My work :D

I finally decided to post some of my work. Hope you enjoy it.

Prologue

The lion crouched low under the covering canopy of the lush grasslands, letting the scent of the prey linger inside his nose and mouth. The overpowering sensation of the hunt was stronger than the pungent smells of decay and death. Wailers tasted bad, their blood was clotted and their flesh was stringy and rotten. A small part of the lion, the one that was still Pentholas, flinched at the memory of tasting Wailer flesh, but the Druid's voice was swiftly drowned out with the adrenaline rush of the kill, the exhilarating sensation of teeth tearing into flesh, the spill of blood...

A sound from behind the lion made him turn his head, ever so slightly, trying to decide whether the visitor was a threat or not. It was not, it was alive. The little voice told him that is was his backup, the lion laughed at the concept of needing any help, and was rather annoyed that he had to keep an eye on the two-legged elf that would need rescuing in the end. The faint smell of sweat mixed with lavender was not at all unpleasant, the scent of fresh blood and tender meat was even better. 

The shuffling march of the Wailers told the lion that they were headed towards the road, where the Grasslands turned into a pitifully dried collection of twigs and dirt. The undead had not ventured over there in more than two moons. The elf behind him moved, the lion could hear her soft steps running, almost above the ground, entering the forest.

"The entrance through the road is a great place for Moonthrust to ambush them, let her get into position." the voice explained.

The lion grunted softly, tensing the bulging muscles of his powerful shoulders and back legs, the filthy undead would not spoil his beloved home, not on his watch. The lion settled lazily near a big rock that had a straight view of the entrance of the road. He could not see the Spotters but he could smell them now, he could smell the vile spit that burned everything it touched, he could smell the corruption of evil spreading through their body, as if their hearts were still beating. He could smell two, but a tingling at the back of his shoulders and the way his stomach clenched told the lion that there were probably more.
He was waiting for the right moment to attack.

 

"Patience is the virtue of the true warrior." the little voice said. 

He grunted once again, scoffing at the idea of patience. He had already waited long enough, the Wailers now stood in little clusters of two or three together, a great position to maximize damage and create chaos. He lifted his head, then his body, shaking the magnificent black, shaggy mane, announcing his presence. Death had arrived.

With a ferocious roar, the lion sprung from the grass, a deadly 300 pound dart, claws open and ready. The claws ripped into the two Wailers that were standing right next to the grass, facing the other way. The two were ripped apart with identical slashes, from the neck down to the lower back, the lion could see the white of the spine, the threads of bared tendon and muscle. Two more came at him, he jumped back and guided them through the mess that now lay in front of him, ready to pounce as soon as they began to stumble. He could hear loud noises coming from behind, where he thought the Spotters had been hiding, closer to the forest, where the nice-smelling elf had gone. He bit the neck of one Wailer, tearing the head right off, jumping towards the other one, before it even raised its arm to strike at him. He used his weight to slam the Wailer to the floor and tore out the throat, then carved their bellies with his claws and went after the others, there were still many of them standing up, and he was not going to let the elf take away his kills. He lurched towards the first Spotter, the crimson robe standing out from the rusted mail and rotten leather. It was surrounded by ten Wailers. Roar!

"Wait! There are too many, I need to immobilize them" the voice said. "Just stand still a few second and they are yours."

The lion shifted restlessly, his own blood pumping hard, the sinewy tendons of his body tensing and flexing, not used to waiting, sitting in front of the undead. A beam of blue light came out of the lion's mane, hitting the dirt road where the Wailers were standing. The dirt became mud so suddenly that the Wailers slipped and fell or were trying to maintain their footing. 

"Now!" the voice said urgently

.

The lion leapt at them, tearing flesh and bone with his claws and his mouth. His golden fur was tainted with blood and gore, his black mane now a tangled web of entrails. 

"Get the Spotter, there is one behind him. Moonthrust has taken out the other two." 

The lion roared out of frustration, the female elf had taken his quarry. He lunged at the Spotter, waiting for the spit to come his way, but the Spotter never saw him; a barrage of lightning bolts distracted it long enough for him to take it from behind, using his weight to get it to the floor. He grabbed a hold of its neck with his mouth, twisting it from side to side, hearing bone break, resisting the urge to lick his face. He lifted his face while the claws destroyed the body beneath him, searching for the other one. A spray of green spit hit the mangled corpse beneath him, making him jump out of the way, weaving his way in front of the Spotter. A lightning bolt hit the Spotter on the head, destroying it, splattering the lion with its remains. The mindless Wailers were now in disarray, no one was controlling them, so the lion took his time to kill them, one by one, toying with them, feinting and darting away, biting legs and arms before going for the kill. Another lightning bolt took away one of his kills, so he roared towards the forest, letting the female know that she should quit before becoming his dinner. 

"Easy big fellow, easy." the voice said, but the lion did not acknowledge it. "She is just trying to help you."

The lion did not need help, not when facing the puny creatures that threatened to deface his home.

Once the Wailers were dead, the female elf came out from the forest, smelling of fear and sweat, of summer storms and rain and lavender. 

"Come my friend, we need to get you all cleaned up if we ever want to cuddle with Moonthrust again." the voice said chuckling. 

The lion was not sure what the voice implied, nor did he care. He was content with his work. The threat was gone. He could see four Spotters dead and Wailers lying in heaps of blackened flesh, thorny vines and puddles of mud. His home was safe for now.

Any constructive criticism is not only appreciated but encouraged!