07-21-2016, 11:22 AM
Romek
He hears the call, and he comes to find out what the deal is. He hasn’t really been here long, not even long enough to know more than one member – Maribel, the horse who had recruited him in the first place. The stallion who called them is unfamiliar to him, of course, but reminds the spotted stallion of Vanquish, what with being black and very tall. Romek stands at an easy fifteen hands himself, and this new stallion towers over him, but that doesn’t faze him. He has faced worse. There’s a collected host of horses around him, including Maribel.
He presumes this tall one to be the King, then, and all these are the people of this land. He looks around, and takes in all the unfamiliar faces. People to get to know. Again. How many times had he done this old routine? Too many times. Too many times.
Cave initiations, something he has never heard of before, but presumes that they are alike to the Jungle’s permanent scarring. He thinks for a moment – does he really want that for the rest of his life? While he is musing, Maribel goes in, and then two others. They seem to have passed it well enough. It is then he decides that it is time for him. What’s another scar in his collection?
He steps in and his eyes take a while to adjust to the sudden darkness. Meanwhile, all he is aware of is the freezing, biting cold. He thought the Tundra right now was bad? Well, it felt like mid-winter, and his skin was bare. He shuddered, and seamlessly slipped into his tiger form… except he couldn’t. He began to say ‘huh’, but the sound died in his throat. And then he could see again, and somehow in here it was even brighter than outside, like the walls were made of five suns – except there were no walls. He was standing in the Valley, a Valley which was strange to him, but it was still recognisably the Valley.
He shivered, looked around for anyone, but it was empty. He tried to call ‘Hello?’ but again, no sound. He tried to walk but he couldn’t walk in a straight line, he ended up walking wonkily, or going around in circles, like he was dreaming.
A lifetime later, he finally saw a figure. His ears perked up and he stayed still, worried that he might end up walking away. The figure moved closer and closer, quickly now, running. He smelt her before he saw her, and the smell brought back memories of being curled up warmly, snuggled into the armpit of his mother.
”Romek!” the figure said as Krys came closer and closer. ”Romek, help! Do something! Please!”
He could’ve saved her. If only he was closer. If only he had been there. If only.
”Ma,” he says softly, finding his voice at last. ”Ma! Ma! Hold on! Hold on!” and he ran towards her. When he finally came within touching distance of her, she disappeared. The spotted stallion looked around confusedly, desperately sniffing the patch of snow where his mother had been, twirling around, but she was gone. And then there was a loud, crashing sound and suddenly he was floating above a scene, a memory he shouldn’t have, something that had happened, but had never happened in his presence.
There was his mother, not running now, but lying quite sedately, covered all over in bruises and cuts and scrapes. Her eyes were sunken and her lids heavy, but still, she tried to move as Elite brought her hooves down on her skull, and crushed it. Then there was just a smattering of gore and blood and bone-pieces, and the stallion could hear his name being whispered on the wind.
He fell into this mess, and he scrabbled around for a foothold in the slippery mess of his mother’s body. He looked around for help, but the Valley horses were just watching in disgust. Vanquish was there now, shouldering his way through the crowd, accompanied by his fellow comrades.
”My mother, my mother,” he gasped, stumbling over his words, feeling sick to his stomach. ”Please help. Please.” but he just watched. Everyone just watched.
And then – another loud bang, and he was standing where he had been when they had mounted their attack on the Valley. He felt weak this time, although it was a beautiful day, and looked like it ought to be in some kind of painting. He looked to Vanquish at his side. He looked ahead. There were wolves, and the horse statues, and all sorts of people coming towards him.
”For your mother,” said Vanquish.
Romek nodded, and they charged. But his attacks were useless and they fell on backs which took no damage. Meanwhile, the wolves ripped into his flesh, searing chunks off his shoulders, although it didn’t hurt. He flailed around, but it was no use, none of his attacks were doing any damage (or at the least, they were doing very little). He looked around to see if anyone was having this problem and he saw Vanquish, over his fourth victory, looking towards him. ”Romek! Fight, would you! Fight!”
He couldn’t speak again, and his attacks were useless, but he kept on trying. ”Useless! Useless!” said Vanquish, coming to bail him out. But it was too late, the wolf had his head in its jaws, and pop – Romek was dead.
When he came to, he was in a very dark, very cold cave. There was no way out that he could see. He stood up quickly, shivering off the ice and snow that had formed on his skin. Was this heaven? Was this hell? Purgatory? His memories came back to him slowly, and he finally remembered entering this cave. Still, he could see no way out. He could only press on, and hope that there was something ahead. So he did.
The rock scraped the skin from his body, and he flinched as it dug in. He contemplated turning back but, no – he must go forward. He must. No matter the cost. The scrapes increased until they were digging into muscle. He could barely walk now, but he still pressed on. He turned a corner, and the icy walls of the cave had become smooth again, wide enough to walk comfortably. His mother was standing there, her head intact this time, smiling at him serenely.
”You thought I was weak, didn’t you?” she said, but in typical Krys fashion, her words weren’t accusatory, simply sad, pleasant, conversational. ”I wish you hadn’t. Perhaps if you’d loved me more, you could’ve been there to save me.”
”I did love you. I do love you. I do. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he said, but Krys continued as if she couldn’t hear him.
”I loved you very much, my little boy, but I was lost in grief. If I had had someone, I might’ve been okay, you know?” she paused. ”Did you really want to be the General that badly? Did you let me die so you could lead the Army to victory yourself?”
”I never wanted to be General!” he screamed at her, but she didn’t hear him, or if she did, she didn’t let on.
”You wanted to make me proud. But you never got to. And that was your fault. Yours. Not even Nocturnal was proud of you, nor Vanquish, and god knows that poor daughter of yours isn’t either. Does she even know who you are?”
”I’m sorry. I can’t do anything more. Time has moved on too quickly.” he looks at her, and she fades from view. Behind her, the exit. Did he run towards it? It would be a lie if I told you no.
He exits, and the wounds across his sides heal almost instantly, although his wide, wide eyes remain.
”For your army.” he says to the King, as the scars begin to solidify across his body, black scars against the browny-black of his coat, visible only when the light shines on him in the right way. Curling ram horns, one on each shoulder. The identifier of his family, how apt. The past he could never escape from. ”I’m Romek.”
He presumes this tall one to be the King, then, and all these are the people of this land. He looks around, and takes in all the unfamiliar faces. People to get to know. Again. How many times had he done this old routine? Too many times. Too many times.
Cave initiations, something he has never heard of before, but presumes that they are alike to the Jungle’s permanent scarring. He thinks for a moment – does he really want that for the rest of his life? While he is musing, Maribel goes in, and then two others. They seem to have passed it well enough. It is then he decides that it is time for him. What’s another scar in his collection?
He steps in and his eyes take a while to adjust to the sudden darkness. Meanwhile, all he is aware of is the freezing, biting cold. He thought the Tundra right now was bad? Well, it felt like mid-winter, and his skin was bare. He shuddered, and seamlessly slipped into his tiger form… except he couldn’t. He began to say ‘huh’, but the sound died in his throat. And then he could see again, and somehow in here it was even brighter than outside, like the walls were made of five suns – except there were no walls. He was standing in the Valley, a Valley which was strange to him, but it was still recognisably the Valley.
He shivered, looked around for anyone, but it was empty. He tried to call ‘Hello?’ but again, no sound. He tried to walk but he couldn’t walk in a straight line, he ended up walking wonkily, or going around in circles, like he was dreaming.
A lifetime later, he finally saw a figure. His ears perked up and he stayed still, worried that he might end up walking away. The figure moved closer and closer, quickly now, running. He smelt her before he saw her, and the smell brought back memories of being curled up warmly, snuggled into the armpit of his mother.
”Romek!” the figure said as Krys came closer and closer. ”Romek, help! Do something! Please!”
He could’ve saved her. If only he was closer. If only he had been there. If only.
”Ma,” he says softly, finding his voice at last. ”Ma! Ma! Hold on! Hold on!” and he ran towards her. When he finally came within touching distance of her, she disappeared. The spotted stallion looked around confusedly, desperately sniffing the patch of snow where his mother had been, twirling around, but she was gone. And then there was a loud, crashing sound and suddenly he was floating above a scene, a memory he shouldn’t have, something that had happened, but had never happened in his presence.
There was his mother, not running now, but lying quite sedately, covered all over in bruises and cuts and scrapes. Her eyes were sunken and her lids heavy, but still, she tried to move as Elite brought her hooves down on her skull, and crushed it. Then there was just a smattering of gore and blood and bone-pieces, and the stallion could hear his name being whispered on the wind.
He fell into this mess, and he scrabbled around for a foothold in the slippery mess of his mother’s body. He looked around for help, but the Valley horses were just watching in disgust. Vanquish was there now, shouldering his way through the crowd, accompanied by his fellow comrades.
”My mother, my mother,” he gasped, stumbling over his words, feeling sick to his stomach. ”Please help. Please.” but he just watched. Everyone just watched.
And then – another loud bang, and he was standing where he had been when they had mounted their attack on the Valley. He felt weak this time, although it was a beautiful day, and looked like it ought to be in some kind of painting. He looked to Vanquish at his side. He looked ahead. There were wolves, and the horse statues, and all sorts of people coming towards him.
”For your mother,” said Vanquish.
Romek nodded, and they charged. But his attacks were useless and they fell on backs which took no damage. Meanwhile, the wolves ripped into his flesh, searing chunks off his shoulders, although it didn’t hurt. He flailed around, but it was no use, none of his attacks were doing any damage (or at the least, they were doing very little). He looked around to see if anyone was having this problem and he saw Vanquish, over his fourth victory, looking towards him. ”Romek! Fight, would you! Fight!”
He couldn’t speak again, and his attacks were useless, but he kept on trying. ”Useless! Useless!” said Vanquish, coming to bail him out. But it was too late, the wolf had his head in its jaws, and pop – Romek was dead.
When he came to, he was in a very dark, very cold cave. There was no way out that he could see. He stood up quickly, shivering off the ice and snow that had formed on his skin. Was this heaven? Was this hell? Purgatory? His memories came back to him slowly, and he finally remembered entering this cave. Still, he could see no way out. He could only press on, and hope that there was something ahead. So he did.
The rock scraped the skin from his body, and he flinched as it dug in. He contemplated turning back but, no – he must go forward. He must. No matter the cost. The scrapes increased until they were digging into muscle. He could barely walk now, but he still pressed on. He turned a corner, and the icy walls of the cave had become smooth again, wide enough to walk comfortably. His mother was standing there, her head intact this time, smiling at him serenely.
”You thought I was weak, didn’t you?” she said, but in typical Krys fashion, her words weren’t accusatory, simply sad, pleasant, conversational. ”I wish you hadn’t. Perhaps if you’d loved me more, you could’ve been there to save me.”
”I did love you. I do love you. I do. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he said, but Krys continued as if she couldn’t hear him.
”I loved you very much, my little boy, but I was lost in grief. If I had had someone, I might’ve been okay, you know?” she paused. ”Did you really want to be the General that badly? Did you let me die so you could lead the Army to victory yourself?”
”I never wanted to be General!” he screamed at her, but she didn’t hear him, or if she did, she didn’t let on.
”You wanted to make me proud. But you never got to. And that was your fault. Yours. Not even Nocturnal was proud of you, nor Vanquish, and god knows that poor daughter of yours isn’t either. Does she even know who you are?”
”I’m sorry. I can’t do anything more. Time has moved on too quickly.” he looks at her, and she fades from view. Behind her, the exit. Did he run towards it? It would be a lie if I told you no.
He exits, and the wounds across his sides heal almost instantly, although his wide, wide eyes remain.
”For your army.” he says to the King, as the scars begin to solidify across his body, black scars against the browny-black of his coat, visible only when the light shines on him in the right way. Curling ram horns, one on each shoulder. The identifier of his family, how apt. The past he could never escape from. ”I’m Romek.”