Total Posts:6|Showing Posts:1-6
Jump to topic:

Lynx

diarrhea_of_a_wimpy_kid
Posts: 146
Add as Friend
Challenge to a Debate
Send a Message
2/15/2016 9:26:40 PM
Posted: 9 months ago
First, an acknowledgement to buddamoose who wrote:

At 2/10/2016 6:37:12 PM, Buddamoose wrote:
A god imprisoned within a common housepet by an ages old enemy. Is forced to enlist :the help of his owner, a small 7 year old girl. Little does this god know, but the girl holds : :the key to more than just his freedom

just call me butter cause I'm on a roll

Prologue

Fish again. It's always fish. Every day.

I stared as the glistening silver scales, speckled with hues of green and gold, and the single, glassy, mindless eye. My primal instincts screamed for my claws to pounce upon the flopping body and rip scales apart so I could sink my teeth into the flaky, moist flesh. I wanted to coat my tongue with oils and blood while the chunks of meat flowed down my throat until my stomach ached with the overflow.

On the other hand, my consciousness wanted to vomit all over the rocky ground.

I didn't even like fish. One of the good things about being a god is that you can pretty much eat what you want, where you want, when you want. For centuries, I chose to gorge myself on endangered viston, rare challas, and even long extinct animals like elephant and tiger. Yes, as a god, even extinct animals were available to the discriminating palate. Make one, kill it, eat it. Simple.

But now, I was a slave to this body and its urges. I'd kill for a rabbit or squirrel but those had perished along with the blight that destroyed the virgin forests. Insects the size of birds darted through the air like the prehistoric monsters that preyed on dinosaur carcasses. Snakes and smaller amphibians darted from view at the sound of approaching footsteps.

I extended one thick, fur covered paw out in front of me and arched my back, followed by the slow and deliberate extension of the second. My closed eyes and reaching whiskers savored the hot sun on my face. Wind rippled through my dark gray fur. The wind tingled my skin while the coarse hairs insulated me from the burning rays. I rolled onto my side, and felt the warmth flow through my shedding winter coat and into my blood.

Life was not without pleasures. I just had so few to choose from in this form.

"Kitty, eat your fishy. You gotta eat."

Her small hand flopped down on the top of my head then ran along the length of my back, massaging the loose, tired muscles. An involuntary rumble of pleasure emanated from my gut and up through my throat.

It was so humiliating.

I yearned for the caress of a woman"s touch. I had complete memory of many women, all in perfect fitness, each with an insatiable desire to please me. Now I just get off with a patronizing touch of a human, not much older than a baby.

"Don"t you want your fishy?" she said. She held the fish now, in both hands, and jammed the slippery lump into my face. I slammed two massive paws into the catch and thrust the foul scent away before the oil soaked into my fur and forced me to lick it out over the next few days. Her brown eyes fought back a tear as her pretty mouth turned down into a frown. The mouth, glistening with moisture like a pink rose at dawn, pinched into a tight grouping as if to plant a kiss. The outside corners of her eyes seemed to drop halfway down her cheeks. Reddish wind-burn turned each cheek into a dry riverbed of cracking skin. The wind, blowing from her left, pulled the long, tangled black strands across her mouth. She tilted a shoulder to her cheek and brushed it aside.

She looked so much like her mother. What was her name? It'll come back to me. I think the fur in my ears messes with my memory. I knew her mother, until she died. Well, that's probably unfair. Until I killed her, if I'm going to be completely honest about it. Honesty was a new thing for me. It never seemed to have a purpose before. Her daughter, Maya, was the lone human survivor of the rebellion's failed attack against the gods residing in the marshlands of central Canada. And everyone blamed me, which is how I entered into my current predicament.

It wasn't really my fault. Well not completely. Well ok, I told the humans... not all humans, just Maya's mother, how to find it. She needed help, or that's the lie she fed me. Maybe it wasn't a complete lie - she did sort of need help with all the blood. Death wouldn't have been so bad for her. But, I didn't see any harm. We'd allowed humans in before, obviously, as servants who cleaned our residences, picked up animal droppings, provided sexual gratification, and washed our vehicles; that kind of stuff. But we never let them leave again. We had a saying, "Once you go god, you never go back." I could have let her die and no one would have attacked and I wouldn't have a fish shoved in my face by a little girl. I'm pretty new to this whole "consequences for my actions" concept. It kind of sucks.

That's another thing about being a god. When you piss off another god, especially one with more power and influence than yourself, they pretty much have you by the balls. And right now, and for the last three days, my balls were attached to a Canadian lynx.

"Ok, kitty. I'll save it for later," she said. The girl took the fish and slid the mouth over a hook attached to a string on her pack. It flopped for a few moments before expiring. It joined two other fish, caught within the last day, in an odorous cacophony of noxious oils. My stomach grumbled, noisily, yearning for sustenance. I had been forced to maintain my stamina on fish over the weeks since the curse; the change into my current form. I kept hoping something other than fish or snake would present itself, but I had not seen anything in days.

I watched as she peeled back the pop top on a can of vegetables. Operational manufacturing facilities were few and far between once the war with the gods had begun. However, the remaining humans had an almost unlimited number of canned goods in supply caches, along with aging American guns, littered across the landscape. Maya's pack clanked and sagged with a few days worth of supplies and a couple of those guns, which she knew how to use. You can't find a human alive today that isn't packing heat, armed to the teeth actually. They've been reduced to basic savages with no interest in asking questions, first or later.

Our relationship was symbiotic at the moment. If she died, then I died. It was part of the deal. I protected her by scouting and chasing off predators like snakes and caimans. She was able to fish in concentrated ponds scattered across the featureless expanse of marshland. There were dark things in those pools, with long tentacles and snapping jaws, that kept me from venturing into the depths where the scarce supply of food lived. She fought off the larger predators (wolves, bears, and the like) with a .50 caliber Desert Eagle handgun that made even the largest beast, and even a few of the lesser gods, think twice. Those animals made good eating but it's not like a little kid can carry much of it before it goes rotten, especially in this heat.

Maya tossed the can into a nearby puddle of muck then placed her heel on the upturned back end. With a lunge and a bit of balance, she forced the can down into the muck, hidden from view for the next 20 years or so.

"Come on, kitty. We gotta keep going," she implored as she walked away from the makeshift campsite. I don"t know where she thought that she was going, other than west. It was easier to follow the sun every evening than wander in a random direction each day. I knew of no human settlements for three hundred miles in any direction and this was, or had been, my territory. But I lacked anything better to do than keep an eye on my daughter. With weeks of walking ahead of us in a barren wasteland, I might as well fill you in to how we got here.
Vaarka
Posts: 7,636
Add as Friend
Challenge to a Debate
Send a Message
2/18/2016 11:42:57 PM
Posted: 9 months ago
XD I love it! Keep writing!
You're probably thinking right now "haha I'm a genius". Well you're not -Valkrin

inferno: "I don't know, are you attracted to women?"
ButterCatX: "No, Vaarka is mine!"

All hail scum Vaarka, wielder of the bastard sword, smiter of nations, destroyer of spiders -VOT

"Vaarka, I've been thinking about this for a long time now," (pulls out small box made of macaroni) "W-will you be my noodle buddy?" -Kirigaya
Buddamoose
Posts: 19,450
Add as Friend
Challenge to a Debate
Send a Message
2/19/2016 1:45:18 AM
Posted: 9 months ago
At 2/18/2016 11:42:57 PM, Vaarka wrote:
XD I love it! Keep writing!

+1
"Reality is an illusion created due to a lack of alcohol"
-Airmax1227

"You were the moon all this time, and he was always there to make you shine."

"Was he the sun?"

"No honey, he was the darkness"

-Kazekirion
diarrhea_of_a_wimpy_kid
Posts: 146
Add as Friend
Challenge to a Debate
Send a Message
2/19/2016 3:50:30 AM
Posted: 9 months ago
At 2/19/2016 1:45:18 AM, Buddamoose wrote:
At 2/18/2016 11:42:57 PM, Vaarka wrote:
XD I love it! Keep writing!

+1

I have the next section almost there. I took on a writing debate and started yet another story. Have not forgotten kitty.
Vaarka
Posts: 7,636
Add as Friend
Challenge to a Debate
Send a Message
2/19/2016 3:54:18 AM
Posted: 9 months ago
At 2/19/2016 3:50:30 AM, diarrhea_of_a_wimpy_kid wrote:
At 2/19/2016 1:45:18 AM, Buddamoose wrote:
At 2/18/2016 11:42:57 PM, Vaarka wrote:
XD I love it! Keep writing!

+1

I have the next section almost there. I took on a writing debate and started yet another story. Have not forgotten kitty.

Gooooooooood :3
You're probably thinking right now "haha I'm a genius". Well you're not -Valkrin

inferno: "I don't know, are you attracted to women?"
ButterCatX: "No, Vaarka is mine!"

All hail scum Vaarka, wielder of the bastard sword, smiter of nations, destroyer of spiders -VOT

"Vaarka, I've been thinking about this for a long time now," (pulls out small box made of macaroni) "W-will you be my noodle buddy?" -Kirigaya
diarrhea_of_a_wimpy_kid
Posts: 146
Add as Friend
Challenge to a Debate
Send a Message
2/19/2016 9:35:56 PM
Posted: 9 months ago
One - March, 2257 AD
Kellen Farson peered through the holographic weapon sight at the reticle image projected on the distant tree. He massaged the range-finder adjustment until the four reticle points merged to a single dot, accurately measuring range to target within a millimeter. His rifle was an older model with none of the parallax free technology. He still had to work at it; a little at least. The old ways were best. The new stuff was so much tougher to acquire now that the Americanadian alliance had taken over the manufacturing and distribution channels of the western hemisphere. The black market business was booming, of course, and ancient stuff from the twenty-first and twenty-second centuries were still common. But anything laser-guided with smart self-correcting flight technology munitions cost a small fortune. That took all the fun out of hunting anyway.

For two days, Kellen had sat in his well-stocked blind, twenty feet above the ground. It came fully loaded with internal thermal insulation and external nano-camouflage LEDs that mimicked the surrounding pine canopy. The iPlant, nestled against the eardrum of each ear, played classical music; he loved the sweeping scores of John Williams. The translucent fabric displayed no external heat signatures outside of a few birds and ground rodents too small for even buffalo nuggets.

Big game had become almost impossible to find around the last twenty years. Every year, it seemed, his quest took him further and further north to find unspoiled hunting grounds. Over the last century, the Americanadian population had slowly migrated northward away from the receding Arkansas-Tennessee coastline and the Great Oklahoman desert. Even temperate zones like the Dakotas were only good six months out of the year as the snowbirds migrated south to their southern villas in the winter. He loved northern Manitoba, though. The weather was always gorgeous with sunrise views along the Hudson Sea. But isn"t it always the case? When word gets out and someone projects a 4D-holographic log, or hlog as the kids were fond of calling it, of the next great place to live, all of the idiots move in and ruin it. He wanted to scream, "Hey, idiots, this place was awesome before you moved in because you did not live here." With nineteen billion people in the world, though, there will always be more idiots. Even after the three billion, give or take half a bill, perished in the China famine. Good thing Russia started developing those planned communities in Siberia or the world would be completely screwed. Kellen Farson loved the thought of retiring there someday. They had great vodka, or so he heard.

Farson felt a familiar tugging at his bladder. He reached for the portable reclamation unit. and saw the flickering red light. He glanced at the small pile of discarded beer tubes on the floor. Aw crap, the shjtter is full, he thought. "Looks like I gotta do things the old fashioned way, like nature intended," he said to the blinking red light. "Come on, shjtbox. Time for both of us to empty."

Farson flicked the hatch release in the bottom of the blind. He dropped through the opening, gripped the extendable ladder with one hand and secured his footing on a high branch. With a snap and a pop, he closed the hatch once again and began the descent down the tree, to the mossy ground below.

He reached the bottom and inhaled. The air smelled of rotten wood and compost as the peat moss released all of those lovely hydrogen ions. Farson unzipped his fly and sauntered up to the tree supporting his stand. He took a deep breath and held it, among other things before releasing the pent-up stream of golden waste. A soft patter of spraying liquid on bark added a subtle staccato to the theme of someone named "Indiana Jones".

He never heard the twang of the bow and the thunk of the arrow that exploded through the back of his head and embedded ten centimeters into the trunk of the tree. He had no knowledge of the broken nose that splattered blood all over his shirt from the impact. He felt neither the evacuation of his bowels, nor the spreading mass of liquid shjt that crept down his legs and soaked into the peat at his feet. The stream of urine slowed to a drip as his bladder lost contact with mission control. Brain matter and blood oozed from the arrows exit wound, leaving a sticky mass of tissue puddling against his left cheek pinned to the bark. His knees bowed inward towards the tree as the hunting boots slid backwards along the mossy roots. The limp form hung by the shaft, which began to bend downward. Farson"s slumping body paused in it's decent as gravity and friction battled for control over his final equilibrium.

"Aw, he shat himself," Lennix said. He spit out a vile curse under his breath and shook his head. "Nasty creatures, those humans."

"Oh you're cleaning and gutting that one on your own," Tantin replied.

Lennix lowered his recurve bow and flipped the long sling bound to it over his shoulder. He pulled back at the patch of greying brown hair that continually dropped in front of his eyes. Sweat from his forehead helped plaster the unruly strands back for a little while, at least. "I mean, is it just me, or is the infestation especially bad this year?" Lennix asked. "All that unrest in the southlands is getting worse every year. The buggers keep migrating."

Lennix Andarr stood at just hair under two meters, with a wiry frame. His skin, while flawless, retained the lighter tones of the Canadian aboriginals from centuries past. The rare human that he encountered, that lived long enough to comment, usually remarked about how exotic and alluring his skin was. It seemed to add a pleasant contrast to the darker-skinned men and women that he preferred to bed, recreationally. His skin had been that color for six centuries and he wasn't about to change it now, to Hades with the current fads. He also retained a strong jawline extending to a narrow chin from his half-Greek heritage. More than one god had remarked, with humor, that Lennix would look quite dashing throwing a discus.

Tantin Hammering nodded in agreement, his long thick beard flopped on his chest in response. If Lennix was a gazelle, then Tantin was a walrus, and the similarities ended there. Tannin's height topped out at about a meter and a half, but his girth more than doubled it. Gods had tremendous control over their physical appearance, although only the most powerful could change matter at will. Tannin had to make a conscious effort to accelerate his metabolism enough to offset the vast quantities of bear meat and honey mead he consumed daily. Most of the time, he didn't bother. As if to mock the glorious image of Aphrodite, a distant relative as he was fond of bragging, he wore a loose toga, fig leaves, and sandals and let all of his 350 pounds hang out, including the part that hung like a moose.

"What are you going to do with that one?" Tannin asked. "Not much of a specimen and not much left for display purposes. At least if you went through the heart, you could have mounted the ugly head."

Lennix strode forward purposefully and replied, "Let's see what we have left to work with." Lennix broke into a swift jog and covered the two hundred meters in moments. Despite all of Tantin's bulk, he pulled up to the tree only a second behind.

Lennix looked back over his shoulder and chuckled, "You may be related to Aphrodite, my corpulent friend, but I think you have a bit of Hermes in there as well."

Tantin laughed, "I do. I had him for breakfast yesterday! He tried to run, of course."