Furry-Within

(Forgive me if this is off, it's been perhaps far too long)

He was tired, that much was a given. His limbs felt like heavy, lead extensions of his body, and it felt like sheer determination was the only thing keeping him both awake, and simply standing. He just had to get in, he just had to be accepted-- but there was no guarantee to it all. For all he knew, the lead had been a lie, something to make him leave and travel all the way here-- but he had made his decision then.

Of course, that meant people not catching onto why he was here. Which is what led him to Feldor so many years ago. He'd snuck his way in as a child, and found himself on the doorstep of a lowly couple. While they weren't impoverished, they were certainly in the lower end of middle-class; but because of the wife's inability to have children, they took him in. He resembled the canines close enough-- the father being a dark brown and black furred shepherd and the mother being a snow-white wolf, it sort of made sense to have a son that was a sort of smoky gray colour. It also helped his case that he looked like some sort of shepherd-wolf hybrid, so no one ever really game him flak for it.

He stood easily a head taller than most of the others here, and travelling had left his body lean and slender; but he was neither bony nor skinny, just bereft of excess weight. He scratched at his sides, his clothes dirty and worn, but not ragged.

[A fight?] He thought, biting back a snarl. Weren't the Myrzar above this kind of thing? True, they had to be tested-- this wasn't the place for the weak. But did he really have to endure this sort of barbarianism?

His breath hitched slightly as he felt the cold touch of metal on his chest, and he knew. He'd get through anything they threw at him. All to see if the rumor was true.

She saw the larger male approach her with an overconfident smirk.  He wore more well-to-do clothes than she, he was at least in the middle class and he had a real sword at his hip that he removed and passed off to a guard.  His booted feet slopped through the mud as he approached, his jowls raised in an amused snarl at her.  He also got into position across from her until one of the guards started them off.

The large canine lunged at her but he bare feet gripped the moist earth with sharp claws as she held herself still until the last moment where she stepped fluidly to the side while avoiding his flailing arm as he tried to grab her.  The lack of expected impact caused the young man to stumble so the feline brought her fist down sharply to the base of his skull.  The impact sent the male sprawling to the laughing and jeering of their peers.

He got back up quicker than she expected and swung his massive fist at her blindly which catches her hip as she tried, too late, to get out of the way.  She managed to stay on her feet though as he finally stood up tall and she kept her distance.  He was pissed off now as their peers encouraged him, but he already felt the shame from those who called out insults and profanity at him.  It was the laughter that really got to him.

She would feel bad for him if he hadn't come in so cocky but it was too late for any of that now as he rushed back at her.  This time he meant to grab her and both his arms were extended outwards.  She wouldn't get away with the same trick again this time.  When he got close enough she took a chance and kneed him directly on the chin.  His head flung back from the impact as he fell again to the floor, this time taking her with him.

Fear clutched her heart as she felt herself falling, she untangled herself from his arms and the torso that rested on her legs and stood up as quickly as she could, it was only once she was standing did she realize that he wasn't moving.  Uncomfortably she looked around, fearing that she'd gone too far.

Most of the guards were just laughing and mumbling to each other, saying who knows what about their fight. Almost all of the recruits were cheering her own now that the man wasn't moving. The Lord Captain though was just standing stone still, the water pooling and falling off out of his arms as he stared them both down. Then he looked to one of the guards, who nodded and pulled the unconscious boy away.

He looked at two more recruits, nodding them to the yard and pointing the winner to the guards. The next two recruits were both young men, they'd been trained up for the Guard and were both sure they would get in. Their fight took longer than the fight with the feline, but they were both brawlers, smacking and punching each other hard in the chest and arms. It dragged on until they were both covered in mud so thick it was impossible to know what color their fur was and the winner held his opponent in a choke hold until he passed out. The Lord Captain was still not moving, not showing emotion, just nodded the winner away and nodded the loser out. It kept going, cutting the number of recruits in half swiftly . . . only a few left. There was one in particular he was interested in other than the King's Bastard, a wolf sheppard hybrid that he scarcely recognized. He knew the Capital City was huge, but someone of such a unique breed was hard to miss. He pointed at the hybrid and then one of the other new recruits, and waited for their fight, extremely interested to see how this shady character performed.

[So, I'm finally up am I?] He thought, as he looked over at his opponent. Obviously the youth before him had WANTED to join the guards in this way-- he was bulked out, and sneered over at him with a victorious smile. "You're pitting me against THIS piece of trash? Consider me recruited." The large dog said, spitting at the ground. The hybrid grit his teeth, and just glared at the other male. [I'm gonna wipe that smirk right off your damn ugly mug.]

In truth, he wasn't really a fighter. In a contest of brute strength, the canine before him (a rottweiler? He wasn't too good with breeds) would easily make him feel the hurt. And never having much experience in fights beforehand, he didn't have the honed reflexes or the fast movements that seasoned fighters did. At face value, the odds were definitely stacked against him.

The larger canine knew this, and figured he'd end things before they even started. As soon as both had given the ready signal, the bigger male lunged forward with a speed that surprised the outsider. He barely had a chance to take a step back and brace himself when his assailant was already in melee range, a hefty arm swinging for his head.

[Slow. I'm too slow!] He thought to himself, knowing full well that he couldn't avoid the powerful swing. Instead, he brought his arms up and leaned his body away, bringing his head down and shoulder up. If he couldn't duck quick enough, at least he was smart enough to know to have a more sound part of his body absorb the blow. [That's the only way I can win this. With any luck, this mutt's just some dumb brute and I'll get a chance to outwit him.]

Staggering, the hybrid stepped away from the muscled dog a couple times to gain some distance, and hopefully some time to think out a strategy. His arm and shoulder shot up in pain, [But if it hurts that much, think of what would have happened if he'd hit me straight on...] He mused. He watched as the large male set in on him again, and his eyes widened as he began to watch the other's movements intently. While the canine was fast, he was undoubtedly untrained; his steps seemed haphazard and unfocused, not like a real fighter. The larger canine was pushing every bit of effort and strength he could into his movements-- which wasn't a fault, but without control it was just sheer strength being flailed around wildly.

[That's it! I remember hearing about a fighting style that uses your opponent's inertia and strength against them...] And though he wasn't trained in it, the base thought applied. This dog here was focusing all he had into unrefined movement, and the hybrid had to monopolize on that one fact. [Closer... closer... come on ya big lug!]

He watched as another one of those meaty fists came flying at him, but this time he was ready. He let the other canine continue the punch-- let him commit, and then suddenly swerved out of the way. Taking a grip on the dog's wrist and upper arm, the hybrid shoved his shoulder into the larger opponent's armpit, crouched down, and then used his legs as a lever. It helped that because the other male was so big and strong, it was hard for the other to stop moving so quickly-- and with a swift, almost eerily graceful movement, the hybrid flipped the dog over his shoulder, slamming him into the ground as hard as he could.

[There!] In a matter of sheer seconds, the hybrid had gone from being on the ropes to having flattened his opponent. And while he knew there'd be little chance he'd be able to do this against a seasoned fighter, he had to take a small bit of pride in having been able to figure out that sort of tactic so quickly. Still, he couldn't let up-- he quickly pounced on the other dog and began to beat him into submission; if he let the larger dog get up he probably wouldn't get a chance like this again. [Take that you dumb sack of meat! Who's recruited now, huh?] Blow after blow landed on the canine's face, who was too stunned from the throw to do much other than try and bring his arms up to shield his head, which only left his body open to the concentrated attacks.

He continued with the punches, his arms growing tired and his fists getting sore from pounding into the other dog, only stopping when guards had to pull him off of the canine. Heaving breaths, he calmed down, watching as his opponent shakily got to his feet, welts already forming on his muzzle. The larger dog stumbled back, falling unceremoniously into the mud, and shook his head. "I give! I give!"

The Lord Captain was disgusted with this particular fight. The man gave up . . . he approached the loser himself this time, picking him up out of the mud and making sure that everyone understood in no uncertain terms what he thought of the man. Some of the guards seemed almost scared at the show the Lord Captain gave, hoisting the man up and throwing him past the draw bridge that led to the training yard back into the mud in the commons of the city.

Then he slowly stepped back toward the recruits and guards, pointing at the King's Bastard and smiling viciously. "Now the Bastard gets to prove himself worthy . . . to enter the first step of entry into the Order of the Myrzar." He pulled the huge sword off of his back, handing it to one of his guards, taking off the cloak next, and slowly removing most all of his armor except the chain mail pants under his greaves. He came into the open center of the yard, pointing at the Bastard and saying "let's see what you can do Bastard . . . against me."

He hesitated, what the fuck? why does everyone else get to fight a peer.
  His eyes looked around watching the jeering soldiers. Some grinning. others simply watching with a disapproval frown. By now the cold soaked him to the bone. Leaving him shivering from the cold.
  It couldn't be helped, he wasn't gonna give this up with out a fight. If the lord captain wanted him out so bad he'd have to kill him!!
  He moved to stand across the way from the lord captain. His legs slightly pressed outwards, His fist held as the soldiers taught him in the bar. Trying once more to summon the knowledge he was imparted with.
  when facing an opponent bigger than you. wait till he makes the first move. Study his stance...
  His eyes moved up the lord captain body searching for an opening.
  When the time is right.. strike.. never keep your hands still, it gives your enemy a chance to focus
His hands slowly moved left and right, trying to get his already sore and cold body moving.  Those cool blue eyes watching the lord general.

The Lord Captain watched him carefully, maybe all those stories he'd listened to in the tavern had sunk in. He moved his arms, his chest and his legs slowly around, and when the time came, he moved with the same speed as he had in his armor in the race. Closing the distance between them in less than a flash, forcing a strike to his chest so fast and hard a small shockwave of rain came off the man as his fist moved to him. The Lord Captain was waiting in his head, thinking now it starts . . . he won't go down easy, I've made sure of that . . . if he's as good as he seems, this will only begin it. Come on Bastard . . . catch it, I dare you . . .

Gods!! he was fast, the speed of the lord captain caught him off guard.
  That hard hammerous fist of his caught him straight in the chest. He felt the air leave his lungs as the solid hit connected.  His teeth gritted as he felt his ribs crack to the pressure.
  Cripple your opponent first, if he can't move he can't fight.
A growl escaped the young panthers lips.
      never let him see it coming..
His right hand drew back as he punched, His left foot fallowing aiming for the knee Hoping to hobble the lord captain.
              Never back down. the first moment of weakness will always be your down fall.
  He did just that, Pushing forward into the lord general. His fist moving with his feet at the same time. Throwing punch after punch, Stepping forward he didn't stop but continued forward.

He had a moment of doubt, he saw them both and had to judge which was the "real" hit. One was the hi the Bastard was hoping would truly hit home, but which one? the punch to his chest? That could easily blow the air out of his lungs, and exhaust him in one blow. Or the hit to his knee? Which would knock him into the mud and give the boy a perfect shot at his back.

He judged wrong and tried to block the blow to his chest, getting hit in the knee and feeling his leg buckle. He could see the mud coming up to him when the words of his own former master came to his head. Never judge yourself on the last hit, look at what is coming next instead, if they knock you down roll past and trip them, take them down with you and you're both on the same level. He was going down, there was no doubts about that at all, but as he came down to the mud he swung his leg around, spinning and throwing the strike at the Bastard's legs hoping to trip him. If he could trip the Bastard, it'd be done in almost a single strike. If not . . . the Bastard just might have a chance.

There was just a moment as his front snap kick connected. A surge of wonder made him pause for a moment. That itself was his mistake. He never saw it common.
  Mikk's leg connected solidly with his own. sending him backwards into the mud. His head hitting before the rest of his body. The air leaving his lungs in long long Audible
"Auuufffff"
     Arashi dragged himself to his feet. His legs shivering from the contact. Those cracked ribs of his throbbing in his chest.

The Lord Captain could see the Bastard was on his feet again already, the problem his Master had always told him, was that even if you knock them down, sometimes they might just get back up before you. This Bastard was good . . . he thought that first hit would be all it took, he could hear the familiar "snap" of the Bastard's ribs, at least 3 of them by his ears. But he was still fighting . . . he had that fire in him.

The Lord Captain rose to his feet, staring the Bastard Down, then he started, an ancient process he'd learned in a place he'd never speak of now. The air around them would shift slightly, nothing visible, but something you could feel. As soon as his arms came down the other Guards would start backing up in perfect silence, the Recruits looking around nervous and then quickly moving with them. Then, the silence was broken for only an instant, lightning struck down, down into the yard where the Lord Captain's sword had been put, shining bright white light on him and all over the Yard, the Lord Captain's body seeming to glow and grow in size in the light. He almost appeared to have more arms, and huge wings on his back, and he let one punch go, directly forward at the Bastard, a spear of air shooting hard for the Bastard's chest. It wouldn't be impossible to dodge it, but the effort robbed the Lord Captain of his energy for the fight and he fell to his knees. One of his hands gripping mud so tightly it was audibly squeezing out aruond his fingers as he panted hard.

What the fuck?? What the fuck??
   Never before did he see such raw display of power? Leaving him awestruck.. frozen in place. His mind unable to comprehend what was going on? Before he knew or could start to understand what was happening he was sent tumbling through the air. Crashing into the stone wall  with a loud crack. His back and head hitting it with a loud audible thud.
  His body like a rag flopped to the muddy ground....
Everyone stood in shocked silence for a long moment. Thinking that the lord captain had killed one of his new recruits!!
     That was until the panther moved, Pushing himself up with one arm. His  right hand hung limply at his side. Blood and mud oozed from his head and lips, coughing as more blood made its way pass his lips. His legs shaky but he managed to pull himself to a stand.
  Some of the new recruits gasped as he took his first step towards the lord Captain. He managed a few more before his legs gave out and fell on his face. The panthers voice croaked in pain.
  "I...won't... go back" he repeated over and over. Forcing himself to his feet. Stumbling to the left and right.
That muddy crimson hair clinging to his body. His eyes hidden as he forced himself to make his way to the lord captain. Swaying unsteadily on his feet, until he was in range. His jaws clenching.
    "You'll... have to.. kill me first.."
His left hand curled into a fist as he drew back, summoning what little energy he had left.Fighting to keep conscious. But it was just to much, his body went into shock mid punch. His left connected to the lord captain, but with no more force than a light playful slap.
  The panther thudded to the ground as unconsciousness finally claimed him.

The Lord Captain was still panting hard, the hit landed alright, right on his head, barely a strike at all . . . but before the Bastard hit the mud, the Lord Captain caught him, and slowly stood, one of the other guards came up, a guard wearing a white emblem next to the sigil of the Myrzar. "Make sure he doesn't die . . ." Mikkaddo said. When he could stand, he kept panting, holding himself up on one of the other guards, and then moved to the spot the Bastard had landed in from the hit. He touched the spot where the body had been, and another layer of thick stone crumbled and fell. He turned back around and nodded. One of the guards was heard saying near the recruits "how the fuck did he survive that . . . that should have killed him if it hit!" The rest of the guards started to whisper to each other, saying that the Bastard had to be on par with the Lord Captain now.


Mikkaddo looked at the rest of the recruits, and shook his head, then the guards and shook his head again. He looked at the Losers, and then the majority of the recruits, those that had already fought and won. "Throw the unworthy back to their homes . . . the winners and the rest are part of our Order now." Then he slowly and silently pushed off of the guard that he was leaning on, grabbed his sword and used it like a walking stick, hobbling into the Keep, blood trailing from massive cuts all over his body, some unseen voice in the crowd of recruits and guards saying whatever he'd done it tore his muscles open. Obviously whatever it was, it was powerful . . . not the kind of thing just anyone would be capable of.

She watched the fights, the unspoken question still tugging and choking in his throat.  There were a few people that caught her eye with their fighting skills, the sheppard and wolf hybrid seemed to be using the same fighting style as she which would be fun.  Maybe they could train together.  Hand to hand and archery were her specialties and maybe they could trade tricks with each other.

None of the other fights interested her except the last one with Mikkado and the cute panther.  He did really well, but she felt no sadness that his injuries were extremely substantial.  He'd live or not live and it would make little difference to her as such were the ways of life.  Unsure what to do she looked around with her eyes asking her unanswered question, hoping that someone would come to finally answer her.

Once in the Keep, the Scholar took over, the recruits that were not hurt but had made it into the Order, they were moved to a large feasting hall in the Keep, several long tables covered with food, bread meat and wine. There were large fireplaces that lit the huge room with oranges and reds and yellows. The Scholar waited until they were all seated before speaking.

He put down a huge tome on the table, and opened it, then approached what was a sort of stage to the side of the tables and spoke up to them all, the Guards quieting down first, followed by the rest slowly. "You have all been accepted into a mighty order . . . your families, your prejudices all no longer matter. Whatever your family's name once was . . . it is now Myrzar. You are the Guardians of the royal family, of the kingdom . . . this honor is greater than any you would likely reach otherwise." The Scholar lifted his arms to the sides and looked across them all. "Enjoy this meal . . . it is a feast in your honor as you are now truly guardians, truly . . . Myrzar.



The Healers of the Keep were frightening women and men. All of them mutes, their vocal cords cut out to keep their power contained, their eyes sown shut to amplify their sight through the energy around them. They stalked from bed to bed wrapping the wounded warriors in bandages soaked with energy and chemicals, sewing shut the wounds that were too big to close on their own. The Lord captain was badly wounded, having fallen to the floor as soon as he made it to the room. The Healers had moved him to a bed though, and had sown up all his wounds and were bandaging him up. His eyes seeming to be unwilling to open though he was most certainly alive still.


The Scholar stalked through the room now, still speaking "You are all now part of the Order of the Myrzar, you are all honored guests of the Royal Family in this Castle. We share their home so that we may be ever close to guard them from the dangers of the world around them. The armor the guards wear is the most obvious mark of their place. You will not be ranked so long as you have no armor and no weapon. Each of you . . . you will learn many things under us, to read and write . . . to fight with a weapon and your body, magic . . . the kind you cannot imagine as of yet, and of course to smith. You will smith your armor yourself, and your weapon. This will make them all the more powerful in your hands. Will make you all the more worthy."