For: QL Finals Round One.
Prompts: 'The crownless again shall be king' — J.R.R Tolkien, Game, 'Is that too much too ask?'
Bane was not always bitter, he did not always hate and resent humans with every fibre of his being. Once upon a time, he was young, a little naive, a little idealistic. He was the Prince of the Herd, son of the great leader. Once upon a time, Bane was a dreamer. He was little more than a child when he realised the truth.
Bane was nestled next to his mother in the woods when the shouts started. Shouting, screaming, and pleas for help tormented his sensitive ears. Startled, he looked to his mother, wide eyed and scared. What was going on?
One hissed word from his mother would change his world forever.
Humans.
Stories had been told about herds who had been driven out of their homes by humans who wanted to cultivate the land, but Bane had never believed it. Why couldn't humans find their own land, land that wasn't occupied? Surely they weren't so selfish as to steal the homes of centaurs? At the time, Bane's mother had looked at him sadly, and shook her head. He didn't understand until now that he had been viewing the world through rose coloured glasses. It wasn't until later, when his optimistic idealism lay shattered in tiny, sharp shards on the ground, crushed underneath his hooves, that he realised humans were not what he thought they were.
Bane still had a little faith left, maybe if someone explained to the humans that this was centaur land, and always had been, they would peacefully leave? He trotted behind his mother cautiously as they crept forward to see what was happening. He reared up on his hind legs in shock when the first arrow whistled past his ear, missing him by an inch.
Bane's mother was not so lucky. Her body collapsed forward as she cried out in pain as the arrow pierced her torso. Her flawlessly dark coat was turned burgundy by the drip—drip—drip of blood which oozed out of her gaping wound. Bane watched in horror, the image of his proud, majestic, regal mother brought to her knees by humans was forever seared into his brain.
Crack.
The rose coloured glasses that obscured Bane's vision from the truth and were already bent, and a little bit broken, began to crack. The pale red glass had a jagged line through it, impairing Bane's old way of seeing, forcing him to catch a glimpse of reality. It forced him to watch his mother die before his eyes.
Shock began to take over as Bane fell to his knees beside his mother. His body was shaking as his clear tears drip—drip—dripped down his youthful face, mingling with the burgundy that would forever stain the ground. Bane could see the life draining out of his mother; he could still hear the malicious shouts of glee from the humans. He could still hear the cries of the centaurs who had survived the slaughter, he could hear them do what no centaur ever did, beg. Beg not for their lives, they were too proud for that, but for the lives of their loved ones, the lives of their children. He could hear the thud of their bodies as one by one they fell like dominoes without no one around to save them.
Crack.
The crack in the glass widened. The left lens began to shatter, piece by broken piece fell to groud, breaking into shards so small it was impossible to tell whether they were there or not.
Bane's mother had lost nearly all of her glossy colour, her body sagged with an age that had never been present before. Emotions welled up inside Bane. Grief washed over him, black as the starless night sky. Anger burned him, red as the burgandy bloody that dripped out of his mothers body. Saddness drowned him, blue as the bluest ocean.
Bane roared, a sound so full of pain and anguish that it would break even the hardest of hearts. It was then, as his mother lay dying a humiliating death, that his naive idealism was fully shattered. It was then that the cracks in the rose coloured glasses became so irreparable that they broke into into a thousand pieces. It was then that Bane lost all faith in the human race.
Hands shackled behind his torso, collar placed around his neck. Bane was crownlesss, his freedom taken from him and his pride badly damaged. He thrashed in his restraints, yelling to be released. He was only young, but he was proud, and indignant.
"Is it too much to ask that I get treated with dignity and respect instead of being tied up like a common mule?" Bane spat at the feet of his captors, who raised their bows higher so they were aimed at his face.
"Watch what you say," one of the men growled, "you're only alive by the grace of the chief. I wouldn't complain if I were you."
Bane growled, but knew not to press it any further. One day, when he was bigger and more powerful, he would make them pay. But until that day came, Bane had to stay alive.
The years went on, Bane was used as a pet for the chiefs son. He was forced to endure humiliating games where Bane was treated like a common mule. How dare these humans muzzle him? How dare they tie him to a tree and aim the same arrows at him that they once aimed at his mother? How dare these humans not respect him, for Bane was a centaur, and he was mightier then all of these humans combined.
As bane's dignity was slowly being crushed, his anger grew. Everytime that child was lifted onto his back, onto the saddle that had been placed there, Bane's dignity was hit. First a little scratch, then a crack, then the crack widened and more formed until all that was left of his pride and dignity lay shattered on the ground, being crushed underneath the heavy, destructive steps of the humans. His dignity was his crown, and his crown was no more.
Bane's anger intensified. It simmered just underneath the surface, enough was seen in the way he vehemently glared at his captors. His glares held a promise. A promise that said one day he will regain his crown, and when that they happens he will crush them as easily as one crushes an ant. Bane snarled through his muzzle. He would get his revenge if it was the last thing he did.
Eventually, Bane's day came. The majority of the village was out on a hunting trip, save the women, children and a few armes guards. It was time.
The child was brought out and placed on his back as he was everyday, no one suspected that this would be the last.
Bane chewed carefully, he could feel the muzzle weaken and begin to snap. When he was carying the child, he had no other bonds except for the muzzle, and sometimes a saddle as he had long ago rid himself of the rope around his wrists.
Bane trotted as he always did, no one notices the dark look in his eyes or the way his body simmered with rage. No one suspected that years of pent up anger and humilation would lead to this moment.
The arrow wielders were slack, and little more than boys who were too old to be children but not old enough to be adults. Bane had watched them practice before, and he knew they possesed none of their skill or accuracy of the men. A triumphant grin made its way to Bane's face. Today was the day he would regain his crown and freedom, and take revenge on those that tried to break him.
Anger took over and Bane reared up on his hind legs, the child screamed and held onto his mane. The terror in the scream sent a rush through Bane that he had never experienced before. He loved it. Bane galloped, he reared up and shook himself. He wanted the boy to experience as much terror as possible before Bane threw him off.
The sound of the human screaming thrilled him, because it was the same sound that his herd made before they died, except this time it was coming from a human. Not just any human either, but the son of the man who ordered the attack. Bane smiled twistedly, this was revenge at its finest.
The child's screams attracted the guards, whose aim was so pathetic it was laughable. Bane snarled manically, enjoying the fear on their faces as they ran back to their mothers'. Cries for mercy echoed through the air, but Bane ignored them just as they had ignored the cries of his people.
Bane yelled triumphantly as the boy was thrown off his back. He could have easily picked him up with his hands and thrown him, but this was much more satisfying. The boy landed with a sickening crunch. His neck bent at an odd angle. He was dead. Bane stood proudly over the boy and faced the crowd. He smirked.
'All I asked for was to be treated with respect, for I am not a common horse. It was not an unreasonable offer. Instead, you turned me into a pet. A pack mule. You taunted me, slaughtered my people, and restrained me. Now you have payed the price. You played a game with me, but I am Bane, and I never lose.'
There was silence as his words sunk in. Bane's haunting, dark eyes intensly stared at every member of the crowd. He had won. He was free.