The Fables and Myths of Kir - 1

A/N/Disclaimer - First off, thank you so much for actually clicking on this story. I hope I don't dissapoint. :) In any case, this is the first story I've written for the world of Kir, which is a fantasy realm of my own creation. I don't know how it started out so sordid-like, but that's what y'all are here to read, right? But yes, the mandatory disclaimer - The characters and the world described herein belong to me. Please do not use/borrow them without permission, unless I am informed/asked about it first. I'm sure no one would ever think of that, though, so no worries. Again, thank you and enjoy!

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The dawn was a beautiful thing to behold in the forests of Serelath Madora. No other place in the land of Kir could claim to have lovelier mornings, when all of nature flung itself into harmony, creating the azure skies that still twinkled with dwindling startdust and shone with the brightness of the waking sun. All beings of this world know that legends walk the paths of Serelath at this time, brought to life by the magic there, the spellcraft that has weaved itself into the air since the begining of the ages.

These tales are beheld by the elves as not only stories of fanciful events, but truths of the world, handed down to them by those who watched the impossible come to life.

~~ The Fables and Myths of Kir - Prologue

{1} - Terendal and the Druid

"Breathe, lovely dove, or I shall lose you before we have begun."

The whisper came gently, like the caress of spring breezes, or the touch of a feather against skin. It was only then that Terendal realized that indeed, he had not been taking in breath, and he did so, deeply, drawing in the scents of life and love around him. The almost ethereal being that lay alongside him did the same, as if the wood elf were a sweet smell he could not help but savour.

"Open your eyes," came that soft voice once more, accompanied by a feathered brush of delicate fingers over Terendal's cheeks and a low, pleased coo when the request was granted. Terendal moaned softly and reached up, wanting to touch the figure that looked down at him, watching his every move, hearing each sound form his lips. But the pale creature would not allow it, and ducked his head to dodge Terendal's questing hand. "I cannot grant you that, sweet raindrop, or the dream will vanish, and I will become mist and dew, unable to give you this pleasure."

Terendal gave off a soft whimper, a pleading sound of desire and love, but nodded, letting his small hand lower again, resting it on the pillow of fresh grass beneath them. Only then did the figure renew the touch that had the young elfling so enraptured, and it was all Terendal could do to continue remaining still, lest he make some wrong move and end this rarest of experiences.

Carefully, slowly, the white-robed figure ran slender fingers over Terendal's nude body, exploring every inch of tanned flesh and coming to know it by touch alone. The wood elf's lips parted in another whisper soft moan and trained his gaze on the being of light that had come to him. He had been waiting, long after sunset and into the morning, yearning to catch a glimpse of a legend, to have a small part in the tales that would be recounted long after his life had been returned to the earth. Serelath had rewarded him by sending this to him. Terendal had heard tales before, of a elf who had long since retreated into the woods, taking with it unknown powers and magics, those of which were unachievable by its people. He could not recall the name of the being, but it had been talked about as a creature of Miria, the fae-lady who rules the vast forests of Serelath. That it had been sent to give her people a glimpse of the power she wields over them, to learn of their ways, and then return to its mother. But it was selfish, wanting to keep its gifted magic secret, and use it to its own ends, and so, once away from its mother's borders and the reaches of her rule, it scoffed at Miria's request and instead of going to the Denai elves, retreated further into the forests, using magic to enchant himself until he became like a god himself. The story was not an uplifting one, and it was filled with lies and deceit, and implied the Druid of the Wood to be an evil creature. Terendal could not give that statement any credence.

It was beautiful, with pointed ears, skin and eyes as white as new winter snow, and it seemed to glow, whether with magic or as some expression of divinity, Terendal was not certain. Its hair, pale blue and seemingly fine as spiderweb cascaded down its back and held vines trapped within it, leaves and flowers and berries complimenting the adornment. Clothing the being were robes of shimmering silver, the garment hanging loose and baring the smooth perfection of its collarbone and shoulders, the skin radiating with an inviting warmth that Terendal longed to press himself against. He whimpered again, but he dared not to, recalling how he had been gently cautioned against touch, no matter how he might long for it.

The Druid laughed softly at that, leaning in to brush its lips against Terendal's chest. "Such sounds you make," It whispered, ever smiling as it let warm breath fan over one of the elf's nipples, causing the youngling to shiver and arch his back ever so slightly. Never before had Terendal been touched in this way, loving and almost erotic, and his barely adolecent body had long since begun to show obvious reaction to the attention. He nodded once and moaned, his tongue sliding out of his mouth to moisten his dry lips.

"I adore you, do you know this?" It whispered, fingers inching lower with every passing moment. "I shall give you such care, hold you so closely and love you so completely that you will forget the skies and the earth, the oceans and the light and know only me. You will be beautiful, and will drink of me as I drink of you now." The words were soft and melodious, strung together in a rhythm that brought Terendal even further into the bliss being offered, and he did not fight against it, even as his mind started to cloud and he became concious of nothing other than the voice that murmured to him and the hand that had now begun fondling his most intimate of areas. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out, only a soft cry wrought of sheer desire that was shushed almost immediately, a finger coming to rest on Terendal's lips.

"No more... speak to me, childling. Tell me of your dreams and your loves. Give them to me..." Another soft kiss was brished against Terendal's chest, and then it was abandoned, silken lips trailing downward to work teasingly against the elf's sensitized length. Terendal started to cry out, but stopped himself, unable to disobey that kind, patient voice.

"I-I dream of... I dream of..." Terendal whispered, trying to grasp onto a coherent thought, to tell this being all that lay in him, but it seemed his mind would no longer allow him to do so, and he struggled helplessly against a deep, unpenetrable fog. His brow creased in a frown and he shuddered, letting out a soft, mournful sound when he found that he had all but forgotten each of his memories. "I-I do not know what I dream..." He said, then let out a cry as he felt warm, blessed heat engulfing the need that throbbed between his thighs.

'This is your dream, precious one.'

The words echoed through Terendal's mind, and he could not fight their truth, so he nodded in agreement. "This is my dream. To be loved by you." He rasped softly, shuddering again with needy passion and closing his eyes tightly, allowing tears that had welled there to slide down his cheeks. "I love you... and only you, for there is nothing else in my head but your song and your touch..."

The purr that vibrated around Terendal's length was low and pleased, and the gentle voice chimed in the elf's head once more. "You please me so... and so I shall give you heaven." The gentle suction that had been applied to the elfling's flesh increased after that, and Terendal managed to cling to his wits for a bit longer before a flood of pleasure and sensation racked his lithe frame, and suddenly he was spiralling that much higher, lost to the spell and his love and the brilliance of both things. He was barely concious of the release that was overtaking him, and it was not long before his body took over, causing him to jerk his hips up sharply as he was swept away by the enchantment he'd been woven into.

It was complete white bliss, Terendal thought as he spent those few senseless moments suspended in rapture, then abruptly came crashing back to full conciousness and awareness of the world around him. He heard the birds, singing to the morning, and the wind in the trees. To the west, there was a waterfall, and his sharp hearing picked up on that constant roar as well. All the sounds of life were thundering in his ears, a cacophony to his overstiumlated senses, and it was an untold time before Terendal finally opened his eyes.

There, seated next to him was the same figure who had held him enraptured for the last few hours, and it now licked its lips delicately, still savouring the sweetness of the elfling's passion. It smiled, the expression one of joy and delight, and reached out to wipe a few beads of perspiration from Terendal's forehead. "You are mine, little one." It mouthed wordlessly, then spread its arms, silently inviting Terendal to embrace him. That, in itself was a precious gift to the young elf, having been denied touch until this moment, and he was bolt upright in a moment's breadth, flinging himself into the Druid's arms.

"I am yours," Terendal whimpered, burying his face in the satin folds of the silver robes, unconcious of the tears of relief that streamed down his cheeks. The very thought of having to part from this creature was unbearable, to the point where Terendal believed he would go insane by even considering it. "I am yours, I am yours," he repeated, his voice choking with desperate sobs. "Do not leave me, I love you.."

"And I love you, my Terendal, my chendeku," again, the words were spoken on a breathy whisper, and gentle lips were brushed over Terendal's head to both reassure and to act as a catalyst for the mysterious magic that had now penetrated the elf's very soul. Within moments, Terendal began to feel himself drifting once again, and he sunk into his beloved's arms, his weeping gradually diminishing into a more feral sound. His body felt heavy, then numb, and finally he burned, every inch of his flesh stretching and contorting, destroying itself and reforming again as a pure silver, or deep green silken hair. The transformation, when it began, was uncomfortable, but not unbearable, but regretfully, that was not how it remained.

Joy, he still knew joy, but soon it was coupled with extreme agony as unseen hands took hold of Terendal's bones and shifted them about under his skin, causing him to curl in on himself and fall away from the embrace he had been clinging to. He tried to scream, but instead howled; the cry of a wolf in terrible pain, his muscles still in the process of reshaping and resettling themselves. "WHY?!" He shrieked internally, pained and hysterical and would have been shedding tears had the polymorph not already progressed far past allowing him to do so. "You said I could touch you!"

The response to his unspoken cry was eerily calm, the gentleness of the tone only adding to his pain, rather than easing it. "Because you wished to be a legend, chendeku. And now, you are." Then, the Druid smiled, almost wickedly, it seemed, and then gave the elfling mercy, for it reached down and touched Terendal's head, sending him into the dark of unconciousness, and what he hoped was blessed oblivion.

It was then that Terendal vanished.

~

Laying on his side and panting feebly, there lay a wolf in a clearing not far from the elven village of Madora-Denai. A high-pitched, keening whimper sounded from him with each breath, and it was clear to see that the poor creature was exhausted, his whole body trembling with the effort it took to keep his lungs filling with air. He ached, yearning to curl up and somehow comfort the searing pain, but his strength had long since deserted him. The wolf was large, almost twice the size as the more common of his kind, his fur long and gleaming in the sunlight. Slowly, one golden eye opened, taking his first look at the world with his new eyes. He could remember this place, but not from sight. From smell and sound, he deduced. The ground beneath him was sunken in, as if a smaller creature had lain beneath him at one time, but had dissapeared not long ago. The birds sang and water flowed, the breeze causing white noise in the background of this living world. The wolf scented the air cautiously, then ceased to whine, picking up on a scent that revitalized him by its mere presence nearby.

A few feet away from him, running its fingers over a glistening, dewy leaf, sat the Druid of the Wood, who smiled with an almost childlike innocence and glee as it stared down at the creature it had just finished creating. "You know me, my love," it whispered, using the graceful language of the fae. The wolf could voice no response, so he thumped his pair of long-haired, verdant tails against the ground a few times, finding his strength slowly returning. This seemed to please the Druid, and it continued to speak, voice caressing its words warmly, as if they could wrap themselves around the wolf and embrace him. "Come to me. You are so weary and young, my newborn chendeku. I shall care for you." The Druid held one hand out, beckoning the wolf to him.

The wolf stood, however shakily, as he was still unsteady on newly formed legs, but he was gaining more strength by the moment, and he overcame his discomfort so he could wander over to his master's side, seating himself beside the Druid. He gave an expectant whine, and he was rewarded by a gentle hand stroking the smooth, verdant mane that extended from the top of his head to the middle of his back. Tiny blooms sprung up from the path that the Druid's hand took, growing into delicate vines which immediately wound themselves into the wolf's hair. "And so you shall have your legend, Terendal-dan-chendeku..." He whispered, then leaned in to press his lips to the wolf's muzzle. "And together, we shall be named for the ages. My sweet love..." The Druid whispered as he pulled back again and fluidly rose to his feet, the movement so graceful, it appeared he had been lifted by some unseen hand. The wolf gazed up at him, his eyes warm with a profound love and adoration, longing for another of the Druid's tender touches.

"Come," The Druid said softly, his words flowing from his lips like the wind in the trees. "You have bid your farewell to your mortal life and have no more use for this place and its faded memories." And then he turned, his robes making a gentle swish against the long grass, and began to walk from the clearing, a slight flick of his wrist beckoning the wolf to follow. The silent order was obeyed, and the creature padded along behind the Druid silently, not a thought given to their destination, nor the place they had just departed.

It is said, that on clear nights with humid mornings, when the dew has settled into a dusky white mist that hangs suspended in the air of Serelath, that the Druid of the Wood and his chendeku walk the unbeaten paths between Madora-Denai and Madora-Impiere. There are none who can claim to have had contact with the pair, for they move like phantoms, dissapearing and appearing as they see fit, and always, they appear to be searching for something. Perhaps they pray that another will have heard the tale of Terelan-dan-chendeku and yearns to find it for it himself, so that they might have another ghostly companion to accompany them through time. Or perhaps the Druid sees it as a kindness to his wolf; that he might allow him to scent what was once his home, wander close enough that he might sit on the edge of the land and glance into Madora-Denai, grasping for a thought he cannot tether in his mind though somehow knowing that once, he belonged to this place, and not to the magic of Kir.

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((chendeku - the Fae word for a magic-user's familiar, also implies that the creature is used as a construct to store a measure of the magic-user's power.))