Harem Of Fur

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In a land the desert had long since taken, warriors roamed and inevitable clashes were made as well as friendships. Throughout this land, Gods were worshiped and strange beings walked the earth; beautiful exotic creatures known as furries; part animal and part human. The leaders of this land worshiped a God that opposed the creation of such beings; they were abominable and as such were cast out and sentenced to death.

An ancient brotherhood in service to the God that created these lovelies from primordial clay soon found themselves in dire straits; these warriors were slowly being picked off for the furry creatures under their protection. The remaining members of the brotherhood came together as yet another warrior was killed and his Harem scattered to the four winds, the furry females all running for their lives and making their way to the other members for their safety.

These furries served the men that protected them, the men that worshiped their creator and lovingly abide by their commands. These warriors soon decided that if the country was declaring war on their ways, they would come together and protect their women with their numbers. A new Harem was created in secrecy and the furry women all flocked to it when they received word that it was built and safe to do so.

Upon entering the main room, old stone steps were covered in silken pillows, dark curtains lining the windows and doors leading off into various places that the Masters would soon reveal. The room was Middle Eastern in design and the walls were solidly built to defend the occupants from rude surprises. It was beautifully tiled and decorated in an exotic fashion befitting the creatures that would soon reside within its boundaries. The Knights of Khenmu looked at their work and nodded their approval to each other, some knew each other and some did not but as they were all a part of the same goal it did not matter.

Each Knight had some insignia to prove his worth within the brotherhood and while some were furries, most were actually human. The women wandered into the main room, some twitching tails nervously and others looking around curiously. All were waiting for the Masters to tell them what would happen next, some had been in Harems to serve Masters before while others were just seeking protection from the men that chased them and had yet to find their own Knight to care for them. Some of them had their own Master’s killed when the edict was created and few had served or even met any of these Master’s. The women were obviously frightened, running for their lives and not knowing who to trust.

Their tale begins in this very building, gathered in the main room with baited breath...

Marcus Ayus - a history

The life of Marcus Ayus is one devoted, primarily, to death. Death has been his stock and trade for many of his twenty-eight years on this planet. Death has afforded him comfort and luxury. Death has given his existence meaning.

But it was not always so. His parents were seperated by class and race - his father, a European aristocrat; his mother, an Indian maid in the service of the aristocrat's estate. Illegitimate but loved by his father, Marcus was granted opportunities far beyond his caste, and quickly developed both physically and mentally. Though he would never inherit his father's name, he could inherit the man's steely determination and aggressive business acumen. Such was Ayus' devotion to his father that when an Arabian noble killed him over a trade dispute, Marcus took a vow of silence that lasted a year. Then twelve years old, Marcus stood at his father's grave, a solitary sentry, and considered this the old man's final lesson.

The answer was clear. The only appropriate response was vengeance.

No longer under the care of his father, Marcus travelled across the Middle East, scavenging and working for food, forever moving across the wastelands from one town to another. This was not aimless wandering, but rather a search for the greatest minds on Earth - the warriors, the scribes, the tacticians and a legion of other learned men. Ayus devoted himself to a new study, the study of death. He would train his body and mind to become a bringer of death and then he would bring it to the house of the Arab nobleman.

For seven years Marcus toiled under the most skilled teachers, enduring daily punishment in his quest. He learned all the ways a man can die, with hands or sword or spear, and mastered each one. As his adolescence gave way he was left a feral man, a coiled viper waiting to strike. On his nineteenth birthday he made yet another journey through scorching sands.

He began with the nobleman's business associates and their families. Then he slaughtered the Arab's friends, acquaintances, cousins, uncles. The goal was not purely to kill his father's murderer; Marcus had committed himself to fully wiping out the man's very existence by killing anyone who had ever known him. It took more than a year, but by the time the Arab found his own son's defiled body hanging from a gate near his home, Marcus had already reduced him to a quivering mess. When Ayus finally came for him, the nobleman begged for death.

It was slow. It was painful. And for Marcus Ayus, it was glorious.

His thirst for vengeance sated, Marcus developed a new thirst, one borne of his association with death. It didn't take long before his services as an assassin were requested by men both great and small. Whatever the job, for the right price Marcus could guarantee a clean kill. Soon he had amassed a fortune to rival his father's, the fear and respect of powerful kings allowing him to live in comfort. And yet, for all his new luxury, nothing could quell the burning desire in his heart for blood.

Solace came only in the words of Khenmu. Here was a god who created life, not death, who deemed this world fit for his most precious gift. Marcus first came in contact with a furry while visiting a favoured client; the client paid him well with gold and with his first furry slave. The night that followed saw Ayus tap into a lust he had previously felt only for death. The attraction was obvious - feral in many ways, he simply held spiritually what they displayed physically. Soon he gathered a fine harem of his own, willing slaves to their master's needs.

That all changed with a wave of violence that not even he could imagine. The call of a new, evil god found willing ears in a decrepit mob. They swept across the land, slaughtering every furry who crossed their path. Marcus was not at home when they finally descended on his slaves. He returned to find their bloody corpses scattered across his courtyard. He buried the bodies and felt very much like he had as a child. Again, the thirst for revenge; again, the patience to enact it properly.

Prostrate, he came before the Brotherhood of Khenmu. Marcus Ayus, whose name means "Dedicated to Mars for the duration of his life," offered his sword and skill as a warrior and assassin. His first duty was to visit the homes of other masters, men he knew and trusted, and warn them of the coming danger. For some, it was too late; for others, too proud to pool their resources, they would know only the blade of the enemy. Turning back towards the Brotherhood's desert sanctuary, Marcus was surprised to come across a familiar figure wandering alone in the sand.

Shana had belonged to one of the last men Marcus had warned. Well, "belonged" might be the wrong word - she seemed too headstrong and the master too weak to be controlled. Ayus' disgust at the master's behaviour was tempered by is interest in the stubborn slave. Her aggressive streak was intriguing to the assassin, and when her master foolishly declined to join him at the harem, Marcus warned her personally. She, too, was foolish, and stubbornly refused to leave her home. To find her alone, dehydrated and lost, could mean only that her home was gone.

Coming to her aid, Marcus brought her to the sanctuary. Establishing her as a mistress of the new harem, he knew that she could never be like the other slaves. In his view, a certain decorum had to be kept, a certain level of professionalism that ensured she remained a figure of authority to the others. She would taunt him, pulling at his strings in search of a reaction; Khenmu's words were his only thing holding his natural instincts back.

There were other slaves, some needing a guiding hand, others well-experienced. But there were so few of them. Ayus' blood boiled over with thoughts of bloody vengeance. But first we wait, he told himself. First comes the plan, then comes death.

It is said that those born under the Dragon are unique. Raven Starhunter was born in the year of the Dragon. And it was again the year of the dragon when he first went to battle. He lived his life as a free spirit for years, learning as much as he could about the world in his younger days. Indeed, when his second Year of the Dragon rolled around, he had already learned the arts of the Smith and the Baker. But that was also the year in which he witnessed his entire family slaughtered at the hands of a group of soldiers following orders of a corrupt politician. He became a thief for a time, before moving on to being an assassin. He learned everything he could about anything he could get his hands on. By the time his third year of the Dragon arrived, he had earned fame -- and INFAMY -- as the sole practitioner of the art that had come to be known as Bladeflash. It was a style of fighting that involved high speed strikes with both bare fists and the weapons he held, no matter what that weapon was. It was during those years that he'd first heard of a cult working towards the extermination of the Furreh, those second, but no less important, creations of the Ancient Artist, the god Khnemu. He did what he had to to protect them in those years. But it was with great surprise that he found out that he was the descendant of an ancient house of a desert city founded by the legendary Knight Brotherhood dedicated to the Artist.

He'd traveled to that land, and continued his training. By the time he actually put on the Raven Amulet that marked his family, he had perfected his art, and had turned it into something worthy of the Creator-god he now served. And served he willingly did, as he heard the voice of Khnemu whispering to him, teaching him, refining him further. The ancient Artist spoke of days when servants of a rival would try to exterminate his second creation, and of the Brotherhood's role in protecting them. So it was that Raven travelled into the lands once again, to see for himself the truth in Khnemu's warnings.

He witnessed the atrocities first-hand, as this cult swept through the lands. He stalked them, hunting them as only his teenage years as an Assassin allowed. He was an adult, now, however, trained with the best. And he knew that the attacks must end. He didn't expect to be written about when he finally acted. But it was one of the slaves who kept the records of that black day when the Bladeflash was unleashed.


"They came upon us in the night. They broke the doors, stepped THROUGH the walls using dark arts. They came through the windows, their weapons aflame with their zealotry. The eyes of the human soldiers were those of the fanatic. They were lit with a maniacal gleam as they surrounded the Masters and slew them, sinking their bloodstained blades deep in their flesh. Only when they turned upon the slaves did the fear truly begin, however. One look at the followers of this evil god and it was clear that there would be much bloodshed. We had no chance. We knew we would die.

But then something appeared behind the zealots. A dark figure with a sword and a strange-looking spear. He was a terrible figure, full of rage and hatred. At first, we thought he would be our doom. But the cultists turned to him and were struck with horror at what they saw. It wasn't until the weapons in his hands came into the light with him that we realized why. They were covered in blood. The blood of the other soldiers, dripping from both weapons. And the eyes of this dark figure seemed to glow as bright as the green emeralds that adorned the black amulet he wore.

It was as if the gods had loosed a force of nature upon the cultists. The way this human fought was a dance, a hurricane, a whirlwind of flashing steel and dark hair, striking with the fury of the heavens. We knew not what this portended, but soon, there stood a lone figure in the room, surrounded by the dead and the dying, as he stalked towards one of the few he'd left alive. We could only watch in awe of this dark and terrible force as it interrogated the knight that laid bleeding on the floor beneath its black-booted heel with its sword at his throat.

And then finally it spoke to us, and gave us its name. It...he...offered us sanctuary. Though we were afraid, we knew that it was our only choice. We followed this monster, this man, and eventually came upon a great kingdom in the desert. We were still slaves there, but we were treated far better than we had been in recent years."

So he had initially signed up to perform the duties of a palace guard. Eventually, he was put in place as one of the Harem's masters, as his line. He did so willingly, knowing it would be easier to protect them from within the high, fortified walls of the Palace. And his training as an assassin made it doubly easier, because of the many nooks and crannies one could hide in. He'd made a point of mapping the Palace early on, and created a rather unique system of tablets in sections that were harder to navigate.

Now, the fourth Year of the Dragon approached. The Knights' Harem was one of the safest places for the Furreh in the entire world. But things were not all well. The flames of war came, and with it came word, via refugees, of an army sweeping the land in the name of their god. And Raven knew that he had not exterminated the sick, twisted ideals of the cult that he had fought. And now the Brotherhood must gather.

A man can have his entire life laid out for him, before he has ever been born. Every step, every iteration, every lesson that he is to learn, every thing that he is to do in his life is meticulously planned out for him. It can give comfort to some to know that they never need to worry about the life they will lead. Being born into wealth, being the child of privilege, life was a simple thing considering the poverty and trials that the majority of the world was forced to fight through. But while it may be perfection to some, it could be torture to a man borne of a wild spirit, yearning to be free and explore the world. One of many sons of a prominent noble family, Xavier was not the kind to simply accept his life. He was the fifth son born to his father...not even born to his first wife either...as such he was merely an inhabitant of his father's palace. His life was simple. He had no duties no responsibilities, but the decadent pampering he lived through as a child made him more than slightly restless. He wasn't raised as anything particular, the first son was the heir, the second son was the merchant, the third son was an immam, the fourth was the adminstrator...but the fifth? He was simply there.

It was an oddly aimless life, learning about writing, poetry, mathematics and history. Learning but accomplishing nothing, existing but not living. It wasn't until he was a young teen that life began to have some kind of meaning for him. It was a strange moment, holding his first sword. It was an exotic piece from far in the east, a curbed blade, long, expertly forged and fashioned by an incredibly skilled artisan. Art and weapon combined into a single glorious expression of elegance. It was a gift from a forgein trader, a tribute to his father. None of his brothers wished to posses it, so Xavier received it, the weapon being seen as a trinket by all but him. Holding the weapon, holding power that could be earned and not given...it was a defining moment in the life of the young man. Twirling that blade, learning to fight with it...spending eight years of his life disobeying the commands and edicts of his teachers to practice the way of the sword from the palace guards were the most productive and beloved of his life. But they were not approved of by his father. A warrior? In the family of the wealthy? Someone who serves others? Heresy!

You couldn't discipline a noble born child...but you could have him killed. Such things were common place in the annuals of the nobility. A single assassin, a dreadful illness, a tragic loss, it was normal. Especially when it came to a fifth son. So his father had the traditional method utilized, a single skilled attacker, a single poisoned blade...but they did not expect a man who had never cast much faith in tradition. Xavier was a warrior, in his heart and in his soul, he had subsumed himself to that lifestyle, the nobles son was gone the second that he heard the barest whisper of movement and he awoke, slaying the assassin without a moment's hesitation. As he spilt that blood, he had the overwhelming knowledge that he was truly a warrior. He fled the palace that day leaving behind his given wealth and instead seeking his own life as a mercenary, his own destiny not one that had been planned for him as an afterthought.

Becoming a true servant soldier was not his choice...to serve and be subservient to another was not his way, but the path of the warrior had many roads and the one he served most readily was that of a mercenary, killing and fighting for money, not loyalty. He earned his keep, his skills with his blade were incredible...and he joined the cardre of a mercenary group without the slightest reservations after he fought four of their warriors single handedly and was victorious. It earned his place, not one that was given to him. He was marching off to war...but he was risking his life because of his own choice. The mercenary cadre was one of the best, always in the employ of some warlord in his conflicts, and the war that Xavier marched off to for the first time was far from his homelands. It was in the frigid north, a war between two princes vying for heir to the throne. The mercenary group that Xavier was a part of was the best cadre of warriors in the entire war. They fought well, winning battles and victories as the cold and fighting exhausted their numbers, the commander falling in battle, the ranks being thinned...until of all the mercenaries, only Xavier remained standing during the final battle, years after his arrival.

It was carnage the likes of which none could rightly comprehend, the final siege on the Prince's fortress. The battle lasted for over three days of constant melee, bloodshed and death. Xavier himself led the final assault inside the citadel, killing the rival prince and gaining the right to whatever spoils he wished. He had his choice of the gold and gems, art and riches, weapons and otherwise...but what drew his attention most was the princess's harem. Five of them...all furry girls. Xavier had never seen their kind before in his life...two of them were tigresses, one was a wolf, one a dragon girl, and one was a rabbit. They were exotic creatures and Xavier couldn't help but be enthralled by them. He took his prize, wealth, and time with the females, enjoying the attentions of them for several weeks before he left the north lands behind. But the memory of the exotic females did not leave him...and nor was it forgotten by others. The Knights of Khenmu knew of this incredible warrior, and on his slow return to his homeland he was met by a secretive representative.

The man knew of his interest and claimed to represent an order dedicated to protecting females like the ones Xavier had developed an admiration for. The word from his homeland of the purges and brutality shocked him...what was wrong with these females? They were created by god just as mankind was strange, but humans always persecuted those who were different, and on that night Xavier swore his loyalty to the Knights of Kenmu, keeping his allegiance secret so that he could buy what was needed with his riches...create a haven for others like him, a place of salvation for them, and give it a face of a man who wasn't associated with the knights. Xavier returned to his home, and the riches he had earned in the northern war were spent on a citadel, isolated from the rest of the country deep in the deserts, a place where the Knights could bring their harems and protect them from the persecution of the world beyond. So far from the trade lanes that even the desert nomads rarely traveled there...a place of safety.


****

Xavier stalked along the battlements of the fortress, gazing down at the world beyond and wondering what kinds of horrors might be waiting to assail them. His violet eyes searched for what might be, as if he were seeking the depths of the future rather than simply the stormy present. He leaned against the battlement, considering his place in this odd brotherhood. He was a warrior, and he was an excellent one, but he hadn't provided any women of his own for this growing harem...instead he had provided the coin needed. It was a commitment, but not on the same level as the other men who had bonded together in secret. He turned back and looked inward as the wind ruffled his long red hair, tied back behind him. He clutched his flowing robes closer to his body and adjusted the katana resting on his left hip. His massive form bent slightly in the sharp wind as he headed for the interior of the fortress, intent on examining the rest of the Brotherhood's hidden citadel.

The man known only as "Master Abra" is one of mystery and interest. How one of his birth status rose to such power is remarkable, considering his upbringing. His father was a chieftain of a barbaric tribe, a clan of pillagers and warriors. Their nomadic ways and fierce demeanor for conquest landed them in several distant lands. In these vast and foreign plains, the boys mother was found and captured. A tigress amongst her own clan, hunters and gatherers who knew nothing of real war. All were slaughtered by the powerful fighters, and certain treasures were claimed. His mother being one such capture. A prize for the leader, his personal servant for whatever pleasures he desired. Her life was filled with constant degrades at the hands of her barbarian master, raped and tormented on a daily basis. It was surprising when she became pregnant, for she was treated with fair kindness and affection. It was only for the child, the half breed bastard that was boiling in her belly. Family was family, and blood was the bond that kept the clan together. The day the boy was born, the mother was killed and fed to the crows. The child was left in the care of the women of the tribe, cleaning and keeping him alive. The boy was born with both traits of his parents. The dark eyes and hair of his mother, but the human form of his father. The future would only be trouble for him, and his father would make sure he was disciplined beyond belief.

The age of six, he was educated by the ways of the clan. To fight with sword and shield, with axe and club. The punishments for not completing the training was nothing shy of torture. Brutal lashes that cut his flesh and left him gashed. A bloody child who couldn't quit shaking and crying, forced to keep going no matter what. It was expected of him, he was not a full blood tribesman. He was an outsider as far as the father saw him, and demanded only the best. It was burned into every training session. Difficult, considering he was never taught speech or writing. He understood by hand motions, and of course he knew what certain words meant when they were shouted. Besides that, his education was limited to fighting.

Seventeen years old, young and angry as can be. The painful years had inflicted constant anger in him, fueling a fire within his tormented form. The last few years had been filled with the raids of his "people". Conquering nearby villages and distant lands alike, killing and slaughtering all underfoot. Capturing slaves and selling them off to larger countries, or keeping them for their own pleasures. He did this as well, taking his own fair share of rewards of women and gold. He had become quite possessive over his properties, the objects he took from war were his and his alone. No matter what the reward was, either it be a golden idol or a golden haired maiden. The battles were always the same. One sided in their favor, brutal tactics and steel weapons beating untrained peasantry. He relished in this combat for the sole reason that with every kill, every increase in skill brought him closer to taking his revenge on the ones around him. He found the chance one late night...or better, it found him. His father was indulging himself with the latest spoils, including a certain already claimed red headed Irish lass. His property, as far as he was concerned. There his father was, naked and roughly abusing the new captive. Assaulting her to no end, the sounds of his pleasure and her pain filling the air.

All those years of pain, of anger and waiting. It broke free, his body twisting and shifting at the tent entrance. His structure breaking and reforming itself, growing larger and changing shape. His skin was covered in white fur, pristine and white as the falling snow outside. Black stripes coursed across him, the traits of his mother. Claws instead of fingertips. Fangs instead of teeth. In an instant, he was upon the couple. He shredded his father to pieces, ripping out his throat with one quick strike. Lifting him and tearing him apart, the tent had transformed into a slaughterhouse. The girl was treated the same way, his youthful inability to control himself taking the blame. Or maybe it was the idea of her own betrayal. The camp became alive with the screams of his former captors. He killed every single warrior, every single servant. No prejudice when it came to his targets. It was the rage that refused to subdue...until he was the only thing left gasping for air. Returning to shape, he was alone for the first time in his life. Naked as the day he was born, crying and scared. Covered in blood and pieces of lingering flesh. The snow was drenched in blood and corpses, some still gripping the swords that failed them so. In this moment of release..a voice spoke out to him. Filling his head with foreign words, strangely understandable. It was Khnum, the creator of the furries. The same who made his mother, and his true distant people. It was a demand of service, to protect his creations with his own might. In return, he would educate him and give him a purpose in this life. Teach him how to control his tiger side. Retribution for a young lifestyle of blood and violence.

From that day forward, he served in Khnums knighthood. A group determined to keep His creations of beauty safe and without the troubles of mortal men. They were privileged with the best of both kingdoms. In return for his dedication to the cause, he was taught speech and the ability to write. He was taught mathematics and the ways of geography, understanding the ways of the civilized world. Before too long, he was living the life of a Master. A lord of his own Harem, the protector of the beautiful and mysterious furries. A life of pleasure and lust, a new battlefield awaited him. If he wanted one of the furries, he would claim her and bring the furry to his chambers. If they persisted and fought back, it was more fun. A different type of battle with every lustful anthro he encountered, finding this life style much more comfortable. All things change, however.

The times had changed, for the worst it seemed. Everyday, reports arrive of war. Of murder and betrayal at the hands of an arrogant Lord and his will to destroy all that are untouched by his fingertips. Backed by thousands of screaming, devoted zealots and an angry God. A kingdom of killers, all bred for one purpose. Destroy everything his Brotherhood stood for and has lived, fought, and bled to keep safe. True, he far from a native of these lands. He had come into power in the past two years, but since his arrival there has been few errors in the Harem he protects. That is, until recently. Times had changed indeed. Instead of the usual flow of patrons, it was determined soldiers. Blood spilled instead of coin, both bodyguard and slaves alike. Men filing into his Harem, his place of residence. His land to protect. An attack of this type had only one goal. Elimination. There was no surrendering, no mercy. Only suffering and cold steel swords. Abra greeted them with the same, using both his barbaric upbringing and his Brotherhood templar training. He brought down an enemy with every strike of his sword, but as soon as the blade cut through the flesh...another took his place. Spear points thrusting from all directions, shields taking place at the front line. The fight for his life had only begun..

It was unfortunate, the ending of his tale. Truly, he would die on his feet, standing tall and swinging his sword. Or he would live by escaping..and leaving his Harem to burn. Khnum spoke once more to him, demanding his escape. Revenge would be claimed, one way or the other. This day would be remembered. Cutting his way through the lines, he escapes with just the robes upon his frame and the sword on his back. Rushing through the woods, the transformation to his anthromorphic state was quickly taken. Once more becoming the white tiger, he follows the Gods words. Go to the desert Harem, the stronghold far to the east. The others will arrive before too long. His goal was set, and he pursued it with speed and vigor. The arrival is somewhat rushed, considering the circumstances. It had taken some time, nearly four days in his travels to arrive here. It was much larger then his own Harem, and the design was suited for the environment. He shifts to his mortal form, adjusting his bone structure as he steps through the front gates. His hair is long, somewhat messy from the journey here. His face is lightly bearded, having been several days since his last hot shower and shave. Large in build, he was one of those men with an exceptionally strong physic. Only the tattered black robes hung from his body, his chest bare and without a single piece of armor. The local slaves were around, the furries and the humans. Both mingling amongst each other, the way things should be.

At the time of his arrival, only three other fabled knights had escaped. These gathering vassals who serve only one ideal. The will of the God, the creator. The ideal to protect was blurred lightly, the favor for vengeance being the dominant trait. He wanted blood for what has happened, but time will tell which tactics need employed. He stands amongst the court, slaves and cheaply hired guards alike. Personally, he was covering in filth. Blood, pieces of cleaved flesh, dirt...the grime was building up from battle and journey. He was in need of a bath and a slave to attend to this need. His eyes searching the selection, wishing to find just the one to clean off his body and dress his wounds. Also to relieve the stress of the day, the loss of his Harem and his own complete retreat. He was unhappy, to say the least.

Corwyn Jahlren
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I had hoped my life would be spent quietly in a laboratory, working on unravelling arcane secrets but otherwise relaxing. For a time, I worked on fashioning golems; mostly putting the steel bodies together and preparing them for activation. It was a while before I learned how they were activated and immediately wished I hadn't.

The way furries - or anthromorphs to use the technical term - were treated always confused me. The few I'd spoken too had shown them to be the same as humans, mentally at least. Why they were treated with such disdain was something I could never understand, beyond some natural human paranoia. Maybe that was why I reacted the way I did when I learned about the final stage of golemcraft; when an anthromorph - their body covered in tattoos to channel magical energy - was placed inside the hollow body before it was filled with molten steel. Their body would be destroyed and the tattoos would transfer some of their consciousness into the steel body before they were burned away.

The full mind was never transferred over, only the basest dregs of intelligence, enough for them to follow simple orders and move the body, but all sense of self; any form of true intelligence, was lost. It was over a month before I set foot in the workshop again.

When I finally did, I would always stall while preparing a new golem body and in my spare time tried to create a small golem that didn't require a sacrifice to power. It was several years before I did, but it worked. Not only did it avoid having to kill an anthro to work, but it was also more intelligent than existing golems and more efficient to create. Still wasn't cheap, but they became a lot more affordable for those who wanted them.

I lived the easy life for a while after that; working on improving the animation process and making the most of my new-found wealth to get my own fully stocked lab and a nice house to go over it. That's when the anthro exterminations started.

At first I thought some lord or other noble had gotten a little nuts and it would stop soon, but they didn't. I started thinking that my discovery was to blame; that since they weren't needed to animate golems anymore, what use they had was gone. Then he came.

I still have no idea who he was and what little divination magic I could work told me that he didn't exist. He said he was a knight of Khnum and said that my discovery had saved countless furries and wasn't to blame for the recent anthro killings; that they would've happened anyway without my discovery. He offered me a place in their order and that what furries could be informed were headed to a fortress in the desert and wanted me to help protect them. I don't know if it was guilt or some sense of nobility that drove me, but I accepted the offer and he gave me the fortresses location in precise enough detail that I could teleport there. Which was what I did after gathering what notes and supplies I could, and hoping that I wouldn't smack face-first into a wall like the last time I tried to teleport. Believe me; it's not as easy as some mages make it look.

Well for once Lady Luck was on my side (well; her or whatever sadistic cosmic being decided to make teleportation so bloody hard); I didn't hit a wall this time, but a pile of cushions. It was a small pile, so it still hurt but it could've been worse. I could've come out of the portal faster and smacked face-first into the pillar, rather than my foot catching on the end of a rug and sending me tumbling into the padding. I pulled myself up and looked around, seeing the anthro women and a few men near by. "I'm okay." I called out. At which point my notebook (which I'd dropped during the teleport) flew out of a dimensional rift and straight into my face. Whatever cosmic being designed the laws of magic is a right bastard who needs his head examined.

David Wolf
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He wasn't so much as Born. No. At First there was a smell, his ear twitched, as he became aware. His body tingled. Then he inhaled. His eyes blinked open to take in the world he was placed upon his piercing yellow eyes taking in his surroundings, looking at his hand, his arm, the fur that covered his body and muzzle black as night, he felt his heartbeat strong within his chest, and a Smile spread over his muzzle, clenching his fist his muscles contracting, he felt the power in his blood, raising his muzzle to the air he let forth a howl that echoed across the sands in the cool night air, a white sash and loincloth all he had to wear he felt the hand of his Creator stroke his fur, guide him, call to him, turning he headed east carried on the winds he came upon a small camp, men talking, he could understand them, his keen senses, hearing, sight, smell, touch, everything, amazed him, entering into the camp the men who saw him were terrified.

They drew their swords, attacked him, something in the back of his head, a whisper of his creator his body moved, words came to his mind and he spoke them, he felt a rush, his blood on fire, it exilerated him as the power left his body, the creators magic flowed through his veins, his magic, knocking the men back their swords dropped in shock, he frowned as he watched the men scramble to their feet, leaning down he picked up the sword, examining it, in awe of its design. The men came at him again, his ear twitched his reflexes reacting he parried one attacker, his ear swiveled around as he heard movement from the largest tent in the camp, a man was watching the fight, his attention drawn back he parried again with a swift spin the mans hand was severed. Grasping the stump the one man fell, as the second man made to attack him a shout rose from the camp and the attacker stopped, he could smell the humans fear, his awe, but the man backed away. Turning he saw a fat man swathed in beautiful clothing approach him. Cocking his head to the side he listened to the man speak calling himself Sultan of the sands, the mans scent, held no trace of fear, but awe, and respect.

And so he came to be, Allowed by the sultan to return to his city with him, he was revered, respected by the people, the sultan having witnessed his fight back in the camp had him trained by the best he could find, sword, spear, claw to hand he was trained as the sultans bodyguard his acute senses and incredible reflex's honed to a deadly edge, as the sultans power grew so did his harem of females. All of whom he had had the pleasure of meeting, and the even greater pleasure of bedding as reward for service to his sultan. But word soon came, of a war brewing by heretics, news of others like him, like those in the sultans harem like him, a Bunny, Alexis, and a canine breed, Trixie were were being hunted and killed, for being different. For no other reason then sport, and his blood boiled in rage.

Then the night came when the sultan was killed, assassinated in silence in the dead of night, David had been in his room, kneeling on the soft rugs, meditating and praying to his creator, his ear twitched suddenly, his sword came to his hand and he twirled on his heel, an assassin had come to kill him, in surprise that he had been heard the assassin hesitated.......it was the last breath he ever took....... David's fury reigned over the castle, his friends, the sultan who took him in were killed, as soldiers and civilian alike were slaughtered a howl ripped through the night, the howl itself the last thing many heard as they fell to his sword and his magic David ran to the Sultans Harem, only a few remained now, others having run in fear and were cut down, of the group only Alexis and Trixie remained, and he called to them. Offering his life to protect them. They ran, David cutting down any who tried to stop him.

David and his two girls traveled for days, as they tried to find safe place to stay one night he was approached by a man, claiming to be a priest to The Knights of Khenmu, a secret society dedicated to protecting All creatures human and furry alike, after some fast talking david put away his sword and let the priest live, Taking Alexie and Trixie with him they arrived at a heavily fortified temple, where he met others like him, warriors, fighters, and the girls they brought with them as well, their own Harem was formed, and David swore his life to the protection of all within these walls

Shana

It had been a long time running, that it felt odd to stand calmly somewhere that represented everything that had been taken from her, and her kind. A home. Her endurance had been tested the past months as she had been forced from her comfortable lifestyle and into hardship, quickly having to learn how to defend herself, and how to trust her survival instincts. She wasn’t in her comfort zone anymore, that was severely apparent. And while at times she yearned for the pastel colours of her old harem and the weak, doting master, this new life held promise.

She remembered Marcus’s words all to clearly, as he’d caught her arm before he left that day, and warned her of the mayhem to come. Shana had scoffed at his words, and drew away, even as her pulse fluttered at his touch. She wasn’t use to his strong and dominating stance, or the look he gave her master when he crumbled to her every will. The way his eyes lingered on her, with the calm interest of someone who was confident within himself. He remained unruffled at her attitude, and comments at the time - which of course would only cause more trouble. Shana was all for a challenge.

They had come with the dawn though, as promised, heralds of change and death. Screaming a vengeance for a crime that was never committed. The girls had huddled, their master stood before them sword drawn. He hadn’t lasted long. Shana had screamed for the girls to run, even as their master fell, headless to the ground. She’d dragged at the whimpering forms, snarling at the enemy. Only the sharp sting of her hand, accompanied by the hiss of her command had awaken a few, who scrambled towards the door. To slow… to slow, the Tigress watched them fall around her. A slash of her claws here, a throat torn there, she found a strength within herself she hadn’t realised she had - but she could save no one. Useless. Mortal blood stained her lips, but was not enjoyable, as it had been once within play, and instead burnt with bitterness.


Then she’d left the sounds of slaughter behind her, unable to shake the image of the tiled floors awash with red from her mind. They were all dead. Her home, her childhood, her life – shattered and tarnished within seconds. She'd been there for so long, having been found lost and seperated from her tribe when she was young. Wandering alone in the dunes - it's funny how life has a way of repeating itself.

She didn’t know how long she wandered, lost and incoherent. Accompanied only by soft whines and mews. It took her a while to realise they came from herself, her teeth chewing on her ruby lips to muffle them. Her white, black and grey fur still stained with the blood of human and furry alike. The loose waves of her red hair falling in a tangled mess over her shoulders. She fled from the scent or sound of any that approached, retreating inside herself and allowing her animal half to take over. The wilds consumed her.

The silence was bliss.

It was not to be however; there was one scent she couldn’t retreat from. He found her, and neither said a word about what her state indicated. She could have loved him for that. There was no ‘I told you so’s, no irritating know it all comments, just his strength – guiding her back. She awoke slowly, coming back into herself though her mind shied away from the memories. She burnt with the need to make a difference, consumed with the vengeance that was taking everyone to new depths. Shana was adamant in one thing - she would not fail her girls next time. She became her old self once more, though a sense of wildness remained with her. Everything held new purpose.

Her relationship with Marcus fluctuated, he stood for his beliefs, while she sort any means to test his self control. She had no other reason but a masochistic need for it, and the love of getting reactions. He got her back in kind though, whether he realised it or not, setting her up in the new harem – only to find out her dominance would not go unchallenged. Shana had to share control. The idea was laughable – as one can guess, the Tigress had not been happy. There was mutterings about wet dog smell while eyeing off the wolven. She accepted the situation grudgingly though; convinced this was just another challenge to over come.

The wolf would submit, oh- she’d see to that.

Shana was yet to meet all the other Masters personally, though what she had seen intrigued her. They were nothing like her previous one, who crumbled beneath the slightests glare from her. Plus, there was another of her kind among them, her tail swishing as she observed him confidently from her place. It had been so long since she’d come across another of the Siberian race, their kind had not been as strong in numbers as others, and were quickly dwindling now. The scent of blood clung to him, much as it could be seen. The image of red on his fur, with colourings so like her own, stirred unpleasant memories. She was tempted to dunk him in the water herself, the idea of what that might provoke stirred a gleam in her eye. But now was likely not the time for such behaviour.

Commotion at the back of the room drew her attention, her tail flickered as another man appeared from - well - nowhere. An eyebrow raised as he fell, amusement pulling on her lips as his magic seemed to be giving him hell. She'd only come across one with magic before, passing through her old home, he could do nothing like that however. The curiosity of her species spiked, and she looked back to the front reluctantly. Plenty of time to sniff out the new masters later.

Set apart from the bloodshed and mayhem though, the Harem rose afresh. An oasis of luxury. It took into account all those with dark memories, and bloodier needs, and offered them all a place, a sanctuary – until the war found them again, she supposed. She knew they could not remain hidden and untouched, where so many others had fallen. Not forever.

Shana stood tall now though; the marks the war had left on her had been washed from her body, though she wished it were so easy to wipe them from her soul. Her red hair fell like silk down her back, piercing blue eyes observing those that found their way inside. A mare, a rabbit, lioness twins, a cat, a dog, a bat, a wolf and a fox. An exotic array, and all searching for the same thing. Safety.

Shana let her polished claws stroke thoughtfully against the hip her hand rested on, her tail twitching behind her. She examined each girl intensely with those fierce blue eyes. Her tongue licking across her canines as she thought of what was to come. There was promise here, in each bated breath and pulse. Her head tipped just slightly, her weight shifting legs as she resisted the urge to glance back at the masters – her masters. Each so strong in their own way. So much to do, so many wills to be tested, girls to bring into line. Some shadow of the past slipped from her at this bright and shiny new prospect – and the Tigress smiled. Dinner time.

Nexus S'torm

The early years were lost in the haze of time, the laughter of her littermates, the easy grace of her chosen mate. She had been FREE. Part of one of the few families to remain unseen, unhampered, unmarked upon. At least until the war. The stupid war.

The months spent fighting had taken a toll. Her fur, once lustrous and silky, was now bedraggled and gnarled from lack of proper care, the pads of her feet were cracked and tender, her eyes had lost their glow. Didn't matter. She no longer cared. She was here, trapped with these weak females. No more open sky, no more wandering where she would, no more~ the sound of the wind whispering beneath the green. These stupid walls, these men, this place...THIS is what she had and though a small part of her was gladdened by the fact that there were humans in the world who listened to her God, it didn't matter. What she wanted was freedom and that was gone.

A sigh as she thought back, her eyes fluttering closed.

"But why do we have to hide? When had being what we are become a problem for the furless ones? It seems to me most men have no problem with depositing their seed whenever they feel the urge and then they want the fur beneath them. I don't understand!"

The words were spoken loudly but no one answered. No one could. Who could say just what makes humes think and feel the way they do? Of course...one always hears of new Gods rising but that had no bearing, at least it shouldn't. The war followed not long after that argument, killing her family, killing her friends, killing her freedom, taking her lover, her home, her way of life...yet, something good had come of it. She had learned to fight. She had learned to take no words of disrespect from anyone; man, woman or child, hume or furry. They would respect her, even if she had to rip their throats out to make them do so.

She spent months, hunting down the killers of her life, making them pay in as many interesting ways as possible. Allowing her shape, her voice, her fur to get her into places and then using the gifts her God had blessed her with to escape those same places when all the blood she wanted to spill had been let upon the floor...or bed...or wall. She became the Black Storm, the Chaos Bringer, Black Death. She became it and lived up to it and learned to love the panic, pain and agony she caused. Until one day she heard a whisper, carried on the voice of the wind. It said, simply; "Stop, my Nexus. You need to rest."

Nexus knew, it was Khnemu~ the creator. She could not keep the battle going and so she withdrew from the world and was found in her solitude and told to come here, to safety. She did so, completely unprepared for the amazing array of furred family that was kept safe and hidden.

She could not submit, WOULD not submit and, for the most part, the Masters accepted it. She was put in charge of the harem, sharing the duty with a tigress, a pampered princess of a thing with a cold look of the feral, just behind the eyes, no matter the curves displayed. She knew the Tigress hated it, was used to being the boss. That didn't matter. She would let her run things, if it would make her feel better. It didn't matter. Only her lost freedom mattered. Without that, she couldn't care.

The weak girls, the strong men, none of that mattered. Not her poor condition, nothing. She wanted home. She wanted Wolf. She wanted. She couldn't have and so...nothing mattered.

Eyes opened as she brought herself to the present.

I can't stay hurt forever. Eventually, I have to give the God his due.

A glance down at her bedraggled appearance and a feral grin which she hid with the dipping of her head.

Time to look the part. Nexus, I am. Storm Bringer, I am. Mistress...I will be.

Selene - The Slave Quarters



She had awoken that fateful morning to find herself snuggled around a silken pillow practically, naked and simply starving! Sitting up she had wondered what this place was. Filled with other beautiful fury females it seemed as though she belonged here. No one paid her heed and so she had wandered over to a huge ornate mirror.

The pale blue bat that stood before her barely measuring five feet tall was indeed beautiful with a long mane of hair the color of the night sky and luminous eyes of the deepest green. Naked but for the small golden bells which adorned her nipples, wrists and ankles she knew instinctively that she was a dancer even without those visual cues. She could see the others moving around her and hear small snippets of whispered conversation; she was a member of a harem of some type, many had come here voluntarily it seemed, had she?

She spread her purple wings and turned in a circle undulating her hips as she swayed on the balls of her feet to music created in her own minds eyes and by her tiny bells....then suddenly froze! She was the pampered pleasure slave of……? The name was just outside her grasp and yet she could clearly see herself reclining on a pillow beside another, a goblet of…blood? in one hand casually sipping, smiling; she was happy she was content.

She sank to her knees in front of the mirror begging it for answers. Squeezing her almond shaped eyes closed she concentrated hard…… Selene! Her eyes popped open, “I am Selene,” she whispered to the woman in the mirror, huge tears falling to run unheeded down her sensuous frame.

That had been yesterday and since then she had kept pretty much to herself learning all that she could of her new circumstance and dealing with the snippets of her past that would creep in to taunt and tease her memory never becoming fully solid. As she stretched her muscles going through a series of ballet moves, her actions an unconscious repetition of behaviors forgotten but retained somewhere within her psyche as she went over in her mind what she had learned thus far.

She was in a harem overseen by two Mistresses on behalf of a secret order of males, a brother hood of some sort. She was privileged to be here apparently, as they had saved her and the others from certain death. Celeste felt like a bat in a gilded cage, she was restless, suspicious of everything; her surroundings, the other females, her supposed Masters, those overseeing her immediate welfare……leery of everyone and everything! To add to that she was always hungry, it gnawed at her insides insistently no mater how much fruit she eat!

Without knowing her past how could she fully trust her future here?

They has been told to assemble for inspection for the Masters', Selene hung back slightly wishing she could simply disappear..........

Vivica The Harem Mare

Exhausted was not even close to describing how Vivica felt when she had arrived at the palace gates, sweat, dirt and sand stuck to the flanks of the gray appaloosa mare and she prayed to Khenmu that this was the right place, not that it had mattered much. It had gotten to the point were even if it wasn't she would just have to rely on the mercy of who ever owned this palace or hope that it was a swift death that claimed her..........

She had traveled the desert for days, in search of her only salvation. Her kind had been culled or more accurately murdered for simply being. There was no justice only injustice as many furries young, old and every species you can think of became outlawed abolished to be hunted and killed on sight, without trial or any crime being committed by them.

Vivica had seen to many deaths of her kind, to many to count them. If not for pure exhaustion from her travels each day she doubted she would have slept at all. But every night of her journey, after hours trekking through dunes and sand plains she would fall into dreamless sleep only to be woken each morning by the nightmare that was now her life. Each step she took this last day had burned her leg muscles, split her hooves further and caused her more pain then she ever cared to feel again.

Her lips had been cracked and bleeding and her vision was failing with each mile that passed, she was dehydrated malnourished and every part of her body ached. She had almost shamefully wished for death to claim her, but then her mind would drift back to her family, her friends and the many who she did not know, yet had seen the brutal and sickening aftermath of their massacre.....motionless bodies strewn about in hot pools of blood as if they meant nothing at all, decapitated foals and the aged nags not broken by their years but by the hand of man. Her need to live and survive to honor those that are now lost would take over and the images that replayed in her mind spurred her on against all odds she kept going she had to.

Her mustang herd and one other had been attacked without warning. A gypsy caravan of mares, foals and stallions, harming no man nor any beast was set upon by blood thirsty humans. Merciless warriors who took the lives of every member of the small community without hesitation...every member except Vivica. These herds had banded together to avoid harm to travel in numbers for safty......but they were attacked in the dead of night while they slept in their tents. Vivica had been unseen walking in the moonlight not far from camp but far enough that her only warning was that she heard the screams that signaled the beginning of the murderous attack.

Vivica had dropped the herbs she had been collecting and the lantern she had been using to see by and ran towards the camp, she stopped once she cleared the forest and hid behind a boulder for cover and was frozen in horror watching the senseless slaughter of her herd, she wanted to help she wanted to scream but was mute and her limbs refused to move......self preservation, cowardly, disgustingly weak. She had called herself worse as she trekked through the desert.

The night her herd had been slaughtered would never leave Vivica this she was certain of, she had thought perhaps she would be better off dead in the days that followed. She had traveled by night so as not to be seen her fear running cold through her veins, her only possessions were what she carried, no less then three times she had barely escaped situations that would cause her harm or death......all at the hands of bigoted humans. It was only by sheer luck or perhaps the wish of Khenmu that she had stumbled on an old hut deep in the woods, this hut was owned by a goat women a furry like herself.

Namuka the goat women had taken her in, allowed her to rest for the night in safety and gave her the best gift anyone ever could bestow on her. Namuka had told Vivica were to find permanent salvation, a place she would be honored for what she was and protected....she had mentioned there may be a debt to be repaid a service she would need to preform at this palace of salvation. But Vivica did not care what ever this debt maybe, it was salvation and hope more then she had ever thought possible...it was life.

Vivica had left the next morning taking the directions and bidding Namuka all the graces of Khenmu, she owed this goat women much and had even offered to carry her for the goat women had said she was to old to venture there herself, so instead helped those poor creatures that she could. Vivica could not express her gratitude but this added to her resolve that she would get there or perish she would do it for her loved ones and she would do it for Namuka.

And she did.......now standing in the great hall Vivica was directly infront of two striking red haired furry women. One a dark wolf with long locks of blaze red and the other a white tiger with glorious long red hair.... the Mistresses of this Harem that belonged to The Khenmu Knights, and behind them was the impressive masculine dominance the Masters of the Harem, The Khenmu Knights themselves the very custodians of her salvation.

Rather shy and nervous, Trixie, a Dog Furry (more specifically of the Papillon breed), can also be rather playful at times. Eager to please and prove herself, she is very sensitive to reprimands and therefore is a quick study when it comes to learning new things so as to avoid them. Born into a harem, she was well familiar with living around other Furries and Humans alike, although she had only gone through the most basic of testing thus far. Tests designed to weed out those that were either not suited to the life of slavery, or those who would require more training once they came of age before joining with the harem proper. Tests for intelligence, obedience, temperance, as well as special abilities, Trixie sailed through them all.

While the breed is well known for its companionship and loyalty, the Papillon's true strength lies in its ability to perceive the emotional needs of its owner and to translate them into a healthy psychological environment. In other words, the animal becomes what the owner needs at the time, depending on circumstances. Combining these traits with the human form and intelligence created a breed of Furry that was admired by many. With all this in mind, it was soon apparent to those responsible that Trixie embodied all of these traits and more, making her ideal for slave training.

Having just come of age, Trixie had only been placed into the harem proper for a couple of days when Master David came through and told them to run. Not knowing the other girls of the harem except for one Bunny named Alexis that had been friendly to her, and knowing Master David from his frequent visits to the part of the compound reserved for soon-to-be mothers and the juvenile Furries, her instinct was to follow the Master, so follow she did.

Arriving at the new harem, not having any idea what to do or where to go once they got there, Trixie stayed within several paces of Master David. The new sights, sounds, and smells were a bit overwhelming for her, and she was concerned about her ability to serve her Master with any kind of skill. She only hoped that Master David and the other Masters and Mistresses would be patient with her.

Whimpering slightly, the unease of those around her causing her much distress, she found a spot to curl up out of the way where she could keep her alert eyes on the Masters and Mistresses that had gathered here for the protection of her kind, her ears tuned to Master David’s voice as he spoke quietly with the others. The emotional tensions in the room coming from so many directions, she was confused, unable to determine in her untrained state who to try comfort first.

Standing before the new Masters and Mistresses,the twin lionesses stood side by side. Each shadowing the other,Keera stood with her head raised and her eyes fixed on the many different species around them. Many different races,human and furry alike. She let her eyes roam over the room,the grandeur of the room took her breath away. The House of Malachai had been grand but the scale of this Temple was beyond that.

Her tail twitched as she tried to absorb the different furries she saw around her and her sister. They had come from a Harem of nothing but one kind of furry,so to see all these different and beautiful woman was breathtaking. She reached over and helped her sister remove her cape,then her own. The brown and gold clothing they wore simple but well done. Their identical arm cuffs showed their last Master. Master Malachai.Just halfway through their 18th year,the twins had just began their training when their world erupted into chaos.Keera felt her anger rising at her memories,her hands clenched by her side.

Kiara,younger of the two,reached over feeling her sisters growing distress and took her hand tightly into her own. Kiera was the more quiet,reserved of the two. Master Malachai had always told them she was the more rooted one,able to calm her sister when no other could. Kiara did not look at her new Masters and Mistresses as forward as Keera did. She kept her eyes downcast and her head bowed,her golden mane covering most of her features. She squeezed her sister's hand,silently telling her to calm down. She could remember all the times Keera's mouth and quick thinking thoughts got them into trouble.

Kiara felt the fur on her arms twitch with her nervousness,her tail flicked almost in time with Keera's. She tried to tell herself things would be fine. But how could they when almost everyone wanted furries dead.What had her species done to warrant all this animosity,hatred. They were living breathing beings just like anything or anyone else. Always the logical one,Kiara always thought things out first,unlike her sister. She heard the low nervous half growl from keera. "Keera,Shhhh....please."Kiara whispered low enough hoping no others heard her. Keera looked over at her sister and nodded,this was a new beginning and she didnt want to spoil it with her attitude.

She took a deep breath and squeezed her sister's hand in return,once more looking at her new owners and the future that lay in wait before them.She would make sure nothing took this away from her sister or herself this time. This was now HOME.....

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Unused to the presence of others, let alone others of the furrah I sat alone in the bathroom of the Harem. There was a quiet there and the tiled walls ensured a cool, damp atmosphere that reminded me of the underground borrow I had once shared with my mate. We had lived underneath a rolling, grassy hill far from civilisation; it was a place that had been ours. The very thought of my lost home brought a catch to my throat as I knew I could never go back.

I stopped brushing my hair and wiped a tear from my eye before it could darken my cheek fur. Looking into the mirror I saw the same vixen staring back at me even if I didn’t recognise her. I still felt my mate’s strong arms encircling me and the imagined claws running lightly through my fur still brought tingles along my spine. My heart knew he was dead. That he had been killed by the hairless animals but how do you tell your body that your life mate is gone. I didn’t know how to deal with the guilt that my mate had died granting me life, but without him.

“Damn you Khenmu.” I growled into the air. “Why did you lead me here?”

There was no answer of course. I had been running in silence for so long I had become accustomed to it. It was the noise and the people here that was hard, that was scary.

I brought the thick brush back to my tail. Like my pelt the hair was a luscious red and I continued to brush until the thick hair was smooth to the touch. As I smiled coldly into mirror checking the clean white of my teeth I waved my tail in the air behind me. If Khenmu needed me here I would not disobey but I would not go in defenceless either. Beauty was my weapon, attraction, distraction. I fluttered my eyelashes as I platted a white lily into my ponytail.

I gave my tail one final brush bringing it to an attention grabbing perfection as I heard a murmur grow in the main room. My new life was about to begin. Standing, I took a final deep breath to calm myself, on the inside I was a tempest but outwardly I hoped to remain causal as I entered the main room.

These men would have my body but nobody could ever have my heart again.

She had grown up in a Harem and never known another world, Alexis; her parents had called her. Daughter of a Master and a slave, she had always known the ropes, the rules and where she would one day be placed, where she belonged in the world. For the most part the furry bunny was content, she was curious about everything to be sure and thus caused her parents no end of trouble with her young inquisitive nature. She was always vanishing as if on cue to scare the daylights out of her parents and the other women that cared for her; she matured wonderfully but never lost her delightful streak of naughtiness. Then the day came…her world was ripped to shreds within a few short hours, her parents murdered in cold blood and she was forced to run for her life.

Alexis had heard stories about the brotherhood, she was told that if she ever needed protection, they would be there for her but she had paid little attention at the time. It was information that would assist her on this day however and she was grateful for her parents’ careful preparation, they taught her everything she needed to know to survive and thus their deaths affected her greatly.

Alexis met Trixie only a few days before their safe haven came under attack but still they had latched onto each other as only Alexis’ intrusive personality would permit her, the adorable Papillion furry had practically called to her curiosity and she had been all too willing to answer. She had been within the centre of the Harem a little longer than Trixie and had thus met Master Wolf earlier, she was stubborn when it came to what she wanted and while she knew how to please, she preferred to be pleased above all.

Master Wolf was assisting her with this aspect of herself when all hell broke loose, so the three ran, she was upset over the loss of her parents but she was smart enough to listen when it really came down to it. Alexis was not meant for the desert but still she was determined and survived the trip without much hassle, this Harem was filled with all sorts of furries she had never come across before. Her nose twitched and she remained by Trixie’s side, looking around her in awe and curiosity. She was slightly shy to be surrounded by so many new people and her ears flopped to cover half her face, her foot scuffing at the floor.

She had grown into her mid-teens in a time and a society where furries were regarded much the same as mud one might have to scrape from their heels; A dirty inconvenient part of life that you tried to avoid when you saw it, or brushed away if you couldn't. By the age of twenty, this had grown to an open animosity, with her kind treated as animals who just happened to speak and wear clothing. More times than she could count, Jezebelle had been shoved aside in the street, knocked to the ground or cast roughly away to colide with whatever was nearby. On the other hand, she was just as likely to be groped and fondled by those men who could look past her fur long enough to see the womanly curves of her body.

Now, at the age of twenty five, the boiling point had been reached, and furries were outlaws for the simple crime of existing, to be punished with death. Her own family had, sadly, been so punished. Had she not been out that evening, sneaking through darkened alleys, foraging through refuge for food, Jezzie herself would have been dead. Instead, fortune had spared her, and she struck out of town with nothing, joining a band of other refugees in search of escape.

Her new life would, apparently, be among other furry women as part of a harem; Slave to the very humans she had developed a distaste for, not to mention a few traitorous furries. The first sight of them had been enough of a shock to be physically painful, akin to a fist in her gut...a feeling she knew enough to make the comparison.

The others around her were displaying a wide array of emotions, displayed in their actions. The bat woman how seemed to be trying to hide in the back...the dog curled up to get away...a pair of lionesses holding to each others hands...a fox standing with seeming defiance, though whether it was real or a display was unclear. Possibly they were all as nervous as Jexebelle, but it was unlikely they could be as displeased or disgusted as she by this twist of their lives.

With a balled fist of her own, Jezebelle waited for Harem life to begin under her...ugh!...Masters and Mistresses, resigned to the hand fate had dealt her.

"I'm not dead. I just have to remember; I...am...not...dead."

Jedia sat in the back of the common room nervously watching the other girls, her new harem sisters, get acclimated. She was cautiously optimistic about her new situation. Her last and only owner had been a wealthy man and she'd enjoyed her duty. Her former harem sisters had been fun and willing to indulge her. They'd introduced her to many new things and her master had been a decent man. It was a pity he'd been both unlucky and addicted to the dice. If he had been just a bit more skilled with them she might not have been put back up on the market.

She'd learned a great deal since her family had sold her into slavery. She didn't begrudge them her situation, in fact she'd volunteered to be sold rather than her younger sister. She took solace in the fact that her sale had netted her family enough money to support them for a year, maybe more. Maybe enough to sustain them until their fortunes turned.

She knew that she'd been lucky with her last master. And older man with an appreciation for furry girls he'd treated her well. At his age he certainly wasn't bothering her constantly and when he did he was kind and tender. Her haremsisters had been just as nice. Now she didn't know. Her luck may have held out, her new masters certainly had wealth on their side which was one good mark. With any luck they wouldn't expect her to work during the day. It still remained to be seen how they would treat her though.

As she looked around she found her eyes dwelling on the other furry girls around her. When she'd lived with the nomad's Jedia's prospects had been slim. Likely to be married off to some other nomad for a treaty between her tribe and another most likely. Since being sold her eyes had been opened to many things, the comfort riches could bring, the richness of food, the pleasures of the flesh. Smirking slightly she let her mind dwell on the pleasures of the flesh for a moment as she looked about. A small involuntary moo escaped her lips. Her long supple tail flicked back and forth, brushing her buttery soft skin with the small tuft of hair on the end. She sincerely hoped her new masters would enjoy dressing her up as her old one did. Her horns and tail, breasts, belly, and neck all felt naked without the riches that had once adorned them.

Squeezing her legs together just a little Jedia suppressed her baser urges and tried to maintain her decorum. She didn't know how her new owners expected or allowed their girls to act and until she found out she wouldn't risk angering them.

Master Raven: Balcony to Great Hall

Raven came down a set of steps that led up to balconies overlooking the surrounding area. The Citadel was fairly well hidden, but the valley it was in was still a valley, and thus assailable. He thought of how to counter that. Perhaps a wall, but how far out, he pondered as he came down into the Great Hall. He regarded the gathering, and then nodded slowly, making his way up the pathway leading up to the dais. He regarded each of the girls along the way, before he took his place beside the other Knights. Then he turned to face the harem, and cleared his throat.

When he spoke, his voice was level, without accent or inflection. "Ladies, I know many of you may find these times difficult. Many of you may have trouble adjusting. Some of you have not yet completed the training that leads to a well-run harem." He paused there, noting a few cowering or trying to remain hidden, and smiled again.

"We intend to keep you safe. You and others like you. I...have led a rather unusual life. Most of the Knights have. I've traveled far, seen things. One thing I saw was in a distant land. It was a land that has so far only been called by one name by a single king trying to unite it. Chi Na, is what he called it. Our Land. I say to you that this is our land. This is our Chi Na, and I hope that you will consider it yours as well."

Another long pause, before he continued. "We, the Knights of Khenmu, will protect this land and the people that gather here with our very lives if need be. And more importantly, we expect you to be able and willing to protect yourselves and each other. After all, we can't all be around every waking minute of every day. To that affect, I ask now. How many of you know how to read and write? I assume that at least one of you has been taught. I would appreciate an inventory of special skills. It will help us with learning what you still need to be taught. And it will also allow us to find ways to help you adjust."

With that, he drew the glittering blue sword at his side, and held it high. "This, I give you my word upon. You are safe here. My word is my honor. My honor is my life."

Master Xavier: Standing in the Harem

Xaviers eyes drifted over the women. It was a lovely sight, the myriad females sitting, laying, watching. He didn't feel the need to talk, the Mistresses of the Harem would deal with the explanations. They knew why they were here, on some level. It was a trade in a way, safety and protection from the outside world, protection given to them by the Knights of Khnemu...and the veneration of them as the unique and wonderous creatures that they were. In return, they would give themselves to the knights for the pleasure and service that was required. It was an odd arrangement, but for Xavier...the 'youngest' member of the Knights and yet one of it's oldest members...he had a different view of things....these females were gorgeous, and his eyes moved about them.

A gorgeous mare...a petite little dog...a pair of lionessess...a tigress...a rabbit..so many to chose froom. Xavier's face curled into a smile as his hands rested on the pommel of his sword, he looked out across the room and surveyed them, studying each in turn as his black silk robes allowed him to blend into the shadows of a corner near his room. He rembered the females that he had enjoyed the attentions of so long ago back in the north lands and a smile graced his lips. Such pleasures were lost on the new fools commanding the kingdom...but they were not lost to him. Leaving where he stood, he slowly began to stalk around the room, hugging the wall as his violet eyes drifted across each female, watching...studying...admiring.

Marcus Ayus - Main Hall

Raven's words were nice, but for Marcus they fell on deaf ears. Putting the women's fears to rest was important, but it would take more than a few pep talks to do that. These girls had seen horrific bloodshed in recent weeks, and Marcus could not guarantee they would see no more.

He leaned against a pillar in the main hall, his eyes scanning the room. He was familiar with the other Knights, and though friendly with some they were not yet friends. They would be brothers in arms, but it would take time for him to call them kin. He was, after all, used to working alone.

He ran a hand through his hair, knotted and dirty from a hard day's ride. He had hoped in vain to find others making their way here, but all he could find were the corpses of men and furries, lost to dehydration or bandits. The location of the temple was such that it was a death sentence to anyone who hoped to simply stumble across it. If you didn't know where you were going and didn't have the supplies to cover the journey, you were as good as dead. The location of the temple had been a topic of consternation for Marcus, but he was aware that, from a strategic standpoint, it was almost perfect. It was built over the only source of water for miles; any invaders who besieged the temple would soon find themselves killing for a drink. The Knights and the harem, meanwhile, had a constant source of water and the means to grow enough fruit and vegetables to outlast any army if necessary. Ayus hoped it wouldn't come to that, but the fanatical murderers had moved like wildfire and he knew it was important to consider every possibility.

Some of the girls were shy and quiet; others, remarkably calm and, in their own way, quite self-assured. But his primary interest was his bed, sitting in a room just off from the main hall. The leather armour and the swords on his back felt heavy; he wanted nothing more than to rest. As Raven finished his speech, Marcus made his way slowly across the room. The girls, after all, would be well seen to by the other Masters for now, as well as the two Mistresses.

Ayus did his best to avoid eye contact with Shana. He was in no mood for her games - her playfulness was tempered with no small amount of venom, and she seemed to take great pleasure in stoking his frustration. If he could avoid their verbal jousting until he was clean and rested, he would do so. The tigress was clearly looking to get a rise out of him; he would not allow her to claim an easy victory. A smirk flashed across his face for a moment as he determined that, should he need anything, there would be no better person to ask then Mistress Nexus.

He was just about to slip inside his room and disappear for a few hours when a strange man made a rather stranger entrance at the back of the room. Marcus tensed for a moment, then relaxed as the mage's own book smacked him in the face. If this is their big assault, he thought, then we probably have little to worry about. Ayus leaned against his chamber door and crossed his arms, watching the newcomer stagger to his feet.

Main room

Keera watched the Knights and mistresses before herself and her sister,she could feel her sister's fears and squeezed her hand trying to calm her. Moving to a massive pile of pillows she eased her sister down amongst them. Her hand stroking her golden mane. "Be at ease,little sister.'She spoke calmly to Kiara positioning her own body next to her twin. her eyes still watched those around her. Keera felt her twin relax slightly next to her and let out a deep breath.

Their new home would take some getting used to and Keera was not used to change. Kiara shifted slightly,her golden eyes rising for the first time to view upon her new Master's and Mistresses. She thought them a rough,hard looking bunch,but she knew they took their vows to heart,she could feel it. Would they be kind to her and her sister as their last master had been. She had heard whispered stories from others along their journey of cruelty. Surely not in this glorious Temple.

Keera lifted her head,her hand reached out to push a stray lock of her sister's hair away from her face. "Kiara,you must be strong. We will be fine here. I will keep you safe."She whispered softly,before looking around,hoping none of the others,heard her whispered promise to her twin.She heard the voiced question of skills,Keera frowned thinking before she sat up straight looking at Master Raven.

"Master Raven,I am Keera and this is my sister Kiara. While I have the normal beginning skills in a Harem I can barely read or write,my sister though is skilled in the gentle music of the Lyre, She was taught to read and write when I had not the patience to learn."She spoke firmly and unashamed as Kiara looked up from her place on the cushions to blush red and nod.

Leliana : Main room

"Ladies, I know many of you may find these times difficult.”

I listened to the man talk from the back of the room. He of course had no concept of the world difficult. Had he lost everything he held dear? Did death seem more attractive then living to him… I stopped myself there.

“Get a grip Leliana.” I whispered to myself. “These people all look like they have stories of their own.”

A movement to her left caused me to turn and my sharp, vixen eyes picked out a man dressed in black robes watching us from the shadows. A shiver crept up my spine and I stepped forward, walking to the centre of the room to listen to the rest of the speech.

“I ask now. How many of you know how to read and write?” The man with the long black hair asked.

I looked down for a moment. I couldn’t read and writing had never been part of growing up in the wild furrah. But I brought my face back up to look into the man’s eyes. I may not have been as schooled as some of the others looked but I wouldn’t need protection. I could fight, I could hunt, cook and I was smart. Raynard had always loved me because of my independence.

I looked around me, studying the other girls as the Master finished his speech, sword held high. It was overly dramatic, it was a gesture but despite myself I liked it and bared my sharp teeth in a foxy smile. I hoped I was as smart as I thought I was because if I was too become a slave I had to learn fast. I hoped these men were good teachers.

David remained Silent, the scents in the room wafting past him, Fear, curiousity, hatred, confusion, he could smell it all, turning his head he surveys the room the other Masters, his eyes narrowing some at the sight of the Blackrobe, but for now he says nothing, watching the one called Raven lift his sword he sniffs, catching the heightened sense of fear in the room, he uncrosses his arms from over his chest, he walks to raven placing a hand on his arm and forcibly lowering it, his baritone voice speaking low as he placed his muzzle beside ravens head

"despite your intentions having raised your weapon there was a dramatic increase in the scent of fear in the room, maybe drawing a blade considering what has happened is not a wise move my friend, sheath your sword, "

turning away so as to not overly alarm anyone or upset raven his golden eyes scanned the room, soften some as he gazed at the two females he had brought with him, offering them a reassuring smile, his ear twitchs and he frowns, turning, his eyes pin Leliana with a subtle stare, his keen hearing having picked up on her mummbling to herself in the relative quiet of the room his tongue trails over his muzzle, before he returned his attention back to the harem

"each of us has come from seperate lifestyles, seperate rulers and kingdoms, but now we are one Harem, one kingdom...so to speak, each of us i only assume since we are here was the best of their respective clan's and were only able to save the handful of you from the slaughter that has befallen us, I am David, of the Sandwalker Clan, the only Fur'd servant in my Sultans kingdom with me i brought my two Servants, Alexis, the sweet Bunny you see beside you, and Trixie, the beautiful canine next to alexis, "

he smiled to his two females, his muzzle curling up his left hand resting on his Scimitar's hilt

"i look forward to getting to know you all"

Trixie

Trixie let out a soft whine as she listened to the words of the Master that first broke the silence of the room, burying her muzzle under a cushion as his sword was drawn. Her eyes caught the movement of her Master, and her ears turned towards him as he spoke to the other, catching only his low murmuring. The smile he sent in the direction of her and Alexis eased some of the tension she was feeling and she gave her tail a slight wag in acknowledgement.

Her head lifted as he turned to address the room, and Trixie let her eyes wander over the others that were gathered, hearing his voice but not the words he spoke. So many new people to get used to, so many different personalities. A startled yip escaped her as she heard Master David say her name, embarrassment at not having been listening flooding over her. Her eyes flew back to where he stood, the genuine smile he bestowed on them causing a little thrill to run through her.

“Alexis?” she whimpered quietly after he was done speaking, “Do you think we’ll truly be safe here?” Shifting her position slightly, she came to rest against her sister slave, her curved tail wrapping around Alexis’ waist, both giving and receiving a small measure of comfort from the contact as she waited for her companion to answer.

Corwyn - Main Hall

Corwyn hauled himself to his feet, making sure his nose hadn't been broken and looked around the room. After the other men finished speaking, and learning that he had arrived at the right place, he let out a sigh of relief. "Thank the gods; I was worried I ended up off-target again."

He looked around the room again, making note of the Knight moving around in the shadows and the various women milling around. The look on the anthromorph knight's face at one point made him wonder just how safe the women would be around him. I'm probably just being paranoid... I hope. he thought to himself as he looked around for the bags he'd brought with him.

After David introduced himself, Corwyn figured he might as well do the same. "Name's Corwyn Jahlren, don't bother with any sort of title; I can't stand them. Sorry for the entrance but teleportation magic's never been my strong suit. I'm probably the newest member of the Knights; only got accepted a few days ago. Hopefully, I can help make this place more defensible with a few magical devices - something of a speciality of mine - provided there's somewhere here I can use as a lab."