OK, this isn't really castle but I figured this subforum is sleepy enough not to sustain any lasting damage. Anyway, ever since I saw the first pics of Chima I have been quite intrigued by the figs and today I finally picked up a small set on sale and what can I say but love at first sight? So, I got set 70000, Razcal's Glider and thought it wonderful enough to spend half an hour of my life looking up the backstory on LEGO.com and writing a short story to give my unpleasant but awesome new little friend some life. So, here it is, and maybe there'll be a picture or two in the future.
“A thief is a thief is a thief.”
Or was it - “a raven is a raven is raven”?
He doesn’t quite remember and less does he care, smiling to himself as he glides downwards, closer and closer to that old town square, towards the once white marble that used to shine as the moon, now cracked and broken, because of a war that no one had wanted and no one would win.
“Except us”, thinks he, “but then again, we always win.”
The sun had been shining on that day, no clouds in sight, in all senses of the word. There had been lions, had been eagles, wolves, crocodiles and what-not - yes, it had been before the War had begun, before the demands of the crocodiles, before the hypocrisy of the lions, before... well, no one really remember anymore, and if they do they’d probably blame the others anyhow.
Oh, he remembers of course, but who’d listen to a raven?
Yes, all had been there, except the ravens, of course. For “a raven is a thief is a raven”, he had said, that proud old lion, pointing at a big shiny sign, looking so proud, basking in the glory that it was to be the Keeper of the Chi.
All hadn’t been well, even before the War.
Except for the ravens, of course.
He hadn’t been able to suppress his laughter on that day, his pride and his confidence. Out of the shadows he had walked, challenging that proud old lion with his hoarse and perhaps a tad bit too sarcastic voice:
“What then is a thief, lords and ladies of Chima?”
The silence - oh, there are no words for that silence.
What had happened next? Whatever had that proud old lion answered? He doesn’t remember, really, or maybe he just doesn’t care, for now he lands, the claws of his Glider scratching the broken marble below. With an agile jump he is down on the ground, smirking, looking upon the devastation, the ruins, the smoke and - yes, the two burnt out vehicles, the two old wrecks, both once so fine, now destroyed by each other. He walks closer to the first one, had belonged to the crocodiles, all destroyed now, and dead is the driver who lies a few feet to its left, dead and burned beyond recognition, and lost is the Chi. He sighs, examines the other wreck and there, oh! she’s alive!
It’s a lioness, the proudest you’d ever have seen. Badly burned also she, and ugly cuts and the blood that flows from them distort her once golden fur. He leans down beside her, catches the gaze of those fiery eyes and there is something; a hoarse, rasping breath, something a little more than a breath, yes, she whispers something, beckons him to lean closer, and lean closer he does, listening hard to the faint words:
“Will you... help me?”
A lion, begging? He would laugh - should laugh, but there is another time for that. Places a hand upon her chest, closes his fingers around the orb of Chi that’s stills glowing with power. With the tiniest click it’s in is hand - is his. He stands, still eyeing her fiery eyes, her vain, spastic movements.
“Will I help?”
He chuckles, shrugs his shoulders and turns, slowly walks back towards his Glider. As he touches its beak he looks back over his shoulder, shoots a last glance at the dying lioness.
“Remember, my dear, a raven is a raven is a raven.”
He mounts the Glider, takes off without a sound and sets out for his home once again. Shrugs and snickers to himself.
“Or was it a thief?”