Romance Fan Fiction / Original Stories Fan Fiction / Fables/Fairytales Fan Fiction ❯ Eshi-dan: the red blacksmith ❯ Untamed innocent ( Chapter 1 )

Burying the borrowed blade deep within the bowels of an invader Ketifa releases a short arrow into the ear of a charging Orc. The back of her hair rose turning a spear scrapes along her shoulder. Using her momentum a glint of metal reaches her hand. The thin wicked boomerang slices through the attacker's chain mail. As the solider hollers the tip finds his heart. Cleaning her blade on the next victim she runs.

 

A deafening roar pierces through the noise of battle. The ground shakes from the heavy steps of a beast. Turning towards the noise she find the source, a mountain troll. Through the haze of burning flesh she can see it. Childlike he sweeps his club scattering defenders like dolls. She knows there will be some body parts but mostly a smear on the ground. Ducking into the bakery she climbs. Twitching her wrists scorpion tipped arrowheads lock into position within the gauntlets. Ripping doors open she finds the roof. Crouching low she watches for the right moment. Willing the beast closer she ignores the chaos surrounding her.

 

Licking her lips her hands curls into fists as she wills her body to stop trembling with excitement. Underneath the wailing mask of Tragedy, full glistening lips spread into a sarcastic smile. This fury of death and destruction calls so seductively. A full-blooded Dijinn would heed without thought reveling in the carnage. A half-breed such as herself isn't so mindless and can execute plans with deadly force. Her taste for destruction has increased matching her strength and speed. Slowly she is becoming a killing machine that will only stop when she lays on the ground dead or exhausted. This inbred knowledge doesn't appall her. Using her enhanced strengths as a blessing instead of a curse she has grown into a secret weapon of the Dwarves. When she returns home she will catch hell from her father. But that will be later. Scraping her gloved claws against the wood she focuses ignoring the tingling sensation running across her skin. Much later. The giant beast sporadically cleans the streets of defenders. Then turns down the alley next to the roof, peeking over her shoulder she finds no one behind her. The glint in her eye brightens with the ping of the spring releasing her prize weapons into the air.

 

On the other side of the square Zaccur, leader the horde sees a figure on the roof facing the troll, Grim. Grim flinches then turns around eyes wide with surprise, clutching his neck stumbling then collapsing on a nearby house. Dust from the falling debris and demonic laughter billows through the square. The sound seems to increase the carnage. Looking around Zaccur quickly finds the source on the most northern tip of a building. Standing on the edge of the rooftop the nameless warrior makes his presence known. The horned helmet and armor seems to block the very the sun. Casting a shadow of an imposing creature made of nightmares. Crouching down the very shell of the armor seemed to breathe, blood and gore.

 

Zaccur was in awe of the armor at last he has found what he was looking for. Eshi-dan's armor, the blacksmith was somewhere within this land. There was no mistaking his craft, taking a sweeping glance of the battlefield the warrior seem to chuckle underneath his twisted mask. Then in a flash jumps off the roof, landing on Grim's body disappearing within a crowd. Soon screams are heard and his men begin to scramble.

 

Growling Ketifa whips around to confront a marauder, effortlessly ripping his throat out then turns to face the crowd again this time blood drip from her claw like gauntlets. The fresh aroma of iron in the air is intoxicating. Snatching a hammer from underneath her armor flaps, some pull back in surprise, grinning she can hear the roar of blood. Then she becomes a blue in front of their eyes. Fear and anger courses through her blood as the sound of breaking bones underneath her hammer thrills her. Instinct has taken over and battle lust has consumed her. Becoming a beckon of chaos many confront her for a swift but painful death. Then suddenly a great mountain of flesh wearing mismatch armor looms within the mob.

 

As if by both their wills the crowd parts and the air becomes still. Her eyes flash underneath her mask in appreciation, hammer twirls within her hands. Her enemy is a true specimen a warrior, made to create hell on earth. The armor he wears doesn't suit him, too tight on the right arm, bulky on the shoulders and tattered around the legs. He looked more ridiculous then menacing in her eyes. Too bad he would be such a fine model to flesh out armor. Slowly her eyes travel over him assisting his strengths. Then she knew why she picked him out of the crowd. He was wearing her armor. The ill fitted tatters of metal and skin wasted. All her effort to make individual works of art for worthy warriors lay on his body like rags. Tall and thick like an oak tree he stands arrogantly. True anger and pricked pride guide her seething her muscle begins to bulge. Sweat begins to form beneath her garb. Baring her short fangs her eyes glow crimson. He is all she can see.

 

All great trees fall from the blows of axes.

 

Zaccur assess her just as openly gauging her style of fighting. Something is not right here. Through the haze of battle he picked up the scent and call of a female half demon. Somewhere lurking she maybe even watching them now. Breathing deeply he catches her sweet scent. She is indeed near. Naturally drawn to the chaos she will be in heat when he finds her. Interesting that this warrior the largest he has seen yet is skilled and bloodthirsty. Blessed with a masterpiece of armor, maybe the wench's mate. Unmerciful and daring this warrior is bold to challenge him. He liked that in a warrior taking lead to prove himself worthy. Too bad he will have to die. After proving himself she will have no choice but to have him. Zaccur body hardens with the thought of his own kind beneath him. Withering in their lust accepting his seed for generations to come.

 

The wind stirs the leaves into a whirlwind, just as the last leaf fall they charge. The combined battle cry is deafening. The sparks of clashing metal bounce off their weapons. Looking directly into his eyes she smiles. For a moment he stunned the warrior is an Asura, a female half-breed demon! Opposing warriors separate to get out of the way of the titans. Some even wince from the force of blows exchange. It seems Zaccur has found a worthy mate strong in her lust for battle and opposing any male who fight her. She will make strong sons and cunning daughters for him. Skillfully he deflects the blows she inflects, but she is not trying to kill yet. Instead she wants to strip the offending plates off his body. Before he knew it Ketifa was beside him ripping the gauntlet from his right arm replacing it with a deep scar. Ignoring the pain he cuts down only to have the chest plate snatched off. This time he is able to land the blade of his sword into her side. The blade catches in between the smaller plates of her armor. With a twist the inferior metal shatters into pieces. Instead of plunging her weapon into his chest she sends him flying knocking off the loose shoulder plates. Roaring in triumph she brings her hammers to her hands pressing a concealed button lethal blades slide then lock into place.

 

Swiftly rolling to his feet he avoids the thick blade of her axe. Before he is able to grab the handle she yanks the connecting chain to her hand. Tauntingly she dances twirling the weapons. Beckoning him to her, smiling. Gracefully she moves around him mindlessly swatting any whom dares enter their circle. She has now pricked his pride in turn. Wiping the blood dripping from his chin he chuckles. He mistook this skirmish as a game to see if he was worthy. No matter he will still have her. She will yield to his flesh, as he shall feast on hers. Growling he calls to her, taken aback she pauses as if confused.

 

Innocence? No there is no such…

 

Crouching low he calls again, the glow of her eyes waver. Swallowing the primal nature to mate within begins to unfurl for the first time. She begins to tremble as her mind fights to focus.

 

“Yes my sweet, hear me. Hear your Agni's call.”

 

Tilting her head to the side releasing a questioning growl. Seizing the moment he knocks her back at full speed she sails into the crowd. Outraged her claws digs into the ground slowing her momentum then rips forward in a zigzag toward her opponent. With two strikes she knocks the rest of the stolen armor off his body. The call of blood and gore pounds in her head; logic becomes a trickle of sweat only the instinct to conquer and destroy is left. Willing her body forward she jumps into the blinding sun, with all her concentration and might she gives her final blow. The sound her blades finding pavement instead of muscle and bone is deafening. Within her vortex she hears the opposing wind and knew she was doomed. Looking up she only sees a large fist covered glided gauntlet seconds away from her face then a blinding light. Her body becomes weightless; there is no pain as her body crumbles to the ground. This savage beast has bested her. Tricking her with his call he drew her in. Flaunting his harsh beauty and superior strength she should be seething. Instead she acknowledges he is a glorious warrior, a mighty alpha worthy of prodigy. Her precious helmet and mask hit the cobbled street a few feet away; her body lays unconscious and defeated at his feet. Turing towards the crowd his wings and arms spread in triumph his viscous roar is heard throughout the town.

 

Blackness then a jolt of lighting tunnels through. Instinctively her body hauls itself upright. Pushing her limp curls from her eyes her mind quickly catches up to assess her surroundings. It is a very human feminine room draped fine pale material. The narrow windows give no hope for escape and the door far across the room is deceptive. The carving of a lush forest is a sure sign of thick wood the plank propped against the wall is least the size of her calf. Quelling the urge to rip through the wood she forces herself to think. Instinct is a good weapon but now she must understand her situation. Looking down she sees the blanket is of fine fur and she is covered in a yellow translucent embroidered silken bed garb. For a moment her hand runs over the pelt. She could always appreciate fur. Then fingers the gold embroidery. Why was she spared and placed in such a room? Did her enemy think she could be easily bought?

 

Slowly crawling out of the bed her feet touch the cold stone floor; gingerly testing her weight she doesn't swoon. Touching her face she finds no swelling or soreness. Did she sleep for a long time or did a skilled healer tend to her? Deeply in hailing her scent she could trace some herbs. Many questions began to form in her mind. Her curiosity begins to grow even more. Slowly searching through the draws of the dresser she found only human clothing too small for her. Looking at the walls she could tell this was only an anti chamber, maybe for sleeping. Checking the fireplace for a secret corridor Katifa found an open door. Peeking in she sees him sitting in a large pool near a fireplace. Escape becomes a whisper in the wind leaning heavily against the door jam she swallows. The only light source made her dark warrior look even more dangerous. The angles of his face were sharpened as his wings took on the shape of claws, she should be a least a bit frighten. Instead she was more captivated his scent muddled her thoughts. Instinct pushed her forward towards the unknown.

 

He heard her puttering around the former queen's bedchamber. He would grant this woman the right to change the room to her liking. It would become their mating chamber for his future bloodline. Maybe allow her to stay beyond the five years of weaning their prodigy. For a day there were more questions about this woman than answers. Her skills as a fighter were over average but her stamina and lust for battle made up for her lack of knowledge. This half-breed was indeed special to obtain the armor he sought. Even in slumber the booby-trapped armor tried to protect her. His personal squire was badly hurt trying to remove it from her body. Looking at the design Doire, his only female general, figured to undress her from bottom to top like a female instead of top to bottom like a male. How did this female convince Eshi-dan to fashion such a masterpiece?

 

After Enlai, master healer and sage, tended to her he came to the war room in awe she is untouched. Pure as the snow on top of the great mountain of Eza and now she is his. Did she not encounter others like themselves? Where did she come from whom is her parents? Her father must be Angi and her mother human. It is a known fact a child born of a human with Dijinn blood will have more feature of the human. A child of a Dijinn with the blood of a human will have more feature of a Dijinn. The true mark of a Dijinn half-breed is there eyes; red as the blood they spill. After she was undressed and tended he visited her. Bending low he took in her sweet scent.

 

For a mere moment he thought of taking her there, in her sleep unknowing, unsuspecting so vulnerable. Soft and yielding underneath him she would be his. If it were not for Amir calling for his attention he would have taken her and destroyed any change of gaining her confidence. He has not felt this keyed up since his youth. Gritting his teeth he waited for her. A virgin, skilled fighter equipped with the finest armor a rare Asura indeed.

 

Softly padding in she stood in front of the ledge of the pool. Opening his eyes he scowled. She is beautiful, hugging herself she brought her breasts together under the shear fabric. The fire only enhances the glow of dark her skin and features. The embroidered shift was short on her statuesque length. Falling only to the top of her toned thighs it would look ridicules on another, her it only added to her femininity. Slowly her hand touches her throat; biting her lip she looks uncertain. He knew she would not bolt; there was nowhere to go. He must remember she is new to this. Slowly steadily he must rein her in and unearth her secrets.

 

Shifting her confidence was waning. She did not know what was expected of her. The actual courtship of her Dijinn half was unknown. Slowly shifting he looks over to the side then drops a heated stone into the water. Slowly the room fills with steam rich with his pheromones. Her body relaxes there would be no thoughts to confuse her. Engrossed in her studies to become the very best she ignored her primitive nature. One day she knew she may want children but the question was with which species? Being a half-breed was sometimes hellish. Once she prayed to Sethlans for a worthy mate her tribute was a miniature suit of armor out of the bones of her first dragon. Each day for a year she kept it polished. After a time she forgotten her prayer and polished it out of habit. It seems he has heard her. Such a masterpiece he has given her. She would not waste is prime opportunity. Unhurriedly she pulls the fine material down, his eyelids drop halfway shielding his reaction.

 

She wastes no time with words and uses action. Good.

 

Slightly trembling she licks her lips; her breasts become heavy with want. The friction of the material causes her nipples to perk for his attention. Devouring her with his eyes he watches with each inch of exposed skin. Gracefully rolling the collar off her hips her treasure is finally reveled and the shift drops to the floor quickly forgotten. Her flushed skin glistens titling her head her eyes questioning him. Raising his hand in acceptance she enters the pool.

 

Wading into the water she holds tightly. Hoping this isn't a dream brought on by frustration and loneliness. Her warrior is quite vicious looking. The sheen from his bath makes his skin look like polished mahogany, the many hours on the battlefield molded him into a fierce weapon. Nothing about him is soft and yielding. Naked he stands deadly and bold before her. She could only image him lost in bloodlust; he must be magnificent sight to behold. Looking into his eyes her heart melts. Did her mother feel the same? Was she as lost within her father's aura? Did her need to mate and bear a child this strong?

 

Closely watching this female he knew he had her. All he needed was to press and he would have her secrets. Boldly bringing her close he beings to dig his claws into her skin. His face tenses expecting some resistance. It is their way, to battle for position until the end. But it will be of no avail all exits blocked his newly acquired castle is secure. The royal family slaughtered he is the new lord of the land. It is the right of the prime male to mate and his bloodline to continue.

 

With abated breath she wanted to be possessed by him. But her logical mind would not be closed completely. Before they were to go any farther she had to know.

 

“Do I have to watch for another?

 

He chuckles, a strategist “No.”

 

Taking his word as truth and cease any more questions. Drawing her close his hand easily spans the small of her back. His scent beckons her to taste and partake of his flesh. Her hand finds his free one intertwining her fingers. Looking into his eyes she knew he was the one.

 

Caution thrown to the four winds, her hands span his chest. By the Gods and Goddess he is so... Instinctually she draws his hands around her neck, closing her eyes she waits.

 

She is too bold, just a mere twist. Or is it her naiveté in such matters?

 

Suspicion flickers within his eyes, “The old ones say to submit is death.”

 

Smiling she opens her eyes, “They also say to place your life in another's hands is to secure loyalty.”

 

For a moment he was actually surprised. She is also taught in the way of Szun, a master of war. Indeed she must be watched carefully. His thumbs caress her throat causing his sharp claws to skim her parted lips. With gentle caresses he didn't know he was capable slowly traced her chin, her lips tremble in anticipation.

 

Cutting her eyes she bothers not to hide her lust nor intent, “Such strength. You must make other envious.”

 

He almost smiles flattery gets you everywhere. Slowly releasing her he motions for her to continue.

 

Unable to keep still her hands caress his body eager to know every plain and hill his body offers.

 

Placing a kiss against his throat she begins to murmur her appreciation.

 

“Such a body as your is only sculpted by the Gods.”

 

Brushing her lips against his she smiles at his bemused look. Gently as if not to spook him she cups his face within her calloused hands and presses her lips against his slowly coaxing his mouth open to her exploration. Perplexed he lets her proceed. Her tongue explores his mouth, slowly wanting to remember in detail his taste and texture. The tips of his claws eases back then caress causing her to melt against his heated skin.

 

The Dijinn race is believed to be primitive, arrogant and destructive. But this is not true honor is a hard won. Respect is an ideal fashioned through steel. Through the chaos that is life destiny is a force that cannot be broken, there are no coincidences just laws of nature that shall be done. Destiny is to be helped along with deeds of proven worthiness. Mating is a strategic tool to create a healthy bloodline to pass down generations of knowledge. Well before the ripe age to mate it is ground into the hearts and mine of the offspring to find the right mate. By alliance or breeding it is understood to continue the bloodline. Many chose not stay with the same mate, needing a variety of children. Others, quite a few in fact, stay with one.

 

Both pull back to breathe her eyes reflect the wanton need with a touch of innocence. His are of a seasoned warrior with a hidden agenda. He is the one; their bloodline will be strong. Knowing such a flaw is dangerous for their kind. She would be eaten alive if she were in the motherland of Syar. For a moment he looks murderous, his chest rumbles from his growl. Slowly his wings span as fang bare savagely.

 

Then it is her destiny to be his for he would kill to keep such a treasure from being soiled.

 

Without shame she begins to worship his body. Her caresses became bolder pressing him against the tiles her mouth retraces the paths of her hands. Willingly she has come to him and shows her need.

 

For the first time in his life he is unsure. Such is the response of an untamed innocent.