07-16-2016, 01:38 PM
The darkness feels all encompassing, suffocating, even as Fart breathes in and out unhindered. He races to Grumble, taking to wing to speed the process, the enemy has come and heaven help them if they managed to reach his friend before he did. If they did, well, they would have one pissed off pony to deal with. When he does find the stout man he is already ushering Fart forth, calling to him over the booming crash of the failing force field and Fart can barely make out the sound of his voice against it. Another crash ripples over head, the force field visibly following suit, with spheres like a raindrop on water marking each bolt of magic.
The roan stallion rushes to land, almost stumbling to a halt as a grubby hand finds his neck and together he and Grumble delve deep into the depths of the Fortress. Out of his peripheral Fart sees the last sparks, the last cracks of magic that make up the barrier and his muddy eyes go wide.
Even behind brick and mortar the sounds are not subdued, each crash solicits the shaking of the walls and faint trickles of powder fill the halls with dust. He blinks his eyes against it, throwing his wing up overhead to block what he can of the loose particles. A make shift shield for his eyes which he now had a better sense of care for. Somehow, and Fart does not know just how, they make it to the inner sanctum. Once inside, Grumbles face pales as he activates yet more magic, shakily placing his palm against Fart’s cheek when he is done. “You’re my last hope, darling”, he murmurs, voice shaking to equal the trembling of his body and Fart never knew the once fairy could look so frail.
He does not give up though, that ugly-faced roan. Instead he sets a steely look on his face, brown eyes flat and alert as they glare at the door. “Is it time, then?”. A slurred voice from the corner causes the turn of his head, a familiar shape emerging from the shadows and Fart rests his eyes on the one with the strange name. Or is it that strange? He too looks like a ghost of himself, a weak and feeble creature and Fart pities him. Pity, Fart knew that emotion well and knew the way his eyes must look as they looked long and hard at the two fragile beings next to him. “They're here, Ducky,” Grumbles confirms, leaning against Fart for support. “They're here, and I don't know if we've done enough.”
It is a time that they listen, huddled there together in that sanctuary, in that room of last resort. The screams are insistent, then they are curdled, a range of sounds both new and old. Fart can hear the roar of the gargoyle dragons as they fight, no doubt blazing through those in their paths with jaws parted wide. He can also hear them as they fall, agonized wails of grating stone and then the tumble of stone against stone as they crash, no doubt defeated. Sometimes Fart counts them, the sound of the defenses as they trigger or fall, his mind ticking off the numbers in silence as two short men quake against him. They are coming for them and he knows, they are coming and it will not be long now.
As if on cue the door shatters. Shards of wood and iron bombard the threesome as Fart throws his wings wide in an attempt to deflect what he can from his friends. He rears then, tucking them back, forelegs pounding at the empty air and a shrill battle cry ringing from his parted mouth. They had come for Grumble but Fart would not simply cow at their attacks, he would not part so easily from his newest and greatest friend. He would protect his Grumble, he would give them hell.
The odds are not in his favor but when had they ever been? The dice had been rolled against Fart from birth and he knew this fact all too well. He had lived with that knowledge for such a long time and what had he ever had to lose before this? Nothing. That made him fight all the harder, that gave him a reason to fight and even if he failed he would thank Grumble for it, he would spend his last dying breath to make it known.
Six fairies enter, all battle worn and displaying signs of exhaustion. They look well on their way to both Grumble and Duck’s condition and this sparks a tiny light of hope in Fart’s mind. However these creatures of magic are just as relentless in their cause, charging the limey horse as a single unit and biting furiously at his roany coat. Our hero falls, crashes to the floor with a ‘thunk’ as they push him backwards and down. Tiny wings flap madly about his body and then he roars against them, rolling to his side and pressing himself up. Red mars his bright coat, a macabre painting of christmas with no cheer to behold with the comparison. He uses his laser vision first, turning his head in an attempt to strike them all down, no such luck- only one falls prey to the iron hot rays. The others scatter, a few dive bombing towards Grumble and Stumbleduck and Fart races to climb to his hooves, dashing forward to block them from their goal. From some he snatches their wings, yanking at the fluttering, gossamer things until the wrench free from fairy backs.
Another falls, cut down mid flight with the sharp edges of Fart’s wings, and the roan himself almost plunges to the floor. He shakes his head, momentarily caught off guard by a feeling of faintness. Almost a swift draining of energy but it is so far slight, and he doesn’t have time to think on or acknowledge it against his pumping adrenaline. Since he is distracted his enemies take advantage of the lapse, biting him in his most tender places. One fairy spares its last bit of magic to blast one of the stallions wings, the appendage slowly begins to deteriorate- a wretchedly painful process. For a moment Fart remembers a bright room and pain- his sweet master’s voice echoes as well, but the memory is delirium and he can not think on it over long. He writhes in fits as he stands in place, wishing to rid himself of the burning and decaying part but it is not something he can run from. Instead ,Fart must endure the slow rot as it seeps its way down through feather and bone and finally crumbles the wing to ash.
That is how three ended.
There are still three more though and nature has a way of ousting the weakest links. Now comes the time when the stallion feels himself weaken, acknowledges that it is not simply the fighting that drains him. Something more is at work here and when he turns his head to the corner where Grumble and Duck cower it is that solemn look that tells him. He too is fading.
It is a feeling he can not compare to most, one he does not have the words for and as those left come at him, he can not seek a calling for it. They clash together, three against one, Fart charging and rearing over and over. When he can he blends into the backdrop, seemingly to disappear from sight and strike them with well placed kicks. They take their time in weakening, these three, and he doesn’t know when he might finally fell them. Another time he uses the poison gas, belching the noxious fumes into an oncoming twisted snarl. As he does so he trembles, shakily standing above the passed out fae. Then Fart does something he has never done before. He rises and smashes into the limp figure, up and down, until the cobble floor is blood stained and his legs sport crimson stockings. It couldn’t even fight back and yet he did not care, his friend needed him to protect him and Fart did so without consideration for his morality.
Breath finds him in gasps, his chest heaving to rake in air as though he is fighting suffocation. Another fairy is on him, chewing into his side and leaving great gashes from its gnawing, yellowed teeth. He tries to turn the creature against itself, attempts to gain its favor using his mind but he is dangerously close to empty and can not muster the power. He bats this one away, shoving it off with his one good wing, though it returns in a fury, this time biting out one of his eyes. Another pain he knows races through him and he does not muffle the scream that bubbles past his lips. Once he had had his eyes plucked from their sockets though he does not recall when, and again he had lost one to the fury of a raging beast. Fart stumbles side long and by luck catches the responsible fairy against the wall as he does so, smashing into him before he crashes to the floor. With his one good wing he jabs at the broken creature, stabbing it until it no longer screams, until he doesn’t attempt to claw its way towards him against the stone floor- until his blood is not the only blood to stain his face.
He can’t move now though, his heart racing like a rabbit as it struggles to continue pumping. The last fairy breathes a foul breath as it looms over him but he doesn’t have an eye for it. Instead he watches Grumble and Duck twitching in their corner, and he can not muster the strength to go to them, even as he tries and fails to lift his legs. Instead he lays against the hard cobbles, the blood soaked floor feeling remarkably warm against his throbbing head, and it is almost as though he is melting into it. With each breath he fades further and further away, whispering ever so softly, “Grumble...my beauty...Grumble...my greatest...”
The roan stallion rushes to land, almost stumbling to a halt as a grubby hand finds his neck and together he and Grumble delve deep into the depths of the Fortress. Out of his peripheral Fart sees the last sparks, the last cracks of magic that make up the barrier and his muddy eyes go wide.
Even behind brick and mortar the sounds are not subdued, each crash solicits the shaking of the walls and faint trickles of powder fill the halls with dust. He blinks his eyes against it, throwing his wing up overhead to block what he can of the loose particles. A make shift shield for his eyes which he now had a better sense of care for. Somehow, and Fart does not know just how, they make it to the inner sanctum. Once inside, Grumbles face pales as he activates yet more magic, shakily placing his palm against Fart’s cheek when he is done. “You’re my last hope, darling”, he murmurs, voice shaking to equal the trembling of his body and Fart never knew the once fairy could look so frail.
He does not give up though, that ugly-faced roan. Instead he sets a steely look on his face, brown eyes flat and alert as they glare at the door. “Is it time, then?”. A slurred voice from the corner causes the turn of his head, a familiar shape emerging from the shadows and Fart rests his eyes on the one with the strange name. Or is it that strange? He too looks like a ghost of himself, a weak and feeble creature and Fart pities him. Pity, Fart knew that emotion well and knew the way his eyes must look as they looked long and hard at the two fragile beings next to him. “They're here, Ducky,” Grumbles confirms, leaning against Fart for support. “They're here, and I don't know if we've done enough.”
It is a time that they listen, huddled there together in that sanctuary, in that room of last resort. The screams are insistent, then they are curdled, a range of sounds both new and old. Fart can hear the roar of the gargoyle dragons as they fight, no doubt blazing through those in their paths with jaws parted wide. He can also hear them as they fall, agonized wails of grating stone and then the tumble of stone against stone as they crash, no doubt defeated. Sometimes Fart counts them, the sound of the defenses as they trigger or fall, his mind ticking off the numbers in silence as two short men quake against him. They are coming for them and he knows, they are coming and it will not be long now.
As if on cue the door shatters. Shards of wood and iron bombard the threesome as Fart throws his wings wide in an attempt to deflect what he can from his friends. He rears then, tucking them back, forelegs pounding at the empty air and a shrill battle cry ringing from his parted mouth. They had come for Grumble but Fart would not simply cow at their attacks, he would not part so easily from his newest and greatest friend. He would protect his Grumble, he would give them hell.
The odds are not in his favor but when had they ever been? The dice had been rolled against Fart from birth and he knew this fact all too well. He had lived with that knowledge for such a long time and what had he ever had to lose before this? Nothing. That made him fight all the harder, that gave him a reason to fight and even if he failed he would thank Grumble for it, he would spend his last dying breath to make it known.
Six fairies enter, all battle worn and displaying signs of exhaustion. They look well on their way to both Grumble and Duck’s condition and this sparks a tiny light of hope in Fart’s mind. However these creatures of magic are just as relentless in their cause, charging the limey horse as a single unit and biting furiously at his roany coat. Our hero falls, crashes to the floor with a ‘thunk’ as they push him backwards and down. Tiny wings flap madly about his body and then he roars against them, rolling to his side and pressing himself up. Red mars his bright coat, a macabre painting of christmas with no cheer to behold with the comparison. He uses his laser vision first, turning his head in an attempt to strike them all down, no such luck- only one falls prey to the iron hot rays. The others scatter, a few dive bombing towards Grumble and Stumbleduck and Fart races to climb to his hooves, dashing forward to block them from their goal. From some he snatches their wings, yanking at the fluttering, gossamer things until the wrench free from fairy backs.
Another falls, cut down mid flight with the sharp edges of Fart’s wings, and the roan himself almost plunges to the floor. He shakes his head, momentarily caught off guard by a feeling of faintness. Almost a swift draining of energy but it is so far slight, and he doesn’t have time to think on or acknowledge it against his pumping adrenaline. Since he is distracted his enemies take advantage of the lapse, biting him in his most tender places. One fairy spares its last bit of magic to blast one of the stallions wings, the appendage slowly begins to deteriorate- a wretchedly painful process. For a moment Fart remembers a bright room and pain- his sweet master’s voice echoes as well, but the memory is delirium and he can not think on it over long. He writhes in fits as he stands in place, wishing to rid himself of the burning and decaying part but it is not something he can run from. Instead ,Fart must endure the slow rot as it seeps its way down through feather and bone and finally crumbles the wing to ash.
That is how three ended.
There are still three more though and nature has a way of ousting the weakest links. Now comes the time when the stallion feels himself weaken, acknowledges that it is not simply the fighting that drains him. Something more is at work here and when he turns his head to the corner where Grumble and Duck cower it is that solemn look that tells him. He too is fading.
It is a feeling he can not compare to most, one he does not have the words for and as those left come at him, he can not seek a calling for it. They clash together, three against one, Fart charging and rearing over and over. When he can he blends into the backdrop, seemingly to disappear from sight and strike them with well placed kicks. They take their time in weakening, these three, and he doesn’t know when he might finally fell them. Another time he uses the poison gas, belching the noxious fumes into an oncoming twisted snarl. As he does so he trembles, shakily standing above the passed out fae. Then Fart does something he has never done before. He rises and smashes into the limp figure, up and down, until the cobble floor is blood stained and his legs sport crimson stockings. It couldn’t even fight back and yet he did not care, his friend needed him to protect him and Fart did so without consideration for his morality.
Breath finds him in gasps, his chest heaving to rake in air as though he is fighting suffocation. Another fairy is on him, chewing into his side and leaving great gashes from its gnawing, yellowed teeth. He tries to turn the creature against itself, attempts to gain its favor using his mind but he is dangerously close to empty and can not muster the power. He bats this one away, shoving it off with his one good wing, though it returns in a fury, this time biting out one of his eyes. Another pain he knows races through him and he does not muffle the scream that bubbles past his lips. Once he had had his eyes plucked from their sockets though he does not recall when, and again he had lost one to the fury of a raging beast. Fart stumbles side long and by luck catches the responsible fairy against the wall as he does so, smashing into him before he crashes to the floor. With his one good wing he jabs at the broken creature, stabbing it until it no longer screams, until he doesn’t attempt to claw its way towards him against the stone floor- until his blood is not the only blood to stain his face.
He can’t move now though, his heart racing like a rabbit as it struggles to continue pumping. The last fairy breathes a foul breath as it looms over him but he doesn’t have an eye for it. Instead he watches Grumble and Duck twitching in their corner, and he can not muster the strength to go to them, even as he tries and fails to lift his legs. Instead he lays against the hard cobbles, the blood soaked floor feeling remarkably warm against his throbbing head, and it is almost as though he is melting into it. With each breath he fades further and further away, whispering ever so softly, “Grumble...my beauty...Grumble...my greatest...”
silent but deadly
