//------------------------------// // Chapter 13~ // Story: Sombasi, Brother of Sombra // by Pomp-Neigh //------------------------------// The brothers roar in unison moments before their wooden weaponry clashes against one another, the wood clankingly exploding as a result.     The dark-gray colts struggle against each other on their hind legs, forelimbs grasping the grip of their weapons as they grit their teeth with seething grunts. “Nngh!” Sombasi narrows his eyes. “Th-this feels weird. Heh.” he grinned. “Y-yeah,” Sombra agreed, grinning afterward. “Ponies are quadrupeds, after all, so we have an awkward time fighting with weapons like this.” Sombra pushed their conjoined blades closer to Sombasi, momentarily overpowering him. But with a grunt-filled shout, the younger colt pushed their conjoint weapons back into equilibrium. “Sombasi wishes we could use our magic- nngh! Geez! How do earth ponies even get used to this? It feels weird, and we look kind of silly!” “You forget that pegasi suffer in that same regard, brother.” Sombra forms a smirk.  “True, but at least they can fly-!” “And if we could use magic,” Sombra interjects with a plan matching his mischievous features, “It might’ve saved you from this!”    In one swift motion, Sombra pushes his brother backward while stepping forward, planting his right hind leg behind Sombasi’s left hindlimb—effectively tripping him as gravity takes over.   “Wh-whoah uh!” Sombasi flurries his forelimbs in an attempt to catch his balance, but to no avail as he falls onto his back, dropping his weapon onto the dirt-comprised grounds of the arena in the process. “Aha!” Sombra boasts, head held up high. “Sombra wins this round!” “H-hey!” the downed colt cries out, lifting himself halfway from the ground. “That’s cheating!” “Oh, pish posh, brother,” Sombra waved. “Whatever it takes to claim victo-” Sombasi hurriedly gets into a crouched state and lunges at his brother, causing them to cry out as, this time, it’s Sombra whose back is graced with dirt. And as Sombra’s weapon is hurled into the air from the commotion, landing nearby, Sombasi lifts himself up to his full stature and stands over his downed yet amazed brother. “Mwahaha!” Sombasi boomed in joy. “Your lesson was well received, brother mine. ‘Whatever it takes to claim victory,’ right?” he finished with a wink. The brothers simply stare at one another—Sombasi grinning—Sombra stunned, yet looking up at his brother in amazement. Then, they broke out into gleeful, hearty laughter. Their joyous laughter soon dies down, followed by Sombasi offering Sombra a helping forelimb, which he takes gratefully. Of course, a petty side of him was tempted to take advantage of his brother’s currently dropped guard. But Sombra was a loving older brother. So why not let their currently evened score linger for a bit longer? ………. As minutes passed by and the brothers reclaimed their weapons, standing at a generous distance once more for another combative clash, they were so preoccupied that they failed to take notice of Prince Olstrom Shattershield.    The saddle arabian stood outside the western crystalline panel of the arena, his seven-foot height effortlessly granting him a clear sight of the spectacle regardless of the barricade. If there ever was one thing ponies envied about their fellow desert-dwelling equines, it was their impressive height. And their incredibly alluring builds.  Olstrom’s ears perked up in response to the brothers’ battle cries, their wooden weaponry repeatedly clanking as Sombra and Sombasi performed sideswiping attack patterns.   They now practically danced around in circular combat, jumping and shifting in a clockwise and counterclockwise arrangement. However, it was vibrantly clear to Olstrom that they both were unaccustomed to fighting while on their hind legs as they often nearly lost their balance. And that wasn’t even including the poor way they held their weaponry on all fours.  Olstrom could only chuckle as, admittedly, these precious little grains of sand before him were going about it all wrong. Perhaps… he could show them a thing or two and pass along some interesting knowledge. After all, his brother had continuously bugged him about proactively getting more involved in keeping good relations between the Empire and Saddle Arabia. Then again, there was also that warrior side of him that would always welcome the chance to hone the skills of others. And so, with a smirk formed on his muzzle, hidden under white cloth and gray metal, he came to a decision. ………. A resounding shove from Sombasi sends Sombra to the ground, landing on his flank as the duo pants in exhaustion, weapons holstered and lowered. “Heh-hah!” Sombasi managed after catching his breath. “I’m up by one now, Sombra!” “Wh… where did you learn to count?!” Sombra knackered while lifting himself to his full stature. “We’re even,” he emphasized with an appointed forelimb. They snickered in unison, preparing for what was undoubtedly their final bout if their fatigue was of any implication. But their ears suddenly perked up as the nearby gated entrance creaked open, and the brothers turned to its’ source—eyes widening. A black stallion donned in arabian-motifed attire of white cloth and gray metals approached, his size far exceeding any other equine the brothers had ever seen before. In addition, Sombra was sure those curved blades holstered to either side of the equine were called Scimitars—each safely sheathed in leather-like scabbards. “Th-that’s…” Sombra began in realization. “That’s one of the visiting saddle arabians.” He was grateful that at least one of them paid attention to Miss. Chestnut’s lectures concerning Saddle Arabia’s culture. “Woah…” Sombasi awed. “He’s… big. And are those… curved swords?” The dark-gray duo tried to pierce through the coverings of the Saddle Arabian’s features but to no avail—only deciphering a pair of hazel-colored eyes that rested upon them.  “Marhabaan al’atfal,” Olstrom began, powerful legs guiding him over to the colts. The brothers, having been jolted to attention by the authoritative voice, blinked in confusion before leaning into each other. “What did he say?” Sombasi whispered.    “Sombra has no idea…”  Olstrom chuckles as he overhears their murmuring on approach, stopping before them, ears flickering.   “It means ‘Greetings, children.’” he chuckled as the brothers formed ‘O’s on their muzzles. “My name is Prince Olstrom Shattershield of Saddle Arabia. In truth, I have several titles, but let’s just keep it simple, eh?” A stunted silence takes hold as the brothers stare at the large equine in pure shock, processing everything they’ve just heard. A sudden gust of wind fluttered everyone’s manes, drawing dust clouds from the dirt-foundation arena. “P-p-p-p-prince?!” Sombasi screamed in a panic. “But-I-m-my name is Sombasi, sir!” “A-and my name is Sombra, your highness!” Sombra managed as the brothers began to lower their- “Please, no,” Olstrom ceased their actions with a raised forelimb, “that won’t be necessary, young ones.” he rested his hoof onto the dirt while the brothers rose back up from their half-bow. “Just Olstrom will do. Sombra and Sombasi, huh? Strong names, I must say, and, If I may, I’d like for you both to treat me as just another stallion.” he grinned beneath his veil.  “And, if my eyes and ears didn’t deceive me… a fellow warrior.” “O-oh, heh,” Sombasi rubbed the back of his neck with an averted gaze, “we’re, uh, not warriors…” Sombra recollects himself, clearing his throat. “Sombasi is right. Sombra simply thought this would be a fun way to let loose some stress from my brother.” Olstrom nods. “I see. And so, of all the activities laid bare for you both, you chose to spar with your brother, yes?” “Yes, your high- I mean, Olstrom. Sombra would watch the guards practice out here occasionally, so Sombra decided to buy these,” he raised his weapon, “for Sombra and Sombasi.”  Were it not for the cloth concealing Olstrom’s muzzle, Sombra might’ve noticed the knowing smirk now etched there. In addition, Olstrom admittedly noted their speech patterns even during his observations, often integrating the third person before seemingly correcting themselves. It was as if they weren’t accustomed to speaking ‘Ponish,’ but it was clear to Olstrom that they were still adapting. The saddle arabian, amused by Sombra’s words, observed the brothers before resting his eyes on their weaponry.  “There’s no denying it; you two have the potential to be fine warriors.”   The brothers shared a glance, turning back to Olstrom. “R-really?” Sombasi inquired.       “You… came to that conclusion just because I bought these from the market?” “And watching your bout, of course.” “But… how?” Sombasi asked. “We weren’t exactly very good at it… but it did feel amazing!”  “Hah!” Olstrom amused. “Indeed. Don’t you see, musadas? That feeling is the exhilaration, fulfillment, and, in this case, alleviation of a good fight. In Saddle Arabia, one of the most effective ways warriors relieve themselves is…?” he rolled his forehoof, beckoning the brothers to a sudden pop quiz. “Ooooh. Huh.” Sombasi brought a hoof up to his chin. “So Sombra and I were doing what warriors back in your homeland do? Also, what’s a musada? Heh, sounds like a cake or something sweet.” “Musada means colt in Arabic,” Olstrom answered with a chuckle. “It’s just a coincidence, brother,” Sombra spoke up, garnering their attention. “This just so happened to be what activity I chose, that’s all. As I said, I saw the guards doing it and thought it’d be fun if we did it. That doesn’t exactly make us warriors.” Olstrom lowered himself to the ground, uncaring of the dirt that would undoubtedly sully his clothing as he met the colts at eye level.  “Do you want to know what we of Saddle Arabia believe?” they nod, prompting Olstrom to continue. “There are no coincidences in the universe, only convergences of will, intent, and experience.” Olstrom began to rise to his full stature while Sombra and Sombasi watched, absorbing the stallion’s words.  “Trust me, young ones. As a seasoned warrior, I mean it when I say that I can see your potential. A young warrior’s flame burns in both of you, but it is up to you to choose whether to stoke it or simply let it run its course.” The young duo silently lost themselves in thought. But for Olstrom, he recognized the signs. And what they decide will determine what happens next. Life is abundant with choices, and this would be theirs to make.   “So…” Sombra began, but the uncertainty was plastered on his features. “Do you truly think Sombasi and Sombra can become warriors?” “Without a doubt.”  As Olstrom had unhesitantly and proudly assured, Sombra couldn’t detect any shred of doubt in the saddle arabian’s words. In fact, he felt as if every word that escaped from the large equine’s mouth was nothing but the absolute truth.            “Uhm, Mr. Olstrom, sir?” Sombasi questioned with a raised forelimb. “Heh. Just Olstrom is fine, Sombasi.” “Oh, right. Sorry. But does this mean you’re willing to show Sombra and Sombasi how to fight?” Olstrom tilts his head. “Pardon?” “Being a warrior is all about fighting, right? Like, you’re super duper good at it?!” “Heh, I bet he’s undefeated!” Sombra exclaimed in agreement. At that moment, realization dawned on the saddle arabian, followed by a gentle shake of his head and lowered laughter.  “Forgive me; that mildly threw me off. Now then… I think I see the issue here.” The brothers waited patiently for Olstrom’s coming words, evident by his thoughtful ponderings and expression. “I’ll grant you this; you’re not entirely wrong, musadas. However, warriors are not what you think of as warriors. It is, in fact, a way-” “Hey, you! You’re that prince from Saddle Arabia, right?!” Suddenly, a deep supercilious voice beckoned from beyond the arena's boundaries. Olstrom shifts his gaze toward the source to the north, as do the two colts before him, and all eyes rest on a red unicorn stallion with a dark-brown tail and mane, donned in crystal guard attire.  And judging from the armor’s design, Olstrom immediately deduced that this was a fresh recruit.  He sighed in disappointment, muttering, “Great. It’s one of those types.”  Sombra and Sombasi merely observed in anticipation as Olstrom began to trot over to the newcomer. Additionally, a crowd could be seen advancing toward them, seemingly indicating that this crimson unicorn wanted an audience. “If you’re done playing with colts, your highness,” the red stallion emphasized in mockery during Olstrom’s approach, “how about you test your mettle against me, hmm? The arena is no place for a prissy little welp like you. But, of course, you’re welcome to prove me wrong.” Olstrom soon came to a stop, and a single crystalline panel of the corral acted as the only barrier between him and his challenger. Upon closer inspection, the saddle arabian immediately confirmed what he had suspected from the moment his eyes had rested on the now grinning yet condescending unicorn: they were much larger than the typical pony. No… this wasn’t just a pony. Olstrom could see it in their eyes, not to mention the rest of their body. Yes, the signs were all there, and it all became clear: The offspring of a saddle arabian and a non-crystal pony.