2Dark, graying clouds swirled about the spires of the Darigan Citadel towers, casting shadows down upon the dusty streets. A few citizens roamed around the ruins of what had not withstood the events that had taken place earlier on in the day. It was growing cold and damp as the moon rose, casting an unnatural light upon the floating city.
A tall, muscular Lupe made his way through the clearing streets, his long, black, leather jacket flapping in the wind along side his brown cloak. The moonlight bleached his purple fur to a snowy white as his unusual silver eyes darted about. He smelled of leather and dry leaves, much different compared to the stench of decay that surrounded him. His right ear was pierced with two silver earrings; the mark of the Darigan General. His armor was as black as night and was lined with gold and a sword was slung over his back. His bangs were tipped with gold.
As he walked, he could here people whisper in the shadows. 'Talking over today's proceedings, I suppose,' he thought sourly. It began to rain hard and fast and his large, battered wings wrapped themselves around his back, letting the droplets roll down their tough surface. The day had not been a good one. Darigan, one of his best friends, the citadel's most beloved ruler, had been overthrown and banished. The throne had been brutally pried from its holder's fingers and handed into the grimy claws of another.
The Lupe sneered at the thought as he stopped dead in front of the fortress. The North Tower once stood in all its glory, but now it was gloomy and foreboding. Its heavy oak doors were usually guarded, yet no guards were there to do so. He rose an eyebrow. It was very unusual for a dictator to let himself go unguarded. Perhaps they thought that they had nothing to be afraid of.
Growling, he strode across the Outer Courtyard and thrust open the large, heavy doors. His soft-soled boots thudded gently on the stone floor as he marched in. The tower hadn't changed much, save for the new banners. Black, red, and violet were their sickening colors. The Lupe felt his lips draw back into a snarl at the sight of them. He came to a halt and flared his wings, letting the water scatter and cling to whatever they touched. His bangs were plastered to his forehead. His tail lashed from side to side in impatience, anger, and frustration. He stretched his strong wings once more before stomping across the hall. He threw open another set of doors and walked briskly up to the throne, where a red Grarrl sat.
"Why, good even, General Jareth Apsenthion," Galgarath greeted brusquely. "What brings you here on this late hour?" He brought a goblet to his lips as he asked this, his red eyes fixing the Lupe with the blazing fire that he always had.
"Gerard," Apsenthion growled, not bothering to even bow, "You have been my friend for ages." He watched as the Grarrl lifted his cup, signaling for him to continue. "But are you out of your mind! Darigan was our ally! What in Adam's name do you think you were doing!"
Gerard Galgarath's eyes flashed in fury, but he remained calm. "Ruling the citadel as it always should have been, of coarse, General. That bug Darigan was too soft. He would have never gotten us back to the way we once were. He needed to be taken care of before he destroyed us all."
The General snarled in irritation. "And I assume Kass was any better? What about Morguss? Was she on our side?" The sudden thought of the sorceress made him blink. She once been a good friend of his sister's, but was corrupt by an evil few could address. "Dung, Gerard, how could you be such a fool?"
"The only fool in this room is you, Jareth!" Galgarath ridiculed. "I'm the lord of the citadel now!" Ah. Apsenthion remembered that line. He had heard it during the final battle in the previous war. Kass had said it. "Do not test my strength."
Every hair on the back of the Lupe's neck prickled as he felt the magic being drawn from the very air. "You are no king of mine," he said as-a-matter-of-factly. He scowled at the dictator. "You're nothing but a tyrant."
This set Galgarath on the edge. He stood up from the large, fang-lined throne, letting the folds of his robe unravel themselves, the candlelight dancing on his face. He roared and a few soldiers ran and took hold of the General roughly by the arm, pointing knives at his throat.
"Shall I kill him, Sire?" asked one, an Aisha.
"No, I have a better idea. You know the punishment for those who bring shame upon their country?" The Aisha nodded. "Then do it."
Apsenthion hissed in pain as the point of the knife made its way down his eye. He struggled free when it was finished, feeling blood travel down his cheek. He whirled around on the tyrant, fur bristling and silver eyes ablaze. He had been given the mark of the rebel, the betrayer. He snarled. The one who should have been wearing this new scar should have been the one in the stone throne.
With a look of disgust, he whipped out his sword and flung it to the ground. He turned stormed out of the North Tower. It had once been a place he held in high respect, but now it was trash to him. As he strode through the streets, he could hear the people whisper and point at him. His scar smarted bitterly and he put a hand to it, squeezing his eyes shut. Suddenly, he felt something tug at his coat. He looked down to see a little Nimo girl, a tattered doll of Kass tucked away under her arm. Her blond locks were done up in pig tails and she stared up at him with mild concern.
"Are you alright, Mister?" she asked while hugging her plushie.
Jareth smiled warmly before stooping down to her. "Yes, I'm fine. Now, who's this you've got with you?" he asked, referring to the doll in her arms, though he knew full well who it was.
"This is Kass," she said happily, holding the doll out to show him. "He's my only toy. My brother had used it for Whack-a-Kass, but I hit him and now I have him back!"
"Did you now?" the General chuckled. Then his face darkened playfully. "You know, Kass wasn't a very nice man. Why do you keep a toy of him?"
The girl's eye's widened with fear all of the sudden and she shied away, hugging the toy closer to herself. "I just know he was a good guy, deep down inside! Please don't take him away, Mister, sir! He's my only friend."
"Alright, you win. He's good." He ruffled the little girl's hair before standing. "You take good care of him, you hear? Don't let that mean, old man Galgarath take him away."
The girl nodded and he continued on his way. The smile faded from his lips when he remembered the Grarrl. Under his rule, that girl won't know what it's like to be free; the touch of grass, the feel of the wind. With Darigan as their ruler, they at least had a chance. Now, she was doomed to grow up not knowing what he had missed for a long time. He sighed and continued towards the black gates of the city.
When he was sure the Lupe was gone, Galgarath snatched up his goblet and threw it to the ground, causing it to shatter. The pieces of metal quivered from the force and the Grarrl began pacing. His eyes glowed green for a moment, but he shook his head vigorously. The soldiers watched him uncertainly as he walked back and forth, back and forth.
His head snapped into their direction and they stiffened. "Leave me," he growled. They looked at each other fearfully. "NOW!" The soldiers jumped and scurried away, through the corridors and hallways and into the darkened corners of the dungeon.
Gerard lowered his head and glowered at the splintered cup on the floor. It just sat there innocently. He immediately whirled around and went back to his pacing. For how long he did this, he did not know. All he knew at the moment was that he could not afford to let his mind wander. That would only bring them. He could not- would not- allow them to take control.
"Oh," laughed a voice within his head, "but we already have!" Her laughter echoed in the far reaches of his mind. He growled in frustration and fell into his throne. He gripped its arm so tightly that he was sure it would crumble in his claws at any moment. His anger was rising.
He shook his head again and counted to ten. The voices left him, much to his relief, and he got up and strode to his quarters. No, the Three would not get to him. He would not allow it.
Jareth Apsenthion stared down through the clouds and at the fields below. He was no longer welcome inside the citadel and no longer wished to stay. At least, not with who ruled. He would be eaten by a mob of glowing Kyrii before he would obey an order given my Galgarath.
Spreading his wings, he took flight. The wind underneath him was breathtaking. It had been so long since he had flown anywhere and now, here he was flying away from the very land he loved.
He wasn't sure how long he had flown, but the sun was rising when he finally collapsed on a grassy precipice just north of a large, green forest. He kneeled there, on all fours, gasping for air. He had used all of his strength, but he managed a satisfied smile. It had been a long time since he had seen grass and trees. He fell back into a sitting position and watched the beautiful sun rise. He grinned, showing off nice, white teeth. Yes, freedom was most certainly good.
But don't this this is the end of my little tale. Oh, no! For this is only but the beginning! So visit this little story teller again. More adventures await you.
Fin!
A/N: I have sent this in to the Neopian Times, so hopefully, it gets in. This is a one-shot fic. Kind of depressing and dark, but I'm thinking of making it a little series of short stories. Anyway, I hope you liked it!