The General and his Steed

The forms of Radahn and Selene navigate through a roaring sea of life that flows along Istanbul’s main road. This road is often a favorable traveling route beyond the city’s walls, stretching into the practically infinite expanse of the Saddle Arabian desert. Most notable, perhaps, are the sturdy tiles that form the road. They also depict the familiar visage of Taurus’s head, and the artistic likeness repeats itself, by Radahn’s count, every 100 tiles.

Tents and booths have been arranged on either side of the roadway as merchants advertise their wares and showrunners present their street performances and displays. The residents of nearby homes watch in awe and enjoy the activities from their balconies.

As Selene flags down a saddle arabian guardsmare and engages with them in hushed conversation, Radahn’s ears flicker as he’s drawn to a nearby spectacle.

“Gather around! Gather around!”

Thanks to his over 10 ft. height, which drew quite a bit of attention upon his initial arrival in Istanbul, his morning walk with Selene, and now with those who stood alongside him in the crowd, Radahn’s eyes flawlessly rose above the gathering, and hones in on the source of the enthusiastically confident male voice.

“Come one; come all! There’s no need to shove! That’s it!”

A sense of awe pulsates from within Radahn’s core as he gazes upon a creature standing on a wooden stage that, while familiar, was still unique in its own right: a brown-furred, purple top-hatted and suited…baboon.

Unlike the baboons he was familiar with from the books that lined the Carian Study Hall, this one stood upright rather than being hunched over and lacked any of the chaotic features associated with the Crucible—such as horns on an animal that shouldn’t have them, out of place wings that’s also on an animal that shouldn’t have them, and other chaotically-primal traits of the like.

The baboon continues to invite the masses with hand gestures and outstretched arms, all while a white cloth conceals a large, rectangular-shaped object nearby. As the occasional gust of warm winds finally reappears and disturbs the white fabric, although not enough to completely unravel what the cloth was draped over, Radahn can make out the iron bars of a cage. As the wind dies down, the cloth conceals the cage from the outside world, practically teasing those who look on with ever-growing interest.

“Yes, yes! I see some new faces are gathered here,” the baboon says, taking off his top hat and bowing. “My name is Imfene Chacma!” He spins his hat around on his finger and sets it back on with a flourish. “And I have something extraordinary to show you all today!”

……….

Meanwhile, on ground level…

“I’ve only ever heard rumors of him…” Radahn picks up on one of the many nearby conversations, although some spoke in Arabic, which, at this time, was sadly alien to him. And those that did share his tongue had a noticeable accent, “But this is the first time I’ve ever seen THE Imfene Chacma in the flesh!”

“I hear he travels far and wide across the western continent and procures items and goods of great interest. Even live specimens!”

“I wonder what he’ll have today…”

“My cousin, who works in the royal guard, once bought himself a flying carpet from Imfene.”

“Ah! So that’s who I often see patrolling the skies of our fine city in the morning.”

A chuckle rumbles in Radahn’s chest as he flashes a vibrant grin. ‘Ah, the things one can learn from being in the right place at the right time. And you said I could never be an information gatherer, Jerren. Ahahahahah!’

……….

Back on stage…

As the audience on ground level continues to voice their wonder and curiosity, Imfene grabs his top hat, acrobatically backflips high into the air, and lands onto the veiled cage, rattling its iron physique.

“Beneath me is a wonder from the various environments of Savannah, where the primal rules of nature stand firm, unabated, and uncaring for the passage of time nor the prying eyes of civilization!”

The sales-pitching baboon stays silent, allowing his words to splash onto and be absorbed by the audience.

“Ah, but what is civilization?” He began with a raised finger. “Oh, I’m sure the brightest among us will use all manner of fancy words that boil down to: progress. Evolution, if you will. I mean—look around you!” A single arm waves across everything before his eyes, “Istanbul is a fine example of such progress.

Indeed. The uniforms of society, education in its highest form, lavish indulgences, and the convenience magic brings add a fine slice to our everyday lives. Truly, we have evolved beyond creation’s expectations.”

Whether or not this was a lecture or a cleverly-weaved sales pitch—both, even—was unclear to some. But the effect was immediate for others as they became enamored by the baboon’s words.

“But you know all those perks that such a fine civilization as Istanbul affords you? The beings of Savannah see it for what it is: layers that mask your true inner selves. And under the right circumstances, facing a primeval threat, I assure you, my friends, that you will devolve back to your primal, savage form: fighting for survival at the very cost of your ‘progress.’”

He again allows the gathering, which noticeably has become larger—as expected when one potentially deals with the great proprietor Imfene Chacma, to ponder deeply on his words. After all, nothing sells a product better than context stitched into a story.

Speaking of product…

“The ‘masks’ fall off, and the morals society demands of you are cast aside in the ultimate game of survival. Hunter and prey. That is the heart and soul of Savannah, the dancing grounds of life and death!” His dark-orange eyes venture downward, “Which brings me to today’s special,” in one fluid motion, Imfene grabs onto the cloth draped over the cage beneath him.

He then jumps off and onto the stage, removing the cloth entirely in the process and allowing the white fabric to fall gently onto the stage’s surface. What’s unveiled causes surprised gasps and words of wonder to erupt from the crowd.

Amongst the gathering, Radahn flashes a toothy grin as, there, chained, muzzled, and bound within the cage on stage, is a creature he’s all too familiar with. It is, after all, of the same beasts his old armor’s motif and the banner of the Redmanes depicted, not to mention the mighty symbol of Godfrey himself...

“Behold!” Imfene presents. “A lion cub fresh from the open plains of Savanna!”

……….

As Imfene continued, and despite the crowd going into an uproar following the baboon’s ‘starting price of 300 bits’ remark, Radahn’s sights are solely fixated on the caged feline in wonder and respect. Sure, it was just a cub, but it was still a mighty lion—the sun practically bombarding the cub’s golden fur with kisses of sunlight through the gaps of the cage bars.

His eyes are then drawn to what appears to be the lion cub’s name in faded black paint etched onto a wooden board hanging from the roof of the iron cage:

Nemean

‘Nemean, hmm?’ Radahn states internally. ‘A fine name! Still, those restraints…”

As he genuinely absorbed the entirety of the cub’s condition, his grin soon formed into a flat, unreadable expression. To Imfene’s credit, the cub looked exceptionally healthy, and no signs of physical abuse could be seen. But the cub’s fearful expression and quivering form, which continued to rattle its restraining chains as it looked out to those beyond its cage, admittedly began to tick off the Redmane General.

‘It’s absurd. Why go to such lengths for a mere cub? Poor thing is shivering in fear awfully…’

During his inner thoughts, Radahn failed to notice Imfene hurriedly running towards the back of the stage, jumping to ground level, and rummaging through a nearby wagon.

But it was when the top-hatted simian pulled away from the wagon and stepped back onto the stage that the large earth pony’s eyes widened in shocked response to what the baboon held in his arms.

“A crossbow…?” Radahn muttered, his mind piecing together a horrid implication. “N-no… He couldn’t possibly…”

……….

Imfene positions himself next to the cage, engages the crossbow’s safety mechanism, and steps on the crossbow’s cocking stirrup just before the barrel to pull back on the string. With the string pulled back and secured, he plucks off one of the two arrows held in a duo of holsters built onto the weapon for convenience and sets the arrow into and along the channel of the flight deck.

With the ranged weapon set and prepared, the purple-attired monkey looks down at a saddle arabian standing amongst those closest to the stage. “Allow me to shatter any doubts, my good sir. Nemean’s hide is, in fact,” he takes aim through the bars, Nemean’s eyes closing shut as his fearful frame braced itself for impact, “impenetrable.”

He pulls the trigger, and the arrow is loose with a resounding [KSHLINK].

“STOP!!” A deep voice roared over the crowd’s sea of voices, but the arrow flew faster than the word itself…

……….

The world practically slows down for Radahn as he can only watch the arrow fly through the bars and onward toward Nemean’s stomach region. However, he and the crowd go dead silent as, true to Imfene’s words, the arrow ricochets off the golden-furred lion cub and bounces off a few bars of the cage before eventually settling down on the cage’s hard floor.

The silence continues, save for the ongoings of the rest of Istanbul. Finally, the crowd, save for Radahn, breaks the silence in an explosion as the voices of stallions and mares cry out offers for purchase akin to an auction.

“500 bits!”

“700!”

“No! 1000!”

As the offers grew higher and higher, Radahn could only look on in wide-eyed disbelief…

That was why Nemean had no signs of physical abuse. If what had just transpired was of any indication, such abuse did happen, but it was impossible for any physical evidence to be left on Nemean’s small frame. Radahn’s heart ached for the little cub, and when the young lion dared to open his eyes and look out to the crowd again after his ‘display,’ Radahn’s heart skipped a beat as their eyes soon met.

‘Fret not, young lion… I, Radahn, will not stand for such disgrace.’

……….

‘Who…is that…?’ Nemean observed and questioned internally, his young voice raspy and pitiful—as the other lions were sure to remind him. Constantly.

‘He’s…bigger than the other equines. Wait…his eyes…’

The hands of fear suddenly gripped the young lion as the large equine’s eyes reminded him of that…monster. The one responsible for all of this.

The one who’d taken his mother away…

The one who captured him and gave him to that baboon…

That old centaur…

Sendak.

Atop one of the buildings a respectable distance away from the stage and the caged lion-cub presented upon that, a hooded figure’s green cloak is caught in the wind as they remained out of sight yet observed the event with great interest.

“Hmmm…” A dangerously sultry, feminine voice escapes from the cloaked individual. “Good job, baboon. Looks like all that talk about you wasn’t hot air after all.”

An arm rises, revealing a clawed, feline-like, four-digit hand-paw covered in orange fur that reaches into the hoodie. The thumb and index finger are pressed together, stopping just before a pointy ear canal.

“Sendak?” She asked, emitting green energy from her fingertips. “Can you hear me?”

-“Ah, Catrina. I could use some good news after that fool, Galib, decided to get himself captured.”-

“Don’t you worry about him, honey,” Catrina assured, checking over her other hand-paw’s claws, “I’ll take care of him before he sings like a delicious canary. I just thought you’d like to know that our mutual baboon friend has delivered the package.”

-“Excellent. Holding one’s child for ransom is a bit cliché but effective, nonetheless. With that, the plan is now set in motion.”-

“Yeah, gonna need the details on that one, Sendak. Why all this fuss over some stupid lion cub with,” she forms air quotes while rolling her slitted, light-green eyes, “impenetrable skin? Ooh~. So unique.”

-“That’s none of your concern. You’re an assassin—act like one, and stop asking questions. Get. The job. Done. Should you fail, my lord will find himself with a new abyssinian throw rug.”-

“Yeah, yeah.” Catrina kills the magic at her fingertips, thus ending the magical means of communication.

“Fucking asshole,” she whispered venomously.

Catrina’s ears suddenly flicker beneath her hood as a commotion presents itself from the direction of the stage, and her interest grows evermore as she spots a large earth pony floating in the air by means of magic she’d never before seen.

“Well, now,” she mused. “There’s something you don’t see every day.”

Having concluded his conversation with Catrina, Sendak’s steps echo across the cavernous walls of an undisclosed cave system within Saddle Arabia, the orange and red hue of his torch chasing away the shadows.

Allying himself with the Scourge proved to be quite beneficial, especially since the antlion-like insects forged him his own network of hideaways, each interconnected by tunnels deep beneath the Saddle Arabian desert. He could be in Istanbul one day, and Aashtethos the next, and none would be any the wiser.

“Your days are numbered, Selene.”

The elderly centaur grinned, and as he turned around a bend, his eyes, similar to Radahn’s own, rests on a doorframe made of clay and a wooden door.

“Soon, Lord Grogar will be more than happy to reunite you with your old friend, Typhon.”