It is not Neverland, but it works for me.

Ayuri remembered, when he was just old enough to walk, how his father had tried to tell him something.  Particularly when the young prince showed extraordinary strength and courage, whether through training or play.  His father would summon him with a single motion, often when the elders and the priests would finally retire from their constant pestering of their Pridemaster.  And nearly every time he caught Ayuri’s undivided attention, a shadow would pass over the Pridemaster’s gaze, silencing him.

Throughout his cubhood, Ayuri would think little of such strange interaction, but now...as he opened his gummed eyes to the sounds of a persistent but slow drip, perhaps his father wanted to warn him about something--but just lost the words.

Ayuri’s attempts at any other kind of movement seemed hindered.  He tried to drink in the thin air around him, which only resulted in a coughing and wheezing fit.  His eyes adjusted to what he originally thought was the darkness of an underground cavern or room.  Yet all he saw was gray.  Had he sunk into ashen sand? No, no, that can’t be.  He was in Drik’Thir ready to see his mate.

His mate had a cub.  He wanted to see her.  But something-no, someone was in his way.  Ayuri tried to move once more.  His legs felt encased in stone.  If only he could move his arms or his paws.  His fur prickled at something wet and slick slide down his shoulders, leaving him in another fit of coughing.

What had taken him, and where?

Daesar groaned, his bleary gaze adjusted to a haze of gray that surrounded him.  He licked his dried lips nervously, trying to find his voice. “A-an-hanori!”  His heart sank in the silence that answered his cry.  “H-hanori!”  He wheezed once more.

“Very interesting,” a low purring voice echoed around Daesar.  “It would seem refreshing for the new Pridemaster to have such a strong bond with another of our kind.  If only it had not been done before.”

Daesar squinted, trying to discern the strange shape that approached him in the strange gray fog.  As the figure grew larger and taller, Daesar wondered if he was seated, or maybe laying down...or if this creature really was something massive.

Its gait clicked against the hard stone ground, melding with the rhythm of the sounds of something slowly dripping.

He flinched at a sharp edge swiping against his bare chest, touching the only item that his kidnappers kept on him: a smooth blue stone the size of a claw kept around his neck with braided leather.

“You don’t seem to be entirely our kind,” Daesar thought he saw a flash of a fanged smile from the creature.  “They do seem to attract the deviants.”

Daesar fell prey to his white hot rage.  His ragged breathing quickened and his ears flattened as he focused on the being before him as it flinched away from the innocuous stone that glowed in its touch.

The gray haze began to disperse, melding into a liquid that pooles beneath his paws.

"Bai'thris?" The being took in a sharp breath before skittering back out of sight.

“A half breed?!” Queen Khari uttered after slamming the cell door shut behind her.  The veil of her sadistic persona cracked as her cursed memories began their assault on her mind.  Flashes of the sardonic grin of Taer Winthrope poisoned the void with fear.  Had he been a half breed as well?  Was that part of his charisma?  Was there something more to Taer just as there was more to this--”Bai’thris!”  She spat the word, her lips curled into a snarl.

Queen Khari, much like her mother before her, had very limited knowledge of the far more ancient race who lived beneath the sands of the Grenga Desert.  The Saedas.  However, the surface Feliskins in Drik’Thir had another name for them, Bai’thir, or “benders”...but this Feliskin who stood so defiant and brazen before her.  He looked just like a Feliskin.  Yet he melted her webs...no, he bent them!  No Feliskin could do that!  Not even the Ley’nir who could sever the lines of fate!

She would not show her weakness to the new heir to the Drik’thir throne.  Never.

Ayuri struggled once more to move, his fit of coughing fell silent as a slender grip pressed against his throat.

“Have YOU learned nothing from your grandfather’s transgression?” a roar echoed through the chamber.  “Do you not remember Taer the Usurper?  How his venomous whispers nearly destroyed our kind?  What he did to us?”

It clicked in his mind, as he was staring through his vision blurred by tears of pain, that he saw the shimmering gaunt form of the Blood Queen towering over him, that this was what the shadow that fell over his father.  This had to have been what his father tried to warn him about.  This had been done to his father, and his father before him.  And it was also the fate of every new heir afterwards-unless he did something to change that.

Kiera jolted awake, a familiar pain coursed through her shoulders and chest, reminding her that she should not move too quickly. She gulped painful breaths, stifling her coughing sobs. Droplets of sweat shone on her brow in the dawn-lit tent. And though she pulled away her fur blankets long into the night, she found her tunic moist from her nightmare perspiring. Her paws were shaking and her body trembled. Only one thing could calm her down: a swim in the nearby river. She stood uneasily to her feet as another surge of pain threatened to knock her back into her cot.

Peering out of her tent into the gray dawn, Kiera looked down to see the three males that normally slept outside of her tent were gone. She sighed, thankful that they were gone to take their turn at the perimeter. One less obstacle, Kiera smiled and quietly left her tent. Her back had been turned to the main camp several dozen paces away, where several more tents had been set up between close pockets of males far more vigilant than the three younger males responsible for her own safety and that of the southwestern part of the perimeter. And she took every chance she could to leave, undisturbed.

Her paws found the familiar trail winding around the boughs of the golden maples. She tread carefully over the gnarled roots and ducked through the thick shrubs that protected their secret passage with prickling leaves and scratchy branches. She drew closer to the river, her guide was the sound of the gurgling brook only steps away from her right side, until she finally found the white sandy shore. She gleaned the shore before stripping away her tunic and breeches.

The cool, gently flowing water felt refreshing against her fur. Kiera swam away from the shore into the deeper water as the sun's rays began to sift through the canopy. Her troubles seemed to flow down the river with every stroke. And though her shoulders were still sore, the pain was dulled by the cold water. When she finally reached her perfect depth, her paws touching no sand or rock, Kiera dove down eagerly. She revelled in the vast open river surrounding her and began to wonder if this feeling was what birds felt when they flew, or even if Moonhide had the same feeling when he took to the skies.

Kiera ventured deeper, when an unusual ball of red fur caught her eye. She squinted to narrow her focus and found that there was a motionless Khanin suspended in the water. Its body was curled up and wrapped in its feathery red tail. Her modesty gave way to panic and a few bubbles of air escaped her lips. She quickly pumped as hard as she could to the body, her golden brown mane in wispy tendrils that veiled her face. When she touched the Khanin's shoulder, she jumped at the Khanin's ice blue eyes opening suddenly and with a clarity of knowing where it was.

The Khanin stretched out of its ball and swam to the surface, as Kiera followed closely behind. Both Khanin broke the surface, drinking in gulps of air. Kiera coughed and spat out water as she floundered in her panic.

The Khanin, a young male who matched Keira's height, sputtered, incredulous that he'd been disturbed. “Wha-what the-” He whirled to find his unexpected guest sinking under. He grabbed a hold of Kiera's wrist and pulled her to him. Her head broke the surface once more. Wrapping his arm around Kiera's waist, the red Khanin swam to shore.

Exhausted, the red Khanin dragged Kiera against the mud, while he too scraped for firm soil. He drank in gulps of air, his gray muzzle gaped open with tiny white teeth that elder Khanin would call “milk teeth”. He rolled Kiera to her side, careful not to purposefully touch her tender, cream colored underbelly that had been unclothed. The red Khanin had only the chance to admire the females of his kind from afar. Few males shared the same age as him and were also given many of the duties that took them away from the main proximity of the pack. The fact that another female would bother to bathe in a section of the river that was visited mainly by the other males had almost seemed impossible had he not had the proof laying before him. Water continued to drip from his now blood red fur, and he reached forward, his paws as grey as his snout, to coax the strange, light brown female Khanin awake.

The sound of paws padding against the soft dirt trail startled the red Khanin, and by the louder voices, he could not only tell who was approaching but that they would be walking in at any time. In a panic, the red Khanin drew his paw back, and accidently brushed it against the female's shoulder.

The red Khanin heard the conversation of a gravelly voiced Khanin he recognized as Grave, with the younger, lighthearted voice that belonged to Moonhide's most trusted brother, Dusthowl.

“It seems that Bloodhide has not been showing initiative as of late,” Dusthowl spoke carefully around the elder. “And I am wondering if perhaps he may need a change of partner, if only for the first season.”

“Bloodhide has shown progress in the old world. His duties are handled better when he is alone,” Grave's dark voice grumbled. “And though I am grateful for this opportunity to-” Grave pulled away a low-lying branch to see the back of the red Khanin face him, and hunched over the coughing, convulsing body of a female. Grave's voice became a low growl. “Nias Bloodhide...that'd better be a wounded-”

Dusthowl gasped, whispering, “Kiera...”

“Hm?” Grave's patience was too thin to care about his superior's shock. Grave grabbed the red Khanin by the scruff and pulled him to his feet. His dark gray eyes surveyed the red Khanin with sheer disappointment before, “Get yourself cleaned up and to the west corner, Bloodhide. You will be pulling a double watch. I'm sure that will give you time to come up with a good excuse as to what was going on here.”

The red Khanin, Bloodhide, slumped in defeat. His black tipped ears crinkled against his skull. He knew he shouldn't argue with an elder, but he could only tell the truth. He quietly trudged along the shore to find his tunic to pull on over his head.

“Wait, Bloodhide,” Dusthowl called. “Where are her clothes?”

Bloodhide turned to Dusthowl and shrugged. “I-I don't know.”

Taking Bloodhide's word for truth, Dusthowl removed his own tunic and draped the cloth over Kiera who had ceased her coughing fit and tried to sit up.

Grave respectfully averted his gaze, and instead burned it into the retreating Bloodhide. He then said to Dusthowl. “I will relieve the north watch, feel free to meet up with Bloodhide to the west at your leisure. If you do manage to see Bloodhide for the later watch, would you mind taking some of the feast with you tonight? No sense having our scouts starve.”

“I will make sure he and the others are fed,” Dusthowl lifted the dazed Kiera in his arms. “Each side will have their portion before I go.”

“Thank you,” Grave grumbled once more. “Feed the south if you will. I will take care of north and east.”

“Very well,” Dusthowl answered before parting ways with Grave.

Kiera shivered against Dusthowl, her dark green eyes searched wildly. “Wh-what...Dusthowl?”

“I'll bring you to your tent,” Dusthowl said, his gaze looked forward to the trail he navigated through. “Unless...do you think you can walk?”

“Where are my clothes?” Kiera gripped the tunic to her breast.

“I didn't look for them yet,” Dusthowl shrugged, changing the subject to avoid his uncomfortable answer. “The deep waters are too cold, even for this time of year.”

“I think I can walk,” Kiera said flatly. “Please, Dusthowl.”

Dusthowl lowered Kiera to the ground, steadying her on her feet. As Kiera began to walk away with a brief, grateful smile, she could hear Dusthowl's strides behind her.

“I won't fall, I promise,” Kiera smiled ruefully, her wet locks covered her right eye, and her damp fur diminished her size to an almost skeletal figure.

Pridemaster Arhi Ghaust’s body had been adorned in the finest dark purple silk before the servants brought it to the grand pyre.  A raised platform of sandstone that was charred from the previous Pridemaster’s funeral had been replenished with palm fronts that were drenched in oil on the previous night.

The grieving Feliskins of the Grenga Desert gathered the night before to say their final words to the fallen king, and bring offerings in the form of small jars of oil to anoint the fronds in their symbolic tears.  But now, in the heat of the afternoon sun, the crowds awaited the procession of their new Pridemaster.

Ayuri Ghaust had weathered the worst of the Drestvin War, but had managed to come back to Drik’Kir Castle in time to be with his father during his final months.  The young Feliskin saw brothers in combat with grievous wounds.  He carried several of the fallen to the healers.  Others, he watched, petrified, as they took their last breaths.  He bathed in the blood from slaughtering scores of encroaching humans.  But nothing could have prepared him for what he witnessed in Drik’Kir.

In his old age, Pridemaster Ahri had become blind-but still could not recognize his own son’s voice.  Despite witnessing his son’s homecoming as one of the last festivities to behold with his own eyes. 

Ayuri had arrived in Drik’Kir that evening when the underground castle was in chaos.  Truth be told, he had taken over as the new Pridemaster as soon as his father lost his sight-and mind. He was settling in with the new protocols and had finished the final preparations with his father’s advisors.  Once the old Pradmaster was dead, Ayuri hoped to bring a new age of expansion to his people.

Pridemaster Ahri’s death was not going to be a quiet, bedside evening, for clearly he was haunted by shadows of his past mistakes.  And Pridemaster Ahri was going to fight them to the bitter end.  Ayuri ordered his mate, his brother and his brother’s mate to the eastern tower.  The tower that his father had reviled, despite fruitless attempts to decorate the courtyard below in the most beautiful and aromatic foliage that could thrive in the desert.

“I will only need two guards,” Ayuri assured the gathered staff and guards.  “The rest of you, tend to-”

“You won’t be alone to face this, brother,” Ayuri winced at the familiar comfort of his adopted brother’s paw on his shoulder.

“What about Narhyn?” Ayuri turned to face the smaller stature of the Feliskin who shared his age. 

“She and Rhen are in good paws,” Ayuri’s brother grinned.

“I think you underestimate your father,” one of the guards could not hide his concern much longer. 

“He will burn out the brightest,” Ayuri sighed.  “But he will burn out.  You have done all you must to get him to the Sanctuary.  Those doors are not meant to take the onslaught of a Son of Ghudduri.  The rest of the staff must go to the East Tower.  My mate will need protecting and I do not wish to lose any more of you to my father’s death throes.  Guards, leave me to talk with my brother for a moment, and we will meet you at the Sanctuary.”

The servants and guards cast final concerned glances at their future Pridemaster before finally leaving Ayuri alone.

Ayuri held his brother’s gaze for several moments when they were completely alone.  He was trying to piece together the right words.

His brother heaved a sigh that sounded more like a shudder of fear.  “N-no...no I-I can’t-”

“I am glad you are able to stand with me to face him,” Ayuri said slowly.  “But you had to know that I would ask this of you. I need your help Daesyr.”

Daesyr looked down at his own, shaking paws and balled them into fists.  “He’s your father, Ayuri...I-”

“Daesyr, he was our father!”

“Ayuri?” Daesyr’s voice cut through the humid afternoon air at the Temple of Ghudduri.

Ayuri shook away the fatigue and nightmarish memory that seemed to cloud his mind.  “Hm?”

Daesyr tried to paint a reassuring smile, though he too was weary.  “Rhen will be fine, the cub is healthy and--well, I’m sure she would have been by your side if she could.”

Ayuri sighed, drawing a corner of his feline mouth upward in a quiet, rueful smirk.  “These past few weeks have been hell for us all, Daesyr.  But at least you are here.  We’ll be facing the crowds alone.  At least you have the choice to go to Narhyn.  She needs you as well.”

“She knows that her Pridema-” Daesyr gasped, swallowing nervously.

Ayuri eased himself to his feet and grabbed a firm grip on the handle of a wooden mallet.  With one powerful swing, he channeled his annoyance to smash the head against a large bronze gong that had been fastened with leather straps in the topmost room of the temple.

The loud clang seemed to make the room vibrate.  Its sound carried through the chattering masses and quieted the chattering crowd.

Daesyr’s ears flattened from the sound, but also in shame.  He knew when his brother was upset, but he hoped Ayuri would speak once the procession ended.  Daesyr followed Ayuri’s long strides down the steps and to the main floor which witnessed countless gatherings.  Many thanksgiving rituals had been performed here.  So many offerings to Ghudduri had been placed upon the marble altar.  But now the room was darkened and empty save for Daesyr, Ayuri, the Matrik of the Pearl Grotto and two of her acolytes.

The Matrik was a withry gold and black spotted Feliskin, much like Ayuri.  She had even matched the young Feliskin in height.  Her face had been painted a dark purple with red to cover her natural black tear lines.  Unlike Ayrui, who wore the plain white robes to signify the birth of a new reign, the Matrik wore the mourning colors of purple as a quiet prayer to Ghudduri to take the old Pridemaster into her vision.  In the Matrik’s paws, she held the red painted bronze collar that the new Pridemaster was to bear alone.  

The Matrik’s closest acolyte held the lit torch while the remaining acolyte remained focused upon his prayers.  The young acolyte’s paws were folded, and his words were slow, quiet, but steady.  “Blessed Ghudduri, Mother Moon who gave us life…”

“You have ended your grief, Ayuri Ghaust, son of Arhi Ghaust, and grandson of the first Drik’Thir Son of Ghudduri Ayren Ghaust,” the Matrik strained her husky voice over the prayers.  “Now you must be measured and judged by those you seek to rule in place of your fallen father.”

“Yes, Matrik Oryila,” croaked Ayuri.

“Kneel to bear the Collar of Khanis, for he is the angel who will walk with you on this day,” the Matrik ordered.

Daesyr watched in stolid admiration of his brother’s strength as Ayuri fell to one knee and lowered his head to the Matrik.  The legend of the collar was that it came from the heavens as a fragment of Khanis’s armor--forever stained crimson by the blood of a demon, or one of his own fallen brethren.  Khanis was the angel of Judgement and it was said anything red drew his attention.

Only those in the higher echelons of Drik’Thir society knew the truth.  Red was a very dangerous color and it drew the attention of most-mortal and immortal.  Though the Temple of Ghudduri kept a fragment of Khanis’s armor that truly fell from the heavens, the object was not large enough to drape over the neck and shoulders of a grown male Feliskin.

“May you stay your brother’s hand and have him look upon Ayuri Ghaust, son of Arhi Ghaust and grandson of the first…” the praying acolyte continued further amid the metallic tingling as Ayuri rose to his feet.

“Take the flame, and prove to them that you will carry on the legacy of Ghaust,” the Matrik said before opening the bronze gilded doors.

Daesyr stayed five paces behind his brother, his gaze cast downward and away from the gawking populace.  All while Ayuri had to keep the posture he had been taught since he was old enough to walk.  Ayuri was bred and trained to be the new leader, Daesyr had known that.  He had to admit though, he wondered if Ghaust Feliskin blood was really molten iron.

Ayuri kept his solemn, stolid expression forward.  He ignored the naysayers, the quiet sobs...the ones who reached for him to take on his burden of judgment.  He kept a firm grip on the torch that threatened to extinguish at any moment.  And perhaps that was part of the ceremony, Daesyr also wondered.  Would Khanis not find him worthy by taking the flame?  And if so, what then?

Daesyr trudged along, trying to drown out the quiet murmurs and sobs of his people that judged their future Pridemaster.  He had the choice to stay behind.  Rhen and Narhym bonded like sisters through their respective pregnancies.  Rhen’s daughter was born a fitful, sickly cub.  But if she had any of her father’s blood in her, she would earn her life soon.

The main road seemed longer than usual.  Crowds flanked either side of the two brothers and were held back by either the respect of the solemn ceremony-and the presence of the guards who were prepared to shed their blood for their future Pridemaster.

Lou’s gray blue gaze was cast downward to the polished, dark wooden floors which creaked beneath the weight of the approaching footsteps.  The teenager, flanked by three armed servants, exercised his restraint to take in his surroundings, to find weak points of the keep.  He felt naked in his old, gray cotton robe that marked him as an apprentice of the written word in the distant, northern city of Zerranata.  However, the robes were the only formal vestments he owned to meet his family’s new client rather than his ranger garb.  He pushed away the stray locks of his long golden hair and caught a glance at the blue stained-glass windows.

      Freezing rain pelted against the panes, leaving the young man’s thoughts on his family.  He had spent many years of his childhood away from his three brothers and mother.  And his chance at rejoining them for another expedition had been thwarted once more by a message from a noble.

      The tallest of the servants that walked before the young ranger twisted one of the bronze knobs of the double doors at the end of the walkway.  He pushed gently against the etched wood of one of the doors to reveal a grand but sparsely furnished room.  A table, nearly two dozen paces long, took up the space of half of the room.  At the head of the table, seated in a chair that looked more like a chiseled shard of obsidian instead of the oak it was truly hewn from, a short but lanky figure who held the countenance of a winter fox atop a human body.  Its strange, shoulder length mane of white and silvery blue had been tied back in a loose braid.  The being’s frame was indeed small, or so the ranger couldn’t help but notice.  Even its hands, or what Louis would have perceived to be paws, clad in light blue leather gloves and folded before the being looked delicate.

      Lou did everything he could do to keep a neutral, diplomatic composure.  The being looked intimidating but clearly had the charisma to enthrall a very prosperous city. Lou had heard of stories about the beings such as the one before him.  When he was old enough to hold a coal stick, he would draw the creatures that his mother encountered to the best of his abilities.  He thought them monstrous brutes that pillaged farms and scavenged the local cemeteries for an easy meal.  Yet here one of them sat, wearing silken vestments of nobility, with its white fur groomed to a pearly sheen.

      The corner of the fox creature’s mouth curled in a rueful smile.  “Louis Allenworth...You impress me with your composure, young one.”

      Lou blinked away the spell that he seemed to be under with the being’s presence.  He stared back down at the ground, his cheeks burning red.  “T-thank you…uhm, my mother told me a lot about…about your kind.”

      The being stroked the long tuft of fur beneath its chin with a gloved hand.  “She’s one of the finest rangers to the north, or so I have heard.  She must be very knowledgeable, or well-travelled, to know about my kind down here.”

      “I-I,” Lou stammered.  Had the being mocked his mother?  He knew his mother’s prime years were long behind her, but the only thing that marked her age was her white hair, and the slight wrinkles around her face.  She could hold her own against many who were far younger than she.

      The creature stood up, the large chair scraped against the floor.  With a wave of its hand, it dismissed most of the servants, save the tallest one who took his place at one of the corner windows.  It then walked around the table to the chagrined teenager.  The creature’s height nearly matched that of Lou’s own height.

      “I see I must have said something wrong again,” the creature blinked away the modicum of concern it had and continued.  “The ranger guilds in this corner of the lands are nothing like what I have heard of your family.  I believe your family was the first to offer their services to the map makers.  And it is from one of the map makers that I had heard about you.  You were one of the star pupils in that little Zerranata chapel."

Lou nodded, words seemed to crawl away from him.  He wished he had more time to prepare.  More time to think.

“I shall like to ask a favor of you,” the creature’s fairly large paws were bare, the white fur trimmed so short they were like velvet.  “You see, the ranger guilds around here are interested in mapping the lands.  They give a rough guess as to how many trees there are in the forests.  How long the rivers run...but I shall like you to map time.”

Lou blinked, confused.  “T-Time?”

“My time, to be exact,” as the creature brought his face close to Lou, the ranger realized that the being’s eyes were not entirely black as he’d thought they were.  No, this being had a strange contraption of black glass wrapped in wire that rested directly over its eyes and snout.  The being held his gaze to the young ranger.  Was he searching for something? Was he measuring the lad?  And for what?

The title seemed to fall like a lump from Lou’s mouth, “M-my lord, I don’t understand.”

The being turned and walked to the red and blue stained glass windows.  His strange gaze fell upon the buildings of the town in the distance.  “You must forgive me.  Though I have been raised by...your kind...words still elude me from time to time.  I shall like you to map out my history.  My lineage.  My birth, and my life up until this point.”

Upon the realization of what the creature was talking about, Lou offered.  “Oh, you mean your chronology!  I-I’d be happy to do that...Is this why you summoned me?  Why are you willing to fund an entire year of supplies to my family for their expeditions?”

“I would like to think that I am a generous Khanin,” the creature murmured, hiding the sneer that threatened to form on his face.

“Perhaps if there was one of his kind here for comfort, Lord Spectre,” a voice reverberated from the corner where the man stood .  “After all, you are quite a sight to behold.”

Lou whirled, dropping the parchment of his summons on the floor.  He had nearly forgotten that he was not entirely alone with the strange creature lord.  Though he was relieved that the person who had voiced his concern was indeed human, and the tallest of the bodyguards to escort him into the room, the man’s presence was almost as intimidating.

Lord Spectre cast a weary but impish smile to the tall man.  “Ah, Mister Longfellow the Younger.  You always seem to know how to bring this mutt to heel.”

The man’s sun-kissed face winced briefly in a rueful smile before returning to his usual solemn gaze.  Folding his broad arms over his breast, he regarded his employer as more of an equal than nobility.  “I think it will lessen the blow.”

So earlier this year, I wanted to add my voice and opinions on things that brought my attention on YouTube.  I spent quite a few months recording, re-recording, doing scripts, trying different recording programs, and just getting everything ready to upload.  I managed to upload two videos on my channel.  And I guess I am not cut out for it.

This will be more of a rant because I feel like I can just vent on Tumblr and my Spotify Podcast about my frustrations, concerns and just open a discussion without having to take a side or invoke the wrath of a large channel and their fans.  Moreover, at the end of the day, I want to do this as a hobby and not as a career venture.  If I can find a few friends to talk to, argue with or agree with, that would be awesome.  But I’m keeping the expectations pretty low.

For those who don’t go to YouTube (#1, I am envious), 2020 has been interesting in some sections.  It’s safe to note that YouTube is a large entertainment platform that hosts a variety of topics and genres.  From zit busting, to creepypastas, to pirated content that is mirrored to avoid the copyright bots, to beauty tips, hauls, mukbangs, to commentary and everything in between.  And maybe it’s just me, but the algorithm has brought me to some very interesting parts of the platform.

My main account has been there since 2008 and, well to name the channels and subjects I have heard of/listened to would be pretty large.  But two fairly recent YouTube controversies have soured my mood about the platform.  I’ll name a third in retrospect because I’ve checked out on that drama a while ago.  The first was about a content creator who streamed pirated content to her channel and when she was called out by it, well let’s just say that YouTube was on her side.  And now it may take an international lawsuit to finally get this lady to realize that pirating does have consequences that may reflect back on YouTube.

A creator named John Swan did some research on “safe harbor laws” that YouTube has now willingly broke because they decided to protect the pirate content creator.  Granted, Patreon has stepped in and taken her off of their platform and she has since moved all of her videos to her personal website.  A move that YouTube is probably thankful for because they can no longer protect her if and/or when the production companies go after her for reparations.

It was because of the pirate content creator that I wanted to mainly make my channel a podcast styled channel and not add footage of what I wanted to react/comment on.  My main focus on my YouTube channel was to discuss nostalgia, and in particular, I was going to cover each episode of a cartoon series I grew up with.  But because I could now be banned from the platform for putting in less than five seconds of the cartoon, I saw no point in even adding it.

The other controversy is between two fairly large content creators who have now attacked each other’s sponsors.  Now, I may have said I didn’t want to turn this into a career, but that doesn’t mean I want everyone who want to make YouTube into a career to get punished because two knuckleheads want to send their fans fighting each other during a time where we have been reeling from pandemic protocols and now are going through a civil rights movement.

If I wanted to see a war, I wouldn’t turn on YouTube to see two grown men act like toddlers, I’d just look outside at police brutalizing peaceful protests or just plain riots in the streets.

Wars.  They are petty squabbles that the rich are too afraid to deal with on their own.  So the rich and those in power, use the gullible fodder of the populace to settle the score.  And the trifling thing about war is that the rich and the powerful think war can get interesting when the fodder are smart enough to out maneuver the other side.

“...The House Rodrick,” I remember the recruiting officer calling my family name from atop his polished saddle.  He rolled the parchment back in his gloved grasp and placed it into a satchel with the crest of the Asachi Kingdom that rested at his thin thigh.

I worked in the fields that surrounded the modest stone dwelling.  I shouldn’t say modest though.  As a Rodrick, I was born of one of the founding families in Cyndre Village.  Naturally we had the best pick of the land.  Our house, like that of the Knowles family, boasted a second floor and a lush garden protected by cobbled stone walls.  However, our house was not the reason why the recruitment officer paid us a visit.

My father, a withered elder with enough of his wits to help Cyndre Village with its own laws and policies, watched his children pick the summer’s crop that grew in the south field.  He sat under the porch, annoyed that his only day off in his civic duties was interrupted once more.  “We already sent the three oldest.  The boys we have left can’t even hold a sword yet.”

“But they can fight,” the recruitment officer held his ground.  “If they can be taught to harvest fruit, then they can be taught to fight with something other than a sword.”

“A shovel then, eh?” I could hear my father’s exasperated sigh.  “I can spare Sorin.  But then who will harvest the crops for your grunts to eat?”

“You have your intelligence still, old man,” the officer spat.  Clearly, the bone thin man on the horse felt pretty bold astride that overworked nag beneath him.

“Sorin!” My father called me by name.  He didn’t have to yell too loudly.  I may not have been old enough to overhear adults talking, but lately they didn’t care to talk about those matters out of earshot of youngsters like me.

I stood up from where I had been hunched over.  My pants still stained from the strawberries that I didn’t harvest correctly, and dusted with dirt and leaves.  I was drenched in sweat but I was thankful for the brief breeze that tousled my mane of dark brown hair.  Supposedly I could have been as handsome as my oldest brother if I really tried.  Rodrick was among the Nobility of Asachi in some aspects since we helped fund and build a very lucrative village to satiate their hunger for alchemical and botanical knowledge.  

I hid my smirk as my father gestured me over to where he sat.  “Does this look like a soldier to you Crynshaw?”

“He seems to do a pretty good job picking berries,” the officer bristled slightly at not being called by his title.  Though one quick glance at the three strips of blue on the left side of his nag’s bridle would hint that he was not an officer at all.  Or so at least, did not command a large force.  No, this man, Gregory Crynshaw, paid the war lord enough money to recruit a force into aiding Asachi in this dumb war.  And if he didn’t get his quota, he would return to whatever low rank he was enlisted as.  A scout.  It was the most thankless and most dangerous rank that one could be in the Asachi force.  It suited Gregory though.  At least, in my opinion.  He was a lithe man.  Given the proper attire and training, he could be a very valuable source to gather information about the other side.   

       "Picking berries is one thing, Crynshaw," my father spat. "It won't aid Asachi in producing corpses of Ergin-Kai forces!"

      I saw the color leave Crynshaw's face. My father, much like many of the families of Cyndre, did not like this war.  A war that reignited tensions all because some spoiled brat of a prince couldn't wait to get his prick wet. And with a nine year old girl for Aesir's sake!

      "...then I will have to take him by force!" My blood was already boiling from the summer's heat. I had barely heard the last of Crynshaw's threat as my gaze shot up to Crynshaw.

     "Ah, so good of you to join us in the land of consciousness, Sorin Rodrick," the pompous windbag chided. "Get your things and have your matters-"

     "Then you had better make sure you have a Blood Conscript in that little bag of yours," my father grumbled. He had asked for one before from the last recruitment officer. 

It was a tactic to weed out the desperate head hunters and those who were dedicated to the cause. So far, it chased away nearly a dozen men who bothered my father with their schemes.  But perhaps Crynshaw was legitimately wanting to prove to the war lord of his competence-or he was looking for any way to avoid his fate as a scout.

Crynshaw absently groped the satchel, though whether he was lying or not, I couldn't tell myself.  "Seems you and every other cantankerous old man are asking for them since I'm out of them."

"Well I'm not subjecting my only son left that is old enough to take care of matters to the Weir Brand," my father gestured feebly. "After all, my cantankerous old hands might slip. Then you won't have a soldier to help you in your cause."

I kept my head low once more. I had been taught to not show my arrogance or even pride when my father used his knowledge of law against the more common men. I didn't know if Crynshaw's face was now red or not, but I gnawed at my lip to keep from smiling.

The stars’ tears seemed to glitter the skies in their lament of the moon’s slumber.  In the distance, on that cold winter’s night, a lone flame flickered in a lantern held in the strong but slender grip of a grey speckled Feliskin.  The humanoid creatures who had the characteristics of wild cats conquered the desert sands of Grenga and made their stronghold and most prosperous city in its heart.  

But he was not of that race of Feliskin.  He knew better now.  With his remaining grip, he clasped the limp body of a smaller being under its torso.  It was a rather crude position he had it in...because he carried a corpse-

Shouts cut through the cold, still air.  He looked to the remaining dune to his left, where he knew the watch post would be.  There had to be at least one scout hiding or patrolling the dunes that had seen him, though he had not yet encountered them.  They were now just acting on his approach and rushing to his position. 

A small moan jarred his already troubled and defeated heart. His strength waned as he felt a tugging sensation in his chest, he dropped the lantern and fell to one knee. She was alive? 

The approaching scouts quickened their pace upon seeing the bronze lantern of their city at the feet of one of their own.  The leader's thin lips tightened in a grimace as he recognized the Feliskin who was now hunched over something.  There was only one Feliskin who had grey speckled fur. Only one, had the moon been out, would his signature flecks emit a soft blue glow.

"Daesar?" The leader of the three scouts hurried to the older Feliskin.

"She's alive, Saer'ke," Daesar breathed, his eyes glazed with tears.  The world seemed to stand still for him. He ignored the concerned calls and encouragement to rest or drink from the scouts' proffered water skins.

"Delirium," said the leader Saer'ke.  He didn’t know how long Daesar had been travelling without food or water, but what he did know was that he would not have lasted long without their intervention.

Daesar’s body trembled from exhaustion, though he still kept a tight grip on the body beside him.

"He won't let it go," grunted the female scout as she tried to pry the body from Daesar. 

"We must take them together," Saer'ke instructed.  “You two, grab an arm.”

Daesar’s energy and strength failed him as he only managed to utter through his pained sobs.  “N-no! No, please!  She’s, -live-”

With a final pull, the two scouts managed to separate Daesar from the body.  Daesar crumpled, unconscious, on top of the two scouts.

Saer’ke gasped at the strange body covered in strange pale skin.  It looked to be clothed, but the deep gashes on its chest and stomach tore open the gown or dress it had been in.  Was this what a human looked like? Was this something that was meant to strike fear in his people?

“Scoutmaster Saer’ke?” the female Feliskin’s voice brought the leader out of his rapt curiosity.

The bonfire before the patriarch's seat soared above the young male's seated form and flickered with a faint jade glow. The patriarch's gray-green eyes held a warm smile as he beheld his new subjects, dozens of refugees who, like himself, faced insurmountable odds to reach their new home. Wolf-like humanoids, several of which were some of the patriarch's own relatives, watched with bated breath as their young leader stood to his feet. A pair of wings as white as freshly fallen snow were folded at the patriarch's back, giving him a celestial presence among his mortal kin and even matched his moonlit pelt.

The elders who were present had known the new patriarch to have the black-brown fur of his fathers. From his first father, the young male gained not only the tremendous height, but the charisma that was unquestionable, unwavering. From his second father, he gained a gentle wisdom which was also respected...and a legacy of angelic prose.

Approaching the patriarch from his right, a golden-brown wolf-like humanoid greeted his younger brother with a brisk arm brace. His dark green eyes glittered with pride at his sibling. “Annitir, Moonhide,” the older brother said, using an endearing sibling phrase.

“Annitir, Dusthowl,” Moonhide, the patriarch chuckled. Taking in a deep breath, he sighed away his anxiety, and addressed his clan. “Elders, brothers, sisters...my kin. Our journey has been indeed an arduous feat which will be told to all generations. We've escaped the tyranny of Jaxxix the Butcher!”

A cheer rose from the group, and among the dozens of admiring creatures called Khanin, one female smiled warily. She knew, much like the elders, who the real refugees were. Those who really escaped the nightmare in Cassik Forest from long ago.

And still Moonhide continued, “We faced our most primal fears and befriended the Feliskins of Akrhyn! We traveled the Ambrose Sea!”

Another cheer echoed through the forest from the Khanin.

“And now, we have made our home here,” Moonhide brought the swell of excitement down from the group. His voice heavied slightly. “Though we have lost many in our travels. Even our-beloved Matriarch...I-I will try my best to carry on her rule. We will live our lives to the fullest, as she would have wished. And in her memory, this wood will be forever called: Verna's Walk!”

The female could see the pain in her leader's eyes for such a brief moment, she wondered if she was trying to find something in his gaze. She blinked, noticing the leader's paw raise to quiet the murmurs and whispers.

“I do not mean to sadden your hearts,” Moonhide's voice rang clearly, void of sorrow. “For tonight begins our first season in our new home. I ask that you unburden your hearts on this night and revel in the joy of this new world. A world to live in peace and happiness.” With a simple gesture of his paw, Moonhide dismissed the group to partake in their nightly feast.

The female was among the last to stand. The thoughts in her mind and heart seemed to fill her stomach as well, and as she took a last glance at the patriarch, she could see that he spoke with his brother in hushed tones. She stepped away from the crowds, thankful for the cool night air on her pale brown fur and that delicately stroked at her brownish-blonde mane. She knew that she could not venture too far, for fear of drawing attention, and she would draw further attention if she did not eat with her foster family. She would instead wait for her turn, however long it took. She sat against the dull yellow trunk of a golden maple, her gaze flitting from the hungry Khanin that each took a fair portion of various types of meats hunted earlier: swamp venison, boars, herons, swans, hares, various fish. It was a mighty banquet for them, and perhaps the most food they have had in years.

“Kiera?” a voice resounded from her right.

The female sat up as a shadow fell over her. She looked up to see the patriarch's brother, Dusthowl stop before her. She blinked, her voice leaving her long enough for him to continue.

“I-I'm sorry. Did I-” Dusthowl stepped back sheepishly. His long blonde tail swayed anxiously.

“No,” her answer was sharper than she intended. “Err-I mean, I was just...I was waiting for the rest of them to go.”

Dusthowl cleared his throat as he took a glance from his brother in the distance and back to Kiera. “Would you like to wait with us?”

“At the Patriarch's seat?” Kiera's voice dropped to a whisper. She swallowed nervously.

Dusthowl gripped the back of his neck, his claws stroking at the hairs of his mane. “He's the same Moonhide, Kiera. I promise. It'll be like old times, like when M-Verna was alive.” Releasing his anxious grip on his neck, he extended his paw. “I think he needs the both of us right now. Please, Kiera.”

Kiera should have turned her gaze away, but she was held by those pitiful dark green eyes that pleaded even more fervently than words. She glanced at the profile of Moonhide, hunched forward in his place, alone. Her ears crinkled slightly. She berated herself for being nervous around Dusthowl and for even having reservations about Moonhide. She had known both brothers for most of their lives. She was Moonhide's caretaker after he'd nearly escaped death from his cut collar. Her delicate grip seemed to be swallowed by Dusthowl's long bony paws.

Dusthowl pulled Kiera to her feet with a gentle tug. After she dusted off her kilt and tunic, Kiera followed Dusthowl to the main bonfire, seating herself at Moonhide's right. She stared at the strange green flames and gray green smoke which held a soothing fragrance at a closer distance. She blinked away her trance, startled as Dusthowl took his place beside her.

“This fire,” Kiera's tongue seemed to grow heavy. “It's fed with golden maple?”

“Not just golden maple,” Moonhide's voice sounded distant to Kiera. “There was some moss that the gatherers thought would make the fire last longer.”

“The moss seems to work, don't you think, Moonhide?” Dusthowl asked hopefully.

“It's been going on-” Moonhide's voice grew concerned as he brought his gaze to Kiera. “Kiera? What's the matter?”

Kiera brought her paw to her face, wiping away the haze. “I'm fine. I just want to get some water is all.”

Dusthowl stretched back to the tent opening behind them and produced a skin of liquid. “Here. You don't mind, annitir?”

Moonhide shook his head, “No it's fine.” He stood back up, his hulking shadow was cast over the tent wall.

Kiera wanted to take the proffered skin, but saw a strange twinge of sadistic glee in Disthowl's face. She blinked, thinking that her mind was being tricked by the smoke, but the crooked smile did not leave his face.

“Let me help you with that,” Moonhide's whispered voice resounded above Kiera, startling her. She was trying to grasp for a reason why the brothers would be acting odd, and could only come to the conclusion that the smoke was affecting them.

“Vendrixx, Valdra,” Kiera called the brothers by their birthnames. “Snap out of it, you're-”