Chapter Three

            A couple days went by while the tribe prepared for the wedding of their new chief and his bride. Mousorrow saw no trace of his now lost brother. His worry deepened inside him while he contemplated the different possibilities of what could have happened. The land of Ohria was not a gentle one for lone travelers. Thieves, bandits, muggers and every other kind of evil vermin you could imagine lurks through these lands awaiting some fool to cross their path. He knew his brother’s skill with a weapon was high and that he more then likely didn’t fall to any typical thief or scoundrel but the fear still haunted him nevertheless. Everyone else around him didn’t seem bothered at all by Armon’s disappearance. It wasn’t uncommon for young Orogga to leave the tribe to find a life of their own. Instead the mothers of the tribe spent endless hours sewing rabbit skin dresses with swan feathers and small colorful pebbles along the rims. Different flowers and herbs were being gathered and placed along the walls; the houses and even the ground they walked on to better conceive the appropriate mood for a wedding. Most of the fathers sat around boasting about how their daughters or sons married into good families but hardly any actual preparation was done by them. The children were running around pretending to be getting married with their makeshift gowns and lullaby kisses. Everyone minus Mousorrow was thoroughly uplifted by the coming event of their new chief.
            Mousorrow, coming out of a long daze, found himself walking aimlessly around the village. Nobody bothered to question him, whether from being preoccupied with their own tasks or fear of how he’d react is uncertain but it is definite that he was alone in his world of endless worry.  He tried his hardest to show a smiling face but with his brother gone it was proving most difficult. As he reached one of the ends of the village he found two younglings play fighting. He sat on the breathing earth beneath him and watched as the two boys entertained each others wild side. He could hear their pulse gradually rise as they flung each other from spot to spot attempting to gain dominance. Their joyful laughter rung through his mind like church bells through a vacant hall. He could smell the sweat begin to transpire upon their now dirty flesh. The scene was innocent and completely untouched by corruption. How does such a pure thing become so twisted into a perverse nature followed by greed and desire he wondered? Why cannot the world just continue to commence without the downward spirals that seem to appear? Destruction is our nature and seems to have become our obsession he thought to himself.
            “You never were that good at fighting MouMou” kindly interrupted Hocknon. The young raccoon Therion sat himself down by Mousorrow while carving away at an apple with his dagger. “Then again I was always too busy sneaking your scraps for food that your delightful mother always left for you.”
            “Maybe had you been paying attention you would have seen me fighting off the other younglings that intended to harm you for stealing theirs” laughed Mousorrow.  Hocknon did nothing but laugh and take in a slice of apple from his dagger.
            “Look at the brighter side my friend. At least you have a beautiful woman to love and who loves you back. Some of us rely on other males for comfort…not in that sense of course but you know what I mean” laughed Hocknon.
            “Yes I know what you mean…and your right. Semria is my brighter side and I shouldn’t take my angered brother to heart” said Mousorrow.
            “There’s the spirit! Now enough of this moping around…we’re not saggy tit old women! Its time for a wedding!” excitingly said Hocknon as he leapt to his feet and offered a hand to Mousorrow. Mousorrow grabbed his hand and pulled himself to his feet. His shoulders didn’t feel as heavy anymore and confidence started to manifest itself deep within his soul. He watched as Hocknon returned to what appeared to be a gathering of males. He wanted to join but knew he still had preparations to make before the wedding could commence. After arranging certain activities and organizing different responsibilities he soon found himself back at his own home. To his great surprise his mother was awake and fully functional, primping her hair with small white flowers as decoration within it. She noticed him with a heart warming smile.

            “Is my son ready for the life with another?” his mother asked joyfully while still primping her hair.
            “Yes I do believe I am mother” he said radiating with confidence.
            “That’s my boy…Semria is a very lucky young woman to have a man such as you” boasted his mother. He pulled his mother into a strong embrace and held her for a short while. In concern she gently let ease of him and held his face with her hands. “What troubles you my son? I surely hope it’s not your arrogant brother.”
            “No it’s not him…I’m worried about you. Your nightmares have gotten worse and they seem to be troubling you to an extent that I cannot help” he worryingly professed. 
            “Do not worry about me my son. I am a strong woman and am capable of taking care of myself. Just rest easily knowing that everything will work out the way it’s supposed to” she reassured him. She tightened her grip almost to a painful point on his face as her eyes widened with worry. “I need you to always remember that Mousorrow…EVERYTHING is going to be ok!”  He removed her painful grip from her face and embraced her once again as her piercing eyes turned into a surreal mosaic of sorrow.
            “I know it is mother…I know it is” he said comfortingly as she cried into his chest. She gently pushed him away and pointed to his room issuing him to continue on his way. He hesitantly obliged her wish and continued into his room to prepare for that evening. His mother must have already anticipated this moment for on his bed rested a beautifully woven white tunic. He picked it up and caressed the silver and golden design upon its chest.  Weaving around each other the delicate threads created a vibrant tree. He took this symbol as an expression of spiritual growth between two beings much like what he will be forming with Semria. He removed the deer skin top from his body and slipped into the tunic. The cloth formed to his body perfectly and subdued him in an aroma of wild blossoms recently picked from the surrounding forest. His mother entered the room and expressed a look of astonishment when her eyes met her son. She stepped before him and began gently tugging at certain parts of the tunic.
            “I don’t want you troubling yourself with my problems. Your new life needs you to be there and be strong” said his mother. He grabbed her hands with his and embraced her with his arms. He held her close and shared a loving moment with her. He released her and looked deep into her eyes.
            “Lets not be late…a wedding is awaiting us” he smiled. He walked his mother out of the house. The warming sun was around midday and shining beautifully upon the tribe. Everyone was wearing greens and browns laced with white and yellow herbs from around the forest. The entire tribe was gathered around in a circular formation awaiting the celebration. A twisting sensation began forming deep within his stomach as the entire tribe rose up in an explosive uproar. He walked to the center of the formation while continuously nodding to those he passed. The exhilarated cheers roared like vibrant cannons across an empty prairie. The drums were pounding like a god of war marching through the heart of the enemy. Herbs and flowers were being scattered across the formation while some of the tribe danced their ritualistic dances. The bonding of two souls was a very sacred event to the Orogga. Mousorrow stopped and turned to see if Semria had arrived yet. He could not see her but judging by the rise of intensity he knew she must’ve arrived. The crowd began to clear, like parting waters creating a new path, and exposed Semria. Mousorrow’s eyes became transfixed upon her enchanting image.

Her long silky black hair radiated with the sun like a diamond amongst burnt ashes. Within her hair she had woven some small vine like flowers with light purple and white buds on them. The long white gown that she was wearing had the most heavenly glow as it rested upon her milky tan skin. If he hadn’t had his wits about him he could have mistaken her for a goddess. Her exotic walk towards him rang of mythological curves and grace. She stopped before him and gently clasped his hand with hers and flooded his heart with her seducing eyes.
            “Hello my love” she whispered to him.
            “Hello my queen” he whispered back.
            Meanwhile just outside the village two guards, Marrash and Kist, posted watch over the entrance. The two guards in a lighter mood due to the wedding at hand held their battle axes low while engaging in friendly conversation.
            “Did you hear Hocknon got another stash of Guymoor?” asked Kist.
            “Probably stole it from one of the elders” sneered Marrash.
            “And the problem with that is? It’s not like the elders need it much with all the critical thinking they claim to be doing” argued Kist.
            “I will not receive lashings for the likes of that thief again” said Marrash in his retort.
            “Oh it’s not like those lashings actually…” jokingly spoke Kist but found himself interrupted by an unexpected visitor. Another Therion appeared from behind the trees and before the guards could even raise their weapons they recognized the lone traveler as none other then Armon himself. The expected to be dead or exiled Armon seemed to be in most perfect condition. He approached the guards with a widening smile on his face as he scratched the back of his head.
            “Speaking of old times my friends?” asked Armon.
            “We sure didn’t expect to see you attending your brothers wedding” said Marrash with a hint of confusion in his voice.
            “Oh nonsense ol’boy! How could I ever forgive myself if I were to miss my own flesh and blood’s wedding? It would surely bring dishonor to my entirely family” reassured Armon.
            “He does have a point” stated Kist.
            “Yeah I guess your right. Not like I’m actually worried about a pup like you” laughed Marrash as he playfully nudged Armon in the chest. Armon quickly wrapped Marrash in a seemingly playful headlock. The two Therions tossed and turned as they wrestled one another when through the laughter Marrash caught the sound of arrows flying through the leaves. Marrash quickly looked up to see if Kist had noticed anything and found that Kist had just taken an arrow to the forehead and another to the throat causing him to collapse on the ground. “Armon get off me we’re being attac…” worryingly cried Marrash just before receiving a treacherous dagger to his throat. The blood poured upon the ground like a typhoon onto a beach while Marrash desperately tried to call for help. He watched the blood drip from his fingers as fear filled his eyes. Armon sent the heel of his boot thrusting into Marrashs skull with a powerful crack and stood their watching as his victim’s body lay motionless. He turned slightly and motioned with his hand for something in the woods to follow him as he continued into the village. Armon sheathed his bloody dagger before anyone even noticed him as he approached the ceremony. Hurall stood before Mousorrow and Semria as he spoke the ritualistic words that the tribe has used in years passed to conjoin two souls in marriage. Hurall sensing Armons presence stopped speaking and diverted his attention towards him causing everyone to look and gasp in astonishment.
            “I sure hope you didn’t forget me brother!” sneered Armon as he hurled a throwing axe directly for Mousorrows head. Mousorrow with intent to catch the twirling weapon of destruction was averted by Semria in fear for his life. The swift axe grazed just past his head and painfully sunk itself into the face of Hurall.
            “NOOOOOO!” screamed Mousorrow as he lunged for the falling body of the eldest of his kind. The tribe quickly turned on Armon seeing their elder fall and found an array of arrows and spears swiftly flying towards them. Tyrgon warriors emerged from every corner, flailing mighty weapons seeking to quench their blood thirsty nature. The Orogga men and women tried desperately to defend themselves but fell short to the slashing pain of metal. Mousorrow lifted Hurall’s head from the ground but felt no life within him. The fleshing boiling anger began to seep out from his pores as he returned Hurall’s head to its resting place. He turned to face Armon but instead found his entire tribe being slaughtered by Tyrgon warriors. Anger quickly turned to panic as he reached for Semria’s hand and lifted her to her feet. “You’ve got to get away from this place!”
            “Where will I go?” cried Semria as the tears poured from her angelic face.
            “Meet me down by the burial grounds…get into the water and wait for me” he demanded.
            “But I don’t think I…” she said as he silenced her with his voice.
            “I SAID GO!” once again he demanded with anger. Semria took off in a sprint towards the village exit. Mousorrow clasped his hand around the hilt of his broadsword when a boot landed atop of it followed by a very powerful elbow to his face causing him to fall to the ground. Before he could even stop for a breath he had to dodge the sharp end of a familiar battle axe from removing his head. He leapt to his feet and found his brother standing before him ready to take away his life. “I should’ve known you’d betray your own kind for the sake of power!”
            “Aye you should’ve” smiled Armon as he went to swing his battle axe into the skull of his brother. Mousorrow dodged his attack and landed a spiraling kick to the back of Armons head. He quickly leapt on top of him but was countered by his brothers’ powerful legs. In a rolling motion he was able to recover onto his feet with his broadsword at the ready. The two brothers clashed with each other in a clanging dance of metal upon metal. Every pounding sound around them simply added to the already vibrant display of chaos. The brothers were closer now within deaths clutch then they were ever in life. The sweat, the blood, the very essence of anger seemed to flow within each brother like a stream flowing elegantly into a roaring river. The village was erupting wildly into a violent bloodshed around the two clashing brothers. Tyrgon and Orogga bodies alike lay upon the moistened earth bleeding from the last moment of their epic lives. Warriors came together in vigorous battle while the women and children fled for their lives. Again and again the brothers clashed together wounding each other but not ending the conflict. With the violent blows and the painful tears of flesh it would seem the two would certainly kill each other with no victor. Mousorrow quickly realized he was wasting his time battling Armon and that he needed to find Semria before something terrible happened to her. Armon leapt in for another strategic attack but Mousorrow was ready with a clever counter. Just as his brother lunged for his exposed chest he twisted on his feet causing his brother to completely miss him. With no time to spare he sprinted into the thick of the battle before Armon could trace his steps.
            All around him he heard the gut wrenching sounds of slaughter. Weapons were clashing together, voices were expressing their pain as their life force was slowly diminishing, and the smell of death lingered in the air like a poisonous gas corrupting the lungs of those around him. His searching eyes darted across the village in momentary glimpses of what was taking place; not trying to avoid his tribe’s need but more urgently trying to find his lost love. With a couple properly placed swings of his broadsword he was able to escape the massive blood drenched crowd just on the outskirts of the burial grounds. He took off into a heart pounding run once again hoping nothing had befallen his beloved Semria. The sound of the battle was growing fainter as he pushed into the ceremonial burial grounds but he sensed something was terribly wrong the further he went. The muscles in his legs began to ache as he passed down the narrow path at neck breaking speed. He quickly had to stop and almost toppled over himself when he caught sight of two Tyrgon soldiers walking in his direction. His heart and time itself seemed to stop when he noticed the blood all over their half covered bodies. Images of Semria screaming for help but to be left in vain began pouring through his mind. He began to visualize every possible scenario of what these cruel and maniacal fiends could have done to the love of his life.
            In a fit of furious rage he lunged for the two soldiers catching them off guard. Tyrgons were specially trained in combat since birth and the males had to furthermore undergo vigorous tests of life ending circumstances; but none of this prepared the two for Mousorrow. He lunged in like a shadow passing through light only to strike his enemy and be gone before they could react. The two soldiers in a panic began swinging their swords in hopes to accidentally strike this demon of piercing quickness but once again he was too quick for them.  Out of breath and soon to be drained of blood the two soldiers fell to the ground and allowed their time to cease. Mousorrow once again began searching for his Semria. He quickly found a blood trail that he was certain belonged to the now lifeless corpses that lay back behind his path. He followed the path until it brought him to a motionless figure lying within the shrubs just before him. He could tell it was a woman and a beautiful one at that. Her exquisite white gown, now stained scarlet red from blood, was torn from her body and tossed aside. Bruises and cuts tattooed her beautiful flesh and traces of the dirt that she lay upon painted itself into patches on her figure. He couldn’t see her face but he knew it was his Semria. He slowly walked to her side and collapsed to his knees just beside her.  Tears began pouring from his eyes and anger began building within his chest as the stench of death lingered into his senses. He began pounding the earth below him and screaming into the air above him. His lover was now dead and it was entirely his fault. She needed him and he wasn’t there in her time of need. Almost without any logical form of thought his hands began tearing at the earth. Debris and plant life were scattered through the air as he frantically dug a hole to hide his disgraced love. Within minutes he was able to create an opening within the earth big enough to store her lifeless body. He gently lifted her body into the grave and gently kissed her lips just before burying her from sight.
            Nothing existed to Mousorrow now except pure hatred and undeniable anger. He retrieved her gown and tore a portion from it. He quickly tied the cloth to the hilt of his broadsword and turned in a dash towards the village. It wasn’t until now that he realized he could no longer hear the sounds of battle coming from his pillaged home. As he approached the rear entrance he was torn yet again by the sight of bodies littering the walkways within the village. The battle no longer commenced and it was obvious to him that his people had lost. The Tyrgons had killed every living creature within sight and even they no longer tainted the surrounding area. Families upon families that Mousorrow had grown up with were tattered and torn across the spoiled earth like a painted display of bloody gore. His mind was overcome by confusion and sorrow. How could his brother betray his entire tribe? How was he even capable of such a catastrophic genocide? While such thoughts raced through his head he quickly remembered his mother back at home.
            Panic set in once again as he raced through the village of death, leaping bodies as if they could be attempting to barricade his path. As he approached his life long home he could already see the corpse that was his mother. Her body was laying face first to the dirt half way out the entrance to their home. Her motionless corpse, still clasping the bloody short sword she surely fought with, seemed so much more at peace in death then it did in life.  Mousorrow collapsed before her and wept for his dead mother. He examined her body and found many punctured wounds. He knew this to mean that she had fought all the way through her last dying breaths. He envisioned his mother courageously battling off numbers of Tyrgon warriors as they attempted to steal her life away. Only when his brother or he was in trouble did he ever witness what his mother was truly capable of. For a moment he almost felt sorry for the intruders that approached his mother for this must have been an undoubtedly fine display of pain and aggression.
            Returning to reality, he lifted his mother into the house. With little to no ease he pulled the torch that lit the main room from the wall and hurled it upon his mother’s body. Her now bloody and torn attire began to coil as it burned from the fire. A dark and thick smoke began rising from her as her flesh began to cook. The fire seemed to burn within Mousorrow’s eyes as he watched and took in all the emotion of every person he ever cared for. Even his father of whom Armon was not the cause of death still died yet again when everything he stood for was destroyed by his own son. As the fire began to take the floor and walls Mousorrow escaped his now lost home. As he reached the outside he continued to walk; not even to turn and watch the house he grew up in burn to the ground. With lightning like speed he raced to the hall of elders. Upon crashing through its doors he found the broken bodies of the elders and a few others who must’ve been there trying to protect them. His eyes searched the domain like a hawk hunting for a meal. Within minutes he found specific weapons he was intending on finding. From the walls of the Orogga’s historical weapons Mousorrow pulled the Twin Blades of Kathala. These identical short swords were carefully designed by the Alamora Elves for precise accuracy and made from a metal found only by the Grimlick Dwarves that doesn’t dull easily. For being such a light weapon the blades’ strength was untouchable. The two swords could carve stone with great ease if wielded by the right swordsman. Also upon the wall he pulled the Axe of the Hunter. This powerful weapon of chieftains filled his spirit with enough pride and confidence to slay the entire nation of Orcs. He quickly strapped the legendary weapons to his sides and exited the Hall of Elders. Just outside the hall he found a dead Tyrgon carrying a bow and a large number of arrows. He pulled the arrows and its bow from their owner and equipped them to himself.  Towards the exit he began to run when he noticed home after homes begin to take flame from the fire he started. He took in a deep breath now knowing that if he is to survive the moments to come there will be no returning to what he once knew.
            The trees around the village were weeping in fear and sorrow. Their cries were for the dead and their fear was for the fire that approached them. The wind itself just seemed to antagonize the flames as they danced upon the rooftops. Just outside the village Mousorrow was meditating his plan of attack and simultaneously praying for his people. Just as the sweat started to bead down his brow from the heat leaping off the village the moment struck him; he knew what he had to do and he knew he had little time to do it. Mousorrow started moving through the forest in a steady walk but quickly moved into a fast sprint. The wildlife started becoming like a painted blur as he sped past miles and miles of woodland terrain. Every voice of nature that would normally ease his mind was now nothing more then a chaotic ensemble of noise.  His heart began to pound like the beating drums of a predetermined slaughter. Crashing and banging like the limbs and shrub that merely crumbled within his path. He would sweat if he could but the sheer force of the wind slapping at his face was like a dry cloth wiping it from him. He caught the scent of the Tyrgons before him and he knew he was drawing closer. Closer and closer he ran with full intent on demolishing his sworn enemy. Then all of a sudden, like a blink through time, he could see the flaw in his plan. With a quick stomp to the ground with his powerful legs he shot himself into the air and crashing amongst the tops of the trees. With the impressive force of his hands he managed to stop himself before returning below.
            Mousorrow took a second to breathe after burning so much energy within a few minutes. The visions of him collapsing under the crashing metal of an enemy far too large for one Therion to handle began replaying in his mind. He could now see the enemy just on the outskirts before him. He couldn’t quite tell from the distance he stood if he remained undetected or not but he knew he couldn’t fight the horde that marched before him. His anger and hurt had bested him and almost cost him his life. He knew now that waiting was the only thing he could do now. He’d have to wait for the Tyrgon to finish returning home before he could make his attack. Behind their own walls they wouldn’t expect him. The Tyrgons were very commonly known for their unbreakable and strategic war prowess and thus many would never even dream of invading upon their land much less their very own home. Their walls were carefully designed from thick stone and thick iron bracers. The perimeter walls themselves were layered upon levels and levels of crude designed metal blades and spikes. Scaling the walls without a sure form of protection would prove completely impossible. Every entry into the war city is heavily guarded with relentless well trained combatants. The mere presence of the woodland city would make one believe it to be a prison and war training facility all in one. All of this is exactly what Mousorrow intended to use against them. The Tyrgon were buried in their confidence and he knew it. At sunrise he would enter the city undetected and kill their chief followed by the death of his own brother.
            Night crept upon the land as Mousorrow lowered himself back onto the woodland floor. Fully confident he was no longer within the sight or scent of the Tyrgon nation he quickly gathered some burnable wood and constructed himself a fire. His stomach rumbled as he formed a far more superior strategy for revenge then before. In his raging frenzy for death he completely neglected the fact he’d need food eventually. He slowly took in a deep breath and envisioned himself releasing his need for hunger. It didn’t entirely work like he had planned but he knew he had more pressing matters then his empty stomach. Memories of his mother and Semria began playing through his mind like a twisted puppet show meant to end his sanity. His chest became heavy as his eyes began to tear up once again. He couldn’t allow himself to lose it again. Another irrational action like before could surely cost him his life. Not that he cared much for his life at this point but his revenge had to be fulfilled before that moment arose.
            Before the emotion overcame him once again he found himself a comfortable spot away from the fire and let sleep take control. His dreams were tormented but this time not by his loved ones but instead by his demonic brother. Armon’s eyes burned red, as blood seemed to leak from them like a trickling water fall. His cackling laugh displayed ferocious fangs that were stained with blood and littered with meat. His body was monstrous in size and shape. This man before him was not the brother he knew but more of a demon possessed shadow of his once good self. This now grotesque being growled hissed and howled at Mousorrow. He could feel the hunger in the beast’s soul if it even had one. It wanted him…not for food but more for his soul. It wanted to devour his essence. Drown out the only pure light left within him. The creature crouched low to the ground. Mousorrow knew the time had come. It was kill or be killed. He quickly drew his sword and just as the foul monster leapt for his throat he opened his eyes to witness the sun beginning to rise.
            He quickly leapt to his feet to assure himself that nothing or no one was approaching him ready to strike. He started wiping the river of sweat from his face when he realized his fire was extinguished. Its warmth and smoke long since faded away throughout the bitter morning air. Dew still glazed over the leaves as the sun gently tried to warm their touch. In one swift shaking movement he flung the jitteriness from his muscles and began preparing to move. With his weapons still tightly fastened to his sides and back he took off once again in a sprint.
            He wasn’t very familiar with the terrain but even a pup Therion could track a parade of Tyrgons. Occasionally he’d come across an abandoned encampment where the war party temporarily took rest and would have to reevaluate where the tracks ran off to. He knew he was pressing very close; he had already passed where he’d normally turn off in order to visit the Four Moons village and the Tyrgon home was just south of that. Before he reached the perimeter he decided to slow his pace. He was certain they’d have scouts surveying their land for any intruders. Luckily for him he was right. Just along the outskirts of the perimeter he could see three young Tyrgon soldiers awaiting some fool to cross their path. Little did they know Mousorrow was no fool and nor was he an easy adversary. He quietly pulled out his bow and loaded a single arrow upon its string. He pulled back upon the strong bow trying to avoid the noise the wood makes when stretched. He had a perfect shot. The poor youngling had no chance of ever knowing what was about to hit him. He cautiously aimed the weapon and released the arrow into the warrior’s jugular. The fall of their comrade distracted them long enough for Mousorrow to pull the legendary axe from his side and hurl it into the cranium of yet another Tyrgon. The third warrior began to panic which was exactly what Mousorrow was hoping for. He pulled the Twin Blades of Kathala from their sheath and leapt into the air in a kamikaze style attack.  The young Tyrgon went to ready his weapon but wasn’t quite fast enough before Mousorrow landed behind him just after the twin blades ran through his throat like a hot blade through butter. Mousorrow stood in place with blades at the ready while his enemies’ body and head separated themselves.
            The Axe of the Hunter pulled itself from the Tyrgon’s cranium and returned itself back into Mousorrow’s hand. He then quickly collected the bow and refastened the weapons to him. Sorrow began to build in his stomach as he reflected on killing such young Therions but had he not they would have alerted his real enemy. The only part that reassured him was that they would be remembered in honor. To die in battle was the greatest death and the greatest honor for the Tyrgons. He swiftly shook the sorrow from his conscious and continued his path towards their village. Within minutes he could see the image of their mighty walls. Never having seen them before, he was slightly impressed by their intimidating presence. He knelt down to the ground long enough to grab handfuls of mud and dirt only to then smear it across his exposed flesh. The scouts might have been young but he knew the village guard wouldn’t be and they’d surely pick up his scent if he didn’t disguise it. There was a slight stretch from where the trees ended to where the village began. Their massive wooden doors were guarded by two very well armed Tyrgon korgs; which was just their fancy name for the big boys who liked to crush things. These hulks were decorated in chain mail armor and thick leather leggings. For intimidation purposes they shaved every hair off of their head and tattooed demonic images on the sides of their skulls. Their bodies far surpassed the usual size of a normal Therion and their bulging muscles complimented that fact. Just above the door were two petit windows that he was certain harbored sweepers. Sweepers were the Tyrgon elite and were known for their speed, agility and deadly accuracy with specially designed repeating crossbows. He knew if he was going to enter the village undetected he’d have to kill these guards indescribably fast.
            He remembered a trick his father had taught him with the bow and shooting two arrows at once. It had been forever since he had attempted such a trick but that was his only chance of taking out the sweepers before they painted his body with bolts. He steadily placed the first arrow on his bow like he would normally and pulled out yet another arrow and tore part of the shaft feather off with his teeth. He placed the arrow almost directly next to the other arrow but pointing slightly the opposite direction. He aimed his bow vertically instead of horizontally like he normally would. He wasn’t completely sure how to aim the bow but this was his only shot. He steadied his hands and released the powerful arrows directly into the skulls of his targets. The two korgs did not panic like the previous younglings did but instead began to sprint towards Mousorrow with mighty battleaxes ready to destroy whatever intruder rested just within the wood. Their reaction was perfect for his needs. Now all he needed to accomplish was defeating these two bruisers in battle while in the protection of the trees. The korgs came at him with fast powerful blows that knocked off entire chunks of wood when they missed his fragile skull. Mousorrow was very fast but against two very angry korgs it was taking everything he had to dodge their destructive attacks. Time and time again he was thwarted the opportunity to hit a fatal point in their armor with his blades and his time was quickly beginning to run out. He turned on his feet quickly to dodge a demolishing swing from one of the bald korgs but only to be struck down by the other’s powerful fist. In a gut reaction Mousorrow pulled the legendary axe from its harness and chucked it at the korg’s face and was just as quickly dodged by the hulk of a Therion. The korg began to sneer a little with bloodlust in his eyes as he raised his battle axe high above his head.
            “WAIT!” yelled Mousorrow at the korg. The monster stopped momentarily confused by his reaction but resumed his desire to cut his enemy into two separate pieces. The axe came barreling down just as Mousorrow dodged it and rolled for safety as the massive Therion fell to the ground with the legendary axe buried in the back of his head. The axe returned itself to Mousorrow’s hand just in time for him to dodge the other korg’s axe and bring his own down upon its wrist. The korg stood up to howl in pain but found that he couldn’t due to the short sword that now rested in his throat. The mighty beast stumbled for a second but just like the other fell to the ground and allowed his soul to drift into eternal sleep.
            He returned his weapons to their harnesses all except for the bow and quiver of arrows. He felt that the bow would only encumber his climb and this wasn’t a wall that could be scaled without extreme caution. He quietly approached the wall of jagged concoctions of slicing pain and contemplated how he’d achieve its height. After careful consideration for every possibility he knew that the only way was to rely solely on his leg strength and accuracy for launching himself in a specific direction. He lifted one foot onto one of the lowest blades and began his leap of insanity. His plan astonishingly enough was actually working. Completely without the use of his hands he was scaling the wall and managing to prevent himself from losing an appendage. Just before reaching the top and just when he thought he was in the clear, he misjudged an angle and one of the blades caught the tip of his right shoulder. The incision almost caused him to lose balance and fall to a most certain agonizing death but fortunately he recovered into another leap that landed him on top of the mighty wall. He took a minute to lie upon the top so that he could apply the attention his now bleeding wound required. His Therion cells began reforming and healed over the wound while he analyzed the design of the village.
            For being a primarily militaristic society the Tyrgons seemed to take great pride in their architecture. Every building seemed to be made of different colors of marble and was regularly shined. The roof tops looked like a tear drop falling from the sky with their twisting appearance into a point towards the heavens.  He couldn’t tell exactly but they appeared to be made of copper or some other kind of metal of the sort. All along the walls were unique statue like designs that protruded outward as if the creature was standing there in action and was casted over when the wall was built. He could tell immediately that the roads within their village were made from stone blocks. Then it dawned on him that he couldn’t see any form of earth at all within the village. No plants and no dirt just an occasional stream of water that was guided to specific pools by means of tunnels. Mousorrow was fascinated by this city of unique cultural creativity but quickly remembered he had a task to complete.
            With no shards of metal attempting to rid him of his body parts he was able to slide down the inner wall with much ease. He quickly leapt into a dark opening that separated two buildings from each other to avoid detection. He wasn’t sure how to find their chief or how he was going to go about getting to him without the rest of the war mongering tribe finding out but he figured the roofs would be the safest way to accomplish this. With careful concentration he was able to use the two walls to get to the roof of one. Once he reached the roof top he was then certain that it wasn’t made from copper but he wasn’t sure what it was. Possibly a more common metal but painted to look like copper. From the roof tops he was able to leap from building to building without the Tyrgons below noticing his intrusion. After leaping for what seemed like close to an hour he found a building with massive statues not only on its walls but also lining the yard as if guarding the building itself. He thought to himself that this must be the dwelling of their chieftain or at least a good place to start looking. From rooftop to rooftop he leapt until he finally reached what appeared to be the biggest building within the village. This roof was close to the same as the others but had more flattened parts to it. Still making sure he was remaining hidden from the wandering eye he peeked over the edge and found a nearby window that he could crawl into. The window itself was rather big so getting into the window proved rather easy.
            Upon entering the slightly dark room he startled a semi tall Therion that immediately appeared familiar.
            “WHAT IN KATHALA’S NAME IS THE MEANING OF…”Armon screamed as he turned and was startled by the furious sight of his brother holding a familiar short sword to his throat.
            “Don’t bother screaming brother. You should know better then most I can silence you before anyone even hear your cries” growled Mousorrow.
            “Well you should know by now that without me you stand no chance of leaving this building alive” snickered Armon.
            “My life is little to no concern of mine at this point. I’ve come for your head and then the head of the Tyrgon chief. If my life must be forfeit to achieve this then so be it” said Mousorrow with no emotion in his eyes but hatred.
            “I always knew this day would come brother. I knew that you’d eventually…” cried Armon.
            “STOP YOUR FORKED TONGUE YOU WINING SWINE! HOW DARE YOU EVEN USE THE WORD BROTHER WHEN YOU WERE THERE TO WITNESS THE SLAUGHTER OF OUR OWN MOTHER!” screamed Mousorrow in a fit of rage.
            “SHE HAD IT COMING TO HER!”  sneered Armon with a scowling look on his face. Mousorrow then lifted him into a wall by his throat and floored him with a powerful elbow to the face. Just as Armon hit the floor the door to the room opened and entered a large man with a thick beard, bald head and tattoos all over his body.
            “What’s going on in here!” roared Drull, Chief and warlord of the Tyrgons.
            “I’m glad you could join us Drull! COME AND MEET YOUR DEATH!” challenged Mousorrow.
            “WITH PLEASURE!” roared the warlord. Drull quickly drew a machete like weapon and began swinging madly for Mousorrow’s flesh. Already infuriated with his brother he boiled enough adrenaline to dodge Drull’s attack and send a flattening ram with his shoulder into Drull’s chest. The warlord began to scramble on the ground just as Mousorrow planted a crushing kick into his rib cage. With little to no delay Mousorrow lifted Drull’s head from the ground and began to whisper in his ear.
            “In the name of my people I banish you to the darkest corner in the realm of the damned.” Right before Drull could release a frightened scream Mousorrow silenced him with his own weapon plunging into his back and through his chest. Mousorrow then turned around in search of his whimpering brother only to find an empty room. He ran for the window knowing that was his only escape route and found a yard swarming with sweepers and korgs. Bolts began spraying through the window as he ducked back in for cover. His heart began pounding in fear like a panicked school boy caught stealing from the candy store. His brother was still alive and yet he was facing death itself in the path of so many Tyrgons. He quickly ran for another room only to find sweepers climbing the staircase to thwart their chief’s assassin. In a last chance decision, he leapt out the original window and clawed for the safety of the roof. Five bolts found their way into his back while he was climbing onto the roof. His breath was growing heavier and his body growing weaker with every second he laid on that cursed rooftop. He muscled up every ounce of energy he could and began a running leap towards the other rooftops. One by one he managed to escape one roof to another until he finally reached the inner wall. His clothes were damp with sweat and blood and everything began to become slightly hazy. He knew if he didn’t escape that village it would certainly mean his death. In his hardest effort he leapt for the edge of the wall and managed to catch it with just the fingertips on one hand. As he hung for his life he could hear the screaming and pounding feet of the Tyrgons rushing to his demise. He pulled himself up almost completely to the top when two more bolts penetrated his right thigh muscle. The pain was too much. It was like a piercing flash of lightning through his entire body. He couldn’t handle it anymore. He fell off the more dangerous edge and was almost caught by the blades but instead sliced open his calf muscle and right forearm. Realizing he was on the ground and still alive he took off with a leap into the air towards the woods. The pain was building up inside him. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer but he had to escape these foul imps of excruciating torture. Faster and faster he picked up pace; running in whatever direction his crippling muscles could take him. His body was about to fail him and he knew the Tyrgons were just behind. Then suddenly, just as he was beginning to close his eyes and fall to the ground, his body was encased in water and he could feel that he was being dragged with great speed. 
            He had managed to fall into an off branch of the Lockmeer River. He wanted to cry for joy but what energy he had left he was concentrating on keeping his mouth above water. He floated for about an hour or so and was washed onto a grassy shore just outside a small cottage. Whether the Tyrgons just lost him or gave him up for dead in the river it didn’t matter. He had escaped what appeared to be an inescapable death and was now safe again. The pain began to shoot through his entire body once again just as he soundlessly drifted off into a much needed sleep.

 

Reviews

[Chistie]

Good, good chapter!! So sad though, i was like NO NO NO NO when Armon betrayed his family!! I can't wait for the next chapter!! Good JoB!!!