The Shalafae Archives - Little Sister

A little something from Lord Shalafae's past. When you're eons old, there's a lot of history to delve.

***

Ulrin strode through quiet halls, sweat drying under his riding leathers. The spicy scent of argul clung to the young Sidhehan, making him wish he were still flying his reptile. The verlynth was wearing off, and the withdrawals began.

I'm almost out, he grumbled. Mother best bring some back from their little cruise. His stepmother's selfishness knew no bounds.

Dizziness sent him stumbling against a wall. The albino groaned, eyes squeezed shut. Weakness followed, reducing him to a frail and trembling young man.

Curse the Fates who decided my birth. I cannot die, will not die. His research was progressing well, revealing clues to a cure for his condition. Ulrin's father wouldn't mourn his passing, but his stepmother and little sister would. Kyra needs me.

The attack passed, but his strength didn't return. Breathing heavily, he remained against the wall. Blood taste filled his mouth, fluid trickling down the back of his throat. Wiping at his thin nose, Ulrin found he was bleeding. His vision wavered, and he clenched his fist.

Verlynth is strong, but the withdrawal is almost not worth it. Perhaps it's the way the dragon venom is refined. I should visit the gladiator pits, try it raw.

When Ulrin began walking, it was like a feeble old man. Argul riding took precise skill and focus of energy, and he'd burned himself up, using up the drug in his veins. He'd need to feed on someone's lifeforce to refuel before he took another dose.

I think I'll try Mother's little pixan girl. She won't be missed. He grinned, the first stirrings of arousal giving him a boost. And those legs would make a good necklace. Ulrin reached with his mind for the mortal slave.

He found nothing. There was only his little sister's mind, and she was closed off to him. None of the slaves were in his senses.

"Impossible," he growled, anger fueling him. The trembles stopped as he stalked toward Kyra. Impulsive and crazy, the young woman might have sent all the servants away.

As he crossed an atrium, death brushed his senses. Blood soaked the air, drawing his attention toward a low table. A slender hand barely peeked out. Stooping, Ulrin found a murdered servant.

The woman's throat was slashed, her eyes wide, face frozen in terror. Blood was drying, covering every inch of her.

With a sigh, he rose. No one else was on the grounds, and Kyra exhibited no signs of terror. The little girl still waited for him, excited. Making his way to her once more, Ulrin began drawing on death energy. He wanted to be stable when he confronted the little blond.

Kyra waited in the formal dining room. Mother had forbade them entrance, and would punish any who entered there. His little sister had no reason to be in that room. Ulrin's curiosity was further piqued.

More bodies were piled up, and less effort taken to hide them or clean up. The aroma of blood filled his senses, making him hunger. Sanguine intoxication was the name given by their ancestors; he just knew it was a lust brought on by violence.

That lust was in high form when he found Kyra.

She smiled brightly as he entered the dining room. Crimson stained her from head to toe. "Hello, Brother," the young Sidhehan greeted, swinging her feet. The bodies strewn about the great hall belied her cuteness.

Arousal and anger kept Ulrin standing, kept the weakness at bay. "What have you done?" he snapped.

Kyra's smile never faltered. "I thought you'd be in a good mood. Argul that feisty today?" She grabbed a long plait of hair, bringing her knife off the table.

"No. It's my baby sister who's being feisty." He strode further into the room, crossing his arms.

She laughed, cutting at her hair. "I'd hardly call this feisty." Blond strands fell in a shower to the table. She closed bright blue eyes as she lopped off the remaining tresses.

He growled briefly. "You don't consider this feisty?" Ulrin gestured at the dead around them. "And what are you doing to your hair?" Growing it back would be the work of a moment, but that didn't stop him from mourning the lost tresses.

Finished with her hair cut, Kyra leaned back, bracing her arms behind her. Wisps hung around her, stuck on her dress, piled all around her lithe frame. "Do you not like it? It's supposed to make you take a new look at me." She held his gaze, licking her lips.

"Why should I look?" He came another step closer.

She sighed heavily, exasperation pouring from her. "Because I'm sick to death of you thinking I'm a wee girl."

Ulrin froze, anger dissipating. Her need reached to him, and he examined her, reassessing his younger sister. What he found astounded him.

Blue eyes and blond hair were from their birth mother, golden and beautiful. Rosy cheeks and flush lips were signs of the health he never had. Born of an unquiet grave, Kyra always looked at the world with adult eyes, with knowledge she shouldn't have.

Now her body matched her eyes.

Just past nubile into the flush of womanhood, her breasts were full, hips round, legs long. Newly shorn hair was on an even line with her square jaw, her smile defining triangular cheekbones. Kyra was gorgeous, no longer a baby.

"When did this happen?" They were always connected, closer than any of the other siblings. Kyra would know exactly what he meant.

His sister laughed. No more a childish giggle, it was an adult's chuckle. "It happened while you were watching. You're just too focused on finding a cure. For a very long time."

Amazement at her transformation was forced aside as weakness returned. "You think I might have a reason for my focus?" Vision blurred, and he struggled for breath.

Kyra left the table, taking him in her arms. "Of course you do. Once you find it, things go better." She ran a hand through his hair. "Which is why I did this."

His knees weakened, the emotional surge done with, leaving him once more to his breakdown. I need my verlynth. I need fresh energy. Then I can deal with Kyra and her little outburst. The blood aroma made his salivate, and he clutched at her.

"Feed, dearest brother." Her whisper was soft, breath hot against his ear. Hairs rose along his arms.

"On who? You killed anyone I might have used." Ulrin kept his eyes closed, hating the way he couldn't focus when the withdrawals hit.

Kyra ran her nails down the back of his neck. "No I haven't."

The Sidhehan groaned, every nerve suddenly on fire. Hunger roared to life, opening familiar channels. Senses sought any source of life; what they found was the blazing soul of his sister.

"I cannot," he muttered, unable to push her away, unable to pry his hands from her supple back. "I've never fed from another Sidhehan."

"You feed from many after you come back. But you leave soon, and we only had this one chance." Kyra was shifting into her timeless state, where her tenses mixed. She spoke from the future, with no sense of confusion. "To succeed at everything, you must have me at your side. So I set this up."

Fires burned inside, twisting him. "I can't hurt you. You must leave." His arms tightened around her waist.

"Yes, you can. You do." She laughed, tipping his head back. He opened his eyes, staring into beautiful blue irises. They glittered with love and adoration. "I love you," she whispered.

Ulrin accepted her kiss, parting his lips for her. He opened to his sister, opened his soul to her, forging a bond to last an eternity.

#FridayFlash - Diary of a Temple Cat 2

Yarn balls and warm cream, I love my temple! It's small, and a little disused, but it has a long history and a piece of the Secret. Dogs chase anyone who looks down upon it or me.

Master Shadow and I had a pleasant journey here, almost like we were blessed. Temple virgins rode with us in the palanquin, keeping our fur soft with their pettings, and our tummies full of dried fish.

I purred so hard that I thought I might vibrate apart. This seemed to make the girls happy, and their prayers carried farther while I laid in their laps. Master Shadow had to slow blink me to calmness, to help me maintain my dignity.

Speaking of dignity; the procession into the temple was the most overwhelming moment ever. I was carried at the head of the line, on a silk pillow, the virgins singing in my name. The sun was so very warm, but Master Shadow said I couldn't take a nap until after we settled in. I couldn't even chase the waving banners, no matter how delightful they would be to chase and pounce on.

My new priest is fat and old, but he showed me respect. He had a bowl of delicious liver waiting for me, and everyone waited for me to accept the offering. After long days of traveling, I really needed it. It wasn't nearly enough, and I gobbled it all down, and all my humans seemed very happy.

Then I got to see the Secret! I could use all nine lives trying to describe the wonderousness of the moment, but it would never be enough. Not that words are necessary; merely being Its keeper is enough. My nose is quivering again just thinking of it.

No catnip has ever been this intense. No cream has ever been this sweet, no sunbeam this warm. I am honored to have been chosen, and will perform to the very fullest of my furry best.

My temple and my name will live through the ages.

The Shalafae Archives - His Love

Morrigana has complicated relationships. Being a master assassin, slightly cruel, and a violent dragon, it's surprising when so many people come to love her.

***

Pain gnawed along every nerve in her body. Sometimes she cursed her draconic heritage, and did so now. Her elven companion, bleeding from several deep wounds, touched her elbow, steadying her. She spat blood, letting herself collapse to her knees.

"Just a bit farther, Gana-tii," Elthanael said lowly, his own voice trembling with pain. "We've got to get under shelter before the storm."

Morrigana growled, spasms moving through her tattered wings. She'd felt the Chaos storm before her second-in-command, and she felt the affects of it more sharply than he did. Who ever heard of a Chaos lord who couldn't dwell in Chaos? The growl deepened as she shoved to her feet, blindly stumbling to shelter.

The world lurched, and the half-dragon woman howled in pain. The storm was upon them, whirling strands of pure Chaos, tearing at the fabric of reality around them. Morrigana clung to her pain, for it reminded her of her body, of her personality. The woman was cursed, she felt, and she could not retain her personality under large influences of the liquid force of Chaos.

Her mind cleared, and she keened lowly, realizing she and the elf were inside the cave. Her entire body seared with pain, pulsing with the dancing forces outside. Between her and the colors and flavors of the storm stood a thick barrier. It tasted of her father, and she knew he was close by. He just needed time to navigate the storm.

Elthanael leaned against a wall of the cave, an arm wrapped around his middle. His leather armor was rent in several places, a livid scar crossing his left shoulder down onto his golden chest. He looked exhausted and worn out, his hair limp around his face. Morri smiled faintly, wondering who had cut his ponytail off, and shifted on the sandy floor of the cave.

He frowned, wiping blood from one narrow cheek. "What do you have to smile about? You're in worse shape than me."

Her wings throbbed again, the air stirring across the sensitive patagia, and she wished she dared use her powers to shift shapes. Even though it was a natural power to her, it still drew from Chaos, and could trigger a fight for control she was too weak to win. "I was wondering who cut your hair off," she wheezed out. Morrigana tasted blood, and pondering what had been ruptured internally.

The elf ran a curious hand through the shorn locks, frowning. "Hadn't noticed. Probably that last war elemental." El shook his head, scooting on his butt towards his leader. "How are your wings?" He reached one scarred hand toward her back.

"They hurt," she mumbled, the tip of her tail lashing irritably. "Bad."

"Let me see if I can help," he said softly, and let a hand rest between her wings. Morrigana cried out, biting deep into her lip, drawing blood as pain raced through her limbs.

The elf's energy surged through on the heels of pain, and she sighed. It was soothing and warm, and chased away the aches. Heat settled in her wings, and they began twitching, the talons digging into the soft floor. Her voice rose in a strangled moan, and she drove her claws into the ground. Her lungs burned with the need to scream.

El's hand trembled, fingers digging into her back. She hissed, her body latching onto his energy, greedily drawing it in. Her wings vibrated, the heat becoming painful, her veins feeling molten in her skin, her joints feeling like they were going to come apart.

Morri gasped sharply, coming to a sudden stillness. She felt El as she felt herself, felt all his aches and wounds through herself. Her heart stumbled, and she felt his weariness. The elf was tapped out, pulling on reserves that were already drained.

The hybrid pushed herself to her hands and knees, and the two assassins groaned as one. Morrigana stretched her wings in the cramped room. The pain was gone, the majority of the tissues closed.

"Gana-tii," Elthanael muttered, his hand falling from her back. She curled onto her side, touching his leg, and breathed deeply. She no longer tasted blood, but there was a constriction through her ribs. The elf drew a deep breath, trembling with exhaustion, and collapsed down against her.

They lay like that for several long minutes, listening to the melodic rage of the storm outside. Elthanael's head rested comfortably on her thigh, and he stroked her near arm. Blinking lazily, the woman ran a taloned hand through his tattered hair.

She began to think, staring into his golden eyes. He had been a faithful companion since he killed his father to prove fealty to her. He'd never balked at her commands, had performed any dangerous missions she did, and not once had he asked for anything. Her beloved father had encouraged their partnership, entrusting the elf to keep the girl safe.

Elthanael had more than fulfilled that duty earlier in the day. They'd been sent to assassinate a war lord, and tangled with his captured war elementals. While Morri had broken one elemental free, El had nearly lost his life when the war lord attacked with his axe.

With the war lord's death, the other elementals had gone wild, chasing the two assassins around the plains and hills. The Chaos storm had already been moving in, trapping them on the planet. It was Elthanael who had found the cave.

Morrigana sighed softly, gently tugging at his golden locks. "Why?" she asked, thinking of all the damage he'd taken for her, and then used his dwindling strength to heal her. She still felt the bond between them, felt their hearts beating as one.

He looked away, his hand coming to a halt on her forearm. "Your father bade me-"

"Bullshit," she said lowly, tugging harder on his hair. The elf kept his eyes cast away, pulling his hand away from her. "None of that was spawned by Father's command."

He blushed, sitting up, and turned his back to her. "Gana-tii, I..." He paused, and she stroked his thigh. His heart was trembling, and some emotion burned deep in his soul. She didn't immediately recognize it, but it called to her, curiosity causing her to sit up. Morri's hand drifted up to his shoulder, and she waited for him to speak.

The elf's trembling increased, and he started to pull away. The burning emotion grew stronger, and she squeezed his shoulder. Morrigana grew impatient, and she called his name softly. He remained quiet, and she wondered if he heard her over the storm. Elthanael spoke before she could prompt him again.

"You remember when we met again? How I said I hadn't stopped thinking about you since we were children?" She nodded, drawing closer, and felt his awareness of her. He kept his head turned, and her brows drew sharply together. "I still haven't gotten you out of my head. Being able to work with you only eases the ache I feel, but nothing ends it."

His need jumped across their connection, and she groaned lowly. Understanding flooded her mind, and she finally recognized the unknown emotion.

Elthanael was in love with her. His heart was fixated on her, and he needed her as much as he needed to breathe. It was so similar to her need for her father.

The hybrid pressed herself against his lean back, and wrapped her arm around his shoulders. They were cousins, they were assassins, and they worked closely together. She relied on him, and she loved him. She'd been so comfortable around him, affectionate and tactile with him. Had he been harmed by her attentions, by her friendly touches?

"El, I'm so-"

"Don't!" he said sharply, turning haunted eyes towards her. "I don't want you to pity me. I could leave if I want. Or I could work for your father directly and not see you. I could become a free agent. But I like being around you." He reached up to clasp her forearm. "I enjoy your touch, and treasure any moment we have together. Morrigana..." The elf's voice trailed off as they fell into each other's eyes. "Morri, I love you. I always have."

Impulsive as always, the dragon pulled him closer to her, her hand forcing his head toward her. Their mouths met, and she kissed him fiercely, pouring her love through their connection.

El whimpered, trying briefly to pull back, and she tasted his fear. She growled, not breaking the kiss, and pulled harder on him. She continued to open her heart to him, wanting him to feel her need for him.

He finally stopped pulling away, and shifted. The elf clasped her face, kissing her harder, letting his tongue invade her mouth. Now it was the hybrid's turn to whimper as the force of his love swelled around her.

I couldn't live without him any more. I need him in my life. He's my shadow, my guardian, and I love him. I don't want him to ever leave.

El broke the kiss, his fingers tracing her jawline. "I will be with you as long as you will have me." He brushed his lips across her mouth.

Morri's hands roved his stomach and side, feeling his drying blood and seeping wounds. His joy warmed her heart, and made her feel comfortable and safe "You know a dragon only gives her heart to one mate."

Their eyes met, and she saw understanding in his golden eyes. "I know. I also know I can never replace your father." He kissed the tip of her nose. "I will never ask for anything more than you choose to give me. I will be content just to be at your side."

Morrigana pulled his face to her again, claiming his mouth and his fealty. She tasted his resolve, knowing he would follow through on his words, that he would not try to make her fall in love with him. She could give him love, but never her heart. The hybrid tasted his heart, strengthening the bond between them, and understood that her love was more than he expected.

The storm stopped abruptly, devoured by the presence that swelled the woman's heart. "Father!" she cried out, breaking the kiss. His icy mind touched hers, checking her health, and she laughed like a child. Scrambling past the elf, she burst out of the cave into the waiting arms of the Lord Shalafae. He kissed her greedily, concerned, angry that anyone had hurt her. The dragon silently assured him she was fine, kissing him hungrily, offering her heart to him.

Silently, Morrigana's shadow emerged from the cave, smiling faintly to himself.

Hearthstone - Priest wins a tavern brawl

#FridayFlash - Heart of Draekell

Another older piece, something that has been sitting in my pile of rough drafts for a decade or so. Probably longer; you can tell by the heavy hand of my style at the time.

Anyway, enjoy.

***

It was a chill morning as Xiaster Raell stepped onto the dewy grass. The sun had barely cleared the hills to burn off the mist. He shivered, chills running up his spine. A crowd and gallows waited for him across the lawn. The guard pushed him, and he began the march to his end.

As Xiaster stepped heavily upon the short stairs, he looked out over the crowd. He saw his men; unquestioningly loyal to him, they were to be flogged after his hanging. His eyes ran over his wife; loving, faithful, and devoted, tears poured down her hollow cheeks as she was forced to watch him. King Deago; the man Xiaster had served for years, who had sent him on the very quest that had led to this. At last, his troubled eyes fell upon Rector Constantine; leader of the Clerics of Thrage, Constantine was self-righteous, pious, and wise. Xiaster hated him.

The former guard captain stopped in the middle of the platform, put his hands behind his back, and glared with all the venom he could muster at Constantine. The rector’s pale hand incessantly stroked the sheathed sword that lay across his lap. Xiaster knew the sword well; it was the catalyst of his doom.

Deago rose. As king, he had to preside over the punishment of high criminals. There was a look in the king’s eyes that Xiaster hoped was regret. Looking down briefly, Deago turned and addressed the crowd.

“Xiaster Raell was once a noble and loyal champion. He fought on the side of good on many occasions. That was the reason he was chosen to quest for the Heart of Draekell. Sadly, something changed him during that quest, and he became a cold-blooded murderer.” The king paused briefly. “The punishment for murder has always been hanging. Let the prisoner be punished.” Deago sat back down.

Xiaster’s eyes locked on the Heart of Draekell, one of the thirteen True-Names Swords; legend said it had been forged in dragon’s fire and that it was a champion of the weak and oppressed. When an ancient enemy had surfaced to destroy the Clerics of Thrage, King Deago had sent Xiaster for the Sword. The champion had spent months on the quest, flirting with death the entire journey. When he’d finally found the Sword, Xiaster had felt sure he would succeed at protecting the Clerics.

He’d taken the Sword from its ancient cradle, and had felt an instant change within himself. His senses painfully expanded, and his mind burned from the new perspective. Bizarre, animalistic hungers had filled him, and instincts he’d thought long buried by civilization had risen to the fore. With a primal cry, Xiaster summoned forth the dragon buried in the Sword, and flew back to his king.

Matters had escalated by the time Xiaster returned. An all-out slaughter of the pacifistic Clerics had begun. Surprising to Xiaster’s new mind-set, the Clerics had no proof the deaths were related, no clue of who the perpetrator might be, and were therefore taking no actions. “Murder is unjustified by Thrage,” was their excuse. Xiaster frowned, prodded by the Heart of Draekell to seek justice.

An old wise-woman had approached Xiaster with the location and the truth of the Clerics’ killer. In ancient times, a chapter of the Clerics had fallen to evil ways, embracing darkness, and had sworn destruction to all that followed Thrage. Many wars had been fought, and the evil thought destroyed. The wise-woman knew different, and gave Xiaster the location of the evil.

Xiaster and twenty of his best men traveled to the ancient monastery, only to find the doors standing open, the halls long deserted. The Heart of Draekell urged Xiaster upstairs, and there he found the man responsible for all the destruction.

The dark cleric gave no name, merely confirmation of his intent, and then the Heart began the battle. As the two men clashed, an army of undead fell upon Xiaster’s men downstairs. Both battles were brutal and deadly, and both ended when Xiaster’s thrust found the cleric’s heart. Claiming his opponent’s head, Xiaster returned to his king with the joyous news.

But the news was not taken as he had expected it to be taken. Constantine called him a murderer, despite the proof the champion brought with him. Xiaster had become frustrated, and struck the rector. King Deago was bound by the law, and was forced to convict Xiaster and his men.

Xiaster begged the king to wait, to see if the deaths stopped. They did, but Rector Constantine declared it to not be proof enough to justify Xiaster’s actions. No one could find the wise-woman, and no amount of searching the old monastery found anything. Xiaster was to hang.

Xiaster glared at Constantine as the noose was slipped over his head. The champion could feel a phantom ache of the Sword’s heat in his hand. He’d performed his duty, he'd served his kingdom and church, and he was to be hanged for his efforts, all because for some pacifistic belief that he’d committed murder. In his heart, Xiaster knew the Sword would not have allowed him to slay an innocent man. He’d found the murderer, and had dealt him justice before anymore could suffer!

Xiaster ground his teeth. He would not show fear in the face of death. He had always known he would die young, he just never knew it would be at the hands of the people he served. Eyes boring into the Hearth of Draekell, he waited for the trapdoor to fall out from under him.

Distantly, he heard the mechanism sound. He fell what seemed an enormous distance, only to be painfull brought up short. Searing pain shot through his neck, and pressure built in his face until he thought his head would explode. He spun, and could no longer make out the details of his surroundings. He thought bitterly of the injustice of it all-

-and was suddenly free of the pain. He felt an immense heat around him and knew he was surrounded by other people. No, other men. Other warriors. He heard a primal scream, and felt fury fill him, as it did every soul around him. His thoughts lost all identity, and became one with the flames.

The flames welcomed the new soul to its being, praising the strength it brought. It was angered by the weakling who currently held it. But it knew that it would soon be in its ancient hiding place, waiting for one to come for it, to wield it in a justified battle, and to feed its strength. The flames crooned to itself.

And as the last spark of Xiaster’s identity faded, he knew he was in a hell forged in dragon’s fire, cooled in villain’s blood, and fed by warrior’s souls. His screams faded in time.

The Shalafae Archives - Acceptance

This is the first Shalafae story I wrote, back in 2000 or 2001. A long time ago. Rather than re-write it, I have chosen to leave it as is. Some of the details have evolved over the years, so things may seem a little different. I know my writing has improved over this time. I only took a few really badly written or unnecessary things out, and adjusted just a few words. Otherwise, this is how it was originally posted.

Nostalgia, right?

***

Morrigana looked silently at the lay of the land. The wind tore jealously at her long black hair, and gravity tried to claim her back to its bosom. With another heavy stroke of her broad wings, the hybrid warrior would have none of it. She continued to take stock of the lands her father had built for her.

Below her was the sprawling dojo and stables, all for her training. He had spared no expense. He'd even imported the peculiar black obsidian from her home world, so she would be reminded of the race that had betrayed her. There were sprawling gardens, a pond that was more like a lake, tall trees, and some of the native rocks. At the tall fence, the desert sands lapped, relentless in their attempt to destroy the oasis Lord Shalafae had built for her. Catching sight of her weapons master, Morrigana folded her wings, and came in for a landing.

The weapons master was much smaller than her, with dark skin, long dark hair, and enchanting eyes. She respected him a lot. Even when her father put in his rare visits, and her weapons master was forced into whatever punishment was decreed, she always saw the deepest of admiration in his eyes. He was adept in many of the martial skills, and she'd yet to best him in a fight. The young woman promised herself she would, and soon.

"He's coming, isn't he?" Her voice was husky, just rougher than sultry. She glanced at the roiling storm clouds pouring in from the north, feeling the frolicking elementals within them. Storm elementals always followed her father.

"Yes," her weapons master said simply. He touched her arm with the faintest of touches. "He says he has a gift for you, and would like you to be in your armor in the dojo." And then her little friend turned away.

Morrigana stared after him for a heartbeat, then glared at the storm clouds. She reached out with her mind to pull one of the smaller elementals to herself, feeding upon it, and then releasing it. She felt her nerves tingle, and her senses expand. She had the sudden desire to fly up into the clouds, to rend and tear, and to take joy in the freedom of movement. Morrigana focused the energy, reshaping it into something less chaotic. She had to deal with her father.

The young hybrid stalked to her room, and donned her armor. It had been another one of her father's gifts; it fit like a glove, and revealed entirely too much flesh to be practical. But, Shalafae wanted her to look beautiful in everything she wore, so he'd had the armorsmith spend weeks crafting protection spells into it, so no weapon would bite her precious flesh. Sighing, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her tail lashed agitatedly behind her, but she did admit she made a very striking image. He may not have lavished gifts on her, but Shalafae did bring her good gifts. She left her room.

It was the hardest thing Morrigana had done in a while. She paced the hardwood dojo floor, boots making small slapping noises. She kept fluttering her wings, and lashing her tail. She picked up one of her practice blades, and smoothly moved through katas that were now ingrained in her very muscles.

Why is he coming now? she thought. She sliced at the air, dropping to her knees and spinning to face her unseen opponent. Does he know? How could he possibly know? It's just one of his random visits. The bastard!

Morrigana stopped, and faced her weapons master. She remembered last night, their only night together. She remembered the feel of his skin, his kisses, his teeth and nails. He was different in so many ways from the one who'd first trained her in carnal ways. Morrigana lowered her eyes. Her father was a jealous man, and would kill this person for her choice.

A clap of thunder and gust of wind announced Shalafae's entrance to the dojo. Morrigana rose, years of arrogance and breeding filling her. She pressed her shoulders back, and tipped up her chin, gazing imperiously at the man before her.

He was as attractive as always. He was tall, thin, almost sickly looking in this chosen shape. He had pointed ears, a pointed chin, and long white hair. His eyes were bright red, and up-tilted. His mouth was extremely sensuous, and his fine boned fingers clasped the cloth-wrapped shape in front of him. Morrigana felt her soul lurch at the sight of him.

Shalafae'd lain with her, raped and pillaged her, and had trained her to be the sensual woman she was. She'd chosen the darkness he offered her when her own clan had turned against her. She'd felt pleasure at his touch, and the closest thing to love she was ever going to feel. And with the man who'd given her soul life!!! She mentally shook her head. It was a mystery for another time. As he approached her, Morrigana continued to glare. She hated him so deeply sometimes.

He smiled, and gazed up at her. Shalafae was tall himself, but still not as tall as her hybrid form. She refused to bow to him anymore. "My beautiful child, how are you this day?" Thunder crashed to accent his words.

"You interrupt my training. The training you value so damn much. What do you want?" She was always curt with him these days. When first they'd met, she'd cowered and sobbed at his feet, begging for mercy. She refused to ever allow him those kind of pleasures again.

Shalafae smiled, eyes as glassy as a reptile's. "Your training is done, my child. I have come to give you your warrior's weapons." With a flourish, he pulled the black silk off what he held. Morrigana was struck dumb by the sight of two inky black swords. She could feel the magic and power radiating from them. Something about the auras struck her as familiar, but she didn't let it bother her. Instead, her hand began reaching for the topmost of the blades.

It was light for its size, and was longer than her leg. It had a slightly curved blade, single-edged with sharp serrations on the upper edge. The hilt was curved slightly, the pommel shaped like a dragon's head, and the crossbar two sharpened dragon wings. Her eyes were locked on the blade as the sword's energies coursed up her arm. She began experimenting with some swings, enjoying the feel of the new weapon.

"Do you like it, Morrigana?" Shalafae whispered, drawling her name. She could feel his hungry gaze on her as he hefted the other sword. She glanced at it, felt the same draw of energy from it. It was of the same mystery metal, but it's shape was different. It was the same length, but double-edged, with two diamond flanges near the crossbar. The crossbar was wider than a normal longsword's, and intricately carved. Morrigana let it remain in her father's hands, entranced with the sword in her own hand.

"I do like it...it's so...." Morrigana's voice trailed off as she continued to watch her sword.

"Show me how you use it." Shalafae's seductive voice pierced her veil of entrancement. She heard her weapons master draw a real sword, and she turned to face off against him.

Morrigana moved through the fight without thinking. In her gut, she felt something akin to fear. She saw fear in her instructors eyes. They both knew how this was going to end. And all because of her father's jealous pride. But Morrigana was a trained fighter; her body knew what to do, even though her mind protested.

I can't believe I'm doing this. Why should I do anything he wishes? But this sword... Morrigana lost herself in the fight, no longer caring. The sword drove her on, and the glory of moving with all the grace available to her was superb.

At some point in the fight, Morrigana had changed to her full human form. She was only a few inches taller than her weapons master, though her sword still had the reach over his. Even though it was now quite large compared to her, she wielded it perfectly. She was in love with the fight, and clamped her teeth down on her lip, feeling herself become aroused.

Morrigana felt her father's eyes on her, and began to lead her weapons master. She'd never been able to best him, but this time was different. She was fighting for a reason.

In a sudden parry, Morrigana batted aside his guard, and stepped into him, sheathing her blade in his heart. She felt something surge through her body, and held onto his shoulder. As she watched the light fade from his eyes, she felt two tears slide down her cheeks. I'm sorry, she mouthed. His eyes slid closed, and Morrigana knelt to the floor with him.

The young hybrid bowed over him for a time, then rose, pulling her sword from the dead body. She turned to her father, rage in her eyes. She stalked across the floor to him, blood dripping from the sword to the floor. Shalafae did not flinch as she approached; instead, he made himself ready to fight, claiming a spare sword from the rack on the wall. As she came within range of him, she shifted into her hybrid form, and lunged into an attack.

The battle was joined. It was fast and furious, Shalafae being more than a match for her. Morrigana had felt tired at the end of the last fight, but now she just felt invigorated. She growled as she fought, sharp teeth digging into her lip. The swords screamed with primal rage as they clashed, Stygian sparks flying. Shalafae forced the woman farther and farther back, trying to keep the advantage.

Morrigana took wing, and dove and struck at her father. She was blind to anything but him, and all senses were attuned to the attack. She drew blood a handful of times, as Shalafae did on her. Growls continued to tear from her throat as she fought.

Stepping back, Shalafae reached out with the power at his command, and snared the hybrid. She screamed as he used magic to slam her down onto the floor, breaking her left wing. Morrigana screamed again, and rolled off the injured wing, trying to retain her grip on her sword. Pain blinded her for the briefest of seconds, but it was enough for Shalafae to make his move.

Morrigana arched in pain as her father drove the sword into her left thigh, right against the bone. She felt the metal grind on bone, and shuddered. One hot tear slid from her eye. Shivering in pain, Morrigana gazed up at her father.

"Do you submit to me, Daughter?" He moved close to her broken wing. Hot pain throbbed through the joint.

"Die in a fire, you bastard!" she hissed. Shalafae stepped on one of the wing fingers, crushing it beneath his bootheel. Morrigana bit hard into her lip, refusing to scream again, refusing to cry.

"Not an acceptable answer. Do you submit?" This time he twisted the sword, separating muscles in her thigh. Again, she tensed, but did not scream.

"I have given you all the submission you will ever see from me. I asked you to teach me your darkness. I asked you to help me get back at my people. I will not submit to you." Her voice was torn and shaky, but it was fierce.

Shalafae removed the sword from her thigh, and crouched down next to her, grinding the wounded wing again. He reached out and touched her face. Morrigana bit him, drawing blood. "So fierce, my little girl. So proud and beautiful. I think you are ready." He stood, and walked several steps away.

Morrigana rose, blood running from wounds that were already closing, wing dangling limply behind her. She kept hold of her sword, and drug her steps towards him. Shalafae reached out a hand, and she took it. After all these years, she was very used to his bizarre moods.

"Come, my daughter, my sword. Come, let us rule this world." He led her from the dojo, and into a different light.

Apples - Video Short Story

A little bit longer of a piece here, it also took me longer to make because I have to loop and edit the piece of music. But I had a lot of fun doing it, what with three different voices.

Minds: https://www.minds.com/ravencorinn
Original story: http://ravencorinncarluk.blogspot.com/2011/06/fridayflash-apples.html
Apple clipart : TechFusion.com
Music: "Crossing the Chasm" Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com)
Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0 License
http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/

The Shalafae Archives - Hunter Interrupted

I don't write these pieces in chronological order. Whatever is plaguing my brain just has to come out, or I go crazy. Like a bad dream that won't stop. This happens a few thousand years into Morrigana's life.

I also wrote this approximately 15 years ago, when I was still honing my talent, so I overuse words and don't have as flowing a style. But I'm not going to change it just to suit my current skills; better to show how I've progressed than to lie.

***

Morrigana growled a draconic chuckle, and the deep rumble rolled across the verdant hill. ~It's easy. Just relax and let it come. If you just open your mind, you'll find my memories.~ She puffed breath through her nostrils, watching the spicy air stirring the clothes of the golden elf before her.

Elthanael smiled furtively, looking up at his cousin. "You say that, but it's natural for you. Last time I checked, elves aren't born with wings." Frustration tinged his words, and Morrigana knew the pain in her cousin's heart. One of his few flaws was that he wanted to be perfect at something on the first try.

The hybrid laughed, and willed herself back to elven form, not disoriented by the sudden change in perspective and vision. Smiling broadly, she poked the elf in the chest. "No, you guys aren't born with wings. But we are related, which means we're connected. If we're connected, you can find my memories. If you find my memories, you can get the feel of the form, and come hunting with me." She licked her lips, body grumbling with hunger. Too long had she gone without the hunt, and she was overjoyed to share the experience with one of her closest friends.

He closed his dark golden eyes, sighing, shoulders slumping. "You're as demanding as your father, Gana-tii. You could just share your mind with me..." He looked up through long lashes, eyes glittering with humor.

She laughed, sitting down on the thick grass, her black hair pooling on the ground. "I could. But then you wouldn't learn how to do it. I mean, we've only been together for nearly two milenia. You should have learned to do this by now."

The assassin glared from beneath pale lashes, his cheeks bronzing slightly as he blushed. "Bitch," he whispered, and then he closed his eyes, concentrating once more on transforming to a dragon. Strands of chaos magic whispered past her as he pulled it to himself, and she held her breath, dimming her aura so as not to distract him.

Transformative magic has always been hard for him. Not just the little superficial changes we can all do. It's in our family blood. But growing wings and a tail is different from growing out the length of one's hair. Elves have never been known for their skill at shapeshifting.

The air seemed to ripple around the elf, and a sudden groan escaped Elthanael's lips. Morrigana cringed as he fell to one knee, pain crossing his features. His skin bubbled, hardening to diamond tip scales, and she sighed with his success, watching his body distend. He groaned again, his voice cracking as it dropped through several octaves, and his clothes bled into his rippling flesh. His fingers grew quickly, the first two fingers joining in to one thick finger, skin spreading between them, and all too soon they became oversized wings, trapping his body on the ground. He heaved back, and his chest barreled, shoulders broadening, vestigial legs growing from his lower ribcage. Elthanael's voice distorted as his face sprung forward, the delicate elven features becoming the fierce snout of a warrior dragon. Narrow eyes opened, he howled in pain, the transformation finished.

Morrigana smiled, her friend's new body collapsing on the ground, panting from the exertion. Spicy breath washed across her body, and large draconic eyes closed wearily. ~That was possibly the most painful thing I've ever done. I think I'd rather be tortured again.~

The hybrid laughed, reaching a hand out to stroke the tip of his golden nose. He stirred, and she felt as her father must feel standing beside her; even as tall as she was, she would barely span the length between nostril and nose. The hybrid felt the briefest moment of intimidation, understanding why so few of her enemies could stand against her when she wore her dragon form.

Seeing her cousin like this was like looking into some kind of distorted mirror. He was the same size as her, with the same arrangement of spikes and sharp armor scales on his shoulders. Even down to the pale yellow markings around the eyes, Elthanael looked like a golden version of her draconic shape. Morrigana smirked to herself seeing the same scar she wore nestled in the middle of her chest.
"Are you all right?" she asked with a laugh, standing so she could change again. Elthanael watched her, and shook his narrow-snouted head as she seemed to slip effortlessly into her scaled form.

~Oh, just splendid. I want to do that every day for the next century.~ His sarcasm brought a growl of laughter from the black dragon, and she unfurled her wings.

~Get up. The best way to get past the pain is to just start moving.~ She jumped into the air, and with three heavy beats was circling Elthanael.

~How much is it going to hurt when I crash?~ he asked, throwing himself into the air. Morrigana watched his clumsy wing beats clutch at the air, slowly lifting his bulk into the sky, wingtips brushing through the grass before he gained any kind of altitude. Morrigana was impressed by how quickly he took to flying, considering it wasn't natural for him.

~A lot if you break a wing,~ she answered with a laugh, rolling in the air, wings tucked close to her body. She kept herself at a slow pace, letting her friend get used to flying. His weariness left him rapidly, and soon Elthanael was flying ahead, his growls resounding in the cloudless sky, his wing strokes sure and confident.

~You ready to hunt?~ the hybrid asked, hunger lining her voice. Her talons twitched, and she felt the sudden hunger leap from her cousin. Chuckling in her head, she arrowed through the sky, spotting a fat boku beast ahead of them. Elthanael crooned behind her, and she wondered what the instinctual feeding desire felt like to him. The sight of the plodding creature, larger than herself, head whuffling through the high grass, cropping it in a wandering swath cause her stomach to grumble, her entire body to clench with desire to rend and feed, to feel the chunks of meat flow down her throat.

Boku beast, brought in just for us. It's good being a rheksha. There's nothing the Takishidar clan won't do for their leader, even if it's a little hybrid like myself. Growling, her eyes were locked only on her prey, her heart racing as hunger whipped her to a frenzy.

A shadow crossed the lumbering herbivore, and Morrigana's eyes darted to the sky. She watched in anger as an enormous red dragon dove from high above, plunging to the prey. Larger than the boku beast, the red dragon dropped his full weight onto his target, back legs arrow straight, crushing the beast beneath him. The boku screamed piteously in pain, twitching as bone splinters shredded its insides, blood spurting as flesh tore beneath the other dragon.

Snarling sharply, Morrigana fluttered to a landing, breath heavy. She heard Elthanael land with a heavy thump beside her, but her eyes were only upon the red dragon, who was already burying his thick snout in the belly of the beast.

~Sheimii clan. What are you doing here without a sponsor? This hunting ground belongs to the Takishidar clan.~

The Sheimii red looked up at her, three times her size, dark brown blood dripping from his teeth. He made a show of slowly swallowing the gobbet of entrails he'd torn free, the large rack of his head spikes glittering in the afternoon light. His scales were sharp, like razors, and his maroon talons arched dangerously. Heavy scale growths covered strategic parts of his large body, scars dulling his shine, his eyes hidden below a heavy ridge. He crooned deep in his broad chest, his wings out in a dominant position. Morrigana sneered as he used the sound one used to chide fledglings, her teeth grating against each other as she continued to stare him down.

~Little hybrid, you're too small to enforce your clan's territories. And if you're the only one here to drive me off...~ He growled a laugh, tearing free another piece of boku meat. ~Why don't you just run off and tell your rheksha and let me finish my meal.~

Elthanael stiffened beside her, and Morrigana knew he understood the insult. It was clear to any other dragon she was not full blooded, with the silver markings on her face, and her clear size difference compared to the other members of her clan. She even smelled slightly different than her clanmates, and it was seen as a sign of weakness by the warrior clans to have impure blood. This Sheimii was additionally treating her like some fledgling, too young to be out of the nest, and his behavior was unforgivable. Walking closer, stiff-legged, Morrigana snarled silently with head held high, her body rigid, wings held low to the ground, wide from her body. ~I am the rheksha and I demand you leave at once.~

The red dragon cocked his head, blood and saliva drooling from his parted mouth. He hissed, snaking down on to the ground, his movements slow and deliberate, calculated to show the restrained strength in his bulky form. Morrigana held her place, her mind racing. She knew she would end up fighting this Sheimii warrior, and was having to calculate the best strategy. Centuries of training had honed her to a killing machine, able to find the best solution in the span of heartbeats.

~Let me help you,~ Elthanael whispered. ~You can't take him by yourself. Even I can see that. You need my help.~

She knew it was true. But all of the partner's normal strategies would not work against a dragon. They were used to fighting humanoids and elementals, but they had never been commanded against a dragon. The elf had yet to face a dragon in its natural form before, and certainly in nothing other than friendly sparring matches. She'd never gone claw to claw against one this much larger than herself. She knew she could take him easily if she used her natural form, if she wielded the swords gifted her from her father, but pride welled in her. It would be seen as weakness to use anything but her draconic power to defend the Takishidar clan honor. She had to fight him as a dragon, no matter the potential damage he could do.

Keeping her body rigid with dominance, she opened her mind to her friend, letting him pick out the information about draconic fighting he would need. The hybrid trusted the elf's natural skills, his ability to fight with any weapon; he should take to fighting as a dragon just as easily. Hissing with delight, he circled around the boku beast, keeping himself low to the ground. The Sheimii ignored the elven assassin, his narrow eyes only on Morrigana.

~Oh yes, I know you. You're that little bitch. I heard your mother had named you rheksha to keep your father pleased. But I'd also heard you have not truly led your clan yet. Do you honestly expect me to listen to some scrawny hybrid and her little pissant lover? You have no idea who you're messing with do you?~ He drew his head up, puffing his chest out, his entire body seeming to expand as he posed.

~A Sheimii weakling who has to steal the prey of other clans because he can't face his own people.~

Morrigana's jibe hit target, and the dragon darted forward, looming over her. He snarled loudly, his venom splattering across her scales. She gritted her teeth, pain eating its way across her nerves.
Damn the Sheimii clan and their acidic venom. But I can't get too far away, or he'll use his flames. I'd be willing to bet he's got great range with his flame.

~I am the war leader of our clan. I have fought many battles. You faced my father at the battle of Three Rivers. I am greater than he was.~

Morrigana laughed mentally, lifting her head contemptuously. ~Fool. He died like a mortal, begging for his life.~

The Sheimii let her say no more, attacking then. He sprung forward, attempting to crush her beneath his weight. She darted to the side, avoiding his wicked talons, springing up towards the soft joining of wing and chest, that small segment beneath the shoulder that wasn't covered in heavy scales. Her talons scored his flesh, but not deep, and he closed his wing on her, holding her close. She tossed her head back, letting her crown of horns tear at his patagia. Morrigana snarled sharply in pain as his teeth found her foot, attempting to pull her out in front of him. Letting him tear at her limb, she maneuvered for his eye, doubling back on her body, wings helping her move, hoping to blind him on one side.

The red tossed his head, flinging her to the side. Morrigana spun in the air, landing on her feet, saving her wings from breaking, tail whipping around as she regained her balance. Her talons dug furrows in the ground, pain lancing up her leg from her ruined foot as she forced it to brace her weight. She opened her mouth, feeling the pulse of muscles in her cheek constrict on the venom sacks, spitting a gout of flame at the red as he charged her. The sticky venom splattered across his face, but not burning deep before he barreled into her, knocking her small body back.

Morrigana recovered her balance in time to see a lance of dark flame coming straight for her. The hybrid threw herself into the air, hoping to avoid it, but the venom caught her, engulfing her body. Heat seared through her scales, damaging the soft skin of her wings, and Morrigana collapsed to the ground, rolling in the grass, attempting to dislodge the sticky flames. Her scales would hold out against the flame, the pain not indicating levels of serious damage, but blood vessels in the thin leather of her wings would sear and collapse quickly, rendering the hybrid flightless.

The Sheimii dragon loomed over her, stepping on to one crispy wing, stopping her in mid roll. Morrigana snarled, lunging for his throat. The size difference became apparent to her then as she came up short, her shoulder screaming in pain, tendons stretching as the force of her lunge carried her forward.. His chuckle rumbled through his chest, venom dripping from bloody teeth, hissing on the ground as the acid ate at anything it touched.

~I wonder if anyone would miss you if I killed you, little rheksha.~ He opened his mouth, rows of teeth glittering above her, and Morrigana wondered if she could force flame down his throat before he crushed her head in his jaws.

The warrior stopped and howled in pain. Morrigana looked past his looming mouth to the golden blur on his neck. El? What's he trying to do?

The Sheimii attempted to shake the golden dragon free, but Elthanael dug his talons under the razor edges of the red's scales, and clung like a tick. The large red dragon shook as he growled desperately, and Elthanael trumpeted in triumph as he sank teeth deep down into dragon flesh.

Morrigana crawled free, the Sheimii shaking and bucking, watching her friend burrow deep into the flesh of the red dragon. The warrior reared up, screaming desperately, his wings batting futilely. Elthanael kept his place, throwing loose scale and flesh, blood staining his bright scales.

The Sheimii collapsed hard to the ground with a defeated squeal, and Elthanael leapt free, his golden skin liberally coated with dark blood. The red dragon growled deep in his chest, but was unable to move, his eyes darting between his enemies. Morrigana realized her friend had paralyzed the attacker, a tactic they'd employed before.

As Elthanael approached, she collapsed to the ground, concentrating on the pain in her body, forcing the burnt flesh to heal. Her nerves tingled as healing energy coursed through seared veins, rejuvenating damaged flesh.

~So, when can we do this again?~ the elf asked as he laid himself beside the hybrid, long tongue lapping at his bloody muzzle.

~Oh...real soon. As often as you want.~ She laughed to herself, crooning as she rubbed her head along his body. ~But next time, you get to be burnt.~ Their rumbling laughs brought smiles to their draconic snouts as they recovered from the fight.