A tale of inevitable death... -- The Middle of Nowhere

[ Show ]

Support VoyForums

[ Shrink ]

VoyForums Announcement: Programming and providing support for this service has been a labor of love since 1997. We are one of the few services online who values our users' privacy, and have never sold your information. We have even fought hard to defend your privacy in legal cases; however, we've done it with almost no financial support -- paying out of pocket to continue providing the service. Due to the issues imposed on us by advertisers, we also stopped hosting most ads on the forums many years ago. We hope you appreciate our efforts.

Show your support by donating any amount. (Note: We are still technically a for-profit company, so your contribution is not tax-deductible.) PayPal Acct: Feedback:

Donate to VoyForums (PayPal):

[ Login ] [ Main index ] [ Post a new message ] [ Search | Check update time | Archives: 1, [2] ]

[ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ]

Date Posted: 20:22:21 03/09/02 Sat
Author: Grays, Night Cats
Subject: A tale of inevitable death...

A circle of tall, gray, humanish beings surround an elder Night Cat, watching with ugly staring yellow eyes as the Cat shouts. Their long-fingered hands grip weapons, lances and staves and longswords, and their leathery skin is ashen-hued by the storm clouds above. The wild wind shrieks by, tearing leaves from the sooty and singed branches of ancient trees. The Night Cat's black ears are tinged grey with age, and laced back to his silken skull as he speaks, his teeth bared in defiance of the Grays around him. His own gold eyes glare out at his enemies, daring them to kill him before he finishes.

Leagues away, a young Night Cat strikes, her splayed hands knocking a bird from the air and pouncing it. She grins and snaps its neck, then takes it in her sleek jaws to carry it back to her clan, the Cattorn.

In the opposite direction, a Gray receives proper instruction on how to use a lance. He thrusts, skewering the stuffed dummy in front of him. His trainer expresses approval and his friends cheer him on as he continues.

The Night Cat elder snarls as the Grays begin to close in, and shouts out to them. "You hate us! Yet for no reason! We have black fur, therefore you think us evil! We have golden eyes, so you deem us glaring! We hunt at night and slip away unseen, and you think us Wraiths! We have claws and sharp fangs and powerful muscles, therefore you deem us to be feared, and therefore hated!"

The young Cat, far away, bounds back into the woods, the bird now eaten, and purrs to herself in contentment. Her short tail high and waving about, she pushes off a log with her powerful hing legs, her paws splayed for traction, and leaps into a pond. The water ripples as she splashes in.

"We live in groups, so you think us like the Demons that live in packs! We can stomach raw meat, so you deem us savages! You dare not let us speak, and cut out our tongues, for fear that we will prove you WRONG!" The elder snarls again, his calloused hands gripping the rock on which he stands, and his hindclaws unsheathed and ready to be used. His is a clan of warriors, the Ni�it clan, and he would never consider giving in to these creatures.

The training Gray grabs the spear, throwing it for fun and scoring. The sharp tip sinks into a carved version of a Night Cat, near the heart area. His friends cheer wildly, and a few of his buddies throw daggers or spears, also slamming into the 'Cat target.

The circles of Grays advance, ugly faces twisted in a sneer of comtempt. The Night Cat stands firm, refusing to give one inch. He will make his clan proud, even if they never hear of his death or sacrifice.

Close your eyes, my friend. You do not wish to see how he dies. Close your ears, young one, you do not wish to hear his dying screams. Turn your head.

[ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ]