The snowfall was starting to stick. It would be the last snowstorm of winters reign, a mere light dusting in comparison to the colder months. Spring was finally on the horizon, and even this far northern land couldn’t escape its welcoming touch. Grey clouds shrouded the island below; its soaring peaks speared upwards toward the skies, separated by vast fields of rich flowers. Rivers flowed from the cold sea into rocky shores, from above they looked like icy blue veins. It’s woods were never green, the Repentou trees offered only leaves the color of gore. As the sunlight reflected their limbs bounty, the leaves glistened like blood stained wax.

It was settled many generations ago by the Pharine’s of Fanfow, and never offered much in terms of comfort, resources, or even pleasant countryside. What it did offer, however, was a valuable outpost for coastal trade. It could also act as a small shield for the much larger island colonies to the north.

The frozen island had three names. Each were easily coined but not very original. To the Pharine villagers who were born and raised on its icy shores, hunted in its wind woods, and explored the heights of its thorny mountains, it was known as Heightsland. It was an apt name for a small thorn in the sea. Only two miles from the greater isle of Darenger, this tiny spec of rock stands tall amid misty shores and intensely thick fog.

Three settlements exist on Heightsland. Near its southern tip, nestled in between a valley of mountains and a clustering wood, the small village of Inner Knot rests in seclusion. Inner Knot is hard to find, and even harder to access. Only a single small stream flows toward it from the greater ocean. Its continued isolation has bred a citizenry that are fiercely independent, and self sufficient. Many of its residents mine the raw ores in the surrounding mountains, and they are the only tribe that knows of any marketable routes through those impassable cliffs. While the males put their backs into the smithy’s or mines, the female’s tend to hunt in the verdant woodlands to the south and fish in the quiet streams.

There are whispers of things inhabiting the mountains surrounding the village. Angry spirits and ghoulish aberrations are common rumors for the wandering tradesman or traveling merchant. For this reason, the villagers of Inner Knot are indispensable for anyone hoping to brave the road to the northern side of the island.

At the center of Heightsland lies the Heights of Leborm, where not so long ago ‘Leborm The Merciless’ fought and died fighting the withering armies of Thytosusia. Its terrain is near impassible, except for the villagers of Inner Knot. It was for this reason the Thytosusian armies met their demise, their invasion swiftly halted by natures cruel terrain.

Farther to the north, near the eastern slopes lies the largest town with several hundred villagers. The town of Hitecross is the first and oldest settlement on the island of Heightsland. Its residents are often referred to as the first pioneers, for they were the first settlers to brave the islands dangers and establish a colony. Immediately after setting foot on the island, they were tested by its darkest mysteries. The Sacred Sands are an enigma that dare the natural environments of the world. A small desert, on an icy northern shoreline. But within those sands lies a secret, a creature that sleeps for now…

Somehow the first pioneers were able to venture through this quiet horror until they discovered the rocky inland, complete with pleasant streams and gentle fields. The city of Hitecross was built here, and now it is the center of trade and commerce for those on the island. While few dare to trespass on the Sacred Sands, a small port to the north allows passage through a small brick road. The township also owns the only entrance to a vast basin, one full of beautiful land and dazzling trees. This basin is also home to a rare species of fennec foxes that are surprisingly lovable as pets, making it sacred to the Pharine’s.

In the north lies the village of Honeybend. Situated on the edges of the Windwood, the small town thrives on hunting and forging alone. The watermill belonging to the nearby rivers provides an abundance of grain, and is home to a single villa belonging to the governor himself. The same river allows easy passage further inland through the mountains, but farther east lies another river, beyond which the wind woods are avoided at all costs.

For all these people the name of Heightsland suits their rocky home nicely. But to the Pharine warrior clans, the Aiverix, it wasn’t…tough enough. The word they designated was simply translated as ‘Knuckle’, for it was the knuckle of a greater fist bent to dominate the Fanfow Seas. Despite them conjuring their own name for the isle, rarely do the Aiverix war bands venter near it. There are few glories to be had on the ‘Knuckle’ during the raiding seasons, unless Thytosusian armies come near.

There is one final name given to this island, one not gifted by the Pharine villagers or their Aiverix warrior caste. This name was spoken through the lips of unwanted invaders and cruel occupiers from across the sea. Thytosia has long harbored harsh resentment to their Pharine neighbors, and its human warriors have laid seige to their isles multiple times. It was during their last bitter and bloody campaign that they coined the isle of Heightsland as ‘The Island Of Fear’.

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The Pharine is a humanoid species originally discovered to live in what is now the Eseian Khanate. Before the rise of the Khan, its lands were fruitful and broken up into multiple nations. The Pharine’s made their homes in many of these countries and principalities until the onslaught of the Eseian horde. For fifty three years the Eseian marauders rained death and destruction across the lands of former Valedonia and Sirenholm until all the tribes of Pharine society were forced to flee in unison. As they fled, they ventured through the nations of Thytosusia and were met with further hostility. The humans of that vast kingdom ostracized the Pharine’s as they sought refuge, and as the years proceeded their hostility became cruelty. This forced the Pharine clans to venture south, then east until they crossed the borders of the much more friendly Harwickian Kingdoms.

A century following the rise of the Eseian Khanate, the Pharine’s were favored by the late King Sethre Apice of Harwickia. His favor was strong enough to grant them the ‘Gift of Peace’. This gift was an abundance of yet to be populated lands in the north-east, it was theirs to freely colonize and build upon. These lands were known as the ‘Fjordlands’ and the ‘Whitelands’ by most, for they were expansive yet harsh. Pirate gangs ventured through the straits often, and lawlessness was rife. Most of the lands were unexplored, and to make matters worse they were teeming with hostile wildlife.

The Pharine’s knew this was less of a gift and more of an insult. The Harwickian society had demanded their ejection from their lands, and sending them to the north under the guise of a gift seemed politically viable.

Regardless of this, the Pharine’s journeyed to their ‘Promised Lands’ and found the cold weather and harsh terrain to be palatable. Within a single generation the Pharine’s had come to call their founding nation ‘Fanfow’, after their ancient birth lands of legend. While the nation of Fanfow is young, and struggling, its people have found themselves made stronger.

A typical Pharine looks very much human, externally there are only two significant differences. All Pharine’s are known for their fox-like ears and tails. Their furs differ in tone and volume. Other than these physical discrepancies, Pharine’s are surprisingly adaptable to their environments. Whether having to survive in harsh deserts or frozen wastelands, there bodies are known to adjust to the elements and continue to adapt with each generation. The Pharine’s of Fanfow, after living in the far north for several decades, have started to show a tendency of being born with white fur, thick skin, and of taller stature then their westward ancestors.

- From the teachings of Syncerastus Aurelio of the great library of Rothetbia

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“And the lord of woe said onto thee, send forth your most loyal servant to the icy lands of the north, to where the skies dance with the lights of angels wings. Go forth and retrieve the daughter of Sabbath and Entropy, the one who bears the mark of Kalesh. For when the son of Dragons and the Daughter of Pharine’s unite, their offspring shall conquer the world.”

-Late words from Lord Exultant Vithmiris Irnfried, King of the Dragons. Circa 435 pc.

“I’m not in the mood for this,” Junipor Reigns leaned onto the tavern bar table with her head in her arms. Defeat was carved onto her face, her ears folded back to emphasize her dour mood. There was a crowd of patrons all around her, young Pharine males and females had come to celebrate the start of spring season, which also signaled the start of mating season. Her sister was among them, and she was eagerly embellishing a story to one of the handsome male’s belonging to the crowd. She had captured his attention completely, Junipor was disgusted by how easy she made it look.

Junipor Reigns couldn’t stand how easy it was for her sister to glom all the attention. Nor could she stand another season of disappointment. She remained seated on the barstool with her head buried in her arms, the tankard of mead in front of her was empty and in need of a refill.

Spring season had come at last, which meant the start of the breeding season was here. All the lucky wives and newlyweds were celebrating in earnest, while all the loving singles who came of age hunted for a mate. There were two ways for a female Pharine to quickly find a suitable partner. The first, and by far the easiest for most of them, was to attract a male through sexual prowess. Pharine women, especially when young of child bearing age, were known for their voluptuous breasts and mouth watering hips. Junipor’s sister was a perfect example of this.

The other way, mostly reserved for Pharine females not in that majority, was to earn acknowledgment through deeds. Joining the Aiverix was one way to do that, but there were no wars to fight, and thus no Aiverix clans to join. Had Junipor been born a little sooner, she would’ve been able to join up with Leborm’s reavers and cleanse the island of Thytosusian invaders. But the war had ended, for now, and the Aiverix clans elsewhere.

Unable to show her martial prowess in the Aiverix clans, Junipor took up an apprenticeship at the local forge. She crafted everything from horseshoes to full body armor. Weapons were slowly becoming her forte, but sadly not one male potential seemed interested in her, despite this craft.

Junipor even went out of her way to dress appropriately for the occasion. She wore a low cut tunic over a fitted pair of leggings. Her leather vest was unlatched so that it hanged loosely from the belt along her waist. She hoped to exaggerate her cleavage by letting them hang freely underneath her shirt. While no where near as impressive as her sisters, Junipor’s breasts were soft and tear drop shaped with sharp nipples that poked against the cotton fabric.

Around her neck Junipor wore a drake stone necklace that was shaped like a fang, it was a late gift from her father, and rested along her collarbone with a red gleam. She had trimmed her white hair back so that her ears were clearly visible. Her hair matched the fur of her tail which was currently shedding its winter coat.

Junipor was nineteen years old, making this her second attempt to find a suitable mate…or any mate for that matter. Her arms were thick and powerful, training for the Aiverix and hammering iron bars had given her a bulk that separated her from the other females. While her breasts weren’t as laden as her sisters, her hips were wide to give her an hourglass frame. The only thing Junipor clearly shared with her sister was her stark copper skin, like the sun burnt sands to the east. Her eyes were a vivid blue that reflected the light, like the cold seas surrounding her island.

Her sister didn’t share her white hair or blue eyes. With long brown hair and a heart shaped face that provided a warm smile, Scarlet’s brown eyes held a life to them that spoke of comfort and pleasant joy. Scarlet hadn’t worked a day in her life, giving her a lithe frame and delicate features. She was well endowed by nature, her gown strained to keep her bosom from spilling out in full view. Junipor couldn’t help but notice Scarlet was already starting to lactate, her heaving breasts laden with milk. Given the amount of attention she had received, Scarlet had her pick of the men in the room.

Junipor groaned in frustration. Her arms weighed heavily on the bar table. At this rate she feared she would never find a mate, she feared she would suffer alone forever.

A high pitched squeal stole Junipor’s attention, her ears perked up toward the source. Nearby, close to her left arm, relaxing along the edge of the bar table sat a small animal demanding her attention. The tiny fennec yawned wide before offering the squeal again while crawling over her arm. The fox had proved to be a quick witted and spirited irritant, prone to random acts of selfish misbehavior and curious affections. The basin was infested with the adorable creatures, and they would often share the homes of their Pharine neighbors without permission. Occasionally they would bond with a Pharine in particular and never leave their side, happily annoying them throughout the day.

Junipor’s fennec sported a cream orange coat, shiny brown eyes, and two large ears that scanned the room. Its tail was fluffy and tucked behind its hindlegs.

“Let me guess Francesca, you’re hungry…?” Junipor lifted her head from her arms, little Francesca had crawled over and planted its paws on her bicep. Its nose nudged at her while provided a series of chirps and squeaks. Even though her tail and ears were low as if in submission, its expression was painfully obvious. “Why you looking at me? It’s not like I’ve got anything.”

Junipor leaned back on her stool, her own tail twirled around her waist. There was a chill in the air, but that didn’t seem to bother her. Pharine’s were naturally susceptible to cold temperatures, otherwise they wouldn’t have survived on the island in the first place.

The bartender looked over to her and frowned. Derrick was the owner of the tavern, he was still handsome despite his age. A thick grey beard hid some of the scars earned in his youth. One of his ears was bitten in half, he claimed it happened when he fought with the Aiverix, but his brother confided to her that he had lost it in a bar fight. Junipor felt that was more believable.

“Can I get you anything Junipor?” He looked over to Francesca and shot a wide grin, “Oh look who’s hungry, aren’t you just adorable little Francy?” His voice was gruff yet somehow comforting. Junipor bit her lip, even her fennec was getting more attention. Derrick had been busy cleaning one of the horned mugs, but he quickly sat it down to scratch the underside of Francesca’s chin

Junipor sighed to herself, she wanted to order another large tankard of mead. It would be her fifth portion, but she supposed the night wasn’t getting any younger. “I’ll have another, and get Francesca a plate of crickets.”

“You didn’t say please?” Derrick smirked. He brushed the mane of his hair back, and looked her square in the eye. The bartender had dark brown eyes, they seemed lively and young for such an older male.

Junipor looked up at him and cursed, “F-ck you.”

Behind her, she could hear the other patrons flirting amongst themselves, her sister was laughing at one of their bad jokes. It made Junipor feel even more agitated. She should’ve been happy for her, this was her sisters first time searching for a mate. At eighteen years of age Scarlet had reached her womanhood, and had already earned the notice of all the young males in town. All because of her ridiculously huge jugs.

“Come on Junipor, you don’t have to be like that. You’ll never find someone if you mope around. Have you even tried to talk to anyone?” Derrick had a point. Since stepping through the front door of the tavern, Junipor had largely kept to the side. She found her sisters success intimidating, it made her feel awkward and embarrassed. Slowly Junipor found herself feeling too shy and timid to earn anyone’s attention, and had resigned herself to sitting meekly at the bar.

Junipor shot him a glare, “You literally have no idea how hard it is. I’ve been here all morning and no one wants any of this.” Junipor motioned with her hands to emphasize her torso. “No one wants me with these tiny tits, and I have nothing to offer.”

“You have a lot more than those impressive biceps of yours, but you’ve been depressing to look at all night.” Junipor knew he was trying to be motivating, but it failed to move her from her seat. Derrick finished scratching Francesca’s chin so that he could find a bowl under the bar when he noticed something out of Junipor’s view, “I’ll tell you what, why don’t you do me a favor?”

“A what?” Junipor asked. She couldn’t help sounding upset with the empty mug in front of her, and the fennec scratching at her arm in protest.

“See those guests over there?” Derrick motioned behind her where a trio of adventures occupied a table in the corner of the tavern. Each of them were not here to mingle or seek companionship. They were older than herself, and they each sported a tattoo under their left eyes. Junipor caught her breath as she recognized they were of the Aiverix! She couldn’t help but wonder what they were doing all the way out here?

Junipor froze, she was transfixed watching the three warrior’s mingling amongst themselves. “They’re not here for the festival, and I’m tired of having to refill their mugs.” Derrick noticed how Junipor was glaring across the room and patted her on the head, between the ears, to recapture her attention. “I just had a keg filled for them, why don’t you put those arms of yours to good use and carry it over to them. Who knows maybe they’re looking for a young kit to join whatever quest there on.”

“A quest? Really?” Junipor recoiled as Francesca’s claws dug into her skin. “Ouch! Calm down Francesca.”

“I’ll get your little fennec some snacks, just please deliver the keg to them. My back can’t handle another load tonight.”

Junipor got up from her stool and flexed her arms, thick purple veins bulged along the muscle of her bicep as she squeezed. “Sure thing, just have another tankard filled for me when I get back.” She assumed she wouldn’t be able to stay and sit with the Aiverix warriors. As she started to walk over she noticed her sister offering her a subtle nod and a wink, “On second thought, make that two tankards.”

Minutes Later

The tavern music accompanied her as Junipor walked across the wooden planks of the taverns floor. Stringed instruments, played soothing melody’s while the bard offered a pleasant voice. Part of her hoped one of the male’s would bump into her, or pat her on the shoulder, but everyone simply moved aside as she advanced across the room. She carried a mid sized keg over her shoulder with relative ease. Her ears twitched from all the noise surrounding her.

There was a time, not too long ago, when the Aiverix war parties marched over the icy shores of Heightsland. But for now, the three warriors stuck out amongst the bustle of villagers like a set of sore thumbs. Few talked to them, except for Derrick and his few servers. This wasn’t due to any poor expression on their part, for they did not show an ounce of hostility to the villagers, nor did the villager show any signs of fear towards them. The reason why they sat amongst themselves was far more simple, they were not part of the festival. They had not come to seek a mate for the oncoming spring, nor a life partner. They had come for something else, something far more dangerous.

Junipor approached with apprehension, and sat the barrel of mead next to them carefully. It was exceedingly heavy, even for her, and she was glad to be rid of it.

All three of the mercenaries were her senior by some years. Two of them were males, their dark brown hair was unkempt and the fur of their tails was scruffy. Sat between them was a female wearing crude iron armor and linked chainmail. The collar guard of her breastplate was cracked down the center, the jagged cut looked like it had taken the blunt edge of an axe. All the nicks and scraps of her armor distracted Junipor from the female warriors short white hair and dark bronze skin. Even her tail wasn’t devoid of damage, it was jagged after being cut short.

“Well what do we have here?” The female looked up at Junipor with a wily smile. Her narrow face held thin cheekbones and two pearly green eyes.

“Enjoying the festival mighty girl?” The Aiverix to her right spoke up in excitement. His thick arms were covered in tattoos, and his ears were tucked back in his dark brown hair. The warriors eyes were dark and seemed to look right through her.

The other Aiverix male slammed his hand on the table, “Of course she’s enjoying it, it’s the festival that isn’t enjoying her! Look at those tiny apple’s she’s carrying, not even enough to grab hold of.” The warrior laughed at his own distasteful joke.

Junipor reached out without even thinking about it, grabbing him by the collar and trying to find a way past the chainmail in an effort to choke him.

“Now you’ve done it Dunsk, gone and upset the townsfolk again.” The other male warrior was too busy popping the cork of the barrel to intervene.

“Get this crazy vixen off me!” Dunsk yelled, finding her strength strikingly hard to break free from.

The female sitting with them laughed so hard she couldn’t keep herself from tearing up, “You get what you deserve Dunsk.” She leaned forward as the music in the tavern switched it’s tune, “Hell if it were me I would’ve slit your throat.”

Junipor struggled to finger her way through the chainmail links, but her fingers were beginning to find purchase. “I’m going to wring your neck!”

Just as Junipor felt a small gap in between the iron links, someone grabbed her by the collar and dragged her aside. “Terribly sorry folks, I hope my server didn’t cause any damage.” Derrick’s voice barely rose above the female warrior’s laughter.

“What the hell is wrong with you small tits?” The male she tried to strangle called out as Junipor was being dragged away.

“I’ll show you small tits, you asshole!” Junipor struggled under the tavern owners grip. Her outraged had caused a mild reaction from the crowd.

The only thing that stopped her from thrashing free was a gentle hand on her shoulder. Junipor looked over to see that her sister had stepped free from the crowd and patting her gently. Francesca jumped from Scarlets shoulder onto Junipor’s arm, and bared its teeth at the Aiverix laughing at her.

“Oh my, another tiny kit coming to challenge me? This towns a treat.” Dunsk sat back down in his seat and pushed his empty mug to the other warrior for a refill. “Clearly this was worth skipping out the raiding season for.”

Whoever the female war chief was, she wasn’t amused. She slapped the back of her warriors head and stood up in her seat. She raised her filled mug high to address the crowd, “To the Knuckle, and all her charming brides to be.” Her attempt to calm the crowd had only a minor effect. Several were suddenly looking over to the Aiverix’s table with dreaded suspicion. Only a couple raised their drinks in return.

“Charming huh,” Dunst fiddled with something in his hand, a shiny red tooth that once dangled from Junipor’s neck.

Junipor recognized it instantly, and knew he must have grabbed it when she was on top of him. Her tail shot up in fright, “That’s mine, give it back!”

“Why don’t you make me,” His grin was frightening.

Junipor lunged forward, or at least she tried. An arm shot around her waist in mid air and pinned her in place. Derrick struggled to hold her, Francesca latched herself onto Jurnipor’s shoulder and hissed at the three seated at the table. “Let me go Derrick!”

“Why? So you can get yourself killed?” his voice wasn’t loud enough for the outsiders to hear.

Only when she caught her breath did Junipor collect her thoughts. She glared at the one named Dunsk, his crooked teeth and slanted nose made her want to punch him even more. “Vanderblunt, I challenge you to a vanderblunt!"

The entire tavern went silent, even the bard stopped singing. Dunsk looked at her in surprise, "You challenge me...to a vanderblunt? You want to duel me kit?"

“Do I have to repeat myself? Or are you afraid?” Junipor straightened.

Dunsk scoffed, guzzled his ale of mead in one gulp, and threw her a small handkerchief, “Challenge accepted, on one condition.”

“What are you doing?” Scarlet asked Junipor. The tavern remained silent all around them, and the tension was palpable. Never before had the tavern been this silent during the mating seasonal festival, a pair of guards had noticed the disturbance and entered through the main door out of concern.

Junipor brushed her sisters concern aside, and focused on the warrior in front of her. “Name it.”

“If I win, I get to see them apples of yours. Give them a good squeeze. If I like em enough, maybe I’ll take part in this little festival of yours. How does that sound?” The very thought of mating with this insult of a warrior made Junipor want to punch him even harder.

“I won’t lose, and after I win I get your armor…all of it. And you have to walk naked through the town so that everyone can see that limp dick of yours.” Junipor returned his grin with a sadistic smile. Her fingers balled into fists, her tail waved back and forth with excitement. She never mentioned the necklace, that was hers and she felt no need to bargain for what belonged to her.

Dunsk didn’t even pause to consider the terms. “I think we have a vanderblunt, well then lets get started.” Dunsk chuckled to himself as he stood. The other Aiverix warrior looked at his clan chief, and she merely shrugged her shoulders. It was clear neither of them would get involved in this matter.

The pair faced each other as all those in the tavern made a wide circle of space for them. Francesca was reluctant to leave Junipor’s shoulder, but after some coaching the fennec hopped off to rest in Scarlets arms.