//------------------------------// // A Million Miles Away // Story: To Call the Moon My Own // by That_Random_Pony //------------------------------// "We're here," Malshuom said.  The entire village was assembled behind him and the Elder. They marvelled at the massive set of metal doors, carved with handles that were only accesible by giants. While the others marvelled at the vast set of doors, the Elder calmly resented the city itself. He was from time itself, and he had aged many millenia, but he never forgot that hatred towards technology. Another thing he never forgot, was that Loki'ir was supposed to be united as one, no one secluded from the rest. This 'empire' the Emperor had created was a reach for power and manipulation, which many had mistaken for shelter and a new beginning. It was sickening to know these people were being ruled by a man who knew nothing of what a ruler was really meant to do, and even more so that this 'emperor' had outlawed any use of their original beliefs.  "Come," the Elder said. Malshuom waved his hand, and soon the entire village was moving to reach the entrance.  Before they could come within a couple yards, a spear lodged itself at the feet of the head warrior. Their advancement stopped as the top of the walls were filled with armored men cocking spears to launch at them.  "Hraak dit dot jro krahp?! (What is it you seek?!)" a voiced boomed from the top.  The Elder seperated from Malshuom and motioned for him to stay behind. The warrior reluctantly stood his ground as the Elder made his way to the wall.  "Jrem turk bik minug bik ut Golashna (We wish to speak to the Emperor)," the Elder called up. "Jrem konij et nigamor (We bring a challenger)." Malshuom's eyes widened as he walked up to the Elder. "Elder, Nogot still hasn't recovered. He cannot fight in the tournament," he warned.  The Elder smiled as he turned to the man. "I know," he whispered. The Elder turned back to the men on the gates. "Jrem konij et nigamor grak ut kashimot (We bring a challenger for the tournament)." The guards eased their spears to their sides, then the massive gates swung open. Coming from between the opened doors, was the Emperor of the city itself. He had a very regal set of armor, with a cape that covered his right arm while the left shoulder had a small curved spike. He walked with three guards following close behind him, not daring to take a step ahead of him. The Emperor examined the village with a condescending look of disapproval, but his gaze focused on two individuals. Malshuom and the Elder. "Jro mitu bik carteg ut kashimot? (You wish to enter the tournament?)," he chuckled insultingly. "Buke hriik agod jro mitu bik manogowen ut yormorsk jijafin ot ut gasz? (And who among you wish to challenge the greatest fighters of the land?)." "Kot guus (He does)," the Elder said as he grabbed Malshuom's arm. "Kot mitus bik kakaos dut ut kashimot (He wishes to partake in the tournament)." Malshuom's eyes widened under his helmet as he neared the Elder. "Malik, I cannot possibly face those men and still be able to face this man. We must wait until Nogot-" "Malshuom, you under estimate your own abilities," the Elder chuckled. "Trust in Minira's guidance, and we will join the Doshu'um and unite the people within a year's time." "Even so I do not think-" "Jram hidod (I'm waiting)," the Emperor impatiently remarked. The Elder looked knowingly at Malshuom, and the warrior sighed as he looked to the Emperor.  "Jra mitu bik dimijul (I wish to compete)," Malshuom said. "Jra divikin guld urkoshy belk hent ut gatamo ot ut brakto (My people will remain here for the duration of the week)." The Emperor glanced at the dozens of villagers, determining whether or not they would be a problem. "Fet jro mitu. Velt okur jrom inaku buke jromalt hef linal (As you wish. But only your leader and yourself may enter)." The Emperor smiled deviously as he waved for the guards to gather behind them. "Abvalka. Grok, jrem dersh turo bik hotap (Excellent. Come, we have much to discuss)." The guards behind them guided them forcefully into the advanced city. The doors shut quite loudly behind them, and Malshuom was witnessing technology for the first time in his life. The guards inside the city weren't armed with spears or a bow. No, they were armed with rifles that could kill from miles away, armor he had no information about, and helmets that hid their gazes with screens. While the warrior gawked and awed at the display of advancement, the Elder simply glared at any form of tech he saw. True Loki'irians hated technology, but there was a reason they became the most advanced in the universe.  "Jro meek ipojamel gewel. Jra honejol ek nok jrim vovol qualsh dersh endamoret jro bik jrim navako (You seem surprised warrior. I thought by now our conquests would have introduced you to our power)." It was an obvious statement of boasting, which the Elder had very much patience for. Malshuom stared all around him as they were guided to a platform not far from the gates. At first, Malshuom was curious as to why they stopped. As soon as the platform lifted into the air, he was feeling ready for an attack. Sensing his anxiety, the Elder placed a hand on his shoulder to calm him as they lift propelled forward. Railings rose up from the edges of the transport, amazing Malshuom even more. He looked at the blurring images of buildings, lifts, and citizens as they zoomed past them. What was impossible to miss however, was the enormous palace fast approaching.  The lift flew in through a port meant for them, and they stepped off as it went back to its checkpoint. Malshuom felt so insignificant, so childish when compared to the city here. They had technology, larger-than-life buildings, stronger weaponry, and their own means of transportation. All his life was a struggle to stay alive, and that changed when he met the Elder who promised his tiny village a home of wonders. Ever since then, he lived off the land and created his own weapons and traveled on the backs of Gokolok. The large creatures were the ideal way of getting around, since their six legs let them travel fast across the land. Now, he was seeing a way of moving that didn't require him to capture, train, or breed. All he had to do was make it. It was certainly a hit to his mind, and he doubted the Elder's claims that all Loki'irians hated technology. They walked into the palace, and the Emperor left to arrange the tournament this cycle. The armed men led them to a barracks for the fighters, where he saw dozens of men lifting weights and getting their bodies ready for their fights. Malshuom noticed that they weren't as built as any of his men, which made him think they wouldn't be too difficult to handle. He quickly dispersed those thoughts; ego was the downfall of a warrior, and the Emperor had much.  "Grank dot hriik jro bilf ek migad notork ut mal ot ut kashimot. Grood jro jindagin heweque, graleh dot et fargg ole jutam ut gigaj (This is where you will be staying until the end of the tournament. Should you require anything, there is a mess hall opposite the barracks)," one said. They filed out quickly, leaving the Elder and Malshuom to a two bed room.  The room was empty, except for the bed and two windows. "Elder, you should not have chosen me for this," Malshuom said. "I am not possibly strong enough to face half of those men." "You will Malshuom," the Elder said, a lot louder than his usual calm voice. "For the sake of not only this world, but of Earth itself, you will fight your hardest to reunite our people. This is Minira's path, and you'd best heed these words, for our lives depend on it." Malshuom was taken back by the outburst, and he could only stare wide eyed at his leader. "Elder, everything you have told me makes as much sense as an infants first words," Malshuom retorted. "I am risking my life for your words of Minira, yet I have not seen anything that could possibly support your beliefs. We do not hate technology, they mass produce it. I know nothing of this Earth, or if it still exists today. So tell me why I should still follow you thus far." The Elder wasn't glaring or angry. He simply rose his right hand, and slowly approached the warrior. Malshuom didn't flinch or move in the slightest, since he knew the Elder was not a fighter. As soon as his wrinkled hand touched Malshuom's head, he felt immense pain. The pain came from twelve points on his body, then it felt like someone had taken a hammer and started bashing in his skull. As quickly as the pain had come, it vanished and was replaced with emotional feeling. He felt alone, saddened, guilty, and angry. The anger overwhelmed him greatly, but it too left as did the pain. He stumbled backwards, feeling a bit light headed from the experience. The Elder too sat down and started panting softly. "What… what did you do?" Malshuom panted. The Elder composed himself faster than he could. "I gave you a brief glimpse of what the Doshu'um had felt for almost all his life," the Elder said. "He has endured much, nearly died more times than the number of people that will be watching you, and he fought on. He fought for a cause that was lost in itself. But you, Malshuom, fight for a cause that carries the fate of two worlds. If the Doshu'um can do this, so can you. Enough doubt, enough modesty. Trust in my words Malshuom, have confidence in your abilities, and you will reach a power long lost." Malshuom shivered as he felt a crawling feeling in his stomach, akin to a spear being rammed into it. He could still feel the intensity of all he felt, emotionally and physically. It was only a moment of pain, and he would have buckled if it had been any longer. To think the Doshu'um lived through it several times in just one cycle, it was unreal. But the fact that the Doshu'um was alive proved it was in fact real.  "Malshuom. Will you help me reunite Loki'ir, and wipe the Arthanian horde off the face of existence?" Malshuom looked up to the Elder, who had his hand open to him. With a stern nod, Malshuom took the Elder's hand and stood back up. "Yes, Elder. Forgive me for doubting you," Malshuom bowed slightly. "You are forgiven," he said. "Now please rest, you begin your battles tomorrow, and you have much to learn."                                                                                                        Kashimot ot Humashkin, Miko Duunz (Tournament of Humashkin, Day 1) "Kotun buke katan! Jra mejigon aht jro, ut nevaraz kashimot ot jrim bitange hokantol Humashkin! Jrim batanal guld et dimiguld nekash okur dunz vivak! Nugal, jrem guld gansu kosh wekat fersda, gewel vatole gewel! Et ut bilsh! (Ladies and gentleman! I present to you, the fifteenth tournament of our glorious emperor Humashkin! Our fighters will be competing until only one remains! Today, we will start with singular battles, warrior against warrior! To the death!)" The crowd roared with excitement and eagerness to get the annual event started. The announcer stepped away from the center of the battle stage as the first two fighters came out. They were both disrobed from the neck to the waist, wearing tight cloths around their groin and legs. Malshuom had decided against the face paint, instead having the Elder paint the insignia on his chest. His opponent, a man nearly his size - about a few inches bigger - had red and black paint splitting his face into two halves. His body was covered in scars, some newer than others. Malshuom didn't appreciate the smug smirk he had on.  "Jrem dersh Kokotur, gewel ot ut Nacata gat! Jrush venalk, Malshuom ot… camet ulgald! (We have Kokotur, warrior of the Nacata clan! His opponent, Malshuom of… parts unknown!)" The crowd roared in favor of Kokotur, while they pondered who Malshuom was. It mattered not for him, because he was determined to do this for the Elder. And Minira.  "Gewelsh, vakto jrob! (Warriors, ready yourselves!)" They did so, getting into their respective battle stances. The announcer came between them, and with a wave of the empirical flag, the tournament began. Kokotur growled as he ran forward, cocking his arm back as far as he could. Malshuom waited patiently for him to close the distance, and just as his opponent shot his fist forward, he swayed to the side then the opposite way to dodge the second swing. Malshuom spun around and brought his heel into the man's face, forcing him to stagger backwards. Using his opening, Malshuom started his flurry of punches into Kokotur's face and torso, slowly making him back up. But his punches wouldn't go unanswered; his strikes were being seriously tamed. Kokotur threw his body forward and caused Malshuom to hit early. His head was met with Kokotur's skull, and he was knocked onto his arse. The larger fighter picked up his dazed opponent, showing him to the crowd arrogantly, and dropped him onto his knee.  Malshuom cried out in pain, and Kokotur gave him a brief moment to writhe on the floor. As the man taunted him and cheered with the crowd, Malshuom decided to not hold anything back. He jumped onto his feet and jumped back, once again taking his fighting stance. Kokotur chuckled victoriously, but was silenced by Malshuom's fist driving into the side of his head. Another set of knuckles came from under his chin, an audible cracking noise echoing in the perimeter. Before he could get dropped onto his back, Malshuom slipped behind him and kicked him back up with his knee, then slammed him into the floor with his fist.  It was Kokotur's turn to cry out. The crowd was silenced as they saw him writhing on the floor, his spine and jaw nearly being shattered. Malshuom stood over him and pulled his fist back, glaring at his opponent for one moment. He could see the pain Kokotur was going through, and a sliver of pity made his arm ease up slightly. But the floored opponent used it against him. His leg shot out to the side and tripped up Malshuom. Kokotur rolled onto his stomach and got onto his feet once again, turning to face his smaller adversary. He kicked Malshuom's head, causing him to start bleeding from his nose. The crowd roared to life at the sight of their warrior back up, and even more so at the sight of blood. With a sly grin, Kokotur grabbed Malshuom by the legs and swung him over his head and into the stone floor.  He spun him around violently and tossed him across the arena. Malshuom bounced a few times before coming to a stop at the edge of the platform.  I was foolish to hold pity for him He could hear his opponent running up from behind, and Malshuom acted quickly. In one swift motion he jumped to his feet, did a backflip to send himself in motion, grabbed onto Kokotur's head, and slam it down onto his waiting knee. Several cracks resonated from his back and neck, and the crowd fell silent from the lack of motion coming from either fighter. The next movement made them gasp; Kokotur's arms fell to the side and his body relaxed in his state of death. Malshuom pushed his body to the side and stood up to face the crowd. They were silent as their minds processed what just took place in front of them.  One by one, the people started cheering and whistling until the entire stadium was roaring his name. Malshuom looked to where the Elder sat with the other tribe leaders, and the Emperor. With a small nod, Malshuom made his way back into the stadium halls to rest for the day. As he passed the other waiting warriors he glanced at the screen replaying his kill. The warriors each nodded in respect to him, commending him for taking down such a fierce fighter. It wasn't very challenging for him, since he had been holding back to conserve his power. He walked into the familiar room that would house him until the end of the week, and standing with a small smile was the Elder. "A fine kill if you ask me," the Elder said. His smile faded as he walked up to the warrior and inspected his few cuts from the stone. "Do not hold back Malshuom, we must finish this tournament as soon as we can." Malshuom chuckled a bit ashamedly and nodded. "Yes Elder, I did not realize he was as strong as he was."  "Even so, you must fight these men with all your power, or mistakes will be made," he warned. "Now come, we must clean you for your next fight." Malshuom left to clean his minor wounds, but the Elder decided to wait for him instead of following. With a deep breath, he sat down on his provided mattress and crossed his legs. His breathing slowed to the point where someone could mistake him for falling asleep, had he not left his palms flat. Slowly, his body was covered in a greenish aura. The power was accumulated from millions of years of waiting and traveling. His memories were now a mix of his own, and of the Doshu'um. With Minira's own hand guiding him, he reached out with his mind to the farthest it could go. The Doshu'um had grown, and his power was now easier to reach. It was suppressed, but Minira allowed him to feel the full extent of it. The first time he felt it, he was actually very frightened by the sudden change in energy. Now, he was just as amazed but less weary of the man's power. Malshuom was 30 cycles, and he was a very powerful warrior, but the Doshu'um was only 24 cycles and his power outmatched the sum of every being on Loki'ir.  He chuckled silently as he thought how Malshuom would react to the truth about himself and their village. There was a reason Minira told him to seek out these particular people. Of course he brought along any others with the people he needed, which explained why their village numbered in the hundred and half area. But when Malshuom discovered the truth, he would only support him even more, as would the rest of the planet.  Another chuckle escaped him as he witnessed what Reku'un was looking at, which was a very drunk and loopy mare. Even with the happiness he could feel a shred of hesitance and confusion, but he trusted in Minira's guidance for events around the man. He was glad everything had turned out alright, but he wished the Doshu'um well. Not because he was worried, nor because of his current lost emotions. It was because of what Minira showed him a night ago. He could still see the bodies piling up. Arthanian, pony, Nera'ak, and griffon alike. But in the end, peace will have been restored, and harmony would prosper once more. But peace has a cost, and Reku'un was willing to do what was necessary.