Chapter 1 - The Lost Century -- The Middle of Nowhere

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Date Posted: 22:02:38 02/07/03 Fri
Author: Donovan... and the Council of Elders
Subject: Chapter 1 - The Lost Century

The pound of blade against a metal semi-circle platform called silence in a room filled with angry shouts of worry and tension. Hundreds of aged warriors decorated with medals from brief battles of the past were silent, and all carefully took their seats, expectant eyes flickered to the seat at the center of their arrangement; and the Grand-High General nodded. Lowering his tail, he carefully eyed each member of the Council; then, coughing once, he began to speak.

"As most of you know, all planets in the vicinity of Etreus have been recently attacked by sentient beings with weapons of mass destrucion. As of yet, we have not been attacked; and we still have the time, and ready supplies, to vacate the planet and travel safely to a new home. I say we make haste to do so, for taking on these unknown beings could result in a great loss of our number."

Appreciative nods were made to this, and quiet murmurs of approval began to raise from various parts of the table. A slow but steady din rose as various Tokathe representatives began to bang their blades against the table... and then there was a shout outside as a tall black Tokathe shoved through doors of the Council Hall, and entered, hackles raised, to stand in his hunting stance before the Council.

"I have something to say, and I will not be moved until I say it!"

The grey General met the blacks gaze easily, ears flicked back against an emotionless head. His eyes narrowed for a moment, but he ignored the angry shouts of protest that rose from the others... and silenced them with a snap of his fingers, "This black is Donovan, a Guide among the commoners. For this, admittedly middle-class status, but status nonetheless... he has a right to speak to us. Go ahead Guide, the floor is yours."

Donovan's body shook with rage at his belittlement, but nonetheless, gave a curt nod of thanks. His blade lowered to the floor as he spoke, a firm tenor voice that quivered from frustration and anger.

"I know that your immediate choice in our predicament, would be to flee from our oncoming attackers. And of course, we could flee. But where would that leave the CoinShifters? The Kilven? The Vae? And if you care not for the other races upon your own planet then consider the homes, the houses, the shops... all the advancements that we as a race have struggled so long to accomplish? If you care for nothing else... then care for that!"

Angry snarls rippled throughout the crowd and few of the easily-aggrivated browns rose to their feet. Such imprudence from a lower-classed beast! However, the grey's hand settled the noise, and silence settle amongst the Council again.

"You presume much Donovan; and you know very little. Lives would be lost. Both Tokathe... and these other races that you care so much about. Your Kilven? Your Promised? Your unborn children? All of them, most likely dead. Do you not care for them? Do you not..

"SHUT UP! You are the one who presumes more then you think! My Life-Mate would die when you made the decree that none but Tokathe were to flee, whereas if we fought... He'd at least have a chance. As for Jalisah? She's a warrior, and she feels the same way I do. Unlike you cowards here, she is willing to risk her life for the good her planet!"

The General's patience wore thin, and a low snarl escaped his lips... which prompted the rest of Council to angry utterances as well.

"You dare challenge me... Guide?"

Ebon jaws open wide in a ravenous roar, which, by echoeing throughout the entirety of the room in it's ferocity, so destroyed any sense of civility that once was held among the sentient race. All Tokathe present are returned to the beastly rage that so fueled their non-sentient ancestors. Each warrior feels their adrenaline rush through ready veins, and spines are wrenched forward into the raptorine hunting form.. Chairs fall to the floor as Tokathe leap onto the top of their useless desks... the faster greys lurching around to close the gap of the semi-circle behind Donovan.

And the battle begins.

With a lurch of speed the general has leapt from behind his desk, shreds of his metals lie in tatters on the floor from where a lightning-fast blade ripped them from his clothing. Donovan draws his gun as soon as the grey moves, and flinging it into his left hand is able to easily grab a ready double-edged sword with his right from it's hilt. The General's speed easily matches if not betters his own, and just as sword leaves hilt, bullets come flying in Donovan's way. The black grimaces, springs forward into a flip to dodge, then fires back at the grey.

The General has moved, and Donovan winces as his bullets hit one of the members of the chanting circle that surrounds him... the body slumping to the floor, and soon being replaced by another. He hears yet another gunshot, and leaps up and back, landing directly behind the sniper. A swift flick of his wrist and his sword dashes out to run the grey through, but his movement is parried aside by a tail blade; and met with another barrage of gunshots. Donovan snarls and dashes to his right, his own gun firing madly as he dodges.

A grey whip of a tail is flung back at him and he parries it with a hind claw, only to snarl as the curved appendage drags him towards it. Again he fires his gun at his attackers head, and is released... but has to roll to his left to avoid being gutted by the Governor's own blade. Black body twists as he rolls to return to his feet, his gun aimed directly at the grey's... and the grey's aimed directly at him. Eyes glare unmercifully at the other... and after a moment of stalemate, both throw their guns to outside of the circle, and fling themselves at each other in melee.

Chants raise in chorus; blade hits blade, sword hits sword, black flips away then comes full force, only to have the same thing occur with grey. Then; a roar of pain as Donovan draws bloody jaws away from the grey shoulder... and red begins to seep down through silver fur. Another earth shattering roar echoes from the ebon as he claims first-blood as his own.

Again the insane blade-play continues. Wounds begin to come more quickly, until, three hours later, both are forced to draw back... sides heaving, blood flowing freely from most every appendage. Again a long stare, and all weapons are thrown to the outside of the circle. Clothing hangs from weary body's in tattered bloody rags, and in a single fluid motion, both blades raise to slice it from their bodies. And so, naked, without weapon, clothing, or power... the warriors stand.

And the fight begins again.

With low growls that soon rise to raging snarls, the two begin a slow lope around each other. Jaws hang agape as air rushes in and out in ragged breathes, blood drips from both, the scents of sweat and foul odor erupt from both, intermingling in the thick and darkened air. Then, in a moment, the grey strikes. Eyes are wide with pure fury as his blade flies directly at Donovan's throat, all claws aimed at the black's chest, jaws ready for the obvious parry that all who'd fought him had took... and all who'd faught him had died with.

A silent hush breaks through the chanting as those present recognize the move, and wait for what seemed to be Donovan's only choice. Only... Donovan took the blow. Gore flew from his hide as his chest was ripped open, and his throat was hit by blade, but his body rolled with this motion... and his own tail blade went through the grey's gut, innards erupting from the grey's back as tail blade burst through. Donovan's eyes grew dimmer with pain, but again, and again, his blade ripped through whatever muscule and tissue he could find... until striking bone, and snapping the General's spine.

The grey was dead as he hit the floor... and Donovan removed his blade, claws slipping in the blood that covered the stone floor, as his foreclaws rushed to a bleeding throat... With a high-pitched whine he forced the gap that was his throat together, and forced the words out in a whisper.

"As victor of the honor match.. I order that we go to war."

The surrounding Tokathe looked on as horror as the black fell to the floor, convulsing in his agony. A young white, who's pure fur was now spattered in both 'Koths blood, forced his form erect... and spoke, "Is he to be made Distant then? He killed." The older brown who'd been so angry before... shook his head.

"No young warrior. He followed the Codes of Olde. By killing the General... he gets a wish. Which... he may not live to make."

Another white shook her head, "No, no. My ears heard him speak. He made his wish. He said we should go to War."

A grey female nodded then, a tear falling from an eye as she too forced her form to the civilized stance... She had been the dead General's daughter... and as was custom, took his place until another General was chosen. Her voice did not shake despite her shock and grief, and she gestured for those around her in the way that her father once had.

"Then we go to War."

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