So I'm not new to this jazz but I'm also no expert. Mostly I do Fanfiction but I've been known to have some original ideas come to me in some messed up dreams.
Language. Sexual content; male/male (implied only), female/male, male/female/male (love triangle). Violence. Death. Destruction. Mayham. You know all that good stuff that belongs in a proper werewolf fiction.
R&R please, but if you don't you don't I don't care I'm not here for you. Just don't expect me to give a shit about flames then, though they are encouraged for their amusment. Be warned, flamers will be laughed at. Reviewers may be thanked, if your review is something more then three words and has some meaning. "Great job" & "Keep going" don't count so don't even bother.
Damon Farandor sat atop his battle ready steed, a vast valley lain out before him; lush and inviting, while his mercenary army waited at his back cold and forbidding.
It was a late fall this year yet the trees ahead still held traces of a bountiful summer. The crops were thick and promising an easier winter then the last.
It was well as his some five hundred death riders and their mounts would once again winter in Hell Gaite; Damon's one and only holding.
It was a vast estate with fields aplenty and a thick wood surrounding the large fortress which housed his men, their mount, himself and then some. Each winter his traveling city of death returned to what most of them referred to as home.
Rightfully so, for the fortress and the three closest villages were where the five hundred men dwelled. The villages; Valicina, Balither and Emelen, all prospered with the wives, mistresses and families of his men.
Even the new recruits, one's who had only been in service for less then two years, added to the economy of the surrounding area. Even though they, for the most part, resided in his barracks they supported local businesses, taverns, brothels, but they also saved their wages so that one day they too would build a home and family in the outlying villages. With that in mind numerous eligible women flocked to the surrounding area hoping to attract an honorable man to wed.
Until his boys grew up though, they earned theirs wages in the army, training in various skills and trades, and working hard in his fields planting and harvesting.
But at heart they were soldiers and spent their months in Hell Gaite simply awaiting a spring contract. With few exceptions, every spring such a favorable contract would catch Damon's eye and off they would ride to war.
There were always wars to fights. It was a rare occasion that the Mercenary King and his men would spend more then eight of the thirteen months far from home.
Damon both cursed and praised the world around him for their constant bickering and fighting. But as long as they let him keep his little slice of the world he didn't care. If they paid him well for fighting their wars all the better.
Damon led his men for other men in the name of pride, honor, greed, lust, betimes love and any number of reasons. None of it mattered. If the losses were acceptable and the pay made up for those losses had nothing else mattered. As long as he could provide for those under his rule in his own personal little country.
Thusly why today the ruler of Hell allowed his dark gaze to follow a tribute caravan weave its way through the valley below.
"Borneheld." Zaros mused quietly following his lord's focus.
Zaros, a loyal man, was forever at Damon's side. For the past nine years he'd proven himself again and again and never asked for more then was offered.
Damon often mused his goliath of a shadow would ride for free.
Zaros would always answer in his deep quiet voice, "If it saves your life my lord, yes."
So Zaros; friend, brother of the blade, self appointed body guard, council, confident and sometimes lover rode with Damon who in turn gave as much to his man as Zaros would accept. Sometimes more if it could pass unnoticed by the quiet giant.
"Bastards," a soldier cursed form behind.
Borneheld was still lord of his lands because of the Mercenary King and his men. Having dealt honorably with the old man before Damon had agreed to ride to his aid under the usual contract terms, half before half later.
The second half never received.
Under different circumstances Damon would have attacked his once ally and taken what was his, and sometimes more if the situation called for it. But it was late in the year already and Borneheld was well defended thanks to Damon's own devising. His army was tired and ill provisioned after a long contract.
Damon decided to allow the old lizard until spring to see the error in his ways. If that didn't happen he would return with more men and burn the whole damn place to the ground.
These thoughts faded though, as the Lord of Hell eyed up the richly laden caravan the gods had lain at his feet in retribution for a mortals error.
Banditry wasn't far off from the life of a mercenary in Damon's mind, especially as that was how he began. Plus it really wasn't theft if it's owed to you.
"Ride." He ordered quietly leading his riders down the slope into the thick trees dispatching orders and planning a massacre.
It wasn't long until most were dead, only a mere hundred with this tribute train.
A richly clad noble man child lay dead in a pool of blood at Damon's feet his eyes resting on the lad's smooth face cold and empty.
A priest was presented to him in short order, even the King of Hell had boundaries.
"Ah my lord priest, tell me who is this man bleeding on my boots?" Damon questioned.
"Lord Borneheld's second born," the priest replied scathingly.
Unperturbed Damon smiled coolly, "Oh, good. Now then what goods have I just acquired here lord priest oh, and don't test me, the second I question your holiness your life is forfeit."
The priest glared at him for a moment, "Well then cease with the title as I am just a mere priest and not a lord."
Damon simply smiled sweetly and waited for the answer to his question.
The priest sighed, "Tribute to reestablish connections with my Lord Borneheld as he has retained his lands. Also Taxes claimed along the route we've been on."
"Well yes I know that. My men are loading up the loot as we speak. But we both know there's more then money to tribute. Walk with me lord priest." Damon turned swiftly and started down the line of wagons.
The priest stumbled over his robe and bodies as he hurried to catch up wearily eyeing up Zaros who followed at a short distance.
"Fabrics and spices," Damon pondered as they passed laden wagons before adding to the few men who followed him to exact his orders, "take it, I've a mind for a new wardrobe. Metals and precious jewels…take it, the wives of my men always swoon when we bring them home gifts that sparkle." Damon took in notice how the priest kept glancing over his shoulder, "Oh worry not my lord priest. Zaros may be a handsome beast of a man hut he's calm in nature. What is this here?" Damon asked reaching a line of covered and caged wagons.
"Mere creatures for his lordships pleasure." The priest replied testily.
"Of no use. Take all of the horses though. I surely wouldn't mind one of those spotted reds back there." He smiled eyeing up the five stunning mounts tethered some ways away.
Zaros stepped forward, a small movement unnoticed by most but not Damon who gave his undivided attention to his shadow.
Zaros who spoke little in the company of all others, especially outsiders jerked his chin forward.
"Oh Zaros it's a wonder more the world doesn't think you a mute," Damon teased returning his companions smile before following the path through the caged beasts.
Zaros merely followed a small grin on his face amused by his master's humor.
"My, my…" Damon voiced curling his fingers around the strong bars that held yet another creature in a covered wagon. A different sort of creature.
"You don't want her," the priest advised shying away from the prison.
"A willful whore?" Damon guessed. "Why that's exactly what we need more at in my humble home. Right Zaros?" He didn't bother to look for the knowing smile he knew was on his companions face.
"Not a whore. An evil monster of the under realm." The priest replied coldly suspiciously eyeing the downed woman.
"What are you going on about my dear lord priest. If that is the face of evil may we all be damned. I mean look at her Zaros, so pretty woman would want her." Damon laughed as he studied that girl, no more then twenty, six years his junior.
A thick cascade of auburn saves fell around her modestly clad body.
"Open it." Damon ordered casually.
"Oh no please don't. Take the whole damned wagon but don't let that thing out here."
"What has you so scared old man?" Damon questioned curious and annoyed, "She's scarce more then a girl."
"A lycanthrope can never be as innocent as a girl," the priest snarled.
"Of the wolf people?" Zaros spoke up suddenly.
"Yes," the priest looked queasy at the thought. "I've blessed the walls of this wagon to keep her from breaking through. It has held her successfully."
"Hm…interesting. Perhaps she just has no wish to escape, or is not what you fear old man. But…yes take the wagon entire. Take whatever else can be had here and now, we leave." Damon took one last long look as the girl before turning back the way he came.
"Oh yes," Damon pondered, "one last think old man," he turned suddenly and buried his dagger deep within the robes and man flesh, "Holy men do not curse. I mean seriously how does one damn a wagon?"
Riding hell for leather, as fast and hard as their prized war mounts would allow it was only twenty odd days before Hell Gaite came to sit on the horizon.
During this time the supposed wolf girl woke, ate, remained peaceful and ever silent. If she was curious of even alarmed about her sudden change of traveling companies she never gave face to it.
For the most part Damon ignored her and ordered his men to keep her movable prison locked at all times.
But on their last night on the road, with Hell Gaite's shadow dusty on the horizon promising another long day's hard ride, Damon and Zaros rode around the outskirts of the camp. Both firm believers that a leader is still a soldier and has such duties.
Damon prided himself on doing everything he asked his men to do. If he himself had never done something he would refuse to ask his men to do until he himself had.
Zaros was the one who hesitated at the edge of her dwelling.
"Zaros?" Damon twisted in his saddle.
"Do think it's true?" The larger man asked his beloved leader.
"Who knows these things? You? Me? We'll simply have to wait and see my friend What is it? Ten days or so depending on the will?" Damon mused.
"Something like." Zaros replied knowingly. Every ten days a Lycanthrope had to revert to it's true animalistic self. In other words become a wolf. Although they could change at will, or be forced into changing through heightened emotion, they still had to reconnect with their canine half. Stronger Lycans could last longer, twelve maybe fourteen days, weaker only six maybe seven.
"Would be something, to win a Lycan's loyalty. Not that yours is lacking my friend. But it would be something. Or even to just have her warm my bed, I hear they are true demons in such matters. Taste for a keen edge and a harsh lash." Damon grinned like a young boy.
"I saw one once." Zaros commented absently ignoring Damon's sadistic gaze which lay on the girl. "In a traveling sect. Changed into a massive wolf, brush the throats of our mounts here at least. Just under your rib cage likely. Changed back again just like that. A man normal to the eye, as normal as our lass here. But his eyes were dark and wild."
"I see it in her's as well," Damon replied quietly. He quickly shook loose of the seriousness. "Well we'll learn soon enough my overly large friend. Tomorrow if luck's still with us. Would be something though. A leashed Lycanthrope. Pretty thing either way." Damon smiled down remembering the way her dark brown eyes had followed him only earlier that day.
"Yes," Zaros agreed turning his mount to follow his master.
Go read By The Moon, almost as good but easier to write therefore it's moving faster.