The War of Moccus and Morea

[mmat 7460]

Four swiftly dashing paws beat down repeatedly and audibly on the sullied forest floor, though the sound was almost completely drowned out by the series of panting and snarling of the majestic creature. The ground trodden by those oversized paws was warped and twisted; corrupted by the trail of devastation created in the wake of an equally mythic force which the beast now chased. It must be brought low, as once rich soil oozed with putrid slime, its richness and fertility devastated. Once tall and proud  trees now stood naked, seared by malignant fire. Once lush and verdant glades now sat blackened and dead, its water polluted and rotten. Scars on the perfect forest which would take eons to heal. Almost precisely in rhythm with the beast’s footfalls were the unmissable wingbeats guiding him towards his prey, each sounding as though a dreadful gust of diseased wind. The chase continued - the chase of dragon from wolf.

 

 

Morea - Mani of Wolves

 

The knife which had so carelessly carved the blasted scar in the otherwise paradisiacal world continued to thrust deeper, defiling all in its path until a high mountain rose from the horizon in the path of the two figures streaming across the idyllic landscape. Winged and naturally capable of flight, the twisted draconic beast suffered no ills in arrogantly ascending beyond the layer of clouds and perching atop the snow-capped peak. As it landed the flying serpent tucked its dread wings into its body and the rocks below it cracked and splintered under the pressure. With only hubris in the creature’s mind it gazed first to the sky and then down at the once beautiful landscape it had ravaged and murdered, that would not be recoverable for a thousand mortal lifetimes. Admiring its handiwork, the vile draconid stayed seated on its rocky aerial throne, uncaring or disbelieving of what might be capable of coming for it.

 

“THIS WORLD IS MINE!”

 

Though far below at the base of the mountain’s slopes did the wulfen stalker prowl, its razor like fangs bared in anger. Upon hearing the worldbreaking howl of the drake atop the peak, legs worked and the giant wolf began to ascend to meet it, jumping from platform to platform. In mere minutes, the noble beast pierced the cloud layer to a sight not seen in the most epic of legends; the dire but majestic dragon towered over the peaks with many other beautiful and snowy mountain slopes in the background; it would be the perfect ground for a once in a century conflict. The canine roar echoed across the landscape as Morea climbed swiftly to a peak opposite the dragon which had tormented his home. For the first time he was able to witness it on an equal footing and, not giving a moment for the wretched monster to retaliate, the massive wolf pounced towards the creature that dwarfed even he in size.

 

“NAIVE PUP.”

 

The derisive verbal barb boomed and vibrated the air, before the dragon once again beat its perpetually looming giant wings toward his attacker. All at once, the wolf unwilling reversed in his course away from the drake, the wingbeat’s resulting tornado like gust having blown him helplessly through the mountain range and away from his colossal prey.  As the dragon fell further from his vision, Morea suddenly felt a stabbing pain in his back as he slammed into a mountainside, the impact making a nearby scree slope fall. Though his strength was great, the fall had taken it from him. With his lupine adversary powerless to stop it, the giant serpentine beast far above raised its wings once again, took over and continued carving its destructive swathe through the once pure world.

 

Deafening silence in the glade seemed to last for several eternities; aside from the soft splashing of pond life and chirping of birds. Amongst all this lay another majestic beast which seemed to not belong, and that was oddly quiet for its size as through camouflaged in sound rather than appearance. Two elongated tusks protruded from a face with its eyes shut, the creature resting in peace. Again, the harmony of a formerly blessed land was broken as a familiar shadow hung overhead, the shadow of a wing. Disturbed by the darkening presence that now loomed ominously above him, the gigantic boar; Moccus, awoke from his deep slumber within the glade and gazed upon the new arrival as it gracefully lowered itself to the ground, standing on its own four clawed legs with its wings spread wide. From the moment contact with the hallowed ground was made taint crept from the demon’s feet, engulfing surrounding grass, trees and waters alike. As the gruesome tusked creature rose from the forest floor, disturbed from his rest, his antagonistic opposing figure almost seemed to throw a taunt his way. The winged monster which bent down and bared its teeth in a challenge to Moccus was one he had heard tales of, unlike the unaware Morea. It was Artaxion; the winged leviathan of taint and decay.

 

Artaxion - Leviathan of Taint

 

Spawned from the deepest pits in some faraway nightmare of the Great Forest, the powerful entity had periodically emerged and wreathed evil upon the world. Nevertheless, he would protect his home, or give another the time to do so.  In a flash the beast and the demon charged at one another, transforming the formerly tranquil sanctuary of all that is natural into a battleground. The giant tusked boar leapt and the draconic beast left the ground, and then silence, followed by a hurricane of conflict. In a flash, honed ivory blades clashed viciously and audibly with stalwart dragonscale to the response of a pained howl from the wretched stricken creature, which morphed into a furious snarl. The Great Boar had landed the first blow and its adversary again lowered itself, ready for the attack. With a commanding roar of triumph from the draconic enemy, vile thorn-clad roots burst forth unnaturally from the ground and ensnared Moccus in their spiny grip. He had been outwitted, and now could not move. Opening its jaw wide, the Leviathan’s throat began to spurt and ooze with a corrosive looking bright green fire. Locked in place by the corruptive sorcery of the vile drake, Moccus was helpless to do anything but watch as his destruction exuded slowly from that evil fanged maw.

 

Then, salvation. Artaxion’s neck and head rocked to the side violently, as though struck by a mighty force from the other side, a force which the bound boar lord could not see. As the glancing strike hit home, the deathblow that was about to stream from the demon's gullet veered off course and purified a strip of the glade which contained it's pool; corrupting it's waters into those of a dire, fetid swamp. Though his saviour's identity was at first a mystery to the bound Moccus, it soon became apparent by the wulfen roar which echoed across the ailing land; Morea, the wolf prince. The majestic figure stood on all fours, but his night black fur, contrasting with the terrain around them, was sullied and torn by the hard impact which he had suffered. Bravely and tenaciously the lupine prince had raced after his tormentor even when injured, finally catching up with him at Moccus’ glade. With the Dragon's attention now elsewhere, the lashing vines locking the boar lord in place loosened, and he broke free. Artaxion had bested them both individually; the strength of Moccus and the agility of Morea, but now they fought together, circling their now surrounded draconic prey. While the sacred glade was ruined more with every moment, they would make it the graveyard of a beast which had tortured their world since time immemorial.

 

Moccus - Mani of Boar

 

One mortal year later after the slaying of the corrupted Artaxion, two pairs of larger hooves and four oversized paws approached one another under the skeletal remains of a draconic creature. Moccus and Morea; they charged at one another and fought for days on end. Through the mountains, plains and forests of their realm they tested their strengths against one another, ivory clashing against bone, and then a year later they returned to the same place. Training one another and making one another stronger, the most combative of the animal spirits would not allow such a desecration to occur again.

 

[sophiaa 778]

Aelin sits and reads over the text closely, learning the story by heart 

[Reckless Banzai Screamer 15456]

[osumanduas 1442]

Moved to The Great Library. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.

 

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