragons, and stole the peaches from the Emperor of Heaven. These are but a game to me. Come, I will show you a mantra to never be harmed by the blades of evil men."

And he did, and taught me a second secret mantra, which I took to my heart, and he launched himself into battle. Each blow struck hard as thunder, a hammer blow from the heavens casting the raksha past the horizon in a blur of golden rod and monkey strength. Again he danced amongst them as I joined, leaping to battle with my knife, which had grown to become a great blade when I was not looking. I battled with the demons, who came to claim the girl I had oathed to defend, and I swung hard and mighty, cleaving through blades with a cry of triumph and praise unto the gods. The blades struck at me, but my skin turned them away when I sung the mantra, as taught by the monkey, who laughed brightly and set to work, slaughtering and sending all foes past the horizon, to join the stars.

When battle was finished, not even the raksha general stood, for he had fled and cast his mask to the earth, which was crushed beneath the foot of the monkey, who nodded to me. He held his staff across his shoulders and looked upon me with a sense of pleasure at a fight - as a man might look after laying with his wife.

"You fight good, for a man." He said, before glancing to the Lamia, who stared in awe upon me, my blade, and the monkey who rested against his staff. "And I see why, she is radiant as a thousand fires in a forest."

"Yes she is." I said, gazing with her by longing. "But we cannot speak, for I know not her tongue."

To which the monkey laughed.

"Then I teach you this one last mantra, that you must use only to speak to her. Take the leaf of a lotus and the clippings of a holy mans nail, and a single hair of the girl, and mix it into tea. Drink it, and you will be able to speak to her for as long as you both live. Tell no one this secret mantra."

And I nodded.

"Who are you, monkey?"

"I am the Great Sage, Equal to Heaven, the Monkey King."

He laughed again, and I joined him, while inviting my Lotus to join me. She did, and knew she would no longer fear the evil raksha, as long as I was with her.

"Sun Wukong." She spoke, in tones awed. To which, he laughed.

"Yes, dear girl, I am." He said, and she smiled, for he spoke the tongue of heaven, which was known to all living things. She spoke to him at length, and he, on his golden rod, merely laughed and smiled and bade her speak as she liked. I waited, as I stood beside in awe of the great sword of gold, which was twice my forearm length but weighed only as much as a dagger. It had cut clean through steel and armor, and had not even a single scuff upon it.

"Yes, girl, you are right." He said to her, then looked to me with his eyes that burned brighter than the sun. "He has no evil in him, or I would see it and strike him down."

He demonstrated, and clove a great valley into the earth with a two handed chop, which stretched from the middle of the village to the river, deeper than a man tall, and as wide as a child from head to foot. The staff was lifted, and shook of dirt and water.

"She is right. I will give you a boon, for you have done so much for a stranger. What will you have?"

"I would have her be happy, and my village safe."

He nodded, pleased, and showing a grin wide enough to split his face. He then pointed to me with a long clawed finger.

"Would you have her happy, even if she were to love another, away from you?"

I felt pain, but nodded, honest, like the Gods would have me be.

"Even if I must suffer a thousand hells that she be happy, I would." I said.

"Good. For she admitted she has fallen in love with you, and would stay in your house, and take your seed to her womb as you have taken her into your home, and loved her without condition. Will you have her?"

"Forever, and ever."

"Good. She is yours, as you have already claimed her by might and mercy. She worries that you cannot have young with her, but, leave that to the Gods."

He winked, and spun his staff three times over head and struck the earth, and was enclosed by a great lotus, and the sound of his laughing.

I gazed to my wife, and saw her flushed cheeks and shy smile, and knew my heart was complete. I gave thanks to the gods, and honored them, as I took my wife from the great fields where the monkey had danced, and away from the trees splintered by his magic staff, and into the secret places of my hearth, where we practiced an ancient mantra, between man and woman.

And we were happy.

(Apologies if this isn't the most excellent of stories.  I attempted to follow in the path of Indian epics.  I hope it is worth your time.)

Beautifully rendered, deadly in purpose, and incredible in devastation, it was with a hushed breath the world waited, all was silent, and then a roar of force that the two Locate-City-Nukes went off in a beautiful display of flame and force.

They went off, but did not explodes in fire and death and localized waves of undeniable force. They went off, but did not kill those who had come to disarm it.

No, killing would have not been a fitting end to those heroes who had risked so much to save a nation, to save a belief, to save the world from all who would see it burn, turned to their own ends without a thought to any crushed in their path.

No. A group of heroes stopped it - soldiers of the highest order - the elite guard who went where others feared, and used their skills in ways that challenged all belief of possible.

Rangers.

Rangers, who lay in a field, under a strange sky, and tried to make sense of where they were. The wind was odd and it was much too cold for this time of year - and the fortress was missing, from where they had stood and looked upon an old stone place loaded with the most dangerously potent choice of weapons in this modern era.

"Lamirez, you copy?"

A grunt, undignified, replied from a tangled heap of scale, coil, hide and hair, a creature bruised and battered and dizzy from a sudden rush of power and force. Her head lifted, golden-green eyes squinting, and one forced closed with unflattering bruising around the wide pupil. She grunted again and sat up - her armor battered, and her rifle strewn a few feet away from her.


"Good, you are up. Anyone know where we are? Where's the Fortress? Where's the helos?"

It was quiet, but for wind, and the sound of thunder in the distance. A butterfly fluttered up from the long grass and landed on a serpentine nose, before the Lamia swatted it away and grunted, feeling a large wind brush on her. It was chilly. Thankfully, the inter-woven amulets would keep her warm. Rangers only got the best, in theory.

"Somethings wrong with the stars. I can't find the Eye of Broketail anywhere." Thompson sat up, looking away from the sky and the distant moons, then back to his C/O who fiddled with his radio, attempting to contact headquarters.

"No idea, damn wizards."

Lamirez stared out with her 'nocs, the tri-eyed scopes settling in, giving a reading in heat signatures and in magical radiation - one more familiar for the lamia, the other a useful tool in some situations. The scopes zoomed in on the horizon, where a strange sight caught her attention. She sat up, wincing at a wrenched disk, and forced herself to stare out.

"Centaurs." She murmured into her transmitter. "Armed with swords. Heading our way. 1500 meters."

"Damn. Take perimeter, but don't fire unless they take hostile action." The squad assembled, ignoring their injuries to take up a firing line. Lamirez dropped her rifle and slithered prone, to take bead.

"They are in mail, sir. Light magical properties." She hissed, and clenched at her 'tags around her throat. She murmured a prayer for guidance, and waited for contact...


"Come in, come in. This is K-080-LD Crew. Anyone there, respond?" It was a small crackling, the distance would be vast, but there. Heard over the heavy wind and the thunder of approaching hooves, it buzzed the ear of Lamirez and the rest of the Ranger Squad.

"This is Ranger Squad 6, Identification 0f-1d-1a-1n, we are at an unknown site. We are being approached by Centaurs, and they are armed. Backup would be appreciated if you would be so inclined. We will flare, now."

And with a word, Rodriguez raised a small tube from his pouch and aimed it skyward - and murmured 'Mandlik', setting off the flare to explode into the sky. That would give the tank crew a chance to find them. It was friendly, they had been a help during a mission not a few hours ago.

The Centaurs raced closer on the flare of magic. But so did a great metal beast from behind the squad, with its great neck stretched and mouth open, preparing to launch death with but a word. A kobold sat on top of it with binoculars to his eyes, while painted along the side was a lurid image of a dragon in flight. Scrawled along the side was a rather rude message in draconic. Forged of adamantine and the finest of magitechnology, the tanks of the Kobold Engineer Corps were the most dangerous on the field.

If small and cramped for the average sized person.

"We see you. ETA, 2 minutes."


"Copy."

The Centaurs slowed, and a rather large one stepped forward, his sword lowered to rest against the earth, and a heavy spear to his back, set to charge if he needed to. It crackled with crude energy, a weak spell of power placed into it.

"Wer bist Sie? Sie übertreten am Bundesland über König Heinrich die Fünft-! Identifizieren sich oder auch sein getötet!" He spoke, his dark lips moving quickly. Brows furrowed.

"What language is that?"

"German, sir. Er, sounds like it. It's not quite, uh, I am not sure." Rodriguez said, while squinting at the centaur. He rubbed the back of his head, the gnoll feeling itchy, but thankful for the warm fur that kept out the chill. The moons were on the wane.

"Sprichst Deutsch?" He tried. Heads tilted amongst the centaurs, before shaking at the obvious question. "Vos agnosco mihi?"

The centaurs paced, blades ready, while rifles remained down - ready to snap a shot off in an instant if they made a hostile gesture. The rumble of the tank became audible, over a hill in the distance.

Blades were raised, and words were shouted again, in the odd germanic tongue. Battle was to be joined, with these alien invaders, possibly barbaric Slavs or Poles. The lead Centaur snorted. He hated Slavs, and Poles, and Lithuanians.

And then the Tank breached the distance like the roar of an angry dragon, and the kobold-crewed vehicle thundered forward, to the relief of the Rangers, and fear of the Knights, who turned, and charged away.

No one wished to deal with a metal-covered war-golem! They had to alert the lord and the courts! War was coming!

"Just in time." Lamirez murmured, clicking the safety and checking the magazine before shouldering her great rifle. "Just in time."