training day [Vader & Zephyrus]

[sphinx]

The untamed North.
This place, these lands...
they are everything.

Galileo marked his path through the snow without conscious thought. His steps, determined though they appeared, were rather a result of robotic motion obtained through years of training. He was currently rounding the outer edges of the training grounds, a path he knew well. It had been months since he had left, yet his old haunt had not changed. Well, not in appearance anyway. The grounds were much as they had been; covered in rock and stone. A fresh powdering of snow hides the frozen grass that thrives within the soil, soil that thirsts for the crimson spattering of blood that used to so frequently paint this land. Yes, everything appeared the same... but it wasn't. The silence echoed around him, making the once familiar landscape seem almost alien. Where are they? Not a soul was to be found in this place.
___

Waking with a start, Galileo stood stock still, unmoving for several thundering heartbeats. That dream again, he thought absently, shaking the light coat of snow that had settled upon him during his brief respite. It was a dream that he had begun having ever since the plague had torn across Imbros, leaving naught but pain and death in its wake.

It had started out innocently enough. Rumors of an illness that had begun paving its way through the Weaklands, destroying both weak and strong alike. Whispers spoke of entire herds vanishing into the night, never to be seen again. As the situation became more dire, lone stallions who had escaped back to the northern ranges would tell stories of a landscape riddled with the bleached corpses of those that had succumbed to the disease. It's rapid spread was like that of a wildfire; it swept across the entire region, sparing none and offering no mercy. Few survived it's wrath. Those that did? Well, they did not escape entirely unscathed.

There was a brief period when his fellows in the North believed it was over. Those of Tartarus's legion who were most fanatical began to spread tales of how the plague was "divine retribution", punishing those who refused to take a stance on the great war that had been raging between the North and South for many years. However, it soon became clear that their fanatical ravings were wrong. The disease found its way to the far reaches of both the North and South. Like a creeping mist, it rolled in and consumed everything. So much death. In mere months it had managed to do what the Great War had not - it had nearly wiped out the entire equine population of Imbros.

Galileo had watched as many of his allies fell, enduring immeasurable pain before finally being graced with the comfort of death. He himself had suffered as well, at one point believing himself to be on the brink of death. Strangely, however, he had been spared. The fever that had threatened to consume him had broken, and he had emerged from the cave that he had intended as his final resting place. While he had begun to regain some of his strength, he was still weakened by its ravaging effects. However, it was a small price to pay to be able to return to his rightful place as a faithful warrior and servant to Tartarus. He was one of the few experienced soldiers left, and it was his duty to ensure that the ranks were bolstered once more with new recruits.

Stepping out from beneath the dense foliage, he made his way towards the Training Grounds. In the light of the early morning sun, the terrain looked vastly different from its appearance in his dreams. Despite the snowfall that had persisted throughout the night, the prints of his brethren were still starkly apparent. The ground was so frequently trod upon that it rarely had a chance to remain uncovered. Training was, after all, a daily pursuit.

Striding towards the opposite edge of the grounds, Galileo took stock of the training of Tartarus's troops. Many of these recruits worked with Galileo himself on a regular basis. It had taken him years to gain this amount of experience and authority within the ranks, but it had been well worth it. Officially, he held no title, but he was hoping that would soon be remedied. Galileo was a rather single-minded stallion, holding to the code bestowed upon him by his betters. His single purpose was to serve. He achieved this by training in a nearly constant capacity, rarely giving himself more than a few hours rest before resuming his crusade.

Pleased with what he saw, he made his way towards a pair of young colts that he recognized. The young black colt, Vader was his name, showed quite a bit of promise. He had only been in training for a few months, but he was already surpassing most of his peers. He followed orders well and was extremely focused on his training, two traits that Galileo approved of immensely. He had little doubt that the colt would go far. The other colt, on the other hand, was a bit overzealous for Galileo's tastes. A dun colt named Zephyrus with a slick tongue who often felt the need to grovel at the feet of his superiors. However, there was a fine line between loyal recruit and unrepentant brownnoser, and to be honest, his know-it-all attitude often got under Galileo's hide. For that reason, Galileo often found it necessary to put the young colt back in his place. Not to say that he was without talent. He would likely do equally as well as the other young colt if he spent less time trying to weasel his way into Galileo's good graces and more time honing his skills. Galileo partially cropped it up to youthful exuberance, but it would need to be stamped out of the colt as soon as possible.

Coming to a halt a few yards from the sparring colts, Galileo watched with keen interest at the skills being displayed. Yes, there was definite promise here in both colts. It may take years, but they would make their way up through the ranks and prove themselves very useful in battle. That was, if they survived their training. After all, if you couldn't handle what was being dished out here, then you wouldn't be of any use on the battlefield.

Smiling in grim satisfaction, Galileo continued to watch as the next generation of warriors began to discover the depth of their bloodlust. For Tartarus.

S p e c t r a
Pinki the Pessimist