FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

I am not quite sure if what I'm doing is pure regret or fascination. The trip from my home village to the harbor at the Far East part of the continent was a contribution, but to travel with a group of seafaring Lycans is something that borders both. I'm not a good swimmer, mind you, and what I ever claimed to be one is a part lie. My sister knows it, and it's her rights to be concerned with my journey to the unknown land. For her, this is a complete suicide.

The moon is high on the dark velvet surrounding our beloved earth, shining its pale silver light down to the land, the dirt we stomped on, and the element that gives unending lives, and the one that takes it. But for that night, it's a feast of our bestial selves, where we howl to the moon, bathing ourselves under the pale moonlight, dancing with the devil itself when we turn into a monster; a man, but also a wolf. A terror feasting fear of humans jealous of what masterpiece we can achieve.

Or so I thought, which is strange, considering what I've known during the travel to the ship.

Apparently, in Adaline, it's not uncommon to meet a Lycan, called werewolf symbolically by our own race, to actually greet each under in our bestial form. Our group, five Lycans riding on horses, is somehow stared at by some female Lycans, which, considering our...bestial transformation, is attracted by our physique. Not all that chiseled by a Lycan's standard, but we are ripped, all muscles. Ah, those bloody whores. Never got enough with giant wolves.

Wolf whistles aside (I am not even sure if Lycans can whistle, or they also call howling a 'whistling'), the harbor is on the sights. The full moon is high and the night is still young. The hour of the wolves is still far from over. The pub is still open, full of sea-worthy sailors, humans and Lycans alike, gutting down the fine catch of the day, washing them with alcoholic stupor. I'm not in the mood to get drunk, because we don't have our 'catch'.

A soft breeze touches my fur, a feeling of a person coming for you. My instinct is strong, and if I'm in a gambling table, I'll bloody nail it.

A Lycan, not bigger than me or my Tragorian companions, walks past me and sits on the chair in front of me, separated by the table. He makes low growling sounds, apparently a grumpy fellow, but merry in alcohol. Oh, the sailor's life, never quite get to it.

"A group of suicidal Tragorians is not accounted for, not to mention you're all greenhorns," says the werewolf. "You'll be a fucking liability if you can't prove your worth."

Of course, it all comes to this moment. Lycans are known to be violent, and he is talking about us having the guts to kill one. Easy task, yet the old bastard is talking of a different thing.

"You can shiv a guy with your claws, but can you handle the pressure of riding the storm? I bet you can't. The problem is, you all volunteered, all the way from the racist nation to this small beer house, looking for a sailor to sail to the new world."

Then I make my move. "We can survive on our own," I say. "You say you mind some...minors."

"Hey kid, this ain't no forest we're talking about. If you can't even take a boat out to the sea, you're no-go."

His statement is something that makes my inner wolf (or outer wolf, depends on what you actually think) wants to brutalize the hell out of this old sea dog to pieces. It is a bold move, yes, but I don't really have any guts to a Lycan with strong eyes. I don't want to make new enemies in an unknown region.

The tension lasts for some minutes, but before we know it, there is a laugh. The laugh, coupled with a weird kind of howl and yelp, comes from the same sailor we're facing to. This sudden turn of event even caused one of my friends to say, "Oi, Hans, I think this old crank lost a bolt. You sure this is our wolf?"

Before I can reply, the old sailor returns to his composure, twitching his ears one way or another. He takes his gulp of the mug, and return to face us, now in a merrier atmosphere, fitting with the condition of the place.

"Ah, I'm just playing around with you boys. You don't need to be sailors, but I won't guarantee any of us will survive this oceanic trip. The name's James by the way. I've got a proper crew and a proper ship to start sailing, we're just waiting the supplies to come in. The night is always the perfect time to start sailing, eh? The wind is calm and there are no rough waves to battle, but expect one. You boys are no sailors, but we have others like you, so expect a merry companion."

Then my brown-furred friend asks something. "Are you going to the unknown land?" he says, which is making the old wolf happier.

"Oh of course, boy!" chippered the werewolf. "But, we're not going to go there directly. That's plain suicide considering the rough seas. I have a roll of map to explain the route."

A big lump of paper is sprawled upon us, covering the mahogany table. It shows detailed points of the Ternor continent, a very great achievement in geographical creation, and a marvelous continent at best. At the same time, I notice the small island near the position of where our harbor should be in the map.

"We're going to Isola," says James while pointing to the small island. "If you want to know, it's a small region some northeast from us. It's a mysterious mostly unexplored island, but it's a good place to take some well-earned rest before crossing the sea with the new steam boat."

One of my companions jumps a little with the mention of 'steam boat'. Yes, for us, it's a technological marvel that surpasses the use of factory machines, and it's only available for some.

Which, for some reason, the fact that it's 'only available for some', makes me concerned on how this raggedy wolf can even get one.

"Uh...is that really a steam boat?" I say. "It's quite rare to have such marvel of engineering."

"What, so you want me to get you a diesel ship? That shit is money-eating! You can burn some woods and coals for fuel and it's easy to operate without any use of winds when there's no one."

"No, I mean, how do you get one, James?"

"Please, just call me Jim, and...it's a secret."

"Give Hans a break, old chap, and tell us how you get a bloody steam..."

"James fucking Hemarson! You won't get away with taking my money and my fucking boat!"

At least that's what the shout near the door says. Quite an inappropriate bunch, I might say. It is a bearded man that comes and shove me and Spencer (yes, that's the one beside me) and put a knife on James throat. My instincts tell me that if any of us don't take the chance to put a claw in him, that bloke won't see another day.

I hear some conversations between those two, but I can't take notice when a sudden gunshot near the door makes the pub silent.

Another man, around the age of 50 or so, with a smoking revolver on his hand, just shot down the same man that threatens James. I start to panic, indecisive of what I should do at this point. The same man is still alive, barely, but is still able to spit out curses.

"You fucking cheat, if I know that last hand is a fault you won't get any of those luxuries. Now you take a gun in a knife fight, you fucking dog shit."

"Dude, that's not even my crew. They're on MY ship. That's the bartender."

It is true. The middle-aged man walks nearer and points the gun to the man's temple. The man clearly is angry, but I can sense fear in him, as all wolves can.

"I won't tolerate cheaters in my house, Leonard, and I shot you because of the same reason. Don't lie to me, bastard. I saw your man taking a different card to play. Confess or I won't shoot you."

"Okay, you got me! But I'm not come unprepared."

Some men suddenly turn around and brandish some weapons, from guns to swords. The five of us gulp; we don't expect a bloody fight this early in our journey.

"Never injure a man with many connections," said the man smiling. "Now keep your heads down if you don't want to get..."

The event turns quicker than I expected when a Lycan suddenly throw a flaming bottle of liquor inside, burning some of the tables. James and my group manage to get free from the ambush, amidst the gunfire and the bar fight that surely leave a significant damage to the owner. We run through the small town, occasionally make a turn when there are armed people shooting at us. For me this experience is a bloody disgrace. How can we, a werewolf almost immune to bullets, can be cornered and almost got killed before our journey even starts?

Without any time to have a proper talk, we finally reach the port where James puts the ship. It is a turbine-based steam ship, which has characteristics of two enclosed turbines on each side of the ship. There are three masts with sails drawn in, without the necessity for a sailor to climb up and prepare the sail due to the spring-loaded mechanisms. The ship itself is marvelous at best, with new steel parts that surely can break any obstacles in the sea.

"Oh, goddamn it, that son of a bitch is relentless!" says the werewolf. "You five, get on the ship! My crewmate will tell you what to do. Where's your things?"

"On a carriage near a port," said my cream-furred friend. "Port 2 I guess?"

"My men will take it to you. Get on the ship while I deal with this fucking human."

We don't really want to get in his way. He's an idiot, but quite brave and foul-mouthed. I respect that kind of man, or wolf.

The stair up is long, but the five of us are greeted with welcome by a crew, directing us to our rooms below deck. The room is not very furnished, but it's enough to have a sturdy bed than forcing ourselves to turn to full wolf and sleep, which is tiring.

As I reach my room, gunshots are heard, echoing through the porthole. I quickly run to the upper deck with what my paws can do, and I see some bloody scene.

That same idiot is carrying a bloody gatling gun and start shooting like crazy to the pursuers! Insanity, coupled with foul mouth, is enough to make me think he's not what he seems to be.

I don't want to see what that giant gun has done damage to, but I can see James, battered but alright, walking up the stairs and meet me. By the dark night, he's not as imposing as he actually acts, but I don't want to piss this kind of werewolf.

"Kid, what's your name?"

He asks me about my name. How bloody lucky I am.

"H...Hans," I reply shakily. "Hans Rezmirn, sir."

"Just call me Jim, Hans. Okay, we'll set sail after the supplies are properly put. For now, take a rest. You'll gonna need it."

The wind breeze is small, but I know that it's a feeling of adventure inside me. The wolf part of me is excited for becoming a sea dog, but at the same time, my humanity is calling for Lilac to come. Oh, Lilac, a sweet young wolf, alone in our home, with no friends. It's hard for me to say, but I suddenly doubt my decision. Will I be able to come home to share the news to my only family, or will I be a dying memory?

Either way, the night is long, and it is a start of everything that's going to paint the colors in my life. My life is going to become as colorful as a rainbow, and as strong as the wind blows.