Klitch had escaped Salamandastron and was making his way southward. It was
dark and he had no idea where he was going. But being the arrogant creature
he was he didn't admit it and reassured himself he was on the right track.
He had been only a whelp when his father had lead his Corpsemakers from the Southlands in search for conquest. Klitch hadn't been home in seasons. So long he could barely remember what his home was like. Klitch thought it must be something grand like a castle fit for only the greatest of warlords.
Klitch wondered if his mother would recognize him after so many seasons past. He was a few seasons away from maturity and he been but a babe when his father had taken him away with him. Maybe she was dead, he thought, or had taken a new mate.
Klitch wondered if he would find a mate when he got there or maybe he was betrothed. Such was sometimes a custom for the son of a warlord. Klitch hoped not for he wanted too choose his own female. Not that all the females wouldn't be all over him. He was quite the handsome beast like his father had been.
Maybe he would two or three mates.
One such as him could never have enough females to fawn over him. Like his father had once told him, his father having many mates but his mother being his favorite. Maybe Klitch would find that special female in his life. Not that his mother had been the right one for father who barely noticed her existence just like the way he treated every other female. Maybe he had loved her but never showed it.
Maybe he had loved Klitch but he had never showed that either. Maybe deep down Klitch loved him back but being so much like him, had never told him. Warlords never expressed their emotions whether it was to their wife or son and daughter. It was thought to be a sign of weakness.
Maybe when Klitch became a warlord he would be cold and unfeeling. Showing only hate and spite and contempt. But then again, Klitch had always been to free spirited to feel nothing and was a rebellious creature. Klitch decided when he became warlord of the Southlands he would make his own rules.
Maybe he was too late and somebeast had already taken his place. Klitch swore whomever beast that dared to claim his place, as tyrant would die a slow and painful death at his paws. Klitch what was to do when became as such. Would he rule the Southlands with an iron paw or seek conquest and leave to take over other lands like his father had.
Heh, his father.
Look what had happened to him.
Defeated by a mere stripehound and his bunch of pet rabbits. Klitch swore that nobeast would ever stop him for conquering what he wished too. His father had always been a fool anyway. He had been too old and senile and should of given Klitch leadership of the horde. If that had been so they would have been ruling Salamandastron to this day.
But no, his pride had always been too strong to give into his wet-behind- the-ears pup of a son to given him command.
Hah, look what it had gotten him.
Klitch hoped he was cursing Klitch's name in Hellgates. He hated his father so. He had never good enough for him. So hard he had tried to make him proud of him. He had pushed Klitch to rebel against him. Klitch sometimes thought he had preferred it that way. If had just been a father to him, once just once, Klitch would of been happy.
But no, Klitch promised he would do that his son no matter how much a disappointment he turned out to be. And there would be no other warlord like Klitch would be.
Never.
He would show his father of what he was able. He would the greatest warlord of all time. His childish fantasies would be become a reality. Pity on whoever stupidbeast tried to stop him.
Klitch clenched his paw and set off determinedly in the direction of what he hoped was south.
He had been only a whelp when his father had lead his Corpsemakers from the Southlands in search for conquest. Klitch hadn't been home in seasons. So long he could barely remember what his home was like. Klitch thought it must be something grand like a castle fit for only the greatest of warlords.
Klitch wondered if his mother would recognize him after so many seasons past. He was a few seasons away from maturity and he been but a babe when his father had taken him away with him. Maybe she was dead, he thought, or had taken a new mate.
Klitch wondered if he would find a mate when he got there or maybe he was betrothed. Such was sometimes a custom for the son of a warlord. Klitch hoped not for he wanted too choose his own female. Not that all the females wouldn't be all over him. He was quite the handsome beast like his father had been.
Maybe he would two or three mates.
One such as him could never have enough females to fawn over him. Like his father had once told him, his father having many mates but his mother being his favorite. Maybe Klitch would find that special female in his life. Not that his mother had been the right one for father who barely noticed her existence just like the way he treated every other female. Maybe he had loved her but never showed it.
Maybe he had loved Klitch but he had never showed that either. Maybe deep down Klitch loved him back but being so much like him, had never told him. Warlords never expressed their emotions whether it was to their wife or son and daughter. It was thought to be a sign of weakness.
Maybe when Klitch became a warlord he would be cold and unfeeling. Showing only hate and spite and contempt. But then again, Klitch had always been to free spirited to feel nothing and was a rebellious creature. Klitch decided when he became warlord of the Southlands he would make his own rules.
Maybe he was too late and somebeast had already taken his place. Klitch swore whomever beast that dared to claim his place, as tyrant would die a slow and painful death at his paws. Klitch what was to do when became as such. Would he rule the Southlands with an iron paw or seek conquest and leave to take over other lands like his father had.
Heh, his father.
Look what had happened to him.
Defeated by a mere stripehound and his bunch of pet rabbits. Klitch swore that nobeast would ever stop him for conquering what he wished too. His father had always been a fool anyway. He had been too old and senile and should of given Klitch leadership of the horde. If that had been so they would have been ruling Salamandastron to this day.
But no, his pride had always been too strong to give into his wet-behind- the-ears pup of a son to given him command.
Hah, look what it had gotten him.
Klitch hoped he was cursing Klitch's name in Hellgates. He hated his father so. He had never good enough for him. So hard he had tried to make him proud of him. He had pushed Klitch to rebel against him. Klitch sometimes thought he had preferred it that way. If had just been a father to him, once just once, Klitch would of been happy.
But no, Klitch promised he would do that his son no matter how much a disappointment he turned out to be. And there would be no other warlord like Klitch would be.
Never.
He would show his father of what he was able. He would the greatest warlord of all time. His childish fantasies would be become a reality. Pity on whoever stupidbeast tried to stop him.
Klitch clenched his paw and set off determinedly in the direction of what he hoped was south.
