Blight

Blight
A Work of Erotic Delight by Scriba Ecrivien

Please Read:
The characters in the following story are the property of Scriba Ecrivien. Miss Ecrivien will most assuredly take legal action against anyone she finds using these characters without first requesting permission. Similarly, the story itself belongs to Scriba Ecrivien, and she has worked very hard on the entire concept. Please consider how you would feel if someone stole your treasured work and claimed it was their own before you do anything of the like. Again, Miss Ecrivien will pursue anyone who steals this work to the fullest extent of the law.
People of ages 17 and younger should not read this story. It involves many different erotic situations, many of which are entirely inappropriate for all ages. In fact, if you're under 50, don't read it.
This story will involve many different kinds of love – love between men and women, between men and men, between women and women, between 'furries' and humans, between 'furries' and 'furries' and between anything else I can possibly think of. If you are in objection to any of these things, I suggest you satisfy your urges elsewhere.
THERE IS NO SEX IN THE PROLOGUE OR IN THE FIRST OR SECOND CHAPTERS. If you're in this purely for sex, skip ahead to chapter three, where the main characters are of age. Just know that you'll be missing some valuable plot points.

Prologue

Tiras'del squinted at the harsh noon light above as he knelt upon a dried hill just outside of his keeping. The grass around him and for miles to see was dead or dying from three months without rain. He frowned deeply at the sight and stood slowly, dusting off his knees with a little wince. He could feel pain in his joints despite the warmth of the summer day, and he was fairly certain he heard a creaking of age. His weathered face, deeply lined with wrinkles and rough with an unshaved, white beard bore nothing but worry. The faded, brown, leather armor he wore suddenly seemed heavier than it had when he started this walk.
“Tiras?” A familiar voice called out behind him. He turned to see a woman equally as old as he was striding up the hill to him. She showed no signs of tiring, a symbol of her mysterious heritage. She wore the deep blue robes of a Master of The Craft – in other words, a wizard. Perhaps it was the magic she had so long channeled through her body rather than her Eastern blood that kept her spirit young even as her body aged. Tiras'del shook himself from his reverie and smiled brightly at her, though he knew his eyes would betray his dismay. Helenay frowned deeply at him. “Well... What do you think?”
The drought had been going on far too long, and the crops the people in Tiras'del's keep had so struggled to produce were failing because of it. If something wasn't done soon, they'd be in for a harsh winter. Helenay had offered to use her gifts to call in a soaking storm, but Tiras'del had so far refused the help. Skilled as his wife was, storm-magicking could easily get out of control. Where a rain would be called in to help a struggling crop, a flood could very possibly follow – or worse. Tiras could still remember the terrifying, swirling winds of the last storm he'd seen magicked up, for a purpose equally as innocent as watering dried out land. Besides, one ill placed lightning bolt could spark a grass fire that would give them far more trouble than one hard winter.
“There've been storm-clouds building in the west for a few days now.” He finally murmured, after what seemed to Helenay an eternity of silence – but then, she'd always been impatient. “We'll wait another day to see what they want to do... If they don't start heading our way, you can give them a little nudge.” At Helenay's grin, he quickly added, “A little nudge, Hela.”
Helenay pursed her lips at the admonishment, but she nodded agreeably all the same. “Alright. One day.”
Tiras smiled gratefully at her before pulling her into his arms and planting a soft kiss at her temple. “...thank you, dearheart.” He sometimes felt regret for taking his wife away from her work at the Windsong Institute, especially at moments like this. She rarely had a chance or a reason to use magic in this quiet little village the two of them had built together, and she wasn't fool enough to invent reasons. As she'd told him a hundred times, magic could attract dark things to an otherwise peaceful area, and it could have a terrible effect on the land and weather around the area it's being used. The Windsong school taught her that much, and she'd always stuck heartily to those teachings. Magic was a last resort. All the same, she'd repeated the old mantra far more often when she was forced into using magic on at least a weekly basis. The war was over, though, and that left her bored and aging.
With a sigh, he slipped his arm over her shoulders and led her back down the hill and to the little road that led through the great walls of the keep, past the little village houses inside, and finally, to the doors of their own modest home. It was nothing like most Keep Houses, which were often built large and dominating. It was larger than the villagers' houses, partly because it needed to be distinguishable to new comers and partly because it housed the only orphanage for miles. The orphans within had, for years, been the main source of new blood to the little village beyond Tiras's door. Many of them were never adopted, and so they just trickled in to join the other villagers in the mundane life of farming or in the defense of the keep.
Despite its size, the keep boasted fifty guards – more than enough to hold off the raids that often came from the desert holdings not ten miles to the south of the keep itself. Tiras'del was more than a little proud of the fact that, in his thirty years of running it, the keep had never been robbed of anything – person, beast or food. Now and then, a trouble-making orphan might glean a bit of money or extra food for himself, but it was understood by all (and if it wasn't, Tiras made sure it quickly became understood) that the children were just acting on fear of their previous lives – fear that, tomorrow, there may be no more food or money. Most of them grew out of the habit very quickly, with the reinforcements of the women and men Tiras hired on to act as nursemaids and father figures.
If the guards of the Orathin keep were impressive, the villagers were doubly so. Tiras'del saw to it that all members of his keep were trained to fight, 'just to be safe'. The villagers would be able to wield virtually anything they found – from an abandoned sword to a milking stool – against an intruder. Many of them were outlanders from the harsh deserts to the south, and they were more than happy to learn how to defend themselves with the once famed Tiras'del Orathin.
In his younger years, Tiras'del had been Captain of the King's Army in no less than the capital of Rashmir, Rasden itself. He was renowned even as an oldster as a tactical expert few could rival. Every now and then, when an uprising was in need of being quelled, he would be called away again to Rasden to conference with the current king, Highlord Ashela (despite titles such as 'highlord' and 'king', Ashela was a woman – and a stubborn one at that) on the best way to address the issue. It had been years since he'd been called away... Uprisings were few now that the first lady-king in Rashmir's long history had made it clear to everyone she was at least as formidable and fearless as any of her male contemporaries. The war was forty years gone as well, and this left Tiras feeling as restless as he was certain his wife felt.
Ah, Hela. He thought to himself as she scurried from his side to speak with a young couple at the northern end of the village, nearest their home. The woman was round with child and beaming from ear to ear as Hela fussed over her and pressed a hand to her belly to feel the babe kick. Tiras could hear the joy in Helenay's voice as she spoke of how it wouldn't be much longer, but Tiras knew that joy came with a hint of sadness that no one but he could hear. You sacrificed so much for me and for this village, and we can never give you the one thing you truly want.
Helenay was barren. Mages, the less-powerful of the casting group, were usually able to have children, but it was unheard of for a Wizard to be able to reproduce. This meant that very few Wizards were ever born, a paradox that many teachers of the Craft often cursed the gods for bestowing on the world. If twenty mages were born in a year, perhaps one of them would go on to become a Wizard. Though she did her best to cover it up, Tiras'del knew her barren state had always hurt her. It nearly split them apart... She refused to marry a man who could give a woman a child were her body able to hold it, and it was only Tiras'del's constant insistence that he loved her too much to care if she could ever produce him an heir that finally won her over.
Tiras'del slipped his arm around his wife's waist as they walked through the halls of their home toward the dining hall, a soft smile on his face. It was true that Hela hadn't left him an heir, and none of their charges had wanted the job of running the keep, but he was certain he would find one. Who knew the right person for the job would come from such humble beginnings?

Kelleyn's life was one full of danger and uncertainty. She was orphaned at the age of three, and her uncle, Jameen, had taken her in to be his apprentice in his unusual occupation. The streets of Rasden had honed his abilities as a thief, and he planned to pass these traits on to the daughter of his only brother before he himself died. He was only thirty three, but thieves tended to be quite short lived. Sterile, he'd never had a child of his own, and so he raised Kelleyn the way other thieves would raise their own children – through a series of painful lessons.
By six, Kelleyn was quick witted, suspicious and, most importantly, stealthy. At that young age, she'd cut enough purses to put her uncle in the alehouse nearly every night, and she'd stolen enough of the city's secrets to hide a bit of gold away for herself. Her uncle's training had saved her life more than once and kept her safe from the wandering hands of some of the fouler denizens of Rasden.
One day, as she patrolled the streets of the Market Quarter in search of fat purses, she stumbled across a man with iron-gray hair and a beard to match. He wore a rich surcoat of burgundy with gold trimming and dyed burgundy doeskin breeches to match. The breeches were also fitted with gold trimming and, worst of all, a golden codpiece. Kelleyn had to stifle a giggle at the sight of that. It was rare you came across such a fool, but she had every intention of exploiting the man. At his side dangled a deliciously large purse. She could even make out the lines of the coins inside.
The square was crowded with people, and, small as she was, she slipped easily between them as she crossed the cobble stone street toward her quarry. He was standing at a stone carver's stall and haggling over the price of a rather cloudy emerald. Kelleyn wrinkled her nose. No wonder the bastard's purse was so full... He was tight fisted. She hung a few feet away from him beside a candy stall, pretending to drool over the wares. The lady merchant running the stall pushed a little tray of samples toward her, and Kelleyn quickly snatched a piece of hard peppermint. She beamed up at the woman, trying to look as cute and innocent as she could before popping the peppermint into her mouth and glancing back at the stone carver's stall as if on chance. The man she'd been watching was gone.
Cursing herself for letting her quarry escape, Kelleyn quickly dove back into the crowd, leaving a little peppermint smelling wake behind her as she went. She cast about at a crossroads, where the Market Quarter met Harbor Square. Still, she caught no sight of her man. At least, she doubled back and crossed Sea Street toward King's Road, where she had first seen her catch. Finally, she spotted him haggling over something as pitiful as a leg of lamb that an elderly woman was selling at her food stall. Rolling her eyes, Kelleyn slipped behind the wealthy fool just as she began to leave, shadowing him down the road. She went on unnoticed until at last he entered a knot of people so thick that he'd never know who it was who cut his purse. She slipped up beside him, pulled her knife and sliced his strings, holding out her free hand to wait for it to fall. He was muttering to himself as he walked – too distracted to ever notice he'd lost it. The heavy purse landed in her small hand with the softest of clinks, and she quickly tucked it into her shirt and made away.
As she rounded a corner into an alley, Kelleyn begin to giggle at her own good fortune. The man wouldn't notice his purse missing until he found another merchant to harass, and by then, Kelleyn would be too far away for him to ever find her. She was so proud of herself that she didn't notice the two men who stepped out of the shadows behind her just as she ducked down a little side street that let into another back alley.

The two men trailed her for some time until they finally saw her crawl into what was literally a hole in the wall. The wall belonged to a disused storage house, and it looked as though she'd been living there for sometime. They stood outside the crack in the wall a moment and listened to the voices inside. There were two of them, one belonging to the little girl and another belonging to the man who had been identified as her uncle. Tiras frowned deeply as he listened to the uncle congratulating his niece on her theft. This child would be a difficult one. He looked to his partner, a young rough-about who'd been hired cheaply enough, and nodded. The two of them left the scene as quietly as they could. The girl would be 'kidnapped' tomorrow.
It was strange for such interest to be placed in a street urchin. Stranger still for Tiras'del to be called all the way into Rasden on the behalf of one. He hadn't been told the entire story, and it was driving him mad. There was some reason this little girl had to be in the orphanage with himself and Helenay, but the Highlord Ashela was being tight-lipped. As he walked with his odd companion in silence, he could feel anger growing in his belly. He wouldn't know the truth until the child was in his grasp. According to the Highlord, it could be dangerous for both Tiras and Kelleyn if word were to get out.
“Begging your parrrrdon...” Tiras'del's companion, Kita, finally spoke up. He had the elongated torso and arms of the Shel'Adin, a race of half-human, half-cat beings that were known for their ferocity. It was rare to see them out of the mountains, and rarer still to see one living on his own. Shel'Adin were beautiful creatures and often found employment in some of the wealthier salons and whore houses in the city. This one, however, made his living as a blade for hire. In spite of a scar beneath the Shel's (the slang term for the race) right eye, Kita was as beautiful as any of the others. It was in his fluid movement, his breathy, smooth voice and that strange build – belly too long, arms and legs too long, but somehow perfect. He looked stretched out. It made him so thin that, if Tiras'del tried, he could nearly close his hands around the Shel's waist. The deft Shel'Adin had been hired in this case for his knowledge of the city's back alleys and of their denizens. He'd happened to know where Kelleyn was staying and what routes she usually took.
“Yes?” Tiras'del caught himself staring and shook his head, refocusing his attention on the street ahead. The two came to a small ladder that led up to a window in the very alley that Kelleyn would have to take to exit her hovel. Tiras watched with undisguised appreciation as Kita pulled himself easily up the ladder and through the window. The Shel then popped his head back out and reached a long arm down to Tiras to help him climb. Tiras was, after all, an old man.
“What is so special about this girl?” It was more like 'Vat eece zo speshall about tees girrrrl?'. Kita had apparently never bothered to learn unaccented Common. It only added to the young man's appeal.
Tiras hoisted himself into the window and then, after checking it for lice, flopped down on his bed roll in the corner. “She's a child in need, isn't she? That's good enough for me.”
Kita grinned, showing his sharp canines. A little thrill of excitement went through Tiras'Del as he imagined how those teeth would feel teasing his flesh. He closed his eyes and breathed slowly through his nose. You're a married man, Tiras. No flings. Kita moved silently closer to him – so silently that, when Tiras opened his eyes again, he was surprised to see the cat-like man sitting right beside him. “Ah, yes, but I see flaws in zat logic. She is but one needy child among severrrral.”
Tiras shrugged fluidly. “Orders are orders, aren't they? It doesn't matter beyond that.” With that, he rolled over, facing away from Kita, and closed his eyes. Kita gave the man's back a dark glare before retreating to the window to take the first watch.

Kelleyn slept on the bed that night. Her uncle always let her have it if she brought home something really special. The hay-filled mattress was full of lice, but she just crushed them absently whenever she saw one and paid them no attention otherwise. Her mind was still racing with her triumph and the adrenaline rush that always came after. She rolled onto her stomach and hugged herself, arms crossed beneath her belly. She closed her eyes and listened to her own breathing, imagining that she could hear the heavy footfalls of the nightwatch coming to their little crevice to find her and take her to prison. She was too young and, in some ways, still too innocent to know that children were never hauled off to jail, at least not in Rasden. Thanks to that, her young heart raced at every bump and creak she heard. Finally, she couldn't stand it anymore. She threw back the covers and slipped out of the bed, stopping only to put on her shoes before sneaking out into the cold night air. Her uncle's drunken snoring covered the light scraping noises she made climbing out of the crevice.
Once in the open air and able to see that none of the nightwatch had come after her, Kelleyn breathed a heavy sigh of relief before skittering off into the darkness.

Kita lay at the window in their pitch black dark little room as he waited for a sign of Kelleyn's approach. Every thief child he'd ever known had a tendency to sneak out at night, and he was sure that Kelleyn would be no exception.
The young Shel'Adin was forty five years old, which made him the equivalent of a fifteen year old human boy. At thirty, which was close to ten for a human, Kita had come down from the mountains to seek out a life in the city of Rasden. His head was full of tales of great Shel'Adin living there, and of all the amazing things they'd accomplished. He wanted to be that so badly. And so, he'd left his cold, snow-capped mountain home for the lush, green forests of Rasden and her surrounding, minor cities.'
His people were a secretive one, and so he saw his first human on a road leading into the a farm, where he had planned to steal his dinner – a cow, or perhaps a goat. The man was short, fat and entirely disappointing. Kita nearly headed back home after that, thinking that all humans would be ugly and crude. However, the promise of greatness lured him back to his dream, and from then on, he would not be deterred.
Arriving to the city nearly crushed him. His only offers for work were those that involved him being on his back, and he had no interest in that whatsoever. Even at his young age, he was well aware of what a whore was and what they were expected to do, and to him, it just seemed a bit too much. Living among the short-lived humans, he grew up much quicker than he would have back home. By thirty-five, he had already killed a man, nearly been raped, stolen, fought and worked in a bar for a living. Most boys his age in the mountain holdings of the Shel'Adin would still be running about, playing in the snow, or perhaps learning a respectable trade from their fathers.
Perhaps it was what he was forced to learn so early, or perhaps it was being alone for so long, but whatever it was, Rasden had hardened Kita. If he wanted to go home, he knew that his father would have him killed on sight for daring to leave in the first place. It was the same for all Shel'Adin living in Rasden, and yet, they did not seem to bond. He found the other Shel somewhat self involved from decades of playing kept whores or thugs. More disturbingly, he found they couldn't seem to stand each other, let alone him. His friends, therefore, were human, though it made him ache to see them age so quickly. Soon, however, his heart hardened to that as well.
Kita would be strong, he would be great, he would be a powerful swordsman someday... If only he could find a trainer.
The Shel was beginning to doze off at the window when he heard a soft noise below. Had it not been for the large, lynx-esque ears perched atop his head, he would have missed it altogether. His cat-like eyes peered into the darkness below, focusing until he could see, clear as day, their young target scurrying along the street. As silent as mist, he slinked along the floor to his partner, yellow fur gleaming in what little moonlight streamed in. “...Tirrrras...” he breathed, near the man's ear. “Wake up.”
Tiras reached up a long arm and grabbed hold of his wife's waist, then flipped her onto her back and pinned her down, grinning. He paused just as he began to creep a hand down her belly. She was much furrier than he remembered. A sudden, sharp pain in his shoulder brought him back to reality, and he had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out. Kita released his hold on Tiras's shoulder, and Tiras was oddly excited by the sight of blood on the young Shel's fangs. “..will you get yourrrr head out of the clouds?!” Kita hissed.
Embarassed, Tiras quickly got this feet and threw his cloak on before gliding to the window to peer out. He couldn't see the girl in the darkness, but he could faintly hear the scraping of her feet on the cold, cobblestone ground. Kita slipped past him and down the ladder, whispering. “I will brrrring her.” as he went. Tiras leaned against the window and listened. He heard a sudden, sharp gasp, a loud shuffling, then a sharp, feminine shriek that was muffled into a whimper. A second later, the limp body of a little girl was being handed to the aging man.
“What did you do?!” Tiras growled down at Kita as the Shel ascended the ladder once more.
“Therrre is a nerrrve...” Kita murmured, pointing to a spot on the girl's neck. “Rrright herrre. She merrrrely sleeps.” He climbed up and perched on the edge of the window, watching with vague curiosity as Tiras'del wrapped the girl in his cloak and began to pack his bedroll. “You arrre leaving now?”
“Of course I am. I have the girl.” Tiras'del answered, casting a quick smile Kita's way. He tossed the young man a coin purse. “You were invaluable. Thank you for your help.”
Kita caught the purse deftly and stared down at it for several moments, green eyes darkening in thought. He looked up at Tiras'del with a hesitantly hopeful expression. “I will go with you, back to Orrrathin.” He finally said.
Tiras'del paused in his packing and looked at Kita contemplatively. “Alright...” he said, after a moment. “I imagine we'll find a use for you somewhere.” He shouldered his pack and handed the girl to Kita before climbing carefully down the stairs. Kita followed him, but he kept a tight hold on the girl, making sure her head was resting on his shoulder before the two of them ghosted off into the night.