//------------------------------// // Chapter 2:- Of Actions and Reactions // Story: Something Else // by Mr Clumpy //------------------------------// I was once asked by a small child; “How can you see if you are blind?” “That is easy.” I had replied, “I don’t need eyes to see, little one.” “How so?” She asked curiously, in the way that only small children can. “Well, when you have no sight, like me, your other senses dramatically improve to quite unexpected levels. Your fingers can be taught to read the finest imprints made through paper onto wood, your skin can be used to detect even the slightest change in air pressure and temperature, you can learn to hear the beat of a butterfly’s wings and the merest change in a person’s breath, and gain the ability to understand the difference between things by taste and smell alone. When you are blind, you lose your sight, but you will never truly lose your ability to see.” She pondered a moment, and then asked one last question, before getting shooed away by that annoying nanny of hers. Such a question I will never forget, one that both broke and mended my heart in an instant, and once again left me looking forward to what life can offer... “What does dramatically mean?” - Chronicles of Fynn ------------------------------------------- Waking up in darkness was nothing new for me. After all, I spent every day within the darkness of my own lack of sight and it was nothing to be afraid of, it was, of course, only the absence of visible light. Several thoughts passed through my mind simultaneously, causing a wan smile to cross my features in defiance of the pain ringing around my head and the aching of a battle worn body... I mean, seriously! How often do you get kicked in the head by a talking horse?! Winterhold mages not included in that statement of course... but, there again, how often does one have to forcefully relocate from one realm to another, while hammering on the barriers of gods and not only once, but twice in the process? It left one feeling unimaginably drained, the same sensation as having your soul forcefully ripped from your body, leaving only a cold and empty void in its wake. I sat up and felt around me. I touched cold stones, and then a corner leading up to a wall composed of more of the same cold stones. The stone was rough against my fingertips... wait? Fingertips?! My smile twisted to one of sick amusement at the state of my exposed body, and at whomever had removed my armour as I leaned back against the newly discovered wall. My fingers traced the scarred flesh on my chest; felt the sparse yet coarse hair that grew there pockmarked and crisscrossed with hideous amounts of scar tissue. My hand continued its journey across my chest to my left shoulder, ignoring the old memories as scars passed beneath my fingers. They came upon fresh cloth bound around the shoulder joint, barely concealing the bloody hole torn through the flesh, a memento of the fight that had taken me to this world. Not stopping there, I followed the muscle from my left shoulder down my arm, and took notice of several more fresh bindings that lead down to the prosthetic hand I had attached in the place of the previous one, lost centuries before. This, thankfully, had been left connected, unlike the rest of my armour, or even my undergarments. Facts that should have been apparent were slow in arriving; the crystals within my remaining eye - the other now lost in the same skirmish that had punctured my shoulder - were dark, the artificial part of my arm, below the elbow was nonfunctioning and something was preventing my innate magic regenerating. That moment, I heard the sound of several sets of hooves on stone trotting down the corridor outside my cell, muffled by a door of unknown material. Oh the memories! The last time I was stuck in jail on trumped up charges, I had held an emperor in my arms as he bled out onto a cold stone floor and was entrusted with one of, if not the most powerful Aedric artifact in existence... but nostalgia aside, judging by the angry snorts reverberating through the wall, this wasn’t going to end well. On the other hand, how often did stabbing someone, within the confines of someone else’s castle, and moments after destroying said owner of castle’s literal seat of power ever end well? A loud clicking was heard from the door as a key was inserted and the lock was turned... this still wasn’t a new experience for me, though at this point in my life, not much was. At least that was the thought I had, before the telltale sounds of a rusty hinges betrayed the opening of the door... ...Unfortunately breaking the magical seal on the room, before I could brace myself against the sudden influx of returning power. I bit down a scream as the sensation of liquid lightning spread throughout my nervous system, fizzing across my limbs as it sparked every nerve and caused every muscle to spasm, magic coursing through my flesh like blood into a depleted limb. It quickly overloaded the sensitive artifacts embedded in my body. My power gradually stabilised as I slowly started to regain control, but for the implanted devices it had been too much. The crystals controlling the ebb and flow of natural magic were almost all irreversibly damaged. Within my remaining eye, only the small matrix hidden in the milky white orb twitched into life, sending impulses directly into my skull. Leaving me with nothing but the painful sensation of a small sun sitting in the disturbing confines of my head, and a pounding headache, to go along with the cold sweat coating my skin and matting my hair. My prosthetic hand wasn’t so lucky. It started to twitch painfully, pulling at the muscles and tendons as the little control shards overloaded, blown out with the unaccustomed amounts of energy freely pouring through its metal bindings. The casing fractured from the heat, and the shards shattered into grain sized pieces of molten metal, destroying the intricate workings of the faux hand. In hindsight, it really wasn’t the best morning I have ever had. I mean... there was that one time I woke up strapped to a bed with three fleshless hounds, half a clown and a rotting flesh atronach draped over me... Although, right now my mortal body was in agony, and I was being imprisoned and overpowered by small colourful horses. My magic-enhanced sight slowly recovered, and standing above me was a dark blue pony snorting and neighing in a language I didn't understand; as my prosthetic hand slowly crumbled to dust, leaving only some stubborn metal remnants affixed to my forearm. Then there was nothing, my magic once again vanished as if it had been drained away and my eye once again went black. Positioning myself on my knees, I slowly felt around the floor, trying to find the door of the cell when my fingers brushed against a cool metal edge of a tray. Exploring further along the flat plate, my hands ran over what seemed like a cup of tall cup of sorts, and to the other side a stale loaf of bread, judging by the hard crust; some things, no matter what world they were in, were always the same. And then nothing happened. At least not until I once again woke up to the angry snorts, neighs and the head-splitting pain again the next morning. Each day my eye overloaded and my arm ached, each day I was fed the steady diet of tepid water and stale bread. Until my thirteenth day of incarceration. Then it all changed; like always, I was leaning against the far wall, as this time the door stood open, my one eye slowly adjusting to the surge in magic. Standing in the frame was what was to be expected, a pony of sorts, horn on its head and wings at its side. As my eye regained focus, I could make out further details like gender and surface emotions; a soft pink aura surrounded her body like that of a mother full of love, and reserved curiosity for the helpless creature in front of her. Alas, her presence alone was almost dwarfing that of the pony standing behind her, hard as ebony and as sturdy as the oldest oak, so protective with the undercurrent of aggression that only came with suppressed rage of a seasoned soldier. This once again brought a smile to my lips, despite the ache in my muscles. Then the larger one started talking. As expected, I couldn't understand her but the expression of concern was evident on her face, an expression not worn by the white unicorn now beside her. My eye was now fully functional, finally able to pick out the minute details in his blue mane, the deepening scowl on his face at my widening smile. He turned and walked out of the door, turning his back and summoning the mare who had stopped trying to talk to me and only held a sad expression before turning away and walking out of the door with her companion. She turned her head, her horn glowed and a pink aura closed the door, this time not remaking the draining seal. ------------------------------------------- Shining Armour and Princess Cadence walked, disquieted, down the grey stone passageway leading out of the dungeon. Shining glanced at his wife. The stubborn look on her face motivated him to say something, anything to get her to stay away from the creature in the cell. “Cadence... you see!? That was pointless! not to mention dangerous... you saw the damage it did, what it almost did to Twi, I don’t know why you wanted to try and talk to it... it couldn’t even understand you anyway!” “It deserves a chance to explain its actions, right? we can’t just lock it away without even trying to communicate, thats even worse! And as for not being able to understand me... well... maybe it got the feeling of my words?” she looked disheartened. “Look. We saw what it did. Two of my soldiers died. Not to mention that other one of its kind, we haven’t even seen it since the day after the incident... how can something who did things like that be good?” “Well, there you go. It is the only thing that knows what has been done to the other one, not even Twilight can figure it out! It’s the only one who knows what really happened. The one thing we do know is that it kept it alive... It can’t be all bad. We might even be able to save it. Isn’t that worth trying to talk?” “... I guess. That may be true, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to trust it one bit. Its dangerous. I don’t want you to get hurt...” Cadence stepped over and butted him with her nose. “I’ll be fine. Just let me try. We haven’t even seen my aunt since, its the least I can do.” Shining smiled. He nuzzled her back. “fine. Just be... on your guard. I don’t want to be scraping you off the dungeon floor... I hate cleaning.” She laughed, and the two made their way down the passage once more. ------------------------------------------- Over the next several days, my magic increased and stabilized to relatively ‘normal’ levels, so to speak. Every day heralded the whinnies and neighs of my captors and the metal tray of food so graciously pushed into the room. And every day, they came. The tall winged unicorn talking in her strange language, and the wingless one, always glaring at me. I didn't even need to open my eyes as I leant against the corner of the room, the dim torchlight of the hallway bleeding into my cell, but I did anyway. After all, it is rude to ignore guests, isn't it? The cold stone pressed against my shoulders. I turned my head towards the pink one, opened my mouth slightly to say something then thought better of it. Instead i grinned and offered my hand towards her, palm down. This had two obvious effects. The first, and most obvious, was the tensing of the white unicorn, the second was the confusion in the pink pony’s eyes. Now I must point out, with hindsight, I have no idea why I ever thought that my next actions could ever be considered a smart idea. With a grin that only widened as I turned my hand around, my palm now aimed at the ceiling, I snapped my fingers and cast a simple candlelight spell. The flame rose up from the centre of my hand and hovered in the still room. It pushed them over the edge. Even more so when I put my face through the light, and said quite clearly in Equish, “Peekaboo goes the bumble bee.” I guess it is true what they say; you should never startle a horse. These words of wisdom I guess also apply to colourful intelligent ones as well, since their natural defences seem to consist solely of violently bucking at whatever happened to startle them. And with those slabs of muscle, laced across those extremely strong bones and those rock hard hooves, could you really blame me for blacking out as they connected once again with my head? I at least got the last word, managing to squeeze out a quick “oh, bollocks” before my skull met forcefully with the stone floor. -------------------------------------------. Do you know how many times I have been kicked in the head and face since I escaped jail for the first time? Three hundred and twenty seven times. From shoe-less beggars to knights with steel-clad boots, none have ever made me lose consciousness quite so quickly as those hooves. Sure, a concussion or two has gotten the better of me a few times; but then again, a mortal body, even one reinforced with the magic of a god, it is still a soft squishy thing made of flesh and bone and everything has its giving point. Mine is apparently talking horses. Talking horses with shoes, and more importantly, talking horses with shoes that currently have me under lock and key. This is not a going well for me, now is it?