The Runaway: Journey to Tambelon

In a small village that lay just near a river, several miles from a lush forest, and resting just outside the gates of the King’s castle, there lived a dragon. Not a large, stupid, greedy dragon, rather he was a small dragon, kind and intelligent, if not a bit naive. This particular dragon was a boy who would share in a grand adventure.

The story begins in the land of Arcania, the homestead of gargoyles and centaurs. What are they? I suppose that some description is needed for those who have little knowledge of these creatures.

Gargoyles, rarities in Equestria and strangers to the griffons and changelings, were a race of hairy creatures. Some stupid folk like the long extinct human or the mostly brain-dead jackal might mistake them for overgrown monkeys, but monkeys they were not. The males were covered in light brown hair, save for their hands and feet, and they had thick brown hair around their faces and necks, forming something between a beard and a lion's mane.

All gargoyles, without a single exception, had long snouts, large, powerful batwings, deep yellow eyes, and tails with bushy ends. They were likely to eat anything, and had strong, sharp teeth, which were good for ripping apart meat like pork and beef.

The males, at least the ones that shared in the love of eating, were all healthily bulky. Strong in voice, laugh, and body, they tended to avoid philosophical or stationary jobs, as they were natural workers through and through. Not to say they were poor or even uneducated. Most gargoyles lived comfortably in a good-sized home, lacking any major debt.

Female gargoyles were mostly slender, despite their appetites rivaling that of their male counterparts, and lacked body hair and manes. Instead, they had long flowing brown hair and had smaller, more graceful looking wings. They were cleverer than the males of their kind, though rarely used that wit unless needed. They were lovely creatures, though people like you and I could not see it. If placed next to a mare, the loveliest mare in the world at that, a love-struck dragon would have trouble choosing between her and an average looking gargoyle. They were also slow to show any emotion that was negative. Female gargoyles are the most natural of natural mothers, and can keep calm in most any circumstance, knowing just how firm a hand to use when a child of any age misbehaved.

Centaurs were the brethren of the gargoyles. They were half-horse and half-human, if they could be called that. If I were to brand them with my own description, I would say they were half-horse, restricted to the lower half I might add, five-twelfth minotaur, the upper torso of the minitur, and maybe one-twelfth human, but even this is being generous. The only human part of them were their arms and hands, and if that were all it took to be half-human, then almost half the species in the world were half-human.

Centaurs had natural white hair, black eyes with yellow pupils and sharp teeth. Growing from their heads were two horns that allowed them to harness their inner potential, or mana, to cast spells. Most centaurs were gifted in magic, and able to learn any subject from science to literature with ease. They held high positions of power in the government; however, the King and his Queen Consort were both gargoyles.

Most males had gangly upper bodies, and were not as built as gargoyles. They were a mostly meek lot with soft hands. Good with a pencil, but not with a hammer. If it were not for their strong lower horse halves, and their magical prowess, they would be dreadfully weak.

Their female counterparts were not so different. In shape, but not unattractively so, a bit shorter than males, and powerful in both magic and mind. Unlike their male counterparts and gargoyle sisters, they were playfully mischievous. Only draconequi could come close to their love of pranks and crude jokes, and they rarely apologized for them. They had strong wills, and rarely compromised without some altercation. If an impasse was reached with one of these creatures, fighting was the only way to solve it, and the average centaur girl loved to fight, almost as much as she loved to eat. In fact, anyone refusing to hit a provoking centaur was rude, ruder than they could ever be striking her. They were also more active in the night. While it would take quite a bit of patience and charm to steal a kiss from a female gargoyle, female centaurs tended to get right to the point. If they wanted a man, they would do away with ceremony and take him wherever and whenever they could. Most centaur maidens knew whom they would marry in the first two weeks of knowing their mate, short time for most, but not them. However, they did not mind the wait for marriage, so long was their wedding night could come early.

While it was standard that races keep to their own kind when courting, it was not uncommon that these two mingled. After all, what powerful gargoyle would refuse someone that shared his strength? What strong centaur could help but love someone willing to challenge her, or in rare cases stick up for her, instead of hiding behind books and philosophy? What scholar or mage dared to turn away from the gentle features of a hovering gargoyle that had a new way viewing life and a giggle that turned their higher minds to that of a drunkard? What kind creature couldn’t see herself marrying someone with a mind for the arts and wonders, breaking from the norm of a body of muscle and not much else?

To surmise, the kingdom was mixed and matched. Aside from the nobles’ houses built of stone, wooden homes with tiled roofs, polished wood floors, and paneled walls filled the side of the streets of the kingdom, each with an immeasurable amount of windows as the two species loved to look at the stars from a nice warm spot, normally in front of a fire. They enjoyed large meals throughout the day, sometimes opting to have a meal twice if they could. No race appreciated food as these two did, and to hear different was to hear a lie.

Then there were the dragons. No, there were no packs of dragons, nor were there any draconian tribes, which were smaller dragons that lacked wings and walked about like gargoyles, or humans if you’re more familiar with the extinct race. There were but two dragons that lived in Arcania. These two were mother and son. The son was the boy whom we talked about earlier. He was a small child, with a scaly purple hide and green spines that lined from the top of his head to almost the tip of his tail. As fate would have it, there was only one chance for him not to go on his adventure, and it was but a small decision between leaving and staying. However, that decision was not his to make. The decision was his mother's.

Spike stood in the entryway of his uncle’s home, trying to keep himself from bursting into tears. For the past day, his mother had been running about packing things away, and preparing a bag for herself along with very familiar clothes. Spike knew what was happening. His mother was leaving again. If it was anything like the last few times, it was probably because his father, a gargoyle named Scorpan, needed her to run an errand. It was nothing new. His mother constantly left to run errands for his father, but something felt different this time.

His mother was dressed in the same heavy robes, and the same two worn boots. On her back was the same sheath that housed a short sword that she constantly kept out of his reach no matter how long he held his breath, and she had the same bag on her back. She even brought him to his uncle’s, where he normally stayed when she left. Despite her normal attire, and her calmness as she talked with his uncle, there was something in her voice that told him she wasn’t coming home this time.

“Do you need to go?” Spike asked, grabbing his mother’s claw as she walked towards the door. He squeezed her claw as hard as he could as he tried to keep her from taking another step, but all his efforts proved meaningless as she easily pulled away. The little whelp kept telling himself the same thing that she’d said to him earlier. Before he knew it, his mother would be back to tuck him in, read him a story, and sing him a soft lullaby before he went to sleep, like the dozens of other times she left. Her words did nothing to rid him of the growing tears in his eyes. His mother, a light pink dragon with light green spines and kind emerald eyes, turned to her son and knelt, cupping his pudgy cheeks.

“Spike, sweetie, you don’t need to worry. Mommy’s going to be right back,” She said with a sharp breath.

“But can’t you… can’t dad just have someone else go? Why does it need to be you?”

“Because papa needs someone he can trust. I know how it is. It’s always scary when mommy leaves, but you don’t have to worry, your uncle is going to take good care of you until I get back. Just promise me that you’ll be on your best behavior, okay?”

Spike gave his mother a nod as he gripped the sleeves of her robes.

Forcing a smile, she wiped the forming tears in her son’s eyes. She looked towards the brooding centaur who waited behind her son. He had sickly greyish-red skin and a scowl that was considered friendly to anyone that knew him. The rest of his body was concealed in a cloak, and he did nothing but give her a pitiful look. Pulling Spike into her embrace so that the side of his head rested against hers, she mouthed something to the centaur.

“Spike,” She whispered, as she felt his body begin to tremble, “I love you so much. Never forget that.” Fighting back tears of her own, she gave her son one last kiss on his forehead before turning to leave once again.

With bated breaths, Spike tried to move forward and grab his mother, but his uncle's red claw reached out and grabbed his shoulder. Spike tried to pull away, but the centaur got his hands under his nephew’s arms and lifted him up, pulling him into to his chest. Spike’s mind started to race. Maybe if he called out to her or said he wasn’t feeling good, she would realize that she didn’t need to leave him; his father would understand, and if he didn’t, then his grandmother and uncle could help him understand.

Spike reached out his arms and tried to call his mother's name, but all he could do was cry. Perhaps crying was the better response. No matter the reason, his mother always came to him when he cried. Today was the first time she didn’t. Despite his struggles, his waving arms, and his desperate sobs, his mother continued to walk away.

The door to the house closed, and his mother vanished.

“Dry your eyes, child,” his uncle said with a cracked voice, his hold on Spike tightening, “she’s coming back.”

That was the first lie Tirek ever told Spike.