JOURNEY TO MUORSUUTH
 
by Bitter
 
 
Everyone needs a goal.
 
For Torina, her goal, the sole bullet point on the list of things she wanted out of life, was decided the day the centaur Mizudora visited her home town of Karvis. That a centaur should visit was nothing unusual: the centaurs were notoriously well-traveled merchants, and they had been bringing exotic wares from around the world for sale at Karvis for longer than anyone could remember. Neither Mizudora nor anyone with him had brought anything unusual physically speaking-- Torina vividly recalled the sound of the pots and pans in the saddle-bags Mizudora was wearing banging together as he trotted his way to the merchant sector-- but they did bring something that meant the world to the children, herself included. They brought stories. The world outside Karvis was full of powerful, ravenous monsters, as everyone knew, and one simply could not afford to allow the future of the species to toddle out of arm's reach. There was plenty of work to be done, but as men do not live on bread alone, children will not abide by a life of mere productivity. That the centaurs could entertain them with reports of the mysterious world outside and warn them of the dangers therein was a service to everyone that they offered freely.
 
And so it was that on that day so many years ago Torina had heard of the weres. Mizudora told a semicircle of fledgling humans of the travails he had faced in the Skraagoth mountains. He told them of the jagged rocks and uneven terrain that made the crags nigh unassailable but for one thin trail leading to the cavern city of Muorsuuth. He told them of the bitter cold that enwrapped the peaks all year long-- he and his caravan had gone in the hottest day of the summer, and even then their hooves had sunk in the trail, muddied by snow falling even then. And finally, he told them of the weres, the beast-men that gladly lived in that forsaken place. Shaped just like a human in the day, they wrapped themselves in furs and slept. But as soon as the sun retreated below the horizon, as soon as the light of day gave way to the dark of night, their bodies transformed. They became covered in fur, their noses turned into snouts, their nails became claws, and they more than doubled in height. They would hunt all night, returning just before dawn with full bellies to sleep for another day. Those strange creatures were the weres.
 
Torina was enthralled. The world of Kainazzar was full of strange half-breeds of man and beast-- the nekos, man and cat; the nagas, man and snake; the harpies, man and bird, and of course the centaurs, man and horse. And there were still more, though those hybrids were more beast than men, and either could not speak the language of men or refused to. But the weres, they were something else. In one form, fully man; in another form, fully beast. Her young mind was full of questions. What must it be like, to be split in two like that? To live two lives by half? Or perhaps to live two whole lives all at once? How did they move, how did they speak? Why did they choose to live in the cold? There was so much she wanted to know, and so little Mizudora could tell her.
 
From that day forward, it was clear what Torina would do. She would go and see a were. Somehow, she felt, that would explain everything, just to see one. As she grew older and wiser, Torina learned the true scope of her dream. Muorsuuth was half a continent removed from Karvis, with all sorts of deadly terrain between them, to speak nothing of what lived in that terrain. But Torina was undaunted. The task was great; her dream was greater. To her, it was not even a dream, not a mere fantasy that had to be nursed and covered over lest it be smashed by some malevolent whim on the part of reality. She would see a were, of that she was certain.
 
Torina soon learned that her best chance of getting what she wanted lay with the warrior's guild. Only the trained fighters from the guild stood a chance of surviving among the beasts and monsters outside Karvis, so either she would have to become a warrior or find the gold to hire them. Driven by her own passion and recognizing that few others would follow it along with her, Torina made up her mind and presented herself to the guild when she came of age. There was always a need for new fighters-- competent or not-- so Torina was accepted immediately. Sadly, Torina's passion lay with seeing a were rather than slaying monsters, and though she knew the training was important, she could never approach it with any more enthusiasm than was warranted by the fact that it was a necessary step to accomplish her goal. As she was hired out on guild missions, it became clear that did not have a true fighter's spirit in her. She retreated-- never fled, but retreated-- at the earliest signs that a battle was not going her way; she developed an affinity for taking the long road if it would keep her out of danger; she would pull a dirty trick if it would save her life. But for all that, she was earnest and honest; it was not greed that motivated her, but passion. She earned the nickname "Fairweather" from her cohorts, and gladly accepted it and all the implications that came with it.
 
Eventually the time came when Torina could wait no longer. Karvis, which had once been a shield, now seemed to her like a shackle. Her real home was Muorsuuth, and it called out to her. The next time the centaurs came to Karvis, they left with Torina in their company. It was not so unusual a thing for a human to travel with the horse-men: humans possessed a few talents that the centaurs did not, and the centaurs were strong warriors and loyal allies. Though Torina had few skills to offer the caravan, she demanded little from them and was given little more thought than their shadows.
 
The trip to Karvis had exhausted the caravan's wares; for that reason, they returned to the centaur meeting-grounds, Crossroads. The centaurs did not believe in the idea of "settling", and therefore Crossroads was not a true city. However, it was a point where all the merchant trails carved into the world by centaur hooves met, so there would always be a great number of centaurs resting, trading, restocking, and preparing for their next journey. Torina inquired after Mizudora, the one who had inspired her quest, but could find noone who knew anyone by that name. Eventually, someone suggested that she visit the record-keeper, one of those rare centaurs who never strayed from Crossroads. Torina paid a visit to his cabin, and learned that Mizudora's caravan had gone missing on a trip to the Skraagoths several years ago. Certainly fallen to monsters, the record-keeper commented with a shrug of his shoulders. It was the way of the world. Sadly, Mizudora was one of the only centaurs willing to make such a dangerous trip, and as a result of his demise all contact with Muorsuuth had been lost. Torina had been hoping to find an escort.
 
However, Torina counted her misfortune a mere setback. The record-keeper, glad to find someone interested in the information he kept, was eager to help her. The record-keeper laid out parts of his map of the world-- a document kept on many interlocking pieces of parchment which he could assemble in whichever way was necessary. For Torina, he laid out everything from Crossroads to Muorsuuth in order to find the best route from one to the other. Though it wasn't a straight path, they found that the dwarven fortress of Kolingrad was much closer to Muorsuuth than Crossroads; moreover, she could make that leg of the journey among a caravan, whereas traveling as the crow flies would have her going alone. Not one to pass up an opportunity to make things easier, Torina gladly accepted the record-keeper's itinerary. As a service to her-- anyone intent on going to Muorsuuth alone would need all the help they could find, the record-keeper commented-- the record-keeper drew her a much smaller version of the map on a scroll. After thanking the record-keeper so much that even his prodigious patience was strained, Torina set about finding a convoy heading for Kolingrad.
 
Crossroads being the merchant capital of Kainazzar, it was not long before just such a convoy was formed. Torina insinuated herself on the group, offering her meager services as a warrior in exchange for safe passage. This caravan, composed of sterner fighters than those that had brought Torina to Crossroads, regarded her with some bemusement. To them, she was more of a good-luck charm than anything; any human with dreams of reaching Muorsuuth alone and yet possessing no love of combat must be enchanted. And, just as before, Torina had prepared her own supplies for the trip, so even if she was a burden, it was a light one. On the trip, "Fairweather" was given several opportunities to show her true colors, but the centaurs suffered no great losses for her self-preservation. Her talents lay with keeping herself from harm, and those talents at least were well-practiced, so they respected that. Furthermore, she had spotted a bed of horse-eater lotuses, a trap certainly fatal to centaurs, from far enough away that they could go around it without harm. Whatever sins she might commit after that were forgiven in advance. When Torina and the centaurs parted ways at Kolingrad, there were smiles all around.
 
Torina wasted no time in preparing for the next leg of her journey, but quickly found that the dwarfs couldn't give her exactly the kind of help she wanted. They were brave, swarthy folk, but at the same time absolutely dedicated to the upkeep of Kolingrad. Their beloved fortress was their very life, and the idea of leaving it was anathema. Torina could find none among them who would even consider escorting her to Muorsuuth-- as the centaurs had warned her. Still, even if a dwarf wouldn't part with Kolingrad for all the gold in the world-- certainly not any amount that Torina had with her, at any rate-- they would at least part with other things. Torina commissioned a suit from a dwarven tailor whose work she had determined to be the best return on the investment. With the fur of more mountain hares than was probably conscionable, he stitched together a coat, a pair of pants, a hooded cloak, a scarf, and boots to match, all in a brown color that matched her hair. By the time Torina had all that on, she looked as though all that fur might well be her own. The one testament to her humanity was her carrying-bag, which really had no need of being any warmer than it already was. She filled the bag with all the supplies it would hold: a sturdy steel dagger which Torina hoped to use only for utility, her precious map, a compass, a length of rope, a roll of cloth to use as a tent, a few medicinal supplies, a lantern, and the rest was mostly food: dwarven rations designed to sustain more than entertain. Torina had no idea how long it would take to reach Muorsuuth, and failing at the last step on account of not having enough food struck her as a silly possibility to allow.
 
Ensconced in fur and laden with everything she would need to survive, Torina departed from her new dwarven friends, guided forward by the record-keeper's map. It was remarkably precise despite its diminutive size; on the opposite side of the parchment the record-keeper had copied over a few more detailed maps of the most dangerous areas. Using these, Torina was able to avoid several particularly nasty valley swamps and monster breeding grounds. What few beasts she did encounter, Torina evaded, either through employing the savvy and cunning to remain undetected or simply having the stamina to outrun them once she was. At last, her path led her to the feet of the Skraagoths, the very end of her journey. She found the beginning of Mizudora's path, the way to Muorsuuth, the place where the weres lived. Her life's ambition was just an inch of parchment away.
 
Breaking camp at what she assumed to be dawn on a gray and cloudy day, Torina began her final day's march. The terrain was as rough as Mizudora had made it out to be, and all the worse for the fact that she didn't have hooves to cross it with. But any number of callouses would be a fair price for Torina. It was cold-- her trek had taken a bit longer than anticipated, and she was beginning her ascent at the start of autumn-- but her furs were designed to repel the weather. The first several hours almost felt easy. Then the snow began to fall.
 
It was partly a function of the altitude and partly the natural flow the weather, but snowflakes were beginning to drift from the clouds. Torina stopped for a moment and let a flake catch on the hairs on her glove. It melted immediately. Undaunted, Torina soldiered on. The snow stayed about the same, but the wind was picking up. Even this did not give Torina much pause; the tanned skin underneath her furs kept the worst of it off of her. When next she rested, Torina took the time to check her map. It was noon, and she was halfway there. It would be encouraging if not for the weather-- little blots took shape across her map as snowflakes drifted onto it. The snow was falling in earnest now, and the wind was picking up. The sun was as high as it would be today, but you'd never be able to tell thanks to the cloud cover. Not entirely halfway, Torina thought to herself. It might be best to turn back, try to wait out the storm-- but no. Not so close to the goal. If she was going to turn back, she might as well just go back to Karvis. Onward.
 
The weather continued to sour as Torina trudged on. The snow was starting to stick. The wind picked at the edges of her cloak, sending ripples up its length. The cold began to seep through her clothing, biting into her skin. There was nothing she could do but wrap her cape around herself still tighter. She dared not check her map; the snow was falling so heavily now that the parchment would surely soak through in an instant. The crunching of the gravel underneath her boots gave way to the snap of snow compressing under her heels. It was alarming how quickly the gentle snowfall had turned into a blizzard. Even if she wanted to turn back, she couldn't; with the snow, the way back was longer now than the way forward. Worse, it was getting dark. Despite being blocked by the clouds, the sun had given some light; now, even that was fading. Hastily Torina pulled the lantern from her pack, tipped some oil into it, and lit it. The lantern made a valiant effort, but as the sun sank behind the mountains Torina found herself with only a few feet of vision in any direction. Torina shivered. She couldn't use her map, she couldn't see the trail, she couldn't see much of anything. There were already several inches of snow, to say nothing of that which was sticking to her furs. Her muscles were starting to ache. The cold had penetrated her to her very core. Suddenly it seemed as though Muorsuuth was miles away. Each step was a battle of its own; Torina knew that if she stopped advancing, she would collapse. The snow showed no sign of abating. If she fell, it would bury her. That thought kept her going, one lurch at a time. Her struggles were rewarded: the clouds started to thin out; the wind was carrying the blizzard further on. She was already half-frozen and the snow was half a foot thick, but the idea that the storm was ending gave her a modicum of hope.
 
Suddenly, a sound came to Torina over the howling of the wind: a footstep. She knew it wasn't one of hers; for one thing, she was between steps when she heard it, and for another, it sounded huge. Even with the wind as it was, she could hear a heavy whump, whump, whump from somewhere nearby. The echo from the peaks obscured its origin. Reflexively, Torina thrust her lantern out, trying to press it out as far as she could in every direction. The hinges on its handle creaked. Suddenly, Torina heard something that was scarier than the footfalls of some unseen horror: the silence of said footfalls. Whatever it was, she'd alerted it. Panicked, Torina dropped her lantern; it sank into the snow, shattered and fizzled, leaving her alone in the dark. Desperately, Torina forced herself to stop breathing, clenching hard on her shivers to still them. Only her eyes moved, darting back and forth, searching the cruel darkness for some hint of what was out there. In that horrible stillness, Torina felt the full force of the cold. The wind was cutting into her skin. The cold was in her lungs, in her blood. But there was a deeper and more abiding cold within her: the dreadful chill of despair. Some predator out in that all-consuming darkness had its eyes on her. Even if it didn't find her, there was no escaping the cold. She would never reach Muorsuuth.
 
As all this was going through Torina's mind, there was a momentary break in the clouds. Light streamed from the full moon above, dropping a column of illumination down from the heavens. Surprised, Torina looked toward it. There, she saw a creature of a type she'd never seen before. It stood like a man, but hunched forward at the shoulders, as if it were a dog standing on its hind feet. Indeed, its face was a near-perfect match for a wolf's. Its whole body was covered in gray fur flecked in the white of the snow. It was nearly twice as tall as Torina was. But most striking of all were its eyes; unlike a true wolf's, this creature's eyes were a bright red that twinkled in the moonlight.
 
Torina's heart leaped. It was a were. Of all the things to see at such a time. It was a were. That thing she had always wanted to see! It was a were!
 
And it was staring at her.
 
Torina's mood took another u-turn. She suddenly saw herself for what she was: small, frightened, weak, exposed, covered in fur. Food. Ponderously, the were fell onto its forepaws, looking truly like a wolf. It hunched forward, tail sticking into the air. It emitted a sound-- to call it a growl would do it no justice. It was a violent vibration between the two of them, a communication deeper and truer than any language. Torina felt it thrum within her own chest, the power of it shaking her all over. The message was clear: "I am a predator. You are my prey."
 
Instinct betrayed Torina. All her life, she'd run away, and so it remained her first, most powerful reflex. Fueled by a jolt of adrenaline, she spun away, forcing her frozen muscles to carry her, staggering once, then again. Cued by her flight, the were broke into pursuit: Torina heard the fa-foom, fa-foom of one bound, then another. Those two steps were as long as it lasted. Suddenly, Torina felt her chest compressed as the were's paws wrapped around her, and within an instant of that all the light disappeared from the world. She felt like a set of knives were sticking into her back; its teeth were pressing into her from above and below. Her furs had failed to hold out the cold, but they at least kept those teeth from her skin. Torina was jerked upward as the were gave a heaving swallow, leaving its teeth against her belly and her face somewhere in its throat. Torina shut her eyes reflexively against the slime, but that was her only resistance. The initial rush had worn off; she had no fight left in her. Sensing her submission, the were tossed its head back and relaxed its throat. Torina felt its teeth dragging along her legs as she slid downward. There was no change in momentum the entire time; it was all just one long fall until she hit something firm yet yielding, slid through, and rolled into something that expanded around her. When it stopped yielding, Torina felt her top half sliding upward to allow more of her in. Unconsciously she pulled her knees up to her chest as her feet followed her into the stomach-- it only registered now that that was where she was.
 
It ate me, Torina thought. It really ate me. It didn't seem real, yet there it was, undeniable. She could feel the strength of the squeezing, churning muscle as it pressed and compacted her in waves, but she'd had lovers who had been just as rough. She could feel the oozing, slimy wetness of the stomach acids as they covered over her and soaked through her clothes, but she'd been just as soaked by swamp mud at times. What made it real, what really drove home the point that she was being digested was the heat. The soul-crushing cold that had overwhelmed her and been her reality before was disappearing, supplanted by the encompassing heat of another creature's body around her. Slowly, her body was remembering what it meant to be warm. So as she felt the rabbit-skin giving way beneath her fingers, something that should have horrified her, she was happy. The acid, freshly secreted, was warm-- so, so warm! In her fingertips, Torina felt the difference between the cold on her skin and the heat of the slime. For a moment she rubbed it into her knee, charmed by the feeling of chasing away the cold.
 
The one breach in her clothing was soon joined by another, then another, then more as the acids ate through more and more of her furs. The seam between her hood and her cloak tore, allowing some of the acid to ooze down inside. She could feel it running down her back slowly, tingling as it went. The furs had become that which they were meant to defend her against; cold, and bitterly so. She was glad to be rid of them. Little liquid embers pricked across her skin as more and more of them was eaten away. Torina felt like tearing away the half-frozen furs, but she could hardly move on her own, and whatever she tried to do was frustrated by the tightness of the stomach and its relentless undulations. It wasn't just the stomach's churning that kept her off-balance, though. The entire chamber was rocking gently back and forth, each sway punctuated by a sudden jolt in the other direction. The were was moving-- walking, taking her with it. But Torina's immobility hardly mattered to her. The acids were working quite quickly on their own. Soaked through, pulled by gravity and tugged in all directions by the stomach's movements, her coat began to shift downward on her body, baring her shoulders to the heat. Her boots, sunken into the layer of acid at the bottom of the stomach, were already gone. Her entire outfit was sliding downward, unable to hold itself on Torina's frame. The thin cloth wrap that she used to bind her breasts was gently exposed, then burnt through as well. As her hood fell into her lap, Torina shifted and laid a hand on it. For a moment Torina was enthralled by the feeling of it dissolving underneath her fingertips, and then her second skin was finally destroyed utterly, leaving her with only the one that she had been born in. Torina moaned involuntarily. After such terrible coldness, to be immersed in such heat was a mercy. She caressed herself gently, feeling the warmth penetrating to her very center.
 
Suddenly, Torina felt the world shifting around her again. It felt as though the were had gone onto all fours and flipped onto its side; it had laid down. Mizudora's words echoed in Torina's mind: the weres would return home with full bellies after a successful night's hunt. So she had reached Muorsuuth-- home of the weres. A forceful press from all sides reminded Torina of what was really happening. She was being digested. But, Torina protested to herself, she had gotten what she had wanted. She could feel pinpricks all across her skin, slowly moving inward. She had seen a were, if only for a brief moment. Torina squirmed as a pleasant burning sensation wormed its way deeper and deeper into her. Things hadn't gone as planned-- she'd wanted to speak with the weres and learn everything about them there was to know, not have one of them eat her-- not immediately, at least. Nonetheless, she was satisfied. Torina spasmed and twitched in the throes of the unique pleasure of digestion. Her entire body was alight; it was hard to tell where the heat of her body ended and the heat around her began. It wouldn't be long now, she knew. The were had given her the fulfillment of her life's goal, and in return it had taken her body to feed its own. The stomach churned around her, edging her closer and closer to her final release. This is it, this is really it, Torina thought. She felt her skin squishing and sliding away from itself, her insides all hot and soft. She squeezed inward, feeling all the nerves in her body sending out waves of pleasure. It was too much; it drove her over the edge, and with a final jerk and a squelch her journey came to its end.
 
***
 
 
AUTHOR'S COMMENTS:
 
This story was neither inspired nor influenced by but is nonetheless dedicated to Grick, author of "Tales of a Werehawk".
 
Had a bit of a rough time deciding how to tag the sexes on this one. Usually I reserve the "?" for cases where it doesn't matter-- especially if the predator is an animal; even if you know that a snake is female, it doesn't really matter (or at least I hope not)-- but here we have a weird case where there's a sentient creature (weres are sentient, if a bit on the primal side in their shifted form) whose sex is never revealed and is entirely irrelevant. So, I leave it to the reader, and make no judgment in terms of tags.
 
"Were" is pronounced as it is in "were-wolf". Like "where".
 
I think this is the first story where I really never had an opportunity to tell you what the subject looks like. Envision Torina as you will, though if you just go with "fantasy rogue" you'll probably get something close to correct.
 
"Fairweather" is one of those plot elements that just smacks you in the back of the head, unplanned. Bonus irony points for interaction with the ending (which was planned).
 
This is the first story I've written where the prey goes down clothed. Call me a chauvinist if you must, but I think there's something sexy about the idea of a girl's clothes melting off her body.