Title-- The Panthera Walkers, part one
Total Wordcount-- 6,202
Rating and Warnings-- PG-13 for blood and violence.
Summary and Notes-- Typical disclaimer--this is a rough draft. Forgive any typos, plot holes, grammatical mistakes, or anything else non-shiny in it. Praise and encouragement only, except when pointing out literal typos or grammatical errors. =D This is the first chapter. OMGtehfunness.



The drums.

Huge cloven hooves lashed the fertile earth, tossing up chunks of black soil and damp clumps of green moss, pummeling the little-known forest path in the steady, sure, violent rhythm of a pounding heart. Wind whipped past the elk's proud white muzzle, its dark eyes slitted against the ever-present vines and leaves barring its way. There were already several streamers of shredded foliage waving like banners from the elk's impressive antlers, trophies of his race through the forest.

The drums are pounding.

The figure crouched on the stag's strong back didn't have the luxuries of a saddle, reins, or even so much as a blanket to cushion its own body from the elk's headlong gallop through the lush forest. Instead, it perched with feline grace on the animal's hocks, leaning forward and stretching its human-like body low over the elk, face hidden behind the broad antlers and whipped with the vines attached to those antlers. A branch sprang free and nearly sliced a few thorns into the rider's eye, and a rippling snarl escaped from behind clenched, razor-sharp teeth.

The drums are pounding in the frenzy of battle.

There were screams and cries and shouts, all inaudible, but the impact of those voices were felt over the winds that bound the Walkers to one another. Breath quickening, the rider drew long, muscular legs up under a compact torso rippling with muscle, crouching in preparation to leap from the white stag. The galloping animal was beginning to tire, unable to maintain his top speed for more than a handful of long moments, and a shiver of anticipation raced through his rider.

The drums are pounding in the frenzy of battle, in the rhythm of desperation.

Paw-like hands, gloved in sturdy leather with creases well-worn, slid from the elk's burly shoulders to curl clawed digits around the curve of a beautifully-crafted longbow slung on the rider's back. Now balancing with only flagging tail, knees, and bootless hind paws, the tawny-furred rider leaned back, feline face wearing nothing but a feral mask of aggression. The bow was moved from back to hip, pressed against the hilt of a small hatchet, and a razor-sharp arrow was nocked to the taut string. The elk, flanks heaving and frothing spittle beginning to coat his muzzle, began to slow as he careened around tree trunks.

The drums are pounding in the frenzy of battle, in the rhythm of desperation, in the cadence of death.

The white stag erupted from the edge of the forest and began pelting down a long, gentle, golden-grassed slope towards a distant town. Now, borne on the cooling wind of autumn, the screams and shouts became audible, and the splashes of red just outside the town became visible. Red everywhere--and furtive moving forms--and then the brilliant colors of mailed armor, the silver of weapons, the smoke of gunfire--

"We will not fall this day!" came a roar, shaking the very earth with its ferocity and force, and the Panthera defending the town looked up as the rider vaulted from the now-staggering elk, letting an arrow fly mid-air. It missed its mark, sinking into a forearm instead of the unarmored chest of one of the human soldiers, but she jerked around and began charging the rider nonetheless. The dark-haired woman raised shield and mace as though to crush the newcomer with sheer force alone, running full-speed towards her attacker.

Momentum and considerable bulk adding up to an almost crushing impact from the earth to sturdy paws, the rider ran without pausing after her leap, the second arrow sinking into the human's left eye and bringing her down into a crumpled, limp heap of awkward arms and legs. "Circle back, towards the town! Fall back! FALL BACK!" the rider bellowed in the half-formed, half-known language that the Panthera were developing as their own native tongue.

Those Panthera who recognized the rider obeyed, and the others ran with them for fear of being left in the fields with the human attackers. Now separated by an easy score of wounded but upright human soldiers--among them, a medic here, a witch there--the rider's sprint slowed to a trot, then stopped. The enemy faced the newcomer and tightened their grips on swords and shields.

Plainstalker smiled coldly, baring long fangs in the mirthless expression, as she nocked a third arrow to her longbow and drew the string back to her cheek. In an instant, two separate gun barrels and one crossbow rose from the gathered attackers, matching her unspoken threat. For a split second, there was silence, and no one moved.



"What is she doing?!" a bloodwalker snarled, his shield shattered along with some of the bones in his left arm, his right still doggedly clinging to a massive war axe that seemed to get heavier with each passing minute. Still standing through raw willpower, he stared in consternation as the lone beastwalker faced down the larger portion of the human raiders. Around him, wounded Panthera regrouped, crouching to drink much-needed water or have their injuries tended while the humans were distracted.

"Giving us time, you fool. Here, don't move." The lifewalker next to the battered warrior stripped the remains of the shield from his blood-drenched arm and began winding bandages around it, murmuring under his breath. A soft emerald glow infused the wound, Sister Earth's healing added to the practicality of fabric bandages. Nearby, the rest of the defenders fell quiet, using those precious seconds to prepare themselves for the next assault.

"She's going to get killed. Isn't that Plainstalker? The beastwa--OW, blast you!" The bloodwalker snarled again, this time in pain, as the lifewalker tending him tied the strips of cloth securely enough to hurt. He rounded on the smaller cat with a thunderous warning growl to be more gentle.

"Yes, that's her. You're lucky we have a master walker to organize us now. Otherwise we might actually have severe casualties this time." The lifewalker ignored the growl, fingers working deftly to stauch the flow of blood from too many open wounds.

The bloodwalker glowered down at the slimmer Panthera. "You say it so calmly!" he growled accusingly, ears flattening to his coarse black mane. A lash of his tail betrayed his true irritation.

"In case you forget," the healer murmured, wrapping more bandages and invoking more healing magic as he knelt to tend the bloodwalker's thigh, "I am a lifewalker. I can give life as easily as I can take it away. To me, it is no large matter to bring a fallen walker back to life."

"Oh, is that so?" The bloodwalker batted the other's swift hands away from the stab-wound in his leg, capturing the smaller cat's wrist to haul him up close. Nose to nose, gazes meeting, the warrior snarled softly. "Ever consider that maybe we don't want to die in the first place?"



Under Father Sun, I hunt.

Plainstalker began the prayer as soon as she found herself on the wrong end of the guns, saw the glimmer of poison on the crossbow bolt's tip. She didn't move, didn't provoke them to attack--with barking laughter, a handful of human soldiers began to walk forward. One of them actually stalked, boots light and agile through the long grass of the farmfields, twin daggers held expertly and loosely. That one, she watched, without ever moving her eyes from the archer and gunners in the crowd.

Under Mother Moon, I hunt.

The soldiers neared, and she was beginning to reach her limits on holding still. The instant she moved, she would die--the first bullet, the second, the poisoned arrow, the thrown knife--didn't matter which one. She couldn't dodge them all. And she couldn't hold so unwaveringly still when the soldiers were now within a few leaps' distance. A choice--hold still and be hacked apart, or attack and fall without landing a single blow.

Across Sister Earth, I hunt.

There was no lifewalker nearby, none whose healing magic might be able to keep her alive in the fray that was tiptoeing closer. The human with the dual daggers was smiling, thick lips curling away from blunt, even white teeth; the flat-faced expression nauseated her. She didn't move, only listened for a moment--heard the shift of hooves of her steed, too many leaps back up the hill to reach in time. Heard the wind across the fields, heard the leaves and grass rustling, heard the thump of boots signalling her impending doom that walked too calmly towards her.

Beneath Brother Sky, I hunt.

Plainstalker curled her own lip high, revealing rows of sharp, glistening teeth made all the more fearsome by long fangs. It was her smile, her snarl, both at once--and the breaking point. One of the approaching soldiers, now clenching his shield and inching forward, crossed an invisible line--and at the very same instant as a nearly inaudible click could be heard, he made to lunge forward and skewer the still-immobile archer whose arrow was aimed over his head at the gunners behind him.

I hunt the deep and wild places of the world without fear, in Their names.

An explosion blossomed up with a crackling, deafening boom beneath the lead human's booted foot, incinerating that appendage and shredding the rest of his body with flaming shrapnel. The other three humans that had approached jerked back and tried to shield their faces from the metal shards and fiery balls that rained down on them--one convulsed and fell, unguarded throat burned out by a half-melted slice of metal. The tawny-furred Panthera continued smiling ferally as the two remaining humans--now scorched and sliced--looked to one another and then her in shock. Neither of them had detected her trap; none of them had expected it.

Should I die forever this day, I bear no regrets... and no shame on my spirit.

The prayer was completed, and Plainstalker moved as explosively as her trap but with far more grace--an arrow lanced into one of the nearby human's unprotected eye sockets as gunfire split the comparative silence. She dropped and rolled to the side, a shrill whistle her only cry for help as her fourth arrow--likely the last she'd draw--felled the last human within attack-range. The cock of guns reloading and a crossbow being loaded were drowned out by the thunder of running human feet pounding up the slope towards her, incoherent rage drawing a nearly bestial roar from their pale throats. They were unified in their hatred for her--for all her race--and she felt a small measure of relief that she had ended the prayer in time.

"We will not fall this day!" came a sudden, unfamiliar shout, and the beastwalker's eyes widened slightly as Panthera forces crashed against the rear of the human mob like red-foamed waves against a brittle shoreline. A bullet exploded an inch from her face as she flung herself to the side again, bow lost in the haste of the movement, and the poisoned bolt also missed her flesh. The second bullet burrowed into her shoulder in a sudden bite of fire and pain, and the tawny cat snarled in high-pitched agony as she was thrown backwards by the impact. As she again began to roll, right hand seeking the haft of her hatchet, a hoarse scream rang out from just a leap down the slope.

The human that had stalked her with the twin daggers was struggling, now unarmed, against a serpentine creature that had wound its entire sapphire-scaled length around his lithe body in a constricting coil. Face turning a much uglier shade of blue, the human was desperately trying to break free, arms pinned to his side but fingers scrabbling against the polished coils frantically. The creature's bat-like wings, however, were flaring and flapping in his face, and he couldn't see where his remaining blade had fallen--

Abruptly, the wingsnake released its prey and backwinged, coils looping midair, and the human fell to his knees and gasped for breath. When he looked up, his pale face was met with the sight of a terrifying predator's grin as Plainstalker sank the sharp blade of her hatchet into the side of his neck as though chopping wood. Without a further sound, the soldier toppled to the earth, and crimson spurted over the beastwalker's tanned leather armor as she offered a conspiratorial grin to the hovering wingsnake. The crested half-dragon hissed wordlessly and erupted down the slope, its next target half-dead already from a lifewalker's efforts to drain her lifeforce from her still-living body. A flurry of raspy shrieks and snake-quick strikes saw the human woman crumpling bonelessly beneath the wingsnake's prowess.

'Kiagnan,' the beastwalker said without moving her muzzle, drawing her bestial comrade back to her with the unvoiced name. 'Get this bullet out of my flesh. My bowstring is ruined, and this hatchet is for logs, not enemies. I cannot fight like this.' The blued serpent whipped around, tiny talons and wedge-snaped mouth already dripping crimson, and shot back to her with all the speed of a gust of wind. Without hesitation, the wingsnake buried its muzzle into the deep hole pocked into the flesh of her shoulder, clamped its jaws around the still-burning bullet, and jerked away. Plainstalker hissed through clenched teeth as her comrade dropped the metal shrapnel to the blood-splashed field and spat; scarlet liquid flowed freely from her shoulder once more.

'Go, Clearskies. Fight for us. I will join you shortly.' Kiagnan whirled again and zipped down the slope, not missing a beat, picking out new prey from the various human soldiers that had engaged the Panthera bloodwalkers. Fighters of one race versus fighters of another, but there was hardly a contest--the bloodwalkers, though outnumbered, were overpowering the poorly-trained soldiers. Plainstalker pressed her right hand to the widened hole in her left shoulder, trying to stauch the blood flow, and surveyed the field of battle before her with a critical gaze. Chaos at its best and worst, but her suicidal stunt had given the lifewalkers time to heal their warriors, and they fought now with renewed fury and determination. Any leadership she had to offer would not be necessary; there was a spiritwalker now, wading through the wounded and the healers behind the line of battle, roaring orders and warnings to those in the fray. A clear pair of eyes to direct their actions was all most bloodwalkers needed.

A little smile danced across her muzzle as the tawny-furred woman knelt gratefully, a quick swig of some herbal concoction helping the blood to clot and bullet-wound to begin sealing itself with hastened speed. Deep brown eyes shuttering, she inhaled deeply, and then called upon the inherent nature of her path as a beastwalker with silently-mouthed words. As though a fallen pebble cast ripples through a reflection in a still pond, Plainstalker seemed to shudder, flesh and fur crawling in almost physical waves--and when the image cleared, there stood a supple forest cat where before had crouched a Panthera.

Now able to hunt on four legs much more comfortably than two, the shapeshifted beastwalker stole down the slope silently, her natural grey-golden color camouflaging her effectively against the backdrop of half-harvested autumn fields. The bloodwalkers all appeared to be of the blademaster sort, none of the stealthy martial bloodwalkers among them, and so the human soldiers had become accustomed to a roar of rage, followed by a frenzy of blades, no tact and no subtlety necessary. A feline on all fours that was no more easily seen than the wind itself would not be expected, or guarded against. And the beast that was Plainstalker dropped her jaw and curled her lip in a predator's horrific grin at the thought.

Like the shadow of death, she moved to kill.



"It's over," the bloodwalker gasped, hobbling weakly back to the lifewalker that had tended his wounds earlier. With a sigh, the small Panthera began rummaging in his packs for more bandages, salves, and herbs as the larger fighter sank slowly to the ground, flanks heaving. "We won. No one... died... did they." It wasn't a question; for all his exhaustion and pain, the bloodwalker's eyes were clear and cognizant as he surveyed the farmfields. Human corpses littered the ground--none had been given mercy or a chance to escape, not with Plainstalker and her wingsnake chasing down those that tried to flee. Catching his breath now, the warrior grinned slightly, then winced as cold, pure water was poured into his wounds to clean them.

"None went into the blackness of Eclipse, no," the lifewalker answered calmly, mobile hands already bandaging the wound he'd cleaned before the numbness of the water was replaced by the burn of fabric against torn flesh. "Though most of us expected at least Plainstalker herself to fall so, considering what she did to buy us time. I can't believe the humans were so stupid as to fall for it." The lifewalker snorted and moved on to the next wound, clawed digits remarkably gentle despite his caustic tone.

The bloodwalker was smiling grimly as he watched the transformed beastwalker and her blue-scaled companion inspect each human corpse, seeking anything salvageable, and checking for any signs of life. "They turned their attention to her because they knew she was dangerous--none of us are strong enough to tame and ride elks yet. They just failed to realize who she was." He chuckled, the sound strangling into a pained growl as the lifewalker pulled bandages tight.

"And just who is she, eh?" The smaller Panthera seemed amused as he worked. "One of the few beastwalker masters, sure. But she, like the rest of her brethren, hunt in the wilderness. They aren't often home to save our tails when we get attacked. We were lucky this time, but that's all."

With a bared-fangs frown, the warrior leveled a dark look at the lifewalker. "Question her abilities and be bereft of them next time you're attacked," he muttered under his breath, ears flattening to his blood-matted mane. Scowling, he turned his eyes again to the fields. "We'll need to burn them all," he murmured grimly.

"Bodies, or the crops?" the lifewalker absently asked, completely unfazed by the fighter's temper and glare.

"Bodies," answered a third voice, and the two looked up to see the young spiritwalker who had directed the latter half of the Walkers' defense of the town. The grey-furred Panthera gestured to the corpses with a liquid snarl. "Their spirits are already coalescing. The bodies must be burned immediately to ward off a curse on these fields."

"Curses," the lifewalker snorted, rising after tying the last bandage on the bloodwalker's forearm. "I don't argue with the necessity of burning the bastards, but if you--" He cut off abruptly, a gloved hand suddenly on his slim shoulder and spinning him around slowly to stare up at a muscular, lithe Panthera easily half a foot taller than he and twice his slender weight. The healer forced a fakely polite smile as he met the beastwalker's gaze. "You believe in curses too, eh?"

"You haven't died yet," Plainstalker growled, hand falling back to her side, fingers curling around the haft of her axe. "You haven't had to face down the spirits of the dead in their blind anger and sudden spiritual power. He," and here she gestures to the grim bloodwalker, "has died, has seen them. And he," she nods towards the suddenly silent spiritwalker, "sees them night and day. Mock them, and perhaps I'll let you see the spirits of the dead firsthand, mm?" She smiled, the same cold, fanged expression she'd offered her human enemies, and the lifewalker shrank back despite himself.

"Thought so." The beastwalker straightened wearily, hostility draining from her face as she glanced from seated warrior to standing shaman. "Tolls?" she asked of the unwounded Panthera, hand leaving her side to absently massage the fierce burn in her wounded shoulder. The pain, though it must have been immense, didn't seem to have much effect on the hardy hunter.

"No deaths. Most of the wounds are nasty, but nothing's mortal, and nothing's poisoned. No crops destroyed." The spiritwalker was not smiling; his pale blue eyes were solemn. "All in all, a good defense. Lucky for us. We only had three lifewalkers, no beastwalkers other than you..."

"...and only one spiritwalker." The master walker grinned and clapped the smaller male on the shoulder approvingly. "You did well, though by your scent, you were surprised out of your claws to have to take charge." At the grey Panthera's wry grin, she growled a laugh. "I'm glad you did. Made the fight go swifter. I could bloody my paws without worrying about directing the rest of them. Stationed here?"

The spiritwalker shook his head. "No. I was... actually trying to find you. I was asked to give you a message."

That caught her off-guard; the tawny woman stepped back half a pace, her hand dropping from the grey's shoulder, and the warmth in her face was suddenly replaced by wariness. "What message? From whom?" she demanded, voice quiet and suddenly sharp. She caught and held the male's gaze, and in the depths of her dark eyes burned a warning fire.

"Just one sentence." Wearily, the spiritwalker smiled. "Meet Suncaller at the Tehar Waterfall on the next night that we see the Mother's face."

Plainstalker nodded slowly, easing her hand away from the haft of her hatchet. "I will."