The youngish-looking redhead strolled up to the shop, her tresses swaying back and forth due to the light breeze and the practiced sway of a fighter. As she walked inside the low door, she smacked her head on the low hanging bell with a resounding clang! that warned the proprietor that he had a customer.

"Ow! Who in the Nine Hells put this thrice damned bell where any tall idiot can hit their head on it?" the redhead swore, rubbing the sore spot on her forehead.

"I did, m'lady," said the shopkeeper, a smallish but obviously well built young man. "The name's Kiffel. Reese Kiffel. How may I help you, m'lady?"

"I need me a new sword, pronto," she said impatiently, producing a few metal shards that bore a vague resemblance to what might have been a sword. "My old one, as you can plainly see, got slightly damaged in my last fight and, for obvious reasons, can't be fixed."

"I... see. Pardon me for asking, m'lady, but just how did you-"

"Intend to pay?" the woman cut in sharply, trying to discourage further discussion of the intended subject. "A sheet of paper or parchment, if you would, young master Kiffel."

He brought her a sheet of parchment and a quill pen. "No thank you- I don't need ink. I have what I need with me."

"Begging your pardon, m'lady, but I'm no master of anything- anything except the forge, I mean." He gestured to a large open forge behind him. "All I wanted to know is just-"

"When you'll get your gold, I know, I know," she interrupted once again. "Smiths are the same from town to town, always wondering just when the gold'll start rolling in. You'll get paid for the sword upon receipt. You'll get double, if," She looked around to make sure nobody else was within earshot. "If you can keep my secret, and not tell a soul that I was here." She took the parchment in hand and quickly slashed at it with her right, lightly touching the center with her index finger. Torn through the parchment was a symbol that looked like a letter M made of claw marks, with just a tiny drop of fresh blood dripping from the center point of the letter.

"You! You're... you're..." Kiffel stammered, his eyes wide. "It truly is an honor to meet you, Lady Mercicon!" He bowed low and extended a hand to the famed adventuress.

"The honor is all mine, young master Kiffel," she said with just a hint of dread. Fame- or infamy, as it was- had a price. "Now- a sword, if you please."

"Oh! Of course- right away, m'lady!" He ran off into the back room that held a second forge to find the perfect blade for the adventuress. As soon as he was out of sight, Mercicon snatched up the parchment and shredded it into a million tiny pieces, eradicating that mention of her presence in the shop.

"Lady Mercicon! I do believe I've found just the thing for you. I spent part of last season working on this blade for a nobleman in Marnet, but he had the lack of grace to up and die on me before the work was completed. I believe it's only fitting that one such as yourself possess this sword." He set the sword out on the stone counter. The blade itself looked to be nearly perfect; the balance was extraordinary, and the only flaw appeared to be that a single fake gemstone was slightly out of place- but that in itself was of little consequence.

"A fine blade, young master Kiffel. I should be proud to bear it," Mercicon said with a slight bow, decidedly different from the rather unrefined warrior woman who walked in moments earlier. Kiffel laughed.

Mercicon pulled out a small leather bag and set it on the counter. "I believe the contents ought to cover things. If not, let me know, and I'll make arrangements to pay the rest when next I pass through." She sheathed her new sword in the old weather-worn leather scabbard that held more swords in its day than Reese Kiffel appeared to be years old.

Kiffel emptied the bag and whistled as he pulled out four large red gemstones. "By the Crafter! Wherever did you find such jewels?"

"The results of many travels, young master Kiffel. I find gemstones easier to carry- and much prettier to the eye, wouldn't you agree?" She smiled pleasantly at the smith and thanked him once more as she walked out the door, ducking very low to avoid the bell again.

"Lady Mercicon?"

"Yes, young master Kiffel?"

"Being famous and all, I should guess that you have quite a few tales to tell," he started apprehensively.

"Yes, and?"

"Could I perhaps ask of you a tale or two, provided you have time? Strictly as a remembrance, mind you, and not for profit."

Mercicon looked outside. "I suppose Llewntraee and his goons are nowhere about," she said. Kiffel ran into the back room and produced a pair of chairs to sit down on. "Any particular requests? It's been years since I tried to tell a story, you know."

"Well, I suppose I do have a bit of a request. I, like many others, have wondered what possessed you to leave the safety of Tigara and travel amongst us humans; as I recall, you are one of the very few who've made such a decision."

"A tale of my origins?" Mercicon let out a deep breath and stared at the smith. "Tis a tall order indeed. What you are about to hear is not only one of my greatest secrets, but the source of my greatest shame." She leaned back in her seat. "A tale, you ask? A tale you shall get!"

* * * * *

For all anyone knew, the village of Laposter was just like a hundred others- it had its farms and farmers, its smiths and carpenters. The familiar scents of fresh bread and pastries wafted up the main road at the same time every day. This village, though, was quite different: everyone in it- man, woman, and child- had the ability to become a tiger at will.

Humans who passed through the tiny hamlet knew nothing of what went on behind closed doors, save for the occasional rumor passed on by merchants and thieves, thus earning the town the unofficial moniker of "Tigara". Most folk discarded such rumors, choosing to believe that perhaps one or two people might have been infected with the dreaded curse of lycanthropy, and surely the whole village couldn't be infected- which, in its own way was true. Only one or two of the folk were infected- the rest were all born that way.

As villages went, Laposter itself was relatively old- more than three centuries had passed since the founding of the first farms by the weretigers withdrawal from civilization. Little had changed in those centuries- a building was added here, some farmland there. Cubs were born, the old died.

The status quo remained until one day, about a month before midsummer, the day a young female cub was born to Davin and Ancine, the town bakers. She was born furless- a rare occurrence amongst the werefolk, and such a mark usually was a harbinger of either greatness or destruction, depending on the ease of the birth. The birth had been relatively easy, thus the cub would be allowed a chance at a long life- not the death of abandonment that awaited the less fortunate.

"Have you thought of a name, darling?" Davin asked his wife, who held the newborn tightly to her chest.

"I have, my love. I think a cub of rare birth should be given a name that befits her- a name that we in this village hold dear. I present to you our daughter- Mercicon." The baby opened her arms wide, as though she knew that she was the one being talked about. "Gods, I'm tired! Sera? If you would... for just a little while..."

"You just lie right down, Annie. I'll take care of the young cub," Sera said, gently lifting the newborn from her mother. "Davin will help take care of his daughter while you sleep."

"I will?" Davin balked, smiling. "Hmph. Never thought I'd see the day when ol' Davin would be taking care of a baby- but I suppose that's no different from making sure the bread keeps."

"Honey...! Thaz... thaz terrbul!" Ancine replied sleepily. She turned over in bed, pulled some covers over herself, and fell fast asleep.

Days turned into months turned into years. Soon, the young Mercicon was nearing adulthood; she had been preparing in the woods for the traditional rights of passage, which included her first transformation, an event to be witnessed by the entire village of Laposter. For days, she had prepared alone in the forests nearby, praying to the gods as demanded by the proper rituals, mentally, physically, and spiritually preparing her body for her final passage into the ranks of the adult Furlongs.

"Practicin' hard for the rituals, Mercicon?" came a voice from the top of the town gates. It was two days before the rituals, and she had spent the entire day in prayer by the nearby Stream of Stripes and was finally making her way back to the village.

"It's a bit late, Stinn; don't you have anything better to do than harass young women from the front gate tower?"

A hearty laugh erupted from the small gate tower. "Not particularly, Lady Mercicon, not particularly. It's been a pretty slow evening. Say, you alone down there?"

"Is there a reason I would not be?"

"Point well taken- the cleansing rituals are, after all, a rather private thing. Actually, I just wondered if you were willing to talk for a moment."

Mercicon looked at the sky; it was getting rather dark rather quickly now. "I'll stay, but only for a moment. I need to get home in a few minutes- I have a lot to do tomorrow, you know."

"Believe me, I know- I've been through it all myself," Stinn said, lowering the bottom section of the sliding ladder that led up to the tower. "C'mon up; it's not often I get visitors, you know."

Mercicon climbed the sturdy wooden ladder to the tower and sat down on the guard stool opposite Stinn. "Hmm... you know, I could get used to this."

"Come again?"

"I plan to apply for guardsmanship after the rituals two days hence, Stinn," Mercicon said seriously. "I can't stay in that bakery forever, you know. It's just not... well, it's just not for me."

"You can't be serious," Stinn said after a moment of stunned silence.

"Quite serious. In fact, I've already written my letter of intent to join; all that needs to be done is to finish the rituals."

"You can't be serious," Stinn repeated. "You know full well that never in the history of Laposter has any woman- not even your namesake- served among the town guard."

"Nevertheless, Stinn, I'm going to try. It's high time somebody did."

Stinn lowered the ladder once again. "I think it would be best that you returned home, Mercicon. Your parents must be starting to get worried about you and your safety." He tried hard to disguise the angry, prejudicial edge in his voice. Mercicon climbed down the ladder and walked home, confused about what had just transpired in the guardtower.

The next day soon came and went, and Mercicon was finally finished with her prayers and requests to the gods of light. It was near sundown when she returned to Laposter. "Mercicon! Well met!" Stinn said. He sat outside one of Laposter's two taverns, the Tooth and Nail, with a few of his best friends, all of whom were obviously drunk. "You're finished with your prayers, I see?"

Mercicon continued walking home, this time at a slightly quicker pace than she had started at. "Yes, Stinn, I am. Now, if you'll excuse me, I should be getting home, and-"

"Not so fast, pretty lady," Stinn said, jumping in front of her. Within moments, she was surrounded by Stinn's friends. "I think we need to have a little talk, Mercicon."

"About what?" She said, trying to fight the rising fear in her voice. "I see no need to talk about anything right now, Stinn. Now, if you'll just let me pass-"

Stinn stopped her in her tracks. "I think not, lady," he said, giving her a rough shove. "I think we need to talk about you and your future... and what it won't be."

Mercicon stood unflinchingly in the center of the ring. If he wants to play that way... "Stinn, you're drunk. You don't want to do this," she said, trying to deftly avoid conflict.

Stinn thought about it for a moment, blinked once, and stared at Mercicon. "Actually, I think I do. 'It's high time we did,'" he said, mocking Mercicon's words of the previous night. "It's high time somebody taught you just where you belonged, woman."

Mercicon glared at Stinn. "Then educate me, Stinn. I'm not afraid of you- or your drunkard friends." She gave him a feral smile and dropped into a wrestling stance.

"You're gonna regret this, wench," he spat, dropping to all fours and transforming. His hands grew long, deadly claws, and he grew giant fangs that filled his now-elongated mouth. His skin shifted slightly, growing a fine coat of black and orange striped fur. He looked like he was caught in mid-transformation- but that's what he wanted, the perfect fighting form. "You ain't rrready for something like this, arrre you, girlie?" he said, his voice more an accentuated growl than actual speech.

Mercicon didn't flinch. "I'll give you one more chance, Stinn- give up now, before I'm forced to hurt you." She crouched lower, preparing to fight Stinn on even terms- to break the sacred traditions and transform before she officially reached adulthood.

"You? Hurrrt me?" Stinn growled. He attempted to stand upright so as to have the full advantage- a human stance with the feline agility his heritage afforded him.

"Impossible!" He sprang at Mercicon's feet, attempting to knock her off balance.

Mercicon anticipated the move well and leapt over the charging Stinn. "Don't make me fight you," she tried one last time. The circle of friends just laughed as a crowd of curiosity seekers gathered, trying to see the fight inside.

"Foolish girl! That's just what I'm trying to do!" Stinn shouted as he sprang at Mercicon's torso.

She stepped out of the way of his second attack and began concentrating. "You asked for this, Stinn- and I only hope the gods forgive me this once," she mumbled, and began her first transformation. It was slow, slower than Stinn's, but the result was nearly identical; she now stood in the center of the circle, half human, half beast, but her own transformation was met with gasps and cries of shock from the gathered crowd.

"Albino! Freak!" Stinn shouted as he sprang again, this time catching the completely surprised tigress unaware. He knocked her to the ground in a tangle of furry flesh, blood beginning to trickle from half a dozen claw wounds. "How dare you profane this village with your unholy presence!"

Mercicon lay bleeding on the ground, dumbfounded by all that had just transpired. "But... I'm not..." she managed to stammer before she looked down at her pale white fur. "I can't be..." She sheathed her claws and ran through the crowd, knocking down people carelessly as she ran for the river once again, hoping to get some explanation from the gods as to what she had done, how she had sinned. She spent the entire night in prayer, resting only when she became too fatigued to carry on.

The next morning came and she found herself returned to normal- human once again, but still bruised by the fight of the previous day. "Why me?" she sobbed, vainly hoping to catch the attention of a passing higher power. "What have I done to deserve this? I've been a good girl, I have... why must you taunt me so?"

"I didn't think I was taunting you at all, young lady," came a surprised voice from behind the bushes. "I rather thought I was keeping watch over you this last night. This isn't quite the place to sleep outside, you know."

Mercicon jumped back startled, nearly landing herself in the stream. "Wh-who are you? Are you a god?"

"A very good question indeed, milady. I am Calimar Llewyntraee, merchant and adventurer," the male voice said, stepping from behind the bushes to reveal the short, slender form of an elf. "I'd like to think of myself as more than humanoid, yes, but a far cry from a god am I."

"What are you doing here?"

"As I said, I merely stumbled across your sleeping form last night, milady," Calimar said in his smooth, polished Tasmillian accent, showing him to be both more 'human' and merchant than adventurer. "I wondered what you might have been doing this far from a village- oh, yes, I surmise that you are from Tig... Laposter, are you not?- and kept watch over you, lest anything mar your beauty whilst you slept."

"Then you took an awful risk, Lord Llewyntraee," Mercicon said, walking towards him.

"None of this 'Lord' bit; Calimar, please."

"Calimar, then," Mercicon said, shaking his hand. "As I said, you took an awful risk, you know."

"How so?"

"I appear to be... cursed of the gods."

"Again, I ask how so?" he asked, unfazed.

Mercicon struggled for just the right words to say. "I'm... rather different than the others of my race. As you surmised correctly, I do come from Laposter and, like everyone there, I can assume the form of the tiger. I, however, am different. I'm what one calls an albino tiger."

At this, Calimar did whistle. "Mercicon, my dear! How would you like to return to Tasmil with me?" he asked, suddenly forming an idea.

"What for?"

"As you said, you are cursed. Perhaps with a little help, I- we- can find a cure for you and return you to your homeland." Calimar grinned broadly.

Mercicon looked at him, then back in the direction of the village. "Might I say goodbye to my parents first?"

"I would adivse against it; you may not be welcome in Laposter again, for fear that the curse may spread like a disease."

"Then let us be off, Calimar," Mercicon said, following the elf back to his horse-drawn wagon. "But I will return someday- free of this curse- and you will be known to all as a friend to Laposter."

Calimar just grinned broadly again and muttered under his breath, "I wouldn't bet on that, girl. You're about to make me rich beyond anything I had ever dreamed."

* * * * *

"And the rest, young master Kiffel, as they say- whoever they are- is history," Mercicon said, stretching once again. "Llewyntraee imprisoned me and made me into a sideshow freak- the Lady and the Tiger, he called me- and eventually I wound up in Tasmil's infamous Arena, trying to fight my way to freedom. I only escaped due to the intervention of my friend and partner, the Avariel Ailen Arrowshaft."

"The winged elf?"

"That's what I said- Avariel. But that, as they say, is another story entirely for another day." Mercicon stood up and picked up the sword. "I've been sitting down far too long, young master Kiffel. It's high time I must be off."

"Then fare you well on your travels, Lady Mercicon," he said, shaking her hand. "And next time you pass through town, drop in- I'll buy the first round."

She smiled back at him. "You can be assured, young Master Kiffel, that I will take you up on that offer someday rather soon.

The small doorway was soon blocked, just as Mercicon was about to walk out. It was a short woman, covered in an abnormally large brown cloak as though trying to disguise something. "Hurry it up, Cat- this bird's spotted a pair of Llewyntraee goons in town!" She turned from the door and grumbled, "'Sides, it shouldn't take that long just to buy a new sword..."

"Thanks for the warning, Ailen," Mercicon said to the elf as she helped her shed the cloak, revealing a rather large pair of near-legendary alabaster-white wings. Turning back to the smith, she gave him a quick wink and walked out the door, the new sword at her side and in the ready position. Reese Kiffel merely smirked as he turned from the counter and headed back to the forge, richer not only in gold but in the knowledge that every legend has their dark days.

He picked up his hammer and wondered if these were to be his.