//------------------------------// // IX // Story: We Are Born From The Mist // by NeverEatTheLemonsAlone //------------------------------// Throb Throb Throb Hurricane groaned, her gummed-up eyes slowly forcing themselves open. The world in front of her, though, was so fuzzy that she couldn’t make out a thing. A few blobs of grey in front of her, on a field of bluish-grey. They seemed to phase in and out of existence, blending in with the wall. A groan escaped her lips as she blinked a few times. The world staunchly refused for quite a while, but several slow blinks later, the scene in front of her snapped into some semblance of focus. Snatches of a low conversation filtered into her confused ears. …We…just…that would… If she gets the chance, she’ll…us… Would both of you be quiet? She’s coming to!” In front of her stood a group of three ialtaeg, wings flared and slitted eyes glinting angrily. The one in the center, a mare with the usual charcoal-grey coat and a periwinkle mane and tail, stepped forwards. She spoke in a rough, authoritative voice. “Alright, you. What’s the Nimbus Ring doing this far from Equestria?” Hurricane struggled to speak, her mouth dry as chalk. Her words came out as a low, harsh rasp: “Going north.” The ialtag’s eye narrowed. “Don’t play games with me, featherhead. You know that’s not what I meant. Now tell me,” she stomped over, a drawing a vicious-looking, exotic sword from a sheath on her back, the sickle-like blade gleaming dully in the dim light, “where the Ring is going!” Stumbling to her feet, Hurricane looked her in the eyes. “The only thing I know about it is that it’s headed north.” She tested her wings, quickly finding that they were bound to her sides with strong rope. The pony in front of her snorted. “Yeah, right. We know who you are, and we knew you were coming. A scout saw you a little more than a week ago, flying just above the trees. The Ring passed about a week before that. We’re not stupid, Hurricane, and we know that pegasi post rear guards a long way behind. Now tell me where it’s going!” Hurricane kept her icy eyes locked on the ialtag’s yellow pair, boring into them. The voice she spoke in belied her weak, unsteady stance; it was strong, unafraid, and above all, ready. “Again, I don’t know. One of the Valkyries killed the King and stole it. I’m not following it, I’m chasing it. She’s heading north for a reason, and I want to know what it is.” With a growl, the blade was raised, the glowing eyes cold and merciless. “Fine, have it your way. You brought this upon yourself.” With a flash, the steel began to descend, describing a deadly arc through the air. Hurricane made to throw herself sideways but fell, an unseen, malevolent rock tripping her in midstride. She gritted her teeth as the razor-keen edge neared her hind legs, and her eyes screwed themselves shut. Please, let it be over quickly. No pain was forthcoming, and she dared to crack her eyes open. Another of the ialtaeg in front of her, this time a huge, muscular stallion, had stepped in the path of the murderous blade, catching it seemingly effortlessly on the head of a jagged flanged mace. He had a rough, deep voice with some kind of unidentifiable accent. “Calm yourself, Moondark. We’ll never get any information from her if she’s bleeding out on the stone.” The mare, now properly named Moondark, growled in irritation. “Back off, Gloom. It’s obvious that she’s not going to tell us what she knows, not to mention that she nearly killed Dusk with her spear! You cannot tell me that you aren’t angry!” Gloom’s face contorted as he growled at her. “Of course I’m angry. I’m furious. But killing her would be moronic. I know you’re headstrong, but by Saros, at least show some kind of common sense.” After a brief moment, Moondark slammed her sword back into the sheath in a swift, aggressive motion, stalking out into a different room. Wait, room? Coughing, Hurricane raised her head to Gloom. “Um…Gloom, was it? Where am I?” He turned to her, glaring. His voice dropped to barely more than a whisper, one that contained unspeakable malice. “I may have saved your life, but that does not make us friends or allies. I still despise you, but you’re more useful alive than dead. You do not ask the questions. We do.” She wilted under his unnatural eyes, looking anywhere but there. Her gaze fell upon the third ialtag, another mare. Like all bat ponies, she had dark charcoal grey fur, but her mane and tail were a dead black, darker than the deepest night. The strangest thing, though, was her eyes. Unlike almost any other ialtag Hurricane had ever seen, her eyes were a brilliant leaf green instead of bright, glowing yellow. Those green eyes caught Hurricane’s own, locking their gazes together. They held eye contact for more than a minute before the ialtag broke off, turning to Gloom. “Gloom, you should go make sure we weren’t followed. Also, if you could stop Moon from doing something excessively moronic, it would be appreciated.” Gloom glared suspiciously at her for a moment before slowly turning and making his way ponderously out of the cave. Glancing furtively about, the unnamed ialtag trotted quickly over to her and, strangely enough, grinned, flicking out a small knife and slashing the ropes from Hurricane’s wings. “Hurricane? Commander Hurricane? By Saros, it’s been a long time.” Hurricane’s brows furrowed in confusion, her fuzzy mind struggling to make some sort of connection. “Do I…know you?” The pony before her grinned even wider. “Wow, it really has been a while, hasn’t it? C’mon, you fought alongside me in the third Tribal war!” The furrowed brow deepened, and she lifted a hoof to press it to her temple, closing her eyes. It was almost there…on the tip of her tongue… Her eyes snapped open, her mouth following suit moments afterward. “…Star?” The ialtag saluted, the cheeky grin still shining on her face. “Starlight Armour, reporting for active duty, ma’am!” There was a clatter of stone and Star paled, her smile freezing on her face and her gaze sliding past Hurricane and to the entrance. Turning slowly, the pegasus gulped at the laser-guided stares of Moondark and Gloom, the stallion stepping forward, his face grim. “And what, pray tell, are you doing, Star?”