Dum dee dum in light of recent events I've decided to formulate a tale for you all. ~*~ Your fist meets the table. Wood under your knuckles. Pain lashes up your arm, a distraction. You set your jaw. Grit your teeth, refuse to let the wiring of your ramrod straight posture fail. He stands in front of you, looming, a grim line settled in the middle of his weathered face. It seems so long ago, the faded memories of smooth cheeked youth. You can't stand him. "What happened to glory? Pride? Loyalty?" Your voice cracks a little at the end. "You are a fool." He spits back, eyes narrowed. The jewels on his fingers glitter maliciously. His perfect, kingly composure falters. "You are a fool to ever believe. Lies! All lies. And yet you, the ever faithful puppet, believed. From your heart of hearts, you must've know. You must've known this is the only path we could have taken! This is the only way." He is ready to fight, arms tensing, hackles raised. "I never...it can't be!" You cry, jumping up, upsetting the cutlery. Here you are, cowering in the darkness. Rats. That's what you are. Devoid of your once fearsome courage. "Do you see us, brother? Do you see what we've become?" You stride to the curtain, illuminated by candles dripping wax unto the table. The cloth is rough in your hands as you rip it away, roaring savagely. Your kingdom, in shambles, lies beneath your feet. Your sibling's voice is quiet, but his footsteps boom. "Brother. This is of your making." He rumbles, and your heart cries out. The fire reflects in his eyes, and you can barely stand to look away. This is the end. "No! I never wanted this. I never- I never expected father-" you choke. You watch the war rage. Your forces, small, meek, your fallen comrades. The enemy, boisterous, even seeming to— to enjoy the pain. Relish death. Truly inescapable; monstrous.Your small world crumbles around you, poets and craftsmen and thespians dead at the hilt of a sword. "These people. They are unfit for war. Surely he must realize—" "You overestimate him." He scoffs, and lays a huge hand on your shoulder. "He must! I must somehow—" "It is fruitless. You must escape, small one." "I—" "Now!" He orders, grabbing you by the collar. You struggle, but you are a mere kitten, while he is the great lion. "I hate you!" You shriek, vengeful tears streaming out of your eyes. You cannot be a coward now, not now, the sanctity of your pride hangs in the balance. These are your people. You will not abandon them. He must understand this, he must know that you would rather die in battle than flee, flee like the coward you've become. You open your mouth to say this but find not the words. An incomprehensible garble spews from your lips. You watch the daylight fade, and know they will all be gone soon. Even the mighty lion above you. What hope do you have? You have never felt more miserably useless. You curse, loud and angrily. The tapestry along the wall, your phoenix, flutters as you pass, it's image seared into your mind's eye. "They will all perish! You will not be damned to the same fate, worm!" Your brother bellows, and your head knocks against the same abused table, purposefully. The room spins, and you hang limply in his grasp. He tosses you to the guard. She is the one who takes you, on the back of a thundering steed. "They are simply collateral damage, sir. Simply collateral damage." She mutters under the clink of her armor, and the resounding cries of battle, which fade into the distance. ~*~ Bluh bluh might even continue this epic I made up on the spot. But then again it's kind of terrible. Oh well. TL;DR:bull honkey.
You awake in a foreign country. You know this, know it in your heart, the air smells different. Like brine and sweat and spice and commonwealth. Your guardian grunts as you come to. She is a strong soldier, proven both in battle and among her comrades. "Mother." You say, feeling slightly lightheaded. "Ah. You're awake, Titus." She says, back still to you. "Where am I?" "Venetuium." A sea away. Figures. You remember it's a costal city. Venetins are well suited for sea ventures. "The kingdom?" "Elysium has fallen." She replies, quietly. "Who is—" You do not dare hope for Brother. "Queen Regina. Only queen Regina." You wince. Father, and Brother. The heir and the ruler. You suppose he was right, in the end. Peptratious was always too strong a nation. You know father feared them. Justifiably. Your hands tighten. The straw beneath your back is warm. Light filters through the rafters high in the storage room. Life continues. You turn your face into your sleeve. Your shirt is rough; you never wore the silk Brother does, nor the furs Father fancied. You guess you never will. It was Brother who dreamed of being king. It's not like you could've, had you tried. "Where is the queen?" "I do not know. The royal guard must have taken her to the countryside. The wharf is no place for a queen." She says, lacking her usual bitterness. Mother has always despised the king. She has always despised you, as an extension. "What shall we do, mother?" "It is likely we shall separate, boy." Her shoulders tense. Her armor is gone, allowing the view of her strong shoulders. It is often said she is more man than woman. "Aye." You reply, feeling hollow. You figured as much. You would be a burden on her. "You must find work on your own, boy, you are too old; have been to spoilt." She continues, still not moving. You ignore the strain in her voice. "Perhaps I shall wander." You reply, sitting up. You wonder how long you have slept. How long she's taken care of you. You touch the clumsy bandaging on your forehead. More than she has her entire existence, not counting your stay within her belly. You ache for your caretaker. Delina the milkmaid, her kind eyes and precise, calloused hands. You assume she is also dead. You are nothing. All of the books you've read, a History of Elysium, the Hero and the Fire Bird, Mage Spells, Deciphering the indecipherable, are nothing. Your broad knowledge, the understanding of the Close Star, Orbit Rocks, Flaming Dots, the Nothingness, all of them—none will put food in your belly. Your stomach twists painfully. You dare not ask, and simply wait, with baited breath. "With any luck the Queen will request my services." She continues, and turns around. What attracted father to her, was her face. It is not because she is beautiful, however. Had she been a maiden she would be known for her utter plainness; yet, you suppose, your father never sought beauty. He was maniacal about war, battle, strategy, and no woman could ever compare Sir Tybalt. She'd never been properly given a title, and indeed she does not care. Your mother has and always will be a warrior, it is in her face, the scar marring her mouth, it's counterpart slash across her forehead, which you remember being shocked at. "What? This?" She'd said, after arriving home from an especially brutal battle in the war of Havenshire. She gave a hearty laugh. You were but a wee sapling, then. "Tis but a scratch, boy. My enemy is in a much worse state." She gave you a boorish grin, and that was that. She tosses you a piece of torchunder, bark from a tree native to Venetuium. It is rather notorious for the obnoxious odor it gives off. Usually, it is only eaten by slaves, or commoners. You suppose you are one of the two, and bite into it, wincing a little. It is somewhat like the hide of vaccaurom, a herbivore from Elysium. However, dried vaccaurom is not the color of the sun, such is torchunder. "This is my last service to you, Titus." Your mother says, standing to her full height. She is dressed as a man, hair cut close to her skull, rough tunic and bleached trousers, customary of sea travelers. No doubt she'd pawned her armor and anything off of you for the sack of coins she then deposits in your lap. "There is a shop of trinkets not far from the bay, the old man is kind. I have visited once, during the Belagrian dispute. Put you to mind, boy." Her eyes soften for a split second, and she turns on her heels, cow leather boots dusty against hay. "Goodbye, mother." You say, ever so softly, and fall back unto the hay, surrounded by crates. Crates...and nothing else, picturing your mother's back, unsure about everything else. ~*~ The lack of coherency is depressing. I've also added some animals, and countries. While still keeping rl animals. What is consistency. Help.
I like this. Some grammar mistakes (mostly for dialogue) but it's really interesting and unique. Continue. I love this point of view.