07-12-2016, 06:55 PM
It’s dead but its crushing him, the hefty weight of the manticore pressing Fart into the blood stained sands.The roan stallion still heaves into the dirt, each breath coming as no relief and the agony of his mutilated eye clawing at him without relenting. Soon enough (and thankfully too) Grumble comes to magic the beast away, patting Fart as he lays panting in the dirt. His jaw, his forehead, the length of his nose all receive these touches. My beauty, My greatest creation.. Those words would likely echo in Fart’s mind for the entirety of his existence. Not once has he ever been acknowledged in such a way, matter of fact, he’s barely ever been acknowledged period. Such nice words coming from such a devilish mouth but Fart can no longer see the monster that spoke them. He sees only the man, the kindness, the friend.
It would be fair to say, that even without his fancy halter, Fart would regard the stunted man in this way. Would hold this newfound adoration and succumb to the effects of it. He leans his blood stained head into the touches from crooked fingers, pressing against the warmth in attempts to soak it up, to absorb that feeling forever. He wants to devour this simple exchange, to greedily drink it in, ceaselessly until there is nothing left to take. In return (he imagines), come healing tingles, the abrasions he has so far suffered mending with ease and his eye magically regrowing as if it had never been mutilated in its socket. Fart sighs heavily, rising without question when he is called to do so and following the short man because he wants to. No, he needs to now, the taste of kindness too hard to resist. He would have more of it if he could, he would do what he had to to earn it as well, he would take it if need be.
In just that short amount of time Fart feels like a somebody, he feels wanted, needed even. A sense of respect heats his veins and courage finds his heart for the very first time in his life. To him it is as if they now lean on each other and for Fart that is just fine, it is welcome.
This time when he follows Grumble he doesn’t know where they are going, he doesn’t care either. It is enough to simply be led. Before them is a Fort, a home and Fart stares at it long and hard, taking in each stone with his muddy brown eyes. “I’ll keep you close now my beauty,” Grumbles promises as they enter, and the limey stallion does his best to give him a horsey smile.
Instead of darkness there is light, there is space. Instead of damp and cool, it is warm, but not overly so, and it is dry. Fart has his own place to sleep, right there in Grumbles bedroom, he has cool water to drink and fresh hay and grain to eat. No longer is he led down dark paths, no more do his chocolate eyes strain to see monsters in the shadows, his ears hear no cries and his lips make none. There is a courtyard too, a place to be out in the fresh air, a place to seek the sunshine and feel it beaming down on his roan coat. Here he can stretch his wings, spreading them wide with joy and taking to the skies to properly exercise them. Sometimes he just rests, Grumble at his side and they talk long into the evening about protection and defense.
It isn’t all fun and games though, he trains too, testing his strength against beasts that are conjured up for him. Fart patrols as well, finding the best paths and roosts by which to search for enemies because Grumble knows they are out there, and Fart believes him. They must always be prepared, they must always be vigilant.
He doesn’t mind helping at all, he enjoys it, glad to give and share ideas. Together they fortify their home, using their combined skill sets and minds to conjure up defenses. First and foremost there is an invisible shield, a barrier encasing the whole of the property, it is set to trigger an alarm if breached. Fart’s favorite idea has to be the moat, a great, liquid circle surrounding their home, one filled with sizzling purple acid. Anything steps foot in there and, well, it won't have a foot anymore. The battlements were outfitted with projectiles, cylinders filled with Fart’s very own poison gas. The noxious fumes would easily knock out anything that came into contact with it, anything that inhaled it’s vivid green gases. Another measure of security were the falling floors, sections of halls that would completely drop out from underneath you. Even better, Fart recalled the giant gator quite vividly and Grumble was happy to conjure several to greet the poor souls who fell.
They also decided some stone dragons would do quite nicely. Great, hulking golem like beasts with eyes that burned like coals. Fire erupted from their massive stone jaws and they were ever so patient to wait on their turrets, sometimes taking to the air to circle before landing once more, eyes ever peeled for danger. In the end it was a home fit for any King, the envy of any secret agent or spy and Fart was proud of their handy work. It was everything to him, months of hard work and careful planning. It was their friendship and teamwork embodied and made tangible, it was proof of his worth.
When that darkness came, nothing could have prepared him for it. A sunny afternoon was swallowed up by a thick cloud, one desperate to snuff the light from the very world. He would've sworn he heard thunder just moments before if asked, a tell-tale coming of this proverbial storm. Fart took to wing immediately, hell bent on getting himself to Grumble, it was his priority. Together they watched the shadows roll in, high overhead, pressing far past and into their once force field. It wasn’t thunder that sound, it was nothing against the shrill cries of the barrier being hit, the darkness raging, the dying of the light.
It would be fair to say, that even without his fancy halter, Fart would regard the stunted man in this way. Would hold this newfound adoration and succumb to the effects of it. He leans his blood stained head into the touches from crooked fingers, pressing against the warmth in attempts to soak it up, to absorb that feeling forever. He wants to devour this simple exchange, to greedily drink it in, ceaselessly until there is nothing left to take. In return (he imagines), come healing tingles, the abrasions he has so far suffered mending with ease and his eye magically regrowing as if it had never been mutilated in its socket. Fart sighs heavily, rising without question when he is called to do so and following the short man because he wants to. No, he needs to now, the taste of kindness too hard to resist. He would have more of it if he could, he would do what he had to to earn it as well, he would take it if need be.
In just that short amount of time Fart feels like a somebody, he feels wanted, needed even. A sense of respect heats his veins and courage finds his heart for the very first time in his life. To him it is as if they now lean on each other and for Fart that is just fine, it is welcome.
This time when he follows Grumble he doesn’t know where they are going, he doesn’t care either. It is enough to simply be led. Before them is a Fort, a home and Fart stares at it long and hard, taking in each stone with his muddy brown eyes. “I’ll keep you close now my beauty,” Grumbles promises as they enter, and the limey stallion does his best to give him a horsey smile.
Instead of darkness there is light, there is space. Instead of damp and cool, it is warm, but not overly so, and it is dry. Fart has his own place to sleep, right there in Grumbles bedroom, he has cool water to drink and fresh hay and grain to eat. No longer is he led down dark paths, no more do his chocolate eyes strain to see monsters in the shadows, his ears hear no cries and his lips make none. There is a courtyard too, a place to be out in the fresh air, a place to seek the sunshine and feel it beaming down on his roan coat. Here he can stretch his wings, spreading them wide with joy and taking to the skies to properly exercise them. Sometimes he just rests, Grumble at his side and they talk long into the evening about protection and defense.
It isn’t all fun and games though, he trains too, testing his strength against beasts that are conjured up for him. Fart patrols as well, finding the best paths and roosts by which to search for enemies because Grumble knows they are out there, and Fart believes him. They must always be prepared, they must always be vigilant.
He doesn’t mind helping at all, he enjoys it, glad to give and share ideas. Together they fortify their home, using their combined skill sets and minds to conjure up defenses. First and foremost there is an invisible shield, a barrier encasing the whole of the property, it is set to trigger an alarm if breached. Fart’s favorite idea has to be the moat, a great, liquid circle surrounding their home, one filled with sizzling purple acid. Anything steps foot in there and, well, it won't have a foot anymore. The battlements were outfitted with projectiles, cylinders filled with Fart’s very own poison gas. The noxious fumes would easily knock out anything that came into contact with it, anything that inhaled it’s vivid green gases. Another measure of security were the falling floors, sections of halls that would completely drop out from underneath you. Even better, Fart recalled the giant gator quite vividly and Grumble was happy to conjure several to greet the poor souls who fell.
They also decided some stone dragons would do quite nicely. Great, hulking golem like beasts with eyes that burned like coals. Fire erupted from their massive stone jaws and they were ever so patient to wait on their turrets, sometimes taking to the air to circle before landing once more, eyes ever peeled for danger. In the end it was a home fit for any King, the envy of any secret agent or spy and Fart was proud of their handy work. It was everything to him, months of hard work and careful planning. It was their friendship and teamwork embodied and made tangible, it was proof of his worth.
When that darkness came, nothing could have prepared him for it. A sunny afternoon was swallowed up by a thick cloud, one desperate to snuff the light from the very world. He would've sworn he heard thunder just moments before if asked, a tell-tale coming of this proverbial storm. Fart took to wing immediately, hell bent on getting himself to Grumble, it was his priority. Together they watched the shadows roll in, high overhead, pressing far past and into their once force field. It wasn’t thunder that sound, it was nothing against the shrill cries of the barrier being hit, the darkness raging, the dying of the light.
silent but deadly
