FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Chase continued complaining and whining as they followed a dirt track off to the east. In the distance lay the jutting peaks of the mountains he had mentioned. Beyond that, goodness only knew what was in store. The ground was uneven past the forest, a wild place of stone, mud and grassy mounds that rose and fell in crumbling clumps under the twin suns. Clouds drifted by at a lazy pace as wild rabbits bound away, their white tails flashing in retreat. Birds squawked from trees that grew at odd angles out of the dipping soil.

“See?” Patrick boomed, spreading his arms wide, “there’s no danger here.”

“Are you joking? Keep your voice down, you idiot!” Chase hissed, “there are giant worms beneath our very feet, every hole a hiding spot for goblins or worse! The long grass? Don’t get me started on the long grass…”

“Yeah, I bet those grasshoppers are really something, aren’t they?” the human said, sarcastically.

Lizzy wrinkled her small velvet nose, “smoke. Must be a camp around here somewhere.”

“Orcs!” The elf wailed, “we’re in trouble already. We’re barely out of the forest.”

Mortimer snapped, “they’re minding their own business! I’ve met an orc, it was manning a reception desk, answering the phones, it most certainly wasn’t trying to kill me!”

“These ones will, you’ll see, they’ll have heard us coming and they’ll be sharpening their axes as we speak. Crouch down, stay low, be inconspicuous. We must sneak…” he stooped down, trying to hide in the low scrub

Patrick wasn’t about that, “dear fellow, we stick out like a sore thumb no matter how low to the ground we go. Me with my blue Barbour jacket, a bright white rabbit and you - a tall elf in gold chainplate. The only one here who blends in is Monty in his tweed. May as well stride proudly into battle.”

“Bravery is all well and good until you get the pointy end in your neck,” Chase pouted.

“Why, we could even barge into their camp and take THEM by surprise! Hyaaaa…” he swung his double-handed sword widely for effect, “cut the filthy creatures up in bloody victory! What do you say?”

“They,” Mortimer seethed, “are minding their own business!”

“This adventure was your idea, I’ll remind you! It was you who had a portal in the spare room. It was your dragon friend who sent us here.”

Chase stopped dead, mid sneak, “you have a dragon friend?”

“Yes, I do, as a matter of fact,” Mortimer sniffed, “he’s a curious fellow I won’t deny it, but he’s been nothing but pleasant. And don’t go getting any ideas about slaying him! I’ll be in no end of trouble with my nephew. I’ll also take this opportunity to remind you, Patrick, that it was my nephew we were here to see instead of this silly lark we’ve ended up on!”

“We’ll see your evil nephew after we’ve finished with this quest, this wet blanket has to prove himself and I’m going to help him do it. I’ll be a hero amongst elves!”

“Evil nephew?’ Chase squeaked.

Mortimer folded his arms, stubbornly, “he’s not evil! Just you wait and see, he’s a proud and noble warrior, I’ve seen his medals! He’s an Intergalactic Hero for crying out loud.”

“Ohhhh, now you’ve done it! ‘Keep your voice down’, I said, ‘there’s orcs ahead’, I said, but would you listen? Now look.”

Figures approached. Long, curved swords glinted in the light. Green skin mixed with brown leather and studs. Tusks poked from thick lips.

“I’ve had quite enough of this,” Mortimer huffed, setting his shoulders back, haughtily and walking forward, cheerily waving his hand at the squat-nosed, thickset warriors, “hello there! Don’t mind us, just passing through! Lovely day, isn’t it?”

Chase turned to the others, his face whiter than usual, “he’s completely cuckoo, isn’t he? He’ll get his long head lopped off!”

Lizzy shrugged, “he’s convinced orcs are friendly and there’s nothing we can do to dissuade him. Sorry.”

“We’re going to have to help, aren’t we?” Chase looked as miserable as he could possibly be at the prospect.

Patrick nodded, “won’t be the first time I’ve got that aardvark out of a scrape.”

The orcs gave Mortimer a confused look, their thick brows creasing in ridges. Usually, people ran away screaming from them, they did not amble up and chat casually about the weather. “’Oo are you, then?” one asked, his leather helmet pushed down on his flat head, squashing his pierced green ears out to the side like an aeroplane ready for take-off.

The darker green orc next to him gave him a nudge, “it’s duh funny grey fella.”

“Nahhh,” another shook his head, braided red hair flapping, “’ees got a diff’rent jacket, see? It’s all brown n stuff. No stars.”

“Oh. We’s can kill ‘im, then?” helmet asked.

“Yuh.”

“Nice!” braids raised his scimitar up high, threateningly.

Mortimer held his hands out, placatingly, “easy, fellas, we mean you no harm and we have no treasure for you to loot.”

Helmet pointed to the elf, “’ees got goldin armer, ‘ee ‘as. I want’s goldin armer.”

Mortimer turned as his friends approached, “well, yes, but look, I know orcs aren’t the wicked, evil monsters everyone says they are.”

“I am!” Red head growled.

“Yuh! Me too, I’m dead evil I am!”

“What?” Mortimer blinked, “no no, it’s a racial stereotype, I’ve met orcs at – hey, watch it!”

The blade swung at him and others followed in warning swipes. He stumbled back.

“Told you!” Patrick scolded, bringing his own blade boldly into the mix, clashing and clanging, adding in a swift kick at a knobbly knee. “Come on, elf! Fight! Mortimer, why didn’t you get yourself a sword, even Lizzy has a knife!”

“I usually talk my way out of trouble,” he objected.

“Bloody useless, you are!” he whacked his heraldic blade into one of the orcs thighs with a thud and the creature howled, swearing in its guttural, poorly-enunciated tongue.

Lizzy bound on her long, strong rabbit legs, dipping her slender, sleek knife into the backs of the orc campers as she ducked in and out of the reach of their stained, notched weapons, graceful as always.

The orcs spun round to lash out and Chase made his move as they had their backs turned to him. Or he would, if his feet hadn’t tripped on the stones half-buried in the soil. He stumbled forward, throwing out his hands to save his fall and bowled headfirst into orc backside.

The big green brute swung round with a growl and drove its wide sword into silt inches from the elf’s face, making Chase shriek, piercingly. He scrambled away, tripping up another of the orcs in the process. They tumbled down, red braids flying about their ugly head.

“We don’t have to do this,” Mortimer pleaded, “just lower your weapons and we can go our separate ways.”

“Give it up, aardvark!” Patrick gruffed, knocking the helmet-wearing orc back with his portly strength, “they are NOT friendly!”

“But… but…” he could only stand and watch as his friends continued fighting.

Chase was crawling about in-between feet, trying to get away and failing, every time he saw an opening for retreat the orcs moved and so he stabbed at their ankles. It was an effective distraction and one Patrick was using to his advantage rather well.

The orcs decided enough was enough and turned and fled, back to their camp and away from the deranged weirdos who dared to bring a fight to them. What was the world coming to?

Chase rubbed, fussily, at the mud on his knees, finally standing up and arranging his plate-mail tidily, “see? Orcs are bad. Goblins are bad. Wargs are bad. This is my home! I know best. From now on, you heed my warnings and keep your long trap shut. Or I’ll shut it permanently.” He pointed his bloody blade at Mortimer, his bright eyes narrowing.

“Sure,” he gulped. “My mistake.”

Patrick clapped the elf on the back, “you did good, kid! Great job.”

“I… I did, didn’t I? I even got orc blood on my blade, look, see? Well, I never. Maybe I can be a warrior after all. Even so, a dragon is a very different matter than some cowardly orcs.”

Patrick wagged his finger at Mortimer, “next time we see orcs, we fight, not chit chat!”

The aardvark looked down, his ears drooping, “yes, dear.”

“We all make mistakes,” Lizzy assured him, gently, tucking away her knife. “But he’s right, you should have brought a weapon of your own. We were offered a whole selection back in the glade, there must have been something you could have carried.”

“I know, I know,” he said, miserably. “Wait! I do have a weapon! Of course, how could I be so silly?’ he smacked his forehead.

“Oh?” Lizzy’s head tilted, her white ears flopping with curiosity.

“Flamed!”

Lizzy folded her arms, “you left her back at – never mind…”

A soft whinny sounded out next to them and the beautiful, chestnut mare tossed her head.

Chase spun round, wildly, “where did that horse come from?” he demanded.

“This is my magical steed,” the aardvark explained, patting her neck.

“Well, that could have come in useful, I dunno, five minutes ago!”

Mortimer leaped up on her back, grabbing a fistful of golden mane as she reared, proudly, her conker-shade coat glimmering in the sun. “We’re safe as houses now we have Flamed with us, I promise you,” the aardvark beamed, “she could even give that Winged Horror a run for its money!”

Chase pursed his thin lips and eyes the horse that appeared from nowhere with great suspicion, “looks like an ordinary horse to me,” he said, “though a very nice-looking horse I must say…”

Flamed lunged and bared her teeth at the elf, who snapped his head back, “I am NOT a horse! I am a nightmare, I’ll have you know. We are an ancient race of magical creatures from another dimension entirely!”

“That told you,” Lizzy grinned.

“Not my fault it looks like a horse,” Chase insisted, “I didn’t know it could talk, did I?”

Mortimer held up a grey digit, “ah, but she can do more than talk; show him, Flamed.”

The nightmare nodded, spreading out a wide set of cream, red-tipped feathered wings, her mane rippling like fire as a tall, spired silver horn appeared at the star-shaped patch of gold on her forehead, pointing at the elf with warning.

He gulped, “nightmare. Got it.”

Patrick joined in, “I suppose it’s the same as getting rabbits and hares mixed up, isn’t it?”

“That’s a good comparison, actually,” Lizzy agreed, “I know a few hares; get called rabbits quite often, but if you know how to tell the difference then you never mistake them. They’re rather tall and handsome and they never have floppy ears like mine. Big eyes, too, so dark and brooding,” she stared off into space, wistfully.

“Anyway,” Mortimer coughed, “let’s keep going, shall we?”

“I want to say that’s a good idea,” Chase muttered miserably, walking on and watching for those tricky rocks that embarrassed him in the fight, “but I know where we’re going. I hate being out in the open, I like it in the trees, it’s so exposed out here and any minute that nasty flappy thing could appear in the sky and where will we take cover?”

“Nasty flappy thing?” Flamed asked, her ears pricking with interest, “are we after another dragon?”

“In a roundabout sort of way, yes,” Mortimer nodded from atop her back. He had a bad feeling about this whole thing; the elf said they were going east, the elf also said that the land of evil was in the east, past the mountains. If the land of evil was the desert of the Lowlands, where his nephew worked, then the dragon he was after was, in fact, the same dragon who had sent them here. What would Anar say if he turned up in his office with an elf who wanted to kill his boss? ‘Sod off’, most likely. The only glimmer of hope he had was that the Winged Horror was another dragon and they could kill that one, instead. But that meant Chase would have to face the terrible thing and Chase couldn’t fight his way out of a wet paper bag, currently. He was also still sulking that the orcs they met hadn’t been nice and cheery like he’d expected them to be. That had been most unfair!

Flamed’s hooves thudded into softer ground as they walked in silence, ever vigilant, eyes and ears open to whatever hazards may be on the upcoming horizon.

Chase’s foot squelched, his finely-stitched leather elf shoe covered in muck, “found the swamp,” he grimaced, sucking his now bare foot out, “great. Lost a shoe already. Somebody prop me up, please? I’m not falling in that.”

“I’ve got you, lad,” Patrick offered a blue, quilted arm to grab while the elf pulled his footwear from the mire.

He looked at it as it dripped, and he sighed, “yuk.”

“I’ve had worse! Lost a welly in horse shit before, that smell follows you everywhere…”

“If only I had Brook with me,” Chase whined, “she’s great at reading maps, she’d know where to go. My sister’s great, she should be Glade Guardian, not me.”

Patrick tried to give him a boost, “you stabbed at orc ankles, everyone has to start somewhere, not everyone fights a dragon straight off the bat like I did. Why, I’d never even wielded a blade, before!”

The elf gave the human a withered look, “I’ve been training for years and orc ankles was the best I’ve done.”

“See? Onwards and upwards! Today, orc ankles, tomorrow – a dragon!”

“Stop reminding meeeeee!”

Ripples spread out in the thick water between grassy tufts and meadow blooms. Something was moving in the deeper depths of the mire, twisting its way under the surface, a row of spikes breaking through at intervals before sinking back down again.

Patrick, ever the optimist, gave the elf a prod, excitedly, “here’s another chance to prove your mettle. Maybe it’s a swamp serpent? A giant, killer eel? A bunyip? A bog demon?!”

Chase pushed out his bottom lip, a deep frown on his pale, angular face. “I hate you,” he said.

“Could just be a spiky fish,” Patrick shrugged. “It’s good experience for you either way. Just don’t fall in. Or trip over another stone. Maybe draw it out to you, actually, just to play it safe.”

Chase was still sulky, “and how do I do that? Wave my arms and shout: ‘Hi there! I’m a tasty snack!’?”

“Find a stick and poke it. That should upset it. I’ll do it if you won’t,” Patrick said, firmly.

Chase threw up his arms; “fine! I’ll provoke the monster. Have it your way Mr. Bravery.” He wandered off for a stick, muttering under his breath in his light, airy tones; “poke it with a stick. Upset it. Maybe it’s a bog demon? Maybe it’s a killer serpent? What a day this has turned out to be…”

A stick wasn’t hard to track down and Chase was soon back, dragging a branch behind him.

Patrick tried to object, insisting on something shorter.

“I am NOT getting anywhere near that thing!” he smashed it into the bog’s muddy water, sending out a great dirty splash that made Flamed trot back, smartly, blowing air from her nostrils.

Lizzy also stepped back, her nice, clean, beige riding jodhpurs preferably staying that way.

Only Patrick remained by the mire’s edge, standing firm during the splashing, his hand ready at the pommel of his sword. “That’s it, lad! Piss it off! Try and whack its spikes.”

“Maybe it doesn’t want to fight?” Chase asked, hopefully. “Maybe it’s a nice monster?”

“Oi!” Mortimer knew when he was being made fun of.

They waited a minute longer. Chase made one last attempt at goading whatever lay beneath the surface, spraying his golden armour with muck before dropping the weighty branch down with a thump. “Nope. It’s friendly, alright. Oh well, moving on. There’s an elf settlement before the mountain range; we’ll find rest and company there. I think we have a ways to go before there’s a traversable pass into the dark lands, even a royal city if I remember rightly. Not that any of our folk have been this far out. We like the forest. There’s no swamp monsters in there.”

Patrick looked genuinely disappointed, throwing the swampy area one last hopeful glance as they began to search for drier ground. “Maybe we should have thrown it some food?”

“I am not wasting our snacks on a big fish,” Chase snapped.

A bellowing roar filled the air; they froze, spinning back to the bog, but still nothing was rising up to bite them. Where had that sound come from? It sounded like an animal of sorts. A wild animal. An angry animal.

“I think we upset something,” Mortimer frowned.

“Look!” Chase pointed, his face full of fear, “in the sky! The Winged Horror!”

A black flapping thing was wheeling high above them, off in the distance by the mountain peaks.

“Hide! Take cover!” the elf scrabbled frantically for a boulder or tall clump of grass, anything to conceal himself against.

Mortimer shielded his eyes, trying to identify it was a dragon or a nightmare, but he didn’t get much of a chance because something red and sleek and wet moved at alarming speed out of the corner of his vision, striking out at Flamed with wide jaws. A spiked, ridged spine wrapped around them in a coil as he shouted out in alarm, “flipping heck!”

Patrick leapt, first into the fray as always, smacking slimy scales with the edge of his blade, “Chase! Forget the Winged whatever and get stuck in!”

Flamed tried to kick out, but it had her tight in no time at all; a long, fang-filled jaw rising up at her equine face. She bared teeth and headbutted it with her horn, jamming her spiral into the roof of its stinking maw.

Mortimer, not wanting to be seen just sat there doing nothing, kicked at its coil with his sturdy walking shoe, finding the beast to be more solid than he bargained for. His toes hurt.

Chase drove his dagger into the scaly face of whatever this monster was and it pulled back from Flamed’s horn with a rasp and hiss, turning on him instead.

“Yikes!” he whizzed the dagger in front of him in frantic slashes, treading further out of its reach.

The roar could be heard again from the distant skies.

“Battle attracts it,” Chase wailed, “we need to get out of here!”

Patrick shoved the elf back into range, “oh no, you don’t! Kill it! It’s got the nightmare in its grasp, get angry! Retaliate!”

“The nightmare can look after itself,” he pleaded, watching the silver spiral skewer into the thick, slimy, cable-like body with a spray of hot blood, pinning it to the filthy grass..

“Take my sword and cut its fucking head off, boy!” Patrick held out the massive, two-handed weapon with a look in his eyes that dared the elf to defy him.

Chase gulped, grasping the handle, his slim arms dropping with the weight of the ancient blade, “I can barely lift the sodding thing!”

“Useless whelp!” Patrick roared, “stone-kicking streak of piss! Cry about it, cry about it and run home to your sister like the pathetic plonker you are!”

“Aaaaaaaahhh…” Chase hefted it up, the narrow edge glinting in the light, bringing it down with a heavy crunch into flesh and bone and gore.

The gigantic swamp snake gurgled, terribly, the cleave at its neck spewing out thick clots of blood as it steamed.

“Want me to insult you again? You know I will!” Patrick threatened in a low growl.

Chase grunted with effort, lifting up the sword and finishing the act, the blood-soaked weapon burying itself into the soft ground beneath the serpentine body as it sliced through it completely. He stood over it, almost sobbing, his body shaking, not quite believing what he had done.

Lizzy looked to the sky, “it’s gone,” she said, quietly.

“Good. It distracted us from the present danger,” Patrick warned. “Flying beasties can’t sneak up on you like these things clearly can,” he gave the snake a kick with his boot, it was still gushing out hot blood onto the wet grass. “Now, give me my sword back. Maybe we can get you a real man’s blade on our jolly little excursion.”

Lizzy pulled at the thick, solid body, helping Flamed free as Patrick cleaned his sword, swiping it on the ground.

Flamed tossed her firey mane, grateful to shake her legs free and get some feeling back in them, “that had me wrapped tight,” she snorted. “I am most embarrassed.”

Mortimer patted her flank, “don’t be, my dear, you were marvellous! I’d hate to be on the wrong end of that horn. Such a formidable foe, you are!”

She trotted, smartly, looking pleased at the flattery.

Chase couldn’t take his eyes off the slain beast at the edge of the swamp. He had done that. Him! He’s baulked at killing chickens before and now, now he had chopped a monster’s head clean off! “Let’s go see some fellow elves,” he breathed, “we’ll find no trouble there. I need a stiff drink.”

Patrick walked beside him, beaming, “now you’re talking! I think I’ve got a pack of cards in one of these pockets, do you play?”

Chase furrowed his pale brow, “cards?”

“Oh, I shall have to teach you how to play! Can’t get pissed without a good game of cards to shout over. Isn’t that right, Monty?”

But Mortimer was still staring at the mountain range, lost in thought. If the Winged Horror appeared again, he would try to catch its attention. If his nephew was riding around up there, he wanted him to see them. Anar would settle this silly dragon-hunting business once and for all. They could have took the serpent’s head back, fibbed that it was a dragon, it was scary and scaly – what more did the stuffy elf elder want? But he knew his perfectly reasonable suggestion would be shouted down by Lord Patrick who was having the time of his life right now. And he HAD promised his human pal adventure, hadn’t he?

They really did look like a bunch of storybook adventurers when they approached the elf city; it’s high, white walls of chalk standing out among the surrounding farm fields and well-worn cart tracks. A solid wooden double-door covered with iron portcullis was at its entrance, shut and closed up. On the ramparts, armoured individuals with long pikes could be made out, their helmets bobbing about above the chiselled rock.

Chase’s golden armour plate was covered in blood, his one shoe still sopping wet and squelching as he walked.

Flamed, too, was streaked with red from stabbing away at the beast, the spray not so noticeable upon her chestnut body, but her pale muzzle had been dyed, her gold forehead star and silver horn was covered with it.

Patrick had also been in bleeding range.

Lizzy had moved the snake and her pure white albino fur wasn’t so clean afterwards. Her nice beige jodhpurs had stains that no amount of Persil would wash out. Her work polo top luckily was already crimson.

Only Mortimer was still clean and to be honest he felt bad about it; like he hadn’t pulled his weight in the fight, which he hadn’t, he’d just sat and kicked a bit. It was as though he wasn’t really a member of the party, merely a spectator. Next time he would try to get stuck in, even if it was orcs.

They needed a bath and a beer.

“Guess we’ll knock, shall we?” Patrick raised his fist before the thick door. With a solid bang he struck it and then winced, shaking his wrinkly hand. “Could have put in a doorbell. What if I’m from Royal Mail?”

“Hello!” Mortimer cupped his long mouth and hollered.

Lizzy turned to Chase, “is there a special elf way of gaining entry to places like this?”

He shook his head, “if it’s anything like our forest, they’ve seen us coming a mile off. They know we’re here.”

“Rude blighters.”

“Yes,” Chase agreed, “they are, but at least they won’t fight us.”

An arrow whizzed down from on high into the stone path beneath their feet. It ‘sproing’-ed as it hit, vibrating.

“You sure about that?” Mortimer asked, frowning.

“Bugger off!” A loud, authoritative voice called out.

“We’re here for room and board!” Chase called up, turning to the others, “I’ll deal with this, one elf to another.”

“Are you hell as like! We’ve already signed your grotty papers, now scram before I let you have it!”

They gave each other confused shrugs, “I am from the Glade within WillowWood!” Chase yelled, “I am an fellow elf!”

“You don’t fool me! What about the one on the horse, eh? Think changing the colour will fool us? You’ve got to be kidding me!”

Mortimer fidgeted, joining in the shouting, “I’ve never been here before in my life, I am a traveller from a strange land. I have gold!” He hissed to Chase, “we do have gold, don’t we?”

“We don’t use gold in the forest…”

“Well, what do you use? We’ve got to tempt them with something!”

Chase shouted up, “we have precious stones from dwarven mines beyond the Shining city!”

“Yeah,” Mortimer hollered, “we got those!”

The angry elf was unabashed; “And you know where you can shove your stones! Ten percent of our GDP we’re paying you for your sodding pity projects! And don’t think about sending any more goblins for handouts, neither!”

“We don’t like goblins!” Chase spread his hands out, beseechingly.

“That’s the best joke yet, that is! I’ll count to three and that’s being generous…”

Patrick reddened with frustration, “I’m a dragon killer, I am!”

This did not have the desired effect upon their unseen conversationalist, “right! That’s it! Let ‘em have it, boys!”

Arrows shot up into the air and the group scattered, swiftly, back down the neat stone path that was the main track into the elven city, a mix of surprise and alarm at their collective lips.

“Even the elves aren’t flipping friendly!” Patrick raged.

“I don’t understand it,” Chase said, exasperatedly, “we’ve always gotten along with the elves of the White temple. They love moonstones! Or they did, anyway. What are we going to do now? Mortimer, why don’t you fly up there and talk to them with Flamed? One look at that horn and maybe they’ll change their minds.”

Mortimer paled, shaking his head. They’d mentioned his horse. They’d noticed him with a definite air of hostile recognition and it had not gone well.

“Anar, what have you done?” he moaned softly to himself. “The orcs are evil. The elves don’t like you… I thought you were a hero. I want to go home. I want to go home and forget any of this ever happened.”

He stared at the ground with burning eyes. This was a disaster. A complete and total shambles.

He saw tracks in the pathway. Wheel tracks. A large vehicle with treaded tyres had been here recently. Something modern. Something from his home world of Earth.