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Endless leagues of tall, brown grass spread out all around them. An occasional tree sprouted out of the sea of tallgrass, gnarled and dried up things that they were, they provided little protection or shade from the blazing sun high above. Mrrysu, crouched low to the ground just like everyone else, couldn't help but draw his sight away from the constant, unchanging plains and look up at the sky. The clouds were thin and wispy, but they drifted along in such slow manner that he thought to be whimsical. Mrrysu couldn't hide his smile.
"Ware, Mrrysu," his older brother hissed softly into his cat-like ears in the feline language of their people, "If Srensit catches you daydreaming on my watch, he'll skin both our hides!"
"Oh! S-sorry!"
Mrrysu flushed red under his powdery white fur, making his face look pink speckled with black. He knew he should be paying attention to the hunt, it being his first hunt since coming of age, but it was just so, well, boring! He didn't want his brother to get in trouble, but, really, how can Srensit or any of the other catfolk hunters keep sane with all of this running around and hiding in the grass like kittens playing tag day-in and day-out?
Mrrysu's thoughts must have been all too apparent in his features, for his brother shook his head and gave him a helpless look. The young catfolk tried to smile apologetically, but he must not have looked sincere enough, for his brother shook his furry head again and stalked towards the rest of the hunting pack. Mrrysu sighed.
He felt a bit alone, now, lost in this sea of swaying grass. He'd always been something of an outcast, and for many reasons. One being, and one would have to be denser than a troll not to notice, Mrrysu's pelt of fur was painfully different from the others. Where as the rest of the tribe had golden or tan fur, like the lions that also stalked these plains, his coat was a pale white color covered in black spots, like a snow leopard. Mrrysu didn't know why he'd have the fur of a creature that existed hundreds of miles away from The Shar, and neither did his parents, who both had lion fur. His brother had honey-colored fur, too, as did their four sisters.
Another, and this trait was far less apparent, was his affinity for the Art. Nerr'css, the tribe's druid and shaman, could weave magic as well, but that of nature. Whereas Mrrysu spun the spells of dragons.
Thus he'd had to be brought up differently from the other cubs. Where they played their sports and hunting games, he was placed under the care of Nerr'css. And that old lion was duller than a stump, and always mumbling in riddles. Still, the old druid had been merciful enough to allow Mrrysu this one chance to show his stuff. And where else could he be better monitored than under his brother's wing?
Although, with nothing out here but endless, endless fields of grass so painfully devoid of gazell or water buffalo or any kind of prey, the young sorcerer was beginning to miss mashing up foul smelling herbs and learning to "focus his mind" by sitting on a hard rock for hours upon hours. He'd even scrub the pads of Nerr'css's feet for a few tendays if he'd keep Mrrysu locked up in that musty old tent the druid called home. At least there he was free to use his magic.
It took Mrrysu a few moments to snap out of his lamenting thoughts and notice that the others had started to stalk ahead. "Keep low and quiet" Srensit would say so often that you couldn't forget it even if you tried. And sometimes, Mrrysu really tried.
Biting back something that might have been a swear or a call to wait up for him--or perhaps a combination of both--Mrrysu hurried after, nearly tripping over himself as he tried running while bent over in that uncomfortable crouching position everyone else seemed so complacent in.
Through the shifting and sighing tallgrass, the sorcerer cub could barely make out the forms of his fellow tribemates. He could see Cleessen a several paces ahead of him. He knew it was that bear of a catfolk by the huge, wild mane of hair he wore so proudly. And just to Cleessen's right was Lyss, a lass just a year older than himself with a beautiful coat that resembled spun gold in the sunlight. Mrrysu had always sort of fancied Lyss, and the sorcerer was disappointed to see the grasses lessened the luster of her fur. That, and the fact that she kept so very close to Cleessen.
Great. Jealousy.
There were a bunch of others he could see, though he didn't know their names. That old druid had kept Mrrysu busied with training or having him out looking for the weirdest and nastiest herbs that the sorcerer didn't get to meet to many of the other catfolk. But that furry monstrosity crouched at the head of the hunting party carrying that blasted spear was all to familiar to Mrrysu. Srensit.
Now was not the first time Mrrysu irritably wondered why Srensit had to be so hard on him, or why the scarred old warchief had to make the others treat him like he was some manner of aberration, or something and avoid the snow leopard so much. Just because he could cast arcane magic didn't make Mrrysu a displacer beast or some kind of fiend! Right?
Lost in his thoughts again, Mrrysu was too slow to see that the pack had stopped. The mere cub-of-a-sorcerer ended up planting his face into Cleesen's furry, shirtless back. Stumbling back painfully onto his tail, Mrrysu coughed and hacked into his hands. Gods, does that lion of a catman ever bathe!?
Expecting to find Cleesen glaring at him for running into him or Srensit giving him the evil eye for making a sound, Mrrysu cracked his emerald eyes open. Everyone was as still as the trees that rose so scarcly about, and they all looked just as grim. Srensit crouched ahead had his hand--the one that didn't clasp that spear of his that never seems to leave his side--raised at his side and his fist was shaped in one of the signals they used on these hunts. But it wasn't the sign for "prey" or "empty" or even "lost". No, it was a closed fist with the thumb, index and middle finger raised.
It was the sign for "monster".
Mrrysu almost made a sound. Monster? Was it a displacer beast? A dragon? What? Despite the obvious danger, the young sorcerer couldn't help but feel a rush, an odd sensation that made his arms and legs shake and his breath to quicken. This was far better than some lousy hunt!
Srensit glanced over his shoulder to look upon them. It was the closest anyone would get to eye contact from the old tracker.
"What is it, Srensit?" someone asked him--his brother, Mrrysu noted.
"Bat-thing," was the reply.
The sorcerer furrowed his bushy brows. That uneducated old lion wouldn't know the difference between a blade of grass and a vulture, and they were supposed to go by that "description"? But then, there weren't too many oddities around these parts aside from the rare displacer beast, so the young cub supposed it was only understandable. He only knew of dragons and such from the books old Nerr'css had come in possession of over his long years. Books of any sort, even those of old arcana and lore, are viewed as heavy unnecessities to the nomadic catpeople.
Something gave a heart-stopping call, a shrill, echoed cry, as if two...whatever it was that made the cry, had done so in unison. Mrrysu nearly leapt out of his fur, yet the others just looked grim or, in the young one's like himself, eager of shaken. Srensit looked as cold and stoney as ever.
The old tracker issued his orders silently, pointing to individuals and in directions and making signs and motions that everyone seemed to understand. Everyone nodded while Mrrysu looked clueless. Luckily his brother had gotten it, and the lion-like hunter who was only five cycles older than the sorcerer tugged on his arm and motioned for Mrrysu to follow. The cub's brother then sprinted, errily silent, off to the right. A few others, including Clessen and Lyss, followed suit while Srensit and the rest whispered off to the left. Ah, so they were going to circle the beast! Mrrysu rushed off after his brother, making sure to keep just as quiet as everyone else and keeping sure that none of his pouches fell from his belt or split open as he ran.
Silent as fleeting shadows, they wove through the near man-high grasses like serpents, leaving not even a rustle in their wake. They were catfolk, the silent lords of the plains, and when danger is near, they are quick to organize and attack with swiftly and efficiently, yet always hinting at a beastial brutality. The young sorcerer couldn't help but marvel at the skill of his own people. And he could not hide the frustration at himself, for where his brother and all the others seemed to glide over the ground with such grace and ease, he had to struggle just to keep himself relatively quiet. Where boredom and irritation had been, in Mrrysu's heart, now resided a heavy feeling of not belonging, of being the outcast the other tribesfolk had always viewed him as. Maybe he really was an aberration...
Suddenly the others stopped, and Mrrysu did his best to keep on his feet. He almost swore at the sound of his foot striking earth.
"There it is," somebody whispered as loudly as they dared.
Mrrysu craned his neck up from his uncomfortable crouch and, with a nasty ache in his neck, he saw it. It looked like a hump of blackness, like a big chunck of obsidian or coal. But then it stirred, its flanks heaved with air and a frilled crest rose from its back. The creature lifted its head--no, wait, both of its heads rose upon long necks and wings like those of a bat's only so much larger fanned out from its body. The heads were eyeless and mostly featureless. Gods, they were just gaping jaws with nostrils! The creature's jaws were filled with needle-like teeth, and as the black beast swung its heads to and fro, its nostrils quivered. It was looking for something. It looked like some manner of wyvern or dragon. Mrrysu had never actually seen any, but he'd seen pictures of them in Nerr'css' books. But none had ever been with two heads, or without eyes!
Meat, probably. And there wasn't much there, excepting catfolk.
With its heads moving about as they were--just like two agitated cobras, thought Mrrysu--the others didn't know whether to attack then or not, or maybe if they should move to another position to better flank they two-headed aberration. When the beast gave another echoed screech, however, all thoughts of moving ceased.
Had they been discovered? Did this thing have that acute a sense of smell? Perhaps that's why it didn't have eyes; it didn't need them.
But, no, it wasn't looking their way. In fact, both of its heads were oriented opposite of their position, and it was starting now to flail and charge away from them. Srensit! It mush have detected that old fool's group!
That was all the signal they needed. Like a spreading fog, Mrrysu's brother and the other hunters swept forward so very silently, moving abreast yet spread out just enough to ensnare this...this thing in the jaws of their assault. Mrrysu was hesitant to follow, all he head was a longknife, which seemed tiny and useless when he looked at that black mass of scales and teeth. The others had similar weapons, too, but they had curved swords and javelins and slings and, most importantly of all, they knew how to use them. And while Mrrysu had magic repertoire, he didn't know any spells that could fell a dragon! Still, he was no coward, and he'd be damned it he was going to let his brother rush in without him. With a spell on his lips and his dagger drawn, Mrrysu stalked after the others, moving in such a hushed manner that surprised himself.
A single javelin hurtled out from the sea of tallgrass and struck the creature in the chest, then bounced away ineffectively. Undaunted, the hunters soon kicked up a storm of sling stones and flying javelins skipping uselessly upon its glossy scales. Yet one spear managed to pierce the creature's armored hide from behind, sinking into its back just behind its left wing. The black dragon-thing screamed in pain and surprise and rounded upon the group of hunters advancing from its rear. Mrrysu blanched at the sightless heads that seemed to be able to pierce his soul with a gaze that did not exist, but he swallowed his fear and began to recite an incantation. The dragon-thing's heads then hissed something in unison that the sorcerer thought he recognized as a word or power.
And that's when the world plunged into dark nothingness.