07-07-2016, 07:42 PM
That final scream released for what felt like the space of an eternity. At least, Fart would remember it that way. The oxygen from his lungs absolved in that shrill cry and after he took in air via deep gasping breaths- Fart could take no more. And when it was done, as it was now and finally, he was led back to his stall. A weak and dwindling thing, looking far thinner and broken than ever. The dark corridor was quieter this time, the hushed silence from those that had previously been led back overtaking the desperate calls for release from those who still cried. It was stagnant that quiet, thick and consuming and Fart fell in line with the rest of the rest- taking on a vow of silence.
For now he had no fight in him, his body exhausted beyond measure and failing him even as he walked at Grumbles side. Grumble, he thought but this time with an air of pleasant regard. The squat man was leading him back to his room, he was tucking him in- how nice. Or, that’s how it played out in Fart’s mind, too spent to fathom the reality of the matter any longer than it had to. His legs shook, trembled, as he was led in then locked within that cell, but Fart could not be more content for it. He slept, deep and long and his mind was free from dreams- it was even free from nightmares.
When he woke, and he did wake, his eyes blurred against the dim light of the dungeon, making lines and objects fuzzy, undefined. He could feel the halter, the thick straps heavy against his limey nose but he welcomed the weight this time. It was a gift, Grumble had given it to him. He did note with his muddied brown orbs, that the darkness of the world remained and with this realization he sighed, heaving a thick cloud of green gas into the air. Gas. He wheeled away from the noxious fumes, backpedaling as quickly and as far against the walls of his cell as he could. What was that, where did it come from, who sent it?
His rump smacked against the walls with a thunk and he desperately wondered where Grumble was. Grumble was his friend after all, he could fix this. It’s then, as he presses himself against the solid surface, that he notices the wings, the clank of metal against a hard surface. This solicits a similar response, well, it would have but he seemed quite stuck now. Yes, almost glued to the stall siding and he yanked desperately forward in an attempt to break free of yet another trap. Someone was out to get him. Someone wanted him dead, and it wasn’t Grumble. At this he panicked even further, grabbing at the air around him until he was panting furiously and gagging in his fright.
What’s that? Who’s making all that noise? Some of us are trying to sleep you know? The voices came, quick and ill-paced, some overlapping others until he had no means to make sense of them. Brown eyes snapped shut, fierce enough for them to hurt but it felt better than the ache of the words in his head. He wanted it to stop, and by reflex perhaps, he shoved his wings against his ears, their sharp edges catching his cheek. Wings. That’s it, he had gone completely and utterly mad, bonkers. Fart didn’t have wings you see, never did. Yet when the roan opened his eyes once more he could see the silver glint of a sharp feather much too close to his eye.
“What’s happening?!” he cried with fervor, his words etched with fear.
That’s when the familiar sound of boots came, the steps of a man stalking down the dark path and Fart could only hope it was Grumble. “Grumble? Grumble is that you?” In response the latch clicked and the stall door opened, knocking against the wall behind it at the end of it’s swing. “Fart,” the tiny man called, drawing out the name as though he was fond of saying it. “Found my little surprises then? Oh, I myself enjoyed finding them too. You were full of little treasures I must say..” His sneaky voice drawled and then he smiled his crooked, yellowed smile. For some reason that caused a new wave of content to wash over the green stallion, for some reason that smile was kind in his eyes.
“Have you found them all then Fart?” Grumble wondered but he frowned as he realized the answers was no. “That’s okay I’ll tell you about them and then you can thank me properly,” the spite in his voice was lost on the horse’s ears and he seemed to take great pride in the telling of Fart’s new powers. “Your ancestry was useful, as you will soon enough know. Wings first of course, do you like them? Wicked sharp at the ends though, don’t be an idiot and cut yourself up like that Edward guy, you seen that movie? Eh- no, right.” The creature was so giddy now, pacing the floor in front of Fart as he ticked off the list.
“Your eyes, well blindness doesn’t profit me so you’ll find they are quite red hot, hee hee,” he giggled once more and with a snap of his fingers beams of red streamed from Fart’s eyes, blasting small holes in the adjacent wall. “And that smell my boy, couldn’t let that go to waste. Don’t worry about that poison gas though, that’s been hidden in there for some time, won’t harm you.” Course it wouldn’t, Grumble wouldn’t have much to gain on a horse that knocked itself out now would he? “Color changing grandpa, camouflage it was. Oh and the flypaper trap on your skin, thank goodness for Grandma’s. Immortality too, I’m much too pleased with my handy work to let you be killed too easily.” He stretched his arms then, lacing his crooked little fingers together and pulling them forward to crack.
pop, pop, pop
“There’s another little treat in your brain Fart, but don’t think you can use it on me,” the wretched little man began. Use it on you? Fart thought, well, why would he want to do that? Grumble was his friend, he would never hurt him. “Pathokinesis, great little doo-dad, all your enemies emotions will be at your fingertips. Well, course you don’t have any fingers, or hands for that matter.” Grumble related this knowledge with the utmost glee, hooking the lead line to Fart’s halter once more and the stallion willingly followed him back down the hall.
“Not done?” Fart asked Grumble, his hooves clacking against the surface of the floor as he was paraded down the path, even passed the chamber door. “Oh, we’re done with that part but I’ve something new, gotta see those gifts of mine in action.” His voice was nonchalant in the telling as they began through a curved arch hall and down, down, down that path they went.
When it opened it was the grandest piece of construction Fart could ever hope to see, and Grumble would later tell him ‘Coliseum’. Fart was left there in the middle of it, stone walls of seating rising up forever but the places were all empty. Save for one. A lavishly draped balcony box where Grumble sat on high, cruel eyes twinkling. The little man waved his hands, then snapped his fingers, one, two, three and Fart wasn’t alone anymore. Instead, he was surrounded. “Show me what you got,” a call and a dismissive wave and Fart gulped loudly in return.
The first animal he knew as ‘Gator’, the creatures face lined with the same thick ropes as his own, a halter- and who knows how it was kept on. The thing was massive, 15 feet of thick, green, leathery skin and a mouth with rows of sharp teeth. Fart wasn’t sure about all this, not even a little bit, but he remembered Grumble need him. He remembered he wanted to help. It was swift for a creature so near to the ground, charging Fart without a moment’s consideration and snapping wide at his legs. He only just missed it, that amputation, flirting into the sky- albeit messily. He wobbled in the air, unused to flying and lacking practice but he made it up, if only long enough to bob away from his opponent.
As soon as he touched the ground though his attacker was on him, racing in a sidewinding pattern to reach him and kicking up dust in his wake. Fart reeled, whirling about and flapping his wings in a nonsense sort of way, trying to take to the sky once again. It was too late to climb skyward though and as a result he yelled in panic, green fumes rolling from his lips and smoke-screening the gator. The beast had been inches away, snapping its mighty jaws and was dead set on horse for dinner. Now he was wobbling, as much as a short reptile can, thrashing his head about in an attempt to rid himself of the gas. Fart thought he could finally have a chance to lay the killing blow when something unexpected happened.
The gator writhed, bubbled even, and it looked like something was trying to climb out of it that was much too big. What really happened though, was the creature changed, morphed into something else and Fart raced away, giving it plenty of room to do so. He didn’t know what might be on the other end of this magic, didn’t know what to expect, so with wide eyes he watched- he waited.
Now he had something new to fight, something bigger and fiercer and this cooled his blood. It would only get worse he was sure.
In place of the gator was a great shaggy dog, it’s head wide and broad. The wolf was taller than any Fart had seen in real life and to be honest he usually only saw them as he fled their presence, arching his head over his back to make sure he put plenty of distance between them. This one had to be part bear, part bull, something that would make it amass to such a size but the mammal before him was distinctly dog. It had long, coarse grey fur and shining yellow eyes, it’s teeth were like sharp long swords and suddenly Fart knew he didn’t like swords at all. This creature charged him too, raking the loose sand with its great paws and kicking grains of earth everywhere. Fart waited entirely still this time, partially because he was frozen stiff with fear, then an idea caught him.
When the dog was close, close enough to smell its stinking skin, he lifting a wing, twirling away and crossing the sharp ends of his feathers across the brute’s snout. It wailed, arrr, arr, arrrr as dogs sometimes do in pain, and for once Fart felt proud of himself. When the growl came after and the dog lunged forward and caught Fart’s leg, he too cried into the dome, wailing his lament without cause to subdue his outburst. This made him angry though, that beast of a hound, and it returned its feverish attack on poor Fart with renewed vigor.
Fart dodged what he could, the pain in his leg taking focus from his fight and let’s be real, he wasn’t very practiced in battle to begin with. He was likely looking like a weaving, bobbing, mess but he was still standing and for that we should congratulate him. He’d forgotten he had powers there for a moment, tiring himself as he ducked and dodged. Then he remembered, or his eyes remembered for him, boring a hole through the wolf’s ear and sending the animal rolling from the pain and surprise.
In response to the wolf’s wails Fart’s skin changed, blended into his surroundings of pale, blood stained sand and looming walls of grey mortar. He used this to his advantage, zapping at his attacker with burst of red beams from his muddy brown eyes. Weave, zap, weave, until he formed a pattern and the beast struck. A great claw slashed at him as he circled once more to strike the shaggy, grey dog with his lasers, the beast caught his eye, sending him tumbling forward.
Apparently that shape had had enough though, shimmering and engorging once again. Fart struggled to stand, pain searing through his head as fresh blood made rivers down his cheek. He stumbled away as best he could, one eyed and maimed for all to see. That only made it more personal, the blinding of his eye, and though he was quite hurt he was feeling rather riled for himself. It was a strange feeling, adrenaline, new found confidence from achieving so much but in the face of his new pairing he’s not sure it was enough.
The once shaggy direwolf had melded into something even more sinister, something greater and more powerful and Fart gasped. “Manticore,” he choked out as his one good eye found the creature looming before him. Grumble had toyed with him before this, merely seeing what sort of mettle he was made of.
A large lion with piercing green eyes stared at him and growled, baring it’s shining canines. Where there would normally be a fuzzy tail there was a long, curved appendage, one tipped with a hooked stinger. The tail of a scorpion, dark as was the pelt of the hybrid beast, and even now poison gathered to hang precariously on its tip. Fart turned, bolting for distance between himself and the ominous cat, gathering speed before lurching into the air. He wobbled, course he did, blinded in one eye and lacking flight skills but he took to the air nonetheless. Below the lion snarled, thrashed its long crooked tail about and then it leapt upward towards the flying pony. Fart cried in surprise twisting away and narrowly missing the swipe of one large paw. It was so close he could feel the air as it passed, he could hear a whizz sound as it made contact with naught but empty space.
“You can’t avoid me for long,” a voice cooed, curled about his mind like a wisp of smoke. The roan shook his head, bidding himself to be rid of the devilish tones but no matter what he heard the cat’s thoughts anyhow. “I can try, I can very well try,” Fart returned only to solicit a snarl from the tooth-filled, jagged maw of the manticore.
Something came over him then, a want to prove himself, a need to protect Grumble though he wasn’t sure why the little man was even in danger. Something just told him that he was, something told him to act. A twist of his limey body turned him about, facing the large cat and he aimed towards the creature, flapping his sharp wings wildly. With one beady, brown eye locked he charged the animal, gaining speed even as he struggled to keep even.
He grabbed him then, by force of mind, feeling over the cat’s thoughts and coiling them together to muddle his intentions. While he did this he prepared to crash, to strike true the opponent before him and when he barreled into the manticore he clung for dear life. With his wings he flailed, the flypaper trap of his skin like a cement adhesive, where the silvery tips touched skin it split, sending the lion snarling and twisting side to side. The stinging tail above them both jabbed wildly forward, intent on penetrating a particular green pony. But before he could smash him with his sheer size, before his curved stinger could find hold in his tender flesh, Fart did what he could only try to do. He fixed that one eye in front, straight forward into the chest flesh of the beast he desperately held, With that one eye he blazed a crimson line straight through it’s heart, squealing as the hefty beast collapsed upon him...
For now he had no fight in him, his body exhausted beyond measure and failing him even as he walked at Grumbles side. Grumble, he thought but this time with an air of pleasant regard. The squat man was leading him back to his room, he was tucking him in- how nice. Or, that’s how it played out in Fart’s mind, too spent to fathom the reality of the matter any longer than it had to. His legs shook, trembled, as he was led in then locked within that cell, but Fart could not be more content for it. He slept, deep and long and his mind was free from dreams- it was even free from nightmares.
When he woke, and he did wake, his eyes blurred against the dim light of the dungeon, making lines and objects fuzzy, undefined. He could feel the halter, the thick straps heavy against his limey nose but he welcomed the weight this time. It was a gift, Grumble had given it to him. He did note with his muddied brown orbs, that the darkness of the world remained and with this realization he sighed, heaving a thick cloud of green gas into the air. Gas. He wheeled away from the noxious fumes, backpedaling as quickly and as far against the walls of his cell as he could. What was that, where did it come from, who sent it?
His rump smacked against the walls with a thunk and he desperately wondered where Grumble was. Grumble was his friend after all, he could fix this. It’s then, as he presses himself against the solid surface, that he notices the wings, the clank of metal against a hard surface. This solicits a similar response, well, it would have but he seemed quite stuck now. Yes, almost glued to the stall siding and he yanked desperately forward in an attempt to break free of yet another trap. Someone was out to get him. Someone wanted him dead, and it wasn’t Grumble. At this he panicked even further, grabbing at the air around him until he was panting furiously and gagging in his fright.
What’s that? Who’s making all that noise? Some of us are trying to sleep you know? The voices came, quick and ill-paced, some overlapping others until he had no means to make sense of them. Brown eyes snapped shut, fierce enough for them to hurt but it felt better than the ache of the words in his head. He wanted it to stop, and by reflex perhaps, he shoved his wings against his ears, their sharp edges catching his cheek. Wings. That’s it, he had gone completely and utterly mad, bonkers. Fart didn’t have wings you see, never did. Yet when the roan opened his eyes once more he could see the silver glint of a sharp feather much too close to his eye.
“What’s happening?!” he cried with fervor, his words etched with fear.
That’s when the familiar sound of boots came, the steps of a man stalking down the dark path and Fart could only hope it was Grumble. “Grumble? Grumble is that you?” In response the latch clicked and the stall door opened, knocking against the wall behind it at the end of it’s swing. “Fart,” the tiny man called, drawing out the name as though he was fond of saying it. “Found my little surprises then? Oh, I myself enjoyed finding them too. You were full of little treasures I must say..” His sneaky voice drawled and then he smiled his crooked, yellowed smile. For some reason that caused a new wave of content to wash over the green stallion, for some reason that smile was kind in his eyes.
“Have you found them all then Fart?” Grumble wondered but he frowned as he realized the answers was no. “That’s okay I’ll tell you about them and then you can thank me properly,” the spite in his voice was lost on the horse’s ears and he seemed to take great pride in the telling of Fart’s new powers. “Your ancestry was useful, as you will soon enough know. Wings first of course, do you like them? Wicked sharp at the ends though, don’t be an idiot and cut yourself up like that Edward guy, you seen that movie? Eh- no, right.” The creature was so giddy now, pacing the floor in front of Fart as he ticked off the list.
“Your eyes, well blindness doesn’t profit me so you’ll find they are quite red hot, hee hee,” he giggled once more and with a snap of his fingers beams of red streamed from Fart’s eyes, blasting small holes in the adjacent wall. “And that smell my boy, couldn’t let that go to waste. Don’t worry about that poison gas though, that’s been hidden in there for some time, won’t harm you.” Course it wouldn’t, Grumble wouldn’t have much to gain on a horse that knocked itself out now would he? “Color changing grandpa, camouflage it was. Oh and the flypaper trap on your skin, thank goodness for Grandma’s. Immortality too, I’m much too pleased with my handy work to let you be killed too easily.” He stretched his arms then, lacing his crooked little fingers together and pulling them forward to crack.
pop, pop, pop
“There’s another little treat in your brain Fart, but don’t think you can use it on me,” the wretched little man began. Use it on you? Fart thought, well, why would he want to do that? Grumble was his friend, he would never hurt him. “Pathokinesis, great little doo-dad, all your enemies emotions will be at your fingertips. Well, course you don’t have any fingers, or hands for that matter.” Grumble related this knowledge with the utmost glee, hooking the lead line to Fart’s halter once more and the stallion willingly followed him back down the hall.
“Not done?” Fart asked Grumble, his hooves clacking against the surface of the floor as he was paraded down the path, even passed the chamber door. “Oh, we’re done with that part but I’ve something new, gotta see those gifts of mine in action.” His voice was nonchalant in the telling as they began through a curved arch hall and down, down, down that path they went.
When it opened it was the grandest piece of construction Fart could ever hope to see, and Grumble would later tell him ‘Coliseum’. Fart was left there in the middle of it, stone walls of seating rising up forever but the places were all empty. Save for one. A lavishly draped balcony box where Grumble sat on high, cruel eyes twinkling. The little man waved his hands, then snapped his fingers, one, two, three and Fart wasn’t alone anymore. Instead, he was surrounded. “Show me what you got,” a call and a dismissive wave and Fart gulped loudly in return.
The first animal he knew as ‘Gator’, the creatures face lined with the same thick ropes as his own, a halter- and who knows how it was kept on. The thing was massive, 15 feet of thick, green, leathery skin and a mouth with rows of sharp teeth. Fart wasn’t sure about all this, not even a little bit, but he remembered Grumble need him. He remembered he wanted to help. It was swift for a creature so near to the ground, charging Fart without a moment’s consideration and snapping wide at his legs. He only just missed it, that amputation, flirting into the sky- albeit messily. He wobbled in the air, unused to flying and lacking practice but he made it up, if only long enough to bob away from his opponent.
As soon as he touched the ground though his attacker was on him, racing in a sidewinding pattern to reach him and kicking up dust in his wake. Fart reeled, whirling about and flapping his wings in a nonsense sort of way, trying to take to the sky once again. It was too late to climb skyward though and as a result he yelled in panic, green fumes rolling from his lips and smoke-screening the gator. The beast had been inches away, snapping its mighty jaws and was dead set on horse for dinner. Now he was wobbling, as much as a short reptile can, thrashing his head about in an attempt to rid himself of the gas. Fart thought he could finally have a chance to lay the killing blow when something unexpected happened.
The gator writhed, bubbled even, and it looked like something was trying to climb out of it that was much too big. What really happened though, was the creature changed, morphed into something else and Fart raced away, giving it plenty of room to do so. He didn’t know what might be on the other end of this magic, didn’t know what to expect, so with wide eyes he watched- he waited.
Now he had something new to fight, something bigger and fiercer and this cooled his blood. It would only get worse he was sure.
In place of the gator was a great shaggy dog, it’s head wide and broad. The wolf was taller than any Fart had seen in real life and to be honest he usually only saw them as he fled their presence, arching his head over his back to make sure he put plenty of distance between them. This one had to be part bear, part bull, something that would make it amass to such a size but the mammal before him was distinctly dog. It had long, coarse grey fur and shining yellow eyes, it’s teeth were like sharp long swords and suddenly Fart knew he didn’t like swords at all. This creature charged him too, raking the loose sand with its great paws and kicking grains of earth everywhere. Fart waited entirely still this time, partially because he was frozen stiff with fear, then an idea caught him.
When the dog was close, close enough to smell its stinking skin, he lifting a wing, twirling away and crossing the sharp ends of his feathers across the brute’s snout. It wailed, arrr, arr, arrrr as dogs sometimes do in pain, and for once Fart felt proud of himself. When the growl came after and the dog lunged forward and caught Fart’s leg, he too cried into the dome, wailing his lament without cause to subdue his outburst. This made him angry though, that beast of a hound, and it returned its feverish attack on poor Fart with renewed vigor.
Fart dodged what he could, the pain in his leg taking focus from his fight and let’s be real, he wasn’t very practiced in battle to begin with. He was likely looking like a weaving, bobbing, mess but he was still standing and for that we should congratulate him. He’d forgotten he had powers there for a moment, tiring himself as he ducked and dodged. Then he remembered, or his eyes remembered for him, boring a hole through the wolf’s ear and sending the animal rolling from the pain and surprise.
In response to the wolf’s wails Fart’s skin changed, blended into his surroundings of pale, blood stained sand and looming walls of grey mortar. He used this to his advantage, zapping at his attacker with burst of red beams from his muddy brown eyes. Weave, zap, weave, until he formed a pattern and the beast struck. A great claw slashed at him as he circled once more to strike the shaggy, grey dog with his lasers, the beast caught his eye, sending him tumbling forward.
Apparently that shape had had enough though, shimmering and engorging once again. Fart struggled to stand, pain searing through his head as fresh blood made rivers down his cheek. He stumbled away as best he could, one eyed and maimed for all to see. That only made it more personal, the blinding of his eye, and though he was quite hurt he was feeling rather riled for himself. It was a strange feeling, adrenaline, new found confidence from achieving so much but in the face of his new pairing he’s not sure it was enough.
The once shaggy direwolf had melded into something even more sinister, something greater and more powerful and Fart gasped. “Manticore,” he choked out as his one good eye found the creature looming before him. Grumble had toyed with him before this, merely seeing what sort of mettle he was made of.
A large lion with piercing green eyes stared at him and growled, baring it’s shining canines. Where there would normally be a fuzzy tail there was a long, curved appendage, one tipped with a hooked stinger. The tail of a scorpion, dark as was the pelt of the hybrid beast, and even now poison gathered to hang precariously on its tip. Fart turned, bolting for distance between himself and the ominous cat, gathering speed before lurching into the air. He wobbled, course he did, blinded in one eye and lacking flight skills but he took to the air nonetheless. Below the lion snarled, thrashed its long crooked tail about and then it leapt upward towards the flying pony. Fart cried in surprise twisting away and narrowly missing the swipe of one large paw. It was so close he could feel the air as it passed, he could hear a whizz sound as it made contact with naught but empty space.
“You can’t avoid me for long,” a voice cooed, curled about his mind like a wisp of smoke. The roan shook his head, bidding himself to be rid of the devilish tones but no matter what he heard the cat’s thoughts anyhow. “I can try, I can very well try,” Fart returned only to solicit a snarl from the tooth-filled, jagged maw of the manticore.
Something came over him then, a want to prove himself, a need to protect Grumble though he wasn’t sure why the little man was even in danger. Something just told him that he was, something told him to act. A twist of his limey body turned him about, facing the large cat and he aimed towards the creature, flapping his sharp wings wildly. With one beady, brown eye locked he charged the animal, gaining speed even as he struggled to keep even.
He grabbed him then, by force of mind, feeling over the cat’s thoughts and coiling them together to muddle his intentions. While he did this he prepared to crash, to strike true the opponent before him and when he barreled into the manticore he clung for dear life. With his wings he flailed, the flypaper trap of his skin like a cement adhesive, where the silvery tips touched skin it split, sending the lion snarling and twisting side to side. The stinging tail above them both jabbed wildly forward, intent on penetrating a particular green pony. But before he could smash him with his sheer size, before his curved stinger could find hold in his tender flesh, Fart did what he could only try to do. He fixed that one eye in front, straight forward into the chest flesh of the beast he desperately held, With that one eye he blazed a crimson line straight through it’s heart, squealing as the hefty beast collapsed upon him...
silent but deadly
