Terror Puppet

by Windrunner

The Grim Tail of Valorous

'

Flowers whose names lay long forgot, dusted, broken where they lay.

Stricken wings tears cannot heal, flight forever denied to them.

Prayers unheeded in moments grasp, for no gods listen there.

Avarice of the departed come knocking, their souls caged in malice.

Scarlet and crimson in rows laid low, bloodied bows whose strings lay all in twain.

Stifled cry and hope departed, his golden shield dimmed. -

Uncounted years ago:

"Come, see the puppets play. Hear the grand story! The sad downfall of the ˈglôrēəs Faris." A pony cryer purveyed the price of admission to be discounted by the king himself for all the kingdom this one day of the year. An important story for all to know and cherish. Something not only to while the day away, but teach important lessons as well. Most of the town fillies and colts would be present as it represented a rare reprieve from the relatively difficult life endured by the those residing there. It was not a particularly prosperous or storied town, barely large enough to qualify as such. Its existence mostly justified by an abundance of blacksmiths and the machinery of metalworking which needs a great deal of space.

"Mommy, mommy, can we go see the puppet show?" The little colt asked and tugged on her foreleg, almost sounding desperate. His mother looked down at him, appearing to be weighing this question heavily. He'd never seen it before. Seeing his expression she relented.

"I..of course, dear." She smiled down at him. He practically beamed ear to ear. After this it became his favorite thing to watch the travelling show when it came to their little town. The silly jokes and odd stories of far off fantastical places a fascination. Most in jest and amusement. The way they moved and danced about the little stage as though alive. He would learn to make and use these things through long practice, swearing to himself he would do so. There was little else to occupy his time besides hard work anyway.

Each time he saw such a show he'd taken something away from it. Speaking to the performers afterward about the workings. How they were made, moved. The various tricks to be employed in their construction and motions. Soon enough his knowledge of puppetry was an equal to theirs. Perhaps more so. His life was conducted as little else but perfecting these creations of his. He took to amusing himself in his room with little plays he concocted. His storytelling was not a match for his peers, but his puppeteering second to none. Something for which he gained quite a reputation among the other fillies and colts who sometimes begged him to put on a show. One day a crashing sound came from below out in the sleepy little town.

The somewhat older colt, now almost a stallion ran outside to find his mother agape and the town in shambles as some unknown enemy assailed it. Ponies fled in droves and fires burned out of control, consuming anything unfortunate enough to be in their path. This included the residents, screaming and ablaze. Catapults sent sailing tremendous debris down atop the town, and his father nowhere to be seen. A tree hurtled by one of the catapults landed directly in the abode which he had just exited from, mostly destroying it. He went to run into the ruin. His mother grabbed him.

"What are you doing? We have to go!" She strained to stop him.

"No, no." He simply kept repeating, but she dragged him away until he finally started walking of his own accord. His prized creations were gone. The kingdom was now at war, with an enemy that didn't seem to care who got hurt. The survivors scattered every which way. A week later as they struggled to find respite and shelter they were approached by none other than one of the kings cryers. He recognized this one, the very same that announced the shows arrival so many years before.

"By decree of the king all stallions able to carry a weapon are to head for the capital immediately.. to be outfitted and armed for battle." He said this with a somber attitude and looked nearly to be tearful in the telling.

"Cryer, he is but a boy.." His mother interjected.

"I..am sorry. The king believes if we are to defend ourselves we must call upon all, and I believe him." Was all he said and galloped off.

"It's alright, mother. They've already taken everything from us. I want to fight for our kingdom. They show us no mercy and destroy everything in their path. We will all die if we don't do something. Besides, remember our laws. If I fight under the kings banner, they must take care of you." He was angry inside. Nearly seething to the point of shaking with rage at what was done to his home, but this was a practical decision. With his father gone there was no one else to help or be there for his mother. He'd never thought about it before, but suddenly having it taken away made clear just how much home actually meant. It made him feel sickly inside. They'd also destroyed his treasured puppets. They were to pay for that insult.

The horrors of war were already deeply engraved into his spirit, as his father likely did not survive their town being razed. Trampled to dust. What he did not know about war, was how long it could go on. And go on it did. On, and on. Their enemy was relentless. During his first skirmish he was very nearly killed. Somehow he survived, thereafter earning a reputation for bravery and earnest desire to defend their kingdom over the next several years. Eventually to be granted the rank of knight commander and a full suit of the very best armor reserved for such high status. The overall war however, did not go as well.

Even having learned to fight and lay plans for battle, eventually the outlying country would fall to ruin under the advance of such unyielding opponents who never once gave quarter. On this day the king himself addressed him solemnly.

"Most loyal of kindred, you have stood for my kingdom time and again. I would dare ask it of you one last time, for today it falls." He explained as those gathered gasped, but in truth they'd only been hoping for victory in vain. He raised an armored hoof. The kings armor was formidable looking, adorned here and there with crest and jewel.

"Those who would flee to seek whatever fate may amend you, go now or prepare thyself for battle and to die. I will not ask you to forsake your lives in further pursuit of a hopeless cause." He then turned and spoke solely to this unusual knight.

"You have served me well. I ask you make safe my daughters, whilst I give our enemies a lesson most earned." He'd never heard the king speak this way before. It must be true and this hammered it home. All those he had striven to protect, the kingdom itself was now just about gone in its entirety. He would do his best to protect at least someone. He saluted one last time and ran off as the king turned away. He would never see the beloved king or those who stood with him again. Overheard rumors much later suggested the king and small steadfast cadre put up such a tremendous battle the enemy army nearly sagged in facing his fury alone by the end.

As he ran to gather his mother and carry out the kings final bidding, thoughts of the many plays he'd seen as a child drifted into mind for whatever reason. One in particular. Upon the stage the puppets danced.

"We are routed and overrun. Flee this place. I will abate them substantially if I may." Said Valorous Dimfeather to his charges, the dangling strings moving him about the stage. The few remaining kings knights scattered throughout the surrounding area would fall in short order as the considerable sounds of a great battle subsided further, to be replaced by something quieter and eerie in comparison. As though some subtle chant of ill omen come calling. The remainder of the ˈglôrēəs Faris were now given to glancing furtively about, but bravely prepared to face their impending doom with all their might.

Whilst he, Valorous, pondered his own almost certain death there could be only thoughts on what might have been. What should have been.

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But that's just a little foals story..