The Oath of Fang and Spear
Prelude to “The Hunt That Shook the Forest”
Before the hunt that shook the forest, there was an oath. On the Stone of Choosing, Varnakk faced a trial set not by chance, but by the decree of the Elder gods. To master stealth and sword was not enough—he would need a companion, fierce and loyal, to share his path. When the beast revealed to him was no ally of serpent-kind but their most ancient enemy, the Tyrannosaur, destiny itself demanded a bond stronger than fear. This is the tale of how serpent and thunder-beast became one.
The Stone of Choosing
Varnakk had mastered stealth and sword, patience and strike. These were the marks of a hunter. But the Elders had decreed there was one trial yet before him: to master not only his own will, but the trust of a companion. What beast it would be, he had not been told. Only that he must stand upon the Stone of Choosing and wait for whatever the gods would send.
When the trees parted, his heart clenched.
A shadow vast as night itself moved between the trunks, each step a quake. The beast that emerged was no serpent, no scaled kin of his blood, but a thunder-lord of the old age—a Tyrannosaur, bane and devourer of Snake Men since the world was young. Her kind were whispered of in lairs and firesides as the death that no serpent could outmatch.
This would not be easy.
But trials of the gods never were.
Varnakk understood then what had been done. The Elder gods themselves had chosen her for him, as test and as fate. Not by chance did the thunder-beast come, but by decree. She was his companion—if he could win her, if he could bind her not by chains but by oath.
The great head broke through the canopy, eyes molten with ancient hunger. She halted above the Stone, and her shadow fell across him. Varnakk did not falter. He drove the butt of his spear into the grain of the stump and lifted his scaled hand to his chest, where the scars of a hundred battles marked him.
“I am Varnakk,” he said, voice low but steady. “Snake of the old blood, hunter of the deep paths… and apparently fool enough to meet you on equal ground.”
The corner of his mouth bent in the ghost of a smile. “So tell me, thunder-queen—will you kill me, or walk beside me?”
The Binding
The great head lowered until old air washed over him—moss and stone, rain and bone. Her jaws cracked wide, and for an instant he stood framed in a cathedral of fangs, every tooth a promise of death.
Varnakk did not move.
Instead of closing, the jaws drifted past. The massive tongue flicked once, dragging hot and wet across his shoulder and jaw. The stench of meat and earth filled his senses as saliva sluiced down his scales, marking him in a primal baptism neither prey nor predator could mistake.
Varnakk blinked through the spray, half choking, half laughing under his breath. She had marked him—not as food, not as servant, but as something other. Something chosen.
He planted his spear, grinning through the slime. “So be it, thunder queen”
Something unseen braided between them then—call it oath, or pact, or the forest’s own law. The beast’s pupils tightened. She drew closer, claws curling at the stump’s edge as if marking the moment into wood.
Varnakk felt the wild power of her like a storm pressing against a mountain. He did not resist. He leaned into it and let it know him: the patience hammered into him by a thousand dawn stalks; the iron vow to take only what must be taken; the promise to stand when all others broke.
The pressure eased. Acceptance settled.
The Roar with Two Edges
She reared, jaws yawning toward the canopy, and the world shattered on her voice.
It was not a hunt-cry. It was proclamation. The roar rolled across trunks and fern and stone, through burrows and nests and the hollow places where old spirits keep their names.
“We are one,” it thundered. “This serpent and I, bound by oath and fang. Remember us. Fear us. Yield to us.”
Yet within that thunder a second note shivered—sharp and clean as a new blade. It was not for the forest, but for him—Varnakk, standing unbowed beneath her shadow. “I am yours, yet never tamed. Keep pace, or be left behind.”
The forest trembled. The air itself seemed to bow.
Varnakk only bared his fangs in a grim smile. He welcomed both—the loyalty and the wildness—for one without the other was hollow. Better to walk beside a storm than drag a chained shadow through it.
The Forest Answers
The roar faded into echo, and the silence that followed was not peace. It was a silence thick and watchful, the hush of a thousand eyes unseen. The forest itself seemed to hold its breath, weighing the oath spoken upon the Stone of Choosing.
Then the stillness cracked.
A brittle twig snapped to Varnakk’s right, far beyond sight. Then another, lighter, as if something careful had remembered to be cautious too late. The serpent warrior’s head snapped toward the sound; the blue mantle at his waist stilled. He tasted copper on the air, old bark and the faintest thread of musk.
The thunder-beast froze beside him. Her nostrils flared, breath pulling in the secrets of the trees. One foot lifted and set down without sound, talons scoring a promise into the stump. She did not bellow again. This was no time for challenge. This was the hour of listening.
The forest had heard their claim. The forest would answer with a test.
Varnakk’s fingers shifted on the spear shaft. He did not look back; he did not need to. He felt her there—warm breath at his crown, the rumble coiled in her chest, a living engine waiting for the signal only he could give.
His fangs glinted in the gloom as the hunter’s grin returned.
“Ladies first,” he murmured, voice low with mischief. “Let’s show them whose jungle this is.”
The First Step of Dominion
The beast moved first. One massive foot pressed into the leaf-litter, silent despite its size, talons curling deep into the earth as though to claim it. Varnakk slid down from the stump and flowed beside her, low and sure, a glimmer of gold threading through the green.
They moved as though born to it. Her senses swept the air, drawing in the musk of hidden life, while his eyes cut through shadow and brush, reading signs in the tilt of fern and the twist of root. Together, their awareness overlapped, serpent and thunder-beast weaving one net of perception that left no space for prey to hide.
Ahead, beyond the ferns, something shifted again—slow, then still, then slow once more. Not wind. Not chance. A watcher, perhaps. A challenge offered by the old woods to weigh the worth of their oath.
The thunder-beast’s tail traced the air, signaling without words. Varnakk tilted his spear in answer, the motion so natural it felt less like thought and more like instinct. The pact held. The wildness held. The line between them blazed bright and true.
The glade stilled. The leaves ceased their whispers.
And as serpent and beast drew their next breath together, the forest itself held its breath—
waiting for the tale that was about to be written in fang and spear.
– Copyright © 2025
About These Figures
This short story was inspired by a toy photography scene featuring:
- Ninian Infantry by Four Horsemen – A serpent warrior figure clad in golden armor and wielding a spear. In this tale, he takes on the mantle of Varnakk, the mythic hunter.
- Jurassic World Rebirth Super Colossal Tyrannosaurus Rex Action Figure – A massive figure from Mattel measuring 39 inches long, with movable joints and a film-accurate design. Its lifelike sculpt and scale brought the thunder-beast companion to life for this hunt.
Both figures were staged in a natural outdoor toy photography scene and paired with this cinematic short story, The Oath of Fang and Spear, to capture the spirit of 1980s pulp-fantasy adventure.
