Tale of Black Hopeby ObsidakazoChaptersBroken FeathersNight of HopeSolitudeBroken FeathersI could see her running. Hurrying through alleys in the darkness of night. I could not see her face beneath the cloak but I could feel her terror. She knew her pursuers were not too far behind, her husband only able to distract them for a short time before he was murdered. She was to be next. But that's not why her fear was so strong. She was terrified of not being able to save her infant. The impossible colt to be taken by a greedy aristocrat. The infant's family was too poor to care for the child. They had fallen deep into debt, a trap laid by a false philanthropist. A crass and undesirable stallion by nature, he hoped to adopt an heir unattainable by normal means. His wealth did not atone for his putrid persona. However the poor family would not accept this. As they hid from the aristocrats hired forces, they sought out a family who would raise their colt with care, far from the clutches of the cruel stallion. This is where she ran to. The mother, fearing that she would fail, put her all into carrying the child to his new home. He slept, unaware of the danger, and too naive to remember. He would not remember his mother's face. He would not remember her tears, or her final words. He would not remember lying before the door of his new family as his mother fled on and fell in fatigue before the hired hunters descended upon her without mercy. He would not remember any of this until waking from this dream on a warm morning in July. And on that day, everything changed for me. I sat in my room for so long thinking of what I had just dreamed. It had been so real, unlike any experience I had ever felt. The mare who I had known as my mother for the entire six years and nine months of my life, until then that is, finally came to my room concerned for why I had not left bed early, as was my usual routine. It was so much for me to take in at that young age. But I pushed it aside, beckoned by the allure of the day's first meal. I was so blessed to have such a family. My birth parents had been poor, low class farmers. My new parents, both unicorns, were middle class, wealthy enough to provide a comfortable life, yet untainted by the greed and arrogance of vast wealth. They were rather eccentric for their time however. My mother, Lily, enjoyed studying plants. She was what you might call a botanist. As she observed the fruits of the earth, my father, Nimbus, had his gazed focused on the sky, the stars, and that which the Sister Princesses ruled. He kept in contact with others like him about the clouds and weather. The wind itself seemed to speak to him in a voice no other could understand. He was an inspiration to me, even after I found out he was not my true father. They loved their work but they loved me more. I never questioned why I had wings as well as a horn, and the extra feature served no purpose anyway. I was unable to catch wind in them. It was not until later that I discovered the reason: During an illness in my youth, as I slept in a medical facility, my wings were clipped by an unknown intruder. It would be a very long time before I discovered who it was. Though my wings were useless, and I had not flying teacher regardless, I did take time to practice my magic abilities, always with little success. But in the months following the dream I took a steadfast approach to improving. I would think that I was scarcely ready at the time, but the next milestone of my life came on my seventh birthday. Night of HopeMy seventh birthday began like any other, though after the dream I felt I better understood why it seemed they were so happy I was just alive and well. I had still not told them of the dream. I had even tried to hide all evidence that it had begun to consume my thoughts. Perhaps I had begun to go insane then because of it. After the usual celebrations I retired to my room. There was a thunderstorm outside. My adoptive father's obsession with his family namesake had rubbed off on me. I adored the rain, and despite my mother's wishes, I often when outside to play in it. I opted to on that day, to perhaps practice my magic again. That was when I met her. Even in the dim light of the storm I could see her royal blue fut, light blonde mane, and her bright green eyes. I might have fallen in love right away if something about her eyes weren't upsetting me. They were full of a fear I recognized. Fear of life lost. Fear of a force greater than yourself. Fear with a grip like iron on your lungs. She ran by me without noticing. Her pursuer went by in the same manner, though he was much larger. He was a full grown stallion, and he had strong enough build to easily catch up with her. Young, naive, and ever ready for martyrdom, I took off behind them as fast as my little hooves could carry me. The sky itself seemed to hold its breath, or adrenaline had made me deaf to all but the sound of heartbeat and hoofbeat. The pursuer must have noticed the sound of an extra set of hooves splashing through puddles behind him, when her turned to face me. His wicked grin was unsettling. The image of his face burned quickly into my mind. His eyes were full of malice, and what I would later be able to identify as lust. He was three times my size, and perhaps just as many times as strong. But I had something he didn't. Magic. He sprang forward, though I will never know what his full intention of this was, whether to harm me or only to startle me, he had certainly done the latter. My eyes were shut but a bright light bled through my lid, accompanied by the crash of thunder. My horn felt burned, and I opened my eyes to see what had happened. He lay several feet away, his faced smoldering from the blast. I think it best that I never saw how burned he was as he got up wailing in agony and fled. I was already scared and the trauma might have rendered me unable to perform the task that still lay before me. I ventured ahead and found her cowering just within an alley. She was cold, but shook with fear rather than chill, though still a little less than before. I sat beside her to reassure her that he was gone. That she was safe, and well guarded. "I don't know why he was," she began unprompted by any inquiry, "I was walking with my mother a-and the storm came... I got scared by the thunder, then we got separated... H-he,,, Tried to do something to me, I'm not sure what." I began to revel in my own heroism, but tried to contain it. Humility was one of many virtues in my home. "He's gone now," I asserted this fact with a note of pride, "And I doubt he'll bother you again." A flash through the sky brought her closer to me for shelter. "If only you could get rid of-" The thunder announced itself with a loud crack, completing her thought. But I, having adored the ferocity of storms nearly as much as my father, could not sympathize with her fear. I was only confused. Nonetheless I continued to comfort her. I was in no rush to leave her company, and equally determined to show her that the sky's fury was a thing of art rather than malice, however wrong I might have been. As the storm cleared, and Celestia's light poured through, we exchanged names. Esper was an unusual, but strangely alluring name. Mine amused her. "Obsidian," she said, "That sounds like an old stallion's name." The way she giggled, I couldn't tell if she was joking with me or making fun of me. But I didn't care. She was happy. I may have been too young to understand love, but I know that her happiness made me feel wonderful then. I wasn't worried about the dream or even my birthday. I promised her that if anything happened to her, she could come to me and I would protect her. She asked if she could come over for other things too. Like to hear the story of how I got my cutie mark. The look of confusion on my face prompted her to point out what I had failed to notice any sooner. The mark had appeared on my black fur, a blue star casting lightning downward. I couldn't begin to describe my excitement. My cutie mark and a new best friend, my birthday could not be more perfect. However the latter gift evidently was only temporary... SolitudeEsper and I got along famously in the months after the events of my birthday. We confided in each other about everything. I even told her about the dream that I had still not questioned my parents about. Though it was months ago it remained vivid in my memory, the only detail missing being my true mother's face, hidden beneath the cloak. She told me that she often dreamed of her father, who died of illness when she was too young to fully remember. We came to empathize and understand each other more and more. But one day during the next summer, she disappeared. She and her mother were both gone, their home abandoned, and without a word to anypony. Her family was not as wealthy as mine and they had few possessions, many of which were left behind. I kept visiting on her namesake, wishing and praying she'd return. No other in the town gave it much thought or care. My routine visits to the abandoned home became a temporal marker for some. My parents worried for my sake but I only thought of Esper, When my mind din't fall back upon the dream of course. By the time I turned eleven I decided to let go and focus more on my studies. I continued to feel haunted, especially after I stopped visiting. It was as though I were being punished with cold judging glares from eyes unseen. I always felt like Esper was sitting just out of sight, in the distance, around the corner, just to my side and out of my view, but always just as far from reach. When my parents finally decided to confess my adoption to me shortly after I turned twelve, I met the topic with relative apathy. They were baffled by my foreknowledge. I told them of of my dream. Since Esper's disappearance, it had begun reoccurring. Sometime I would hear singing. The voice was often my true mother's but other times there were two male voices together that I never recognized. But it was always the same song, one I couldn't understand. "Canta per me ne addio quel dolce suono de' passati giorni mi sempre rammenta" In so many ways I could not understand this beautiful song. The singing voices sound free and aloof, strong and proud, yet also, some how at the same time, full of sorrow and regret. la vita dell'amore dilette del cor mio o felice, tu anima mia canta addagio... I had dreamt this song so many times that I began to learn it. tempra la cetra e canta il inno di morte a noi si schiude il ciel volano al raggio I began to believe that the song might be the most important thing of my life. la vita dell'amore dilette del cor mio o felice, tu anima mia canta addio... But I still needed to translate it somehow, and discover its meaning. I came to believe that I could not do it alone. This belief was more of a refusal to go without the one mare I trusted to be with me every step of the way. That in itself would be a journey.
Broken FeathersI could see her running. Hurrying through alleys in the darkness of night. I could not see her face beneath the cloak but I could feel her terror. She knew her pursuers were not too far behind, her husband only able to distract them for a short time before he was murdered. She was to be next. But that's not why her fear was so strong. She was terrified of not being able to save her infant. The impossible colt to be taken by a greedy aristocrat. The infant's family was too poor to care for the child. They had fallen deep into debt, a trap laid by a false philanthropist. A crass and undesirable stallion by nature, he hoped to adopt an heir unattainable by normal means. His wealth did not atone for his putrid persona. However the poor family would not accept this. As they hid from the aristocrats hired forces, they sought out a family who would raise their colt with care, far from the clutches of the cruel stallion. This is where she ran to. The mother, fearing that she would fail, put her all into carrying the child to his new home. He slept, unaware of the danger, and too naive to remember. He would not remember his mother's face. He would not remember her tears, or her final words. He would not remember lying before the door of his new family as his mother fled on and fell in fatigue before the hired hunters descended upon her without mercy. He would not remember any of this until waking from this dream on a warm morning in July. And on that day, everything changed for me. I sat in my room for so long thinking of what I had just dreamed. It had been so real, unlike any experience I had ever felt. The mare who I had known as my mother for the entire six years and nine months of my life, until then that is, finally came to my room concerned for why I had not left bed early, as was my usual routine. It was so much for me to take in at that young age. But I pushed it aside, beckoned by the allure of the day's first meal. I was so blessed to have such a family. My birth parents had been poor, low class farmers. My new parents, both unicorns, were middle class, wealthy enough to provide a comfortable life, yet untainted by the greed and arrogance of vast wealth. They were rather eccentric for their time however. My mother, Lily, enjoyed studying plants. She was what you might call a botanist. As she observed the fruits of the earth, my father, Nimbus, had his gazed focused on the sky, the stars, and that which the Sister Princesses ruled. He kept in contact with others like him about the clouds and weather. The wind itself seemed to speak to him in a voice no other could understand. He was an inspiration to me, even after I found out he was not my true father. They loved their work but they loved me more. I never questioned why I had wings as well as a horn, and the extra feature served no purpose anyway. I was unable to catch wind in them. It was not until later that I discovered the reason: During an illness in my youth, as I slept in a medical facility, my wings were clipped by an unknown intruder. It would be a very long time before I discovered who it was. Though my wings were useless, and I had not flying teacher regardless, I did take time to practice my magic abilities, always with little success. But in the months following the dream I took a steadfast approach to improving. I would think that I was scarcely ready at the time, but the next milestone of my life came on my seventh birthday.
Night of HopeMy seventh birthday began like any other, though after the dream I felt I better understood why it seemed they were so happy I was just alive and well. I had still not told them of the dream. I had even tried to hide all evidence that it had begun to consume my thoughts. Perhaps I had begun to go insane then because of it. After the usual celebrations I retired to my room. There was a thunderstorm outside. My adoptive father's obsession with his family namesake had rubbed off on me. I adored the rain, and despite my mother's wishes, I often when outside to play in it. I opted to on that day, to perhaps practice my magic again. That was when I met her. Even in the dim light of the storm I could see her royal blue fut, light blonde mane, and her bright green eyes. I might have fallen in love right away if something about her eyes weren't upsetting me. They were full of a fear I recognized. Fear of life lost. Fear of a force greater than yourself. Fear with a grip like iron on your lungs. She ran by me without noticing. Her pursuer went by in the same manner, though he was much larger. He was a full grown stallion, and he had strong enough build to easily catch up with her. Young, naive, and ever ready for martyrdom, I took off behind them as fast as my little hooves could carry me. The sky itself seemed to hold its breath, or adrenaline had made me deaf to all but the sound of heartbeat and hoofbeat. The pursuer must have noticed the sound of an extra set of hooves splashing through puddles behind him, when her turned to face me. His wicked grin was unsettling. The image of his face burned quickly into my mind. His eyes were full of malice, and what I would later be able to identify as lust. He was three times my size, and perhaps just as many times as strong. But I had something he didn't. Magic. He sprang forward, though I will never know what his full intention of this was, whether to harm me or only to startle me, he had certainly done the latter. My eyes were shut but a bright light bled through my lid, accompanied by the crash of thunder. My horn felt burned, and I opened my eyes to see what had happened. He lay several feet away, his faced smoldering from the blast. I think it best that I never saw how burned he was as he got up wailing in agony and fled. I was already scared and the trauma might have rendered me unable to perform the task that still lay before me. I ventured ahead and found her cowering just within an alley. She was cold, but shook with fear rather than chill, though still a little less than before. I sat beside her to reassure her that he was gone. That she was safe, and well guarded. "I don't know why he was," she began unprompted by any inquiry, "I was walking with my mother a-and the storm came... I got scared by the thunder, then we got separated... H-he,,, Tried to do something to me, I'm not sure what." I began to revel in my own heroism, but tried to contain it. Humility was one of many virtues in my home. "He's gone now," I asserted this fact with a note of pride, "And I doubt he'll bother you again." A flash through the sky brought her closer to me for shelter. "If only you could get rid of-" The thunder announced itself with a loud crack, completing her thought. But I, having adored the ferocity of storms nearly as much as my father, could not sympathize with her fear. I was only confused. Nonetheless I continued to comfort her. I was in no rush to leave her company, and equally determined to show her that the sky's fury was a thing of art rather than malice, however wrong I might have been. As the storm cleared, and Celestia's light poured through, we exchanged names. Esper was an unusual, but strangely alluring name. Mine amused her. "Obsidian," she said, "That sounds like an old stallion's name." The way she giggled, I couldn't tell if she was joking with me or making fun of me. But I didn't care. She was happy. I may have been too young to understand love, but I know that her happiness made me feel wonderful then. I wasn't worried about the dream or even my birthday. I promised her that if anything happened to her, she could come to me and I would protect her. She asked if she could come over for other things too. Like to hear the story of how I got my cutie mark. The look of confusion on my face prompted her to point out what I had failed to notice any sooner. The mark had appeared on my black fur, a blue star casting lightning downward. I couldn't begin to describe my excitement. My cutie mark and a new best friend, my birthday could not be more perfect. However the latter gift evidently was only temporary...
SolitudeEsper and I got along famously in the months after the events of my birthday. We confided in each other about everything. I even told her about the dream that I had still not questioned my parents about. Though it was months ago it remained vivid in my memory, the only detail missing being my true mother's face, hidden beneath the cloak. She told me that she often dreamed of her father, who died of illness when she was too young to fully remember. We came to empathize and understand each other more and more. But one day during the next summer, she disappeared. She and her mother were both gone, their home abandoned, and without a word to anypony. Her family was not as wealthy as mine and they had few possessions, many of which were left behind. I kept visiting on her namesake, wishing and praying she'd return. No other in the town gave it much thought or care. My routine visits to the abandoned home became a temporal marker for some. My parents worried for my sake but I only thought of Esper, When my mind din't fall back upon the dream of course. By the time I turned eleven I decided to let go and focus more on my studies. I continued to feel haunted, especially after I stopped visiting. It was as though I were being punished with cold judging glares from eyes unseen. I always felt like Esper was sitting just out of sight, in the distance, around the corner, just to my side and out of my view, but always just as far from reach. When my parents finally decided to confess my adoption to me shortly after I turned twelve, I met the topic with relative apathy. They were baffled by my foreknowledge. I told them of of my dream. Since Esper's disappearance, it had begun reoccurring. Sometime I would hear singing. The voice was often my true mother's but other times there were two male voices together that I never recognized. But it was always the same song, one I couldn't understand. "Canta per me ne addio quel dolce suono de' passati giorni mi sempre rammenta" In so many ways I could not understand this beautiful song. The singing voices sound free and aloof, strong and proud, yet also, some how at the same time, full of sorrow and regret. la vita dell'amore dilette del cor mio o felice, tu anima mia canta addagio... I had dreamt this song so many times that I began to learn it. tempra la cetra e canta il inno di morte a noi si schiude il ciel volano al raggio I began to believe that the song might be the most important thing of my life. la vita dell'amore dilette del cor mio o felice, tu anima mia canta addio... But I still needed to translate it somehow, and discover its meaning. I came to believe that I could not do it alone. This belief was more of a refusal to go without the one mare I trusted to be with me every step of the way. That in itself would be a journey.
