Moors Warriors Novels & Stories

Erriene said in that soft but firm voice of his that always made Alarick’s crotch give a twitch. Kill him, a mocking voice said in his head, He disrespected you. He took the sword and dragged his finger on the carvings. It was Maudinian. ‘Dir ylemi er zi nie rata cogadh anns treubh.’ (There is no war in the tribe.) A quote from a frost giant’s legend, about a great frost giant warlord and his weaknesses, his people, his family and his enemies. There was one special sword for each one of them.

As we descended into the subterranean colosseum, the noise became overwhelming. Two thousand warriors filled the stone tiers of the cavern. These were the Shadow Warriors—the battle-scarred outcasts of the Dead Woods. They were alphas, betas, and omegas who had been rejected by their birth packs, criminals who had survived the brutal winter wilderness, and veterans of forgotten border wars. They didn't wear uniforms; they wore heavy furs, iron chains, and leather straps over bodies covered in jagged claw scars. They were savage, and radiated a volatile pressure.

Every time he heard those discussions, Looney would be full of disdain. Were long-ranged warriors all idiots that would just let their opponents get close? As long-ranged warriors, the main focus was always to maintain a distance between them and their opponents. Only then would they be able to attack. Anyone who wanted to attack them would have to pay a painful price! With that in mind, Looney had experienced many large battles before. Plenty of his fellow disciples had died, but he was still alive. Some of those fellow disciples had even mocked his choices, but they were all dead now!

"I, Cathal Bringe, the messenger of peace from Volar, with the power bestowed upon me by the kingdom of Volar and Lord Eldrick, declare that the kingdom of Volar is at war with the kingdom of Hollis." Cathal declared and held his sword in front of him ready to fight anybody who wished to attack him. Following his words, the four knights behind him too held their swords, their eyes sharp and on high alert. They gazed around the hall, counting the number of people who seemed to be ready to attack them.

Malcom counters, his tone sceptical. Dad scoffs and waves off the concern. “They aren’t that much stronger than us, Malcom. Have more faith in our warriors.” “I do have faith in our warriors,” Malcom replies steadily. “However, Blood Moon has considerably more of them. We’ve got 150 strong fighters, sure, but only another 25 who are decent. They wouldn’t stand a chance against Blood Moon’s warriors. They have 250 of the best-trained fighters in the kingdom. We don’t have the numbers to even breach their borders.”

He and Clash completed warrior training, and it’s time for them to go serve in the werewolf military. Their training was to be a sharpshooter, but they can also quick shift. Dad says it’s a rare skill and makes them a valuable asset to their platoon. Marco says he’s looking forward to it. Can you believe that shit? Who looks forward to going to war? Actually, I can think of a couple of our pack members… I overheard Mom telling our female Beta Abdicate, Becca Stone, that dark witches have gotten involved. Thirty warriors from our pack alone have died this month. I haven’t told Marco. He’s going regardless. Being morbid won’t help make him stay.

Even though I knew that beneath their fierce exterior, these warriors possessed a level of discipline and control that was unparalleled. "Well, they do have the best Gamma in the realm," I said with a light smile, my eyes still fixed on the warriors. "They can't be anything less than excellent.” I stepped forward, and the grounds fell silent. My voice was like thunder – commanding attention and resonating with authority. "Warriors of the Blood Moon Pack!" My voice boomed across the field. "We stand on the brink of a war that has been forced upon us. The rogues, once our brothers and sisters, now seek to tear down what we have built with their envy and greed."

You can't single wolf out of the pack, you attack one, you attack all. The Neos army was in full armour, standing in straight files. One look at them and everyone knew that these people would fight mercilessly. Their fighting style and coordination was impeccable and unlike anybody has ever seen. They were strong, fearless and could follow orders like no other. And this was just three of my armies. The Mozog army and the Poziarne army wasn't even called in. Not to mention to Mystic Lupus army.

From their smell to their attitude, we needed them out of our fur. My powerful legs ate up the ground. I'd never fought a physical battle with The Moor like I had with Marcus, the Southwest Clan's vampire. Marcus let me work out my frustrations without killing me. The Moor wouldn't hesitate. He didn't enjoy a good bloody brawl like I did. But he was my friend and by the tone of his voice, I needed to get back swiftly.

We looked like three ridiculous mud monsters. This wasn’t missed by Nexelex and his cackling gang, who mocked us, although they were covered by the crappy mud of Damnarynth too, but not as much as us. Although we got Master of Damnarynth defeated, warriors were still getting rid of his little pests, those who hadn’t surrendered. And gosh, although they are weakened without their master they are still pesky, and it seems that they do not stop to swarm in bouts at us. After several days of slaughtering and breaking down through the melee of Damnon’s remaining minions, Damnarynth fell, too. The next target to seek and destroy is Morsburg. Even if they surrender now and hand over Aralyn, we will