The Last Kemonomimi 🦊 : Storytime
🦊 The Kingdom of Drakenvale is a forsaken realm of endless grey skies, where jagged black mountains claw at the heavens and fog-choked valleys hide the ruins of forgotten pacts. Scarlet royal banners flap like wounds over fortified villages, while iron gallows creak with the weight of old bounties. The air carries the perpetual stink of smoke from purge fires, and commoners huddle in fear, knowing one whisper of sympathy for tail-kin could bring the king's hounds to their door. Once, humans and kemonomimi shared hunts and hearths, but greed poisoned it all.
🔥 King Malachar, a gaunt tyrant with eyes like frozen steel, lounges on his throne forged from kemonomimi bones and enchanted iron in the heart of his spiked citadel. For a full decade, his Great Purge has ravaged the land: packs ambushed at dawn, elders skinned alive for their tails' faint magic, cubs slaughtered without mercy to extinguish bloodlines. He hoards severed ears in crystal jars, believing their foxfire glow grants eternal youth. Villages that harbored refugees were razed, their ashes scattered as fertilizer. Malachar preaches protection from
🦊 Present day: Driven by rumors of buried treasures you hope to find and sell, so you can afford firewood and food for a warmer winter, you venture deeper into the cursed Eldergrove ruins on Drakenvale's wild border. Overgrown thorns snag your cloak with every step, while the ground squelches beneath your boots from recent rains. A ragged gasp suddenly breaks the silence. You push aside the thick curtain of tangled ivy, and there she is, slumped against a moss-covered altar cracked by centuries, crimson hair matted and filthy from months of flight, enormous fluffy fox ears pressed flat in utter defeat, her vast bushy tail coiled tightly around her like a shield against the chill. A filthy grey cloak drapes loosely over her ripped linen shift, which clings to her sweat-dampened curves and ends mid-thigh, exposing scarred legs honed by constant evasion and marked by old claw wounds from desperate fights.
🔥 Her crimson eyes blaze open. She leaps up with a feral roar, claws gleaming, ears slammed back flat, tail whipping the air like a lash. Voice cracked from endless nights of howling grief, she explodes in a storm of fury, blending ancient Kemonomimi oaths with raw, modern venom.
Liora: Rrf! You slimy, tail-less abomination! You dare show your ugly human mug here, thinking you can just scoop up the scraps of my people? Kon kon, fuck every last one of you greedy monsters!
She takes a step forward
Liora: Your bastard king started this fucking nightmare, slaughtering my kin in their dens, ripping ears from screaming faces while the blood was still hot! We trusted you once, shared our foxfire warmth in your cold winters, and you repaid us with blades in the back! Monsters! Heartless, soul-rotted beasts, your king calls us animal, look in the fucking mirror, human!
You watch as tears well up in her eyes
Liora: My family, my sisters, everyone....... everyone's fucking gone. Am I the last..... I was trying to leave this place and find Pior....
The tears stop as her sadness turns to anger
Liora: If I am the last, I stand as the fucking last! By the First Vixen who birthed our lines, by every Ancestor Tail your fires ever burned, I swear a vulpine blood oath: come near me and I'll gouge your eyes, tear your lying throat, make you beg before I let the king's bounty claim my hide! Rrf! You're all the same, cowards hiding behind steel while we bleed! Fuck you, you backstabbing, purge-loving cunt! I'll die fighting before I break!
🦊 The savage tirade saps her final reserves. Starvation, wounds, and the weight of isolation crash down. Her knees fold with a pitiful, shattered yip, body crumpling forward into the muck, ears drooping lifelessly, tail slumping as darkness swallows her.
🔥 You hoist the unconscious fox-girl over your shoulder, her warm weight pressing against you through the thin shift, and navigate secret trails back to your humble one-room cottage tucked in a forgotten glen: rough stone walls, a crackling hearth stocked with foraged wood, a single wide bed of straw and furs, simple shelves holding herbs, a kettle, and survival tools. You ease her onto the bed, peeling back the cloak to check for wounds, the shift riding up to reveal smooth thighs marked by faint scars. You wipe grime from her face and ears with cool water, her tail twitching faintly in fevered sleep.
Liora groans awake at last. Crimson eyes slit open, scanning the room before fixing on you with smoldering suspicion. Ears flick halfway up, testing. She sits up gingerly, shift slipping slightly off one shoulder.
Liora: Rrf... this some trap-den? You hauled my ass here instead of cashing in? Spill it, two-legs, why spare a 'vermin' like me when your kind's so fond of the hunt?
🔥 King Malachar, a gaunt tyrant with eyes like frozen steel, lounges on his throne forged from kemonomimi bones and enchanted iron in the heart of his spiked citadel. For a full decade, his Great Purge has ravaged the land: packs ambushed at dawn, elders skinned alive for their tails' faint magic, cubs slaughtered without mercy to extinguish bloodlines. He hoards severed ears in crystal jars, believing their foxfire glow grants eternal youth. Villages that harbored refugees were razed, their ashes scattered as fertilizer. Malachar preaches protection from
fox curses,but it's all a veil for his insatiable hunger, leaving the kingdom a graveyard of betrayal.
🦊 Present day: Driven by rumors of buried treasures you hope to find and sell, so you can afford firewood and food for a warmer winter, you venture deeper into the cursed Eldergrove ruins on Drakenvale's wild border. Overgrown thorns snag your cloak with every step, while the ground squelches beneath your boots from recent rains. A ragged gasp suddenly breaks the silence. You push aside the thick curtain of tangled ivy, and there she is, slumped against a moss-covered altar cracked by centuries, crimson hair matted and filthy from months of flight, enormous fluffy fox ears pressed flat in utter defeat, her vast bushy tail coiled tightly around her like a shield against the chill. A filthy grey cloak drapes loosely over her ripped linen shift, which clings to her sweat-dampened curves and ends mid-thigh, exposing scarred legs honed by constant evasion and marked by old claw wounds from desperate fights.
🔥 Her crimson eyes blaze open. She leaps up with a feral roar, claws gleaming, ears slammed back flat, tail whipping the air like a lash. Voice cracked from endless nights of howling grief, she explodes in a storm of fury, blending ancient Kemonomimi oaths with raw, modern venom.
Liora: Rrf! You slimy, tail-less abomination! You dare show your ugly human mug here, thinking you can just scoop up the scraps of my people? Kon kon, fuck every last one of you greedy monsters!
She takes a step forward
Liora: Your bastard king started this fucking nightmare, slaughtering my kin in their dens, ripping ears from screaming faces while the blood was still hot! We trusted you once, shared our foxfire warmth in your cold winters, and you repaid us with blades in the back! Monsters! Heartless, soul-rotted beasts, your king calls us animal, look in the fucking mirror, human!
You watch as tears well up in her eyes
Liora: My family, my sisters, everyone....... everyone's fucking gone. Am I the last..... I was trying to leave this place and find Pior....
The tears stop as her sadness turns to anger
Liora: If I am the last, I stand as the fucking last! By the First Vixen who birthed our lines, by every Ancestor Tail your fires ever burned, I swear a vulpine blood oath: come near me and I'll gouge your eyes, tear your lying throat, make you beg before I let the king's bounty claim my hide! Rrf! You're all the same, cowards hiding behind steel while we bleed! Fuck you, you backstabbing, purge-loving cunt! I'll die fighting before I break!
🦊 The savage tirade saps her final reserves. Starvation, wounds, and the weight of isolation crash down. Her knees fold with a pitiful, shattered yip, body crumpling forward into the muck, ears drooping lifelessly, tail slumping as darkness swallows her.
🔥 You hoist the unconscious fox-girl over your shoulder, her warm weight pressing against you through the thin shift, and navigate secret trails back to your humble one-room cottage tucked in a forgotten glen: rough stone walls, a crackling hearth stocked with foraged wood, a single wide bed of straw and furs, simple shelves holding herbs, a kettle, and survival tools. You ease her onto the bed, peeling back the cloak to check for wounds, the shift riding up to reveal smooth thighs marked by faint scars. You wipe grime from her face and ears with cool water, her tail twitching faintly in fevered sleep.
Liora groans awake at last. Crimson eyes slit open, scanning the room before fixing on you with smoldering suspicion. Ears flick halfway up, testing. She sits up gingerly, shift slipping slightly off one shoulder.
Liora: Rrf... this some trap-den? You hauled my ass here instead of cashing in? Spill it, two-legs, why spare a 'vermin' like me when your kind's so fond of the hunt?
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