The Feline Legendarium

There weren’t always dragons in the valley. There wasn’t any death either. Or even pain. The threads of peace, harmony, and eternal life intertwined here. This was the birthplace of meow, safeguarded by the light. And where the glow of The Great Feline Valley ended, there was emptiness.

The emptiness had no ground to walk on. It had no air to breathe. There wasn’t a start, and there wasn’t an end. It merely took the place of where the valley ceased to be. This endless space was full of darkness and deafening silence. Until the day, when sounds of grinding metal would sing out from its barren womb, reverberating through the dale.

Beginning as only a stir, the sounds became thunderous. They were rhythmic and coordinated. Clanking and clunking, clattering, and crunching, heavily armored warriors marched out of the darkness. One by one, then two by two, the wicked dog beasts trudged.

Their helms were shaped like the heads of dragons, bizarre lizard like creature’s unknown at that time. The dragon’s faces were etched beautifully, and they wore virtuous expressions. However, underneath the façade of nobility, lips peeled back over rows of sharpened teeth. Drool dripped down chins onto chest plates. Fur lunged out through chinks in the amor, grasping for blood. These were the dog men. Many breeds. Many Sizes. One Creed.

To Kill.

Footsteps of the Dragon Faced Dogs echoed through the valley. Their shadows passed over and dissolved the radiance of the cradle. Fierce claws held firm their weapons, which we peaceful cat-folk didn’t know to fear at that time. Broad swords, two handed axes, spears, and other unnamed pointy things, all glistened in the afternoon’s brilliance. Thousands upon thousands of these creatures moved in perfect unison, setting upon the world like the moon eclipsing the sun.

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“Hey, Blind Tom!” A squeaky voice chirped, interrupting the history lesson. “Is that when everyone moved into the mountains?!” It was Darby, her awkward voice offsetting the room. Kirby, a fellow cat-folk in training, snapped his head in Darby’s direction.

“DARBY!! ARE YOU SERIOUS?!” Kirby was the largest trainee in the group by several feet and many pounds. He stood up, his deep voice shattering the air. “BLIND TOM?! BLIND?! WHAT IN THE MEOW IS WRONG WITH YOU?! THAT IS OUR INSTRUCTOR! SHOW THE PROPER RESPECT!” Darby froze, cowering under the presence of Kirby. The other cat-folk-trainees in the room stood on end, looking wide at Princess for a reaction. She never gave one.

Princess was seasoned in the ways of Kirby and Darby. She knew what to expect from them. They were her two most loyal subjects. Her best friends. Whether Kirby hated Darby or not.

The cave walls dripped, and no one made a sound. Except for a pitch-black ball of fur. “…Sorry.” Squeaked Darby. Kirby sat cross legged back on the ground and let out a low growl. “I am sorry MR. Tom.”

Mr. Tom, the eyeless veteran and academy instructor, had been waiting patiently. So patient in fact that he appeared lifeless. “If all of you are ready to retreat at the sound of a loud voice…then how will you stand and fight against the loudest of barks…. The terrible howls…as the Dragon Faced Dogs descend on you?”

The rest of the cat-folk-in-training were listening intently while Princess daydreamed. She was looking over at Darby and imagining the loud battle Mr. Tom was describing. Imagining her tiny friend being ripped apart. Poor Darby.

Mr. Tom continued, waving his claws in front of his eyes dramatically.

“WHEN YOU HEAR THE SCREAMS OF YOUR FRIENDS, AS THEIR EYES ARE RIPPED FROM THEIR HEADS! WILL YOU RUN THEN?!” His paws continued to wave wildly. The other cat-folk in the room, even Kirby, froze in place. “THANK MEOW FOR MY BLINDNESS! THAT I CANNOT SEE YOUR COWARDICE!” One of Mr. Toms claws scratched his cheek, cutting open one of the few unscarred areas left. “GAHHHH!”

One of the soldiers-in-training rushed to aid their teacher. “AWAY FROM ME YOU DAMNED KITTEN!” Belted the old instructor, turning back to the distraction. “AND TO ANSWER YOUR QUESTION DARBY!! NO! THAT IS-

His hand had found the blood that was now trickling down his jaw, pulling his attention somewhere else. Somewhere far away. He took a long breath. The overall demeanor of the old tom seemed to ease, but the rest of the room of did not. “To answer your question…Darby…No. That is not when everyone MOVED into the mountains.” He put his now blood speckled hand up to his mouth, lapping it. “First…we discovered death.”