The Scars of the Past

by Lil Penpusher

Chapter 1: To Taste Revenge

The day had come. At last, after years and years of waiting, after intense training and exercise, it had come.

Tempest’s flagship was the first to lift off, leading the assault. She had been appointed Commander prior to the attack by the Storm King himself, having proven to him that she was both powerful and capable. Tempest, however, knew that he needed her. He was a coward, and a weak one at that. He had tried to bribe her time and again, at first promising her riches and fame, but later on power and even the restoration of her horn.

All of this didn’t matter, though. Tempest did not fight for the Storm King, didn’t fight for whatever he could promise her. The scars of her past, the darkness and bitterness within her... it couldn’t be undone. He could promise Tempest nothing she would have wanted or needed.

No, she was there for her own reasons and ambitions. She despised the Storm King, saw him as unfit and incompetent, and yet he was powerful and influential. He had an army, an army of almost mindless servants. And for Tempest, the King was the tool with which she could finally, at long last, take her revenge.

Following the incident in her childhood, she had fled her village after her own best friends abandoned her. At first sorrow overtook her as she walked down the empty roads of Equestria. But the longer she walked, the more bitter she grew. She began to run, faster and faster. She tried her best, and yet she couldn’t outrun what laid behind her. She couldn’t back then when she was young, and she still couldn’t now.
It was that night, as she attempted to sleep, that one of the Storm King’s patrols found her. She cried, struggled and called for help, but to no use. Nopony was there, nopony would help and save her, and she was captured.

The days in the Storm King’s realm were hard and dark. Tempest, still a filly at that time, had to watch as ponies collapsed, exhausted from the forced labour they were told to do. The guards would toss them around like toys, and if the first toss didn’t help them get back on their hooves, the second one would be lethal.
She was no exception, at first. She, too, was chained and worked in labour camps. Everytime she stopped to take a deep breath, she would hear a deep grumble from the guards. No breaks were allowed. It was a deadly cycle of one meal a day, six hours of sleep and hard, manual labour. Most ponies could not survive the first three months.

One fateful day, Tempest was brought before the Storm King himself. She had rebelled against the guards, who had stolen her daily meal. Unexpectedly for the guards, however, Tempest was far more powerful than they had believed. The Storm King applauded as he was told that the young filly in front of him had knocked seven of his guards unconscious.

What she initially believed to be her death sentence turned into her saving grace. A long conversation was had with the Storm King, and from that day on Tempest grew to secretly hate him. His way of talking and handling others, how he made fun of her... yet she would continue to contain this hatred.
When Tempest left the King’s palace, she was no longer a captured filly that was forced to work herself to death. Instead, she was under the King’s protection, and would undergo years of training to prepare her to serve him well. No longer was she ‘Fizzlepop Berrytwist’. Tempest Shadow, servant of the Storm King, was born.

Tempest remembered the years of training as she stood at the bow of her ship, the wind blowing past her. She was reminded of her very first training sessions. She failed every test, forced to do it again until she finally got it right. At an obstacle course, she would be slapped every time she failed. As she grew up, the slapping turned into punching, harder and more violent punches with every passing day. At first Tempest cried, collapsing under the sheer pressure and pain of her training. Everytime she began to tear up or break down, she would simply be punched once again, and again, and again.
And even still, Tempest continued. She picked herself up and continued on, bit by bit, improving little by little under such terrible, harsh conditions. With every failure, she became more successful, with every slap and punch, she became stronger, with every tear she became more ruthless.
This training, Tempest would come to think, made her what she now was. It made her what she had to be, in order to achieve her goal. Her goal of revenge, of vengeance.

Her training had been completed a few months ago. There was no ceremony, no praise, no nothing. She was simply told she was ready, and as such the Storm King sent her out into the badlands to expand his influence.
From that day on out, the very name of ‘Tempest Shadow’ would send shivers down the spines of the inhabitants of the badlands. Her name, her myth, spread faster than her ship could fly. Everytime she and her raiding party arrived at a village or town, the next one was already in shock, trying to hide what they could find from her.

Oh, how Tempest loved it when they tried to resist or hide. It was a challenge, she felt. And she loved a good challenge. Time and again, those who opposed her would fall, casting terror into the very hearts of anyone who witnessed Tempest.
Soon, none in the badlands dared to stand in her way. She would be known as ‘the Storm King’s iron fist’ as she continued to enforce his rule in the badlands. Nobody, not even the most daring of pirates and adventurers, would pick a fight with her.

Power. She could feel the power she now had. Much to the Storm King’s delusion, the badlands bowed not to him, but to Tempest. It was her, she figured, that kept his throne and realm safe, and his law enforced. Without her, he was helpless, and she knew so.

A loud whistle sounded onboard Tempest’s flagship. An evil, confident smile formed on Tempest’s face. They had arrived at last. Canterlot was in sight.

The proud mare turned around and began her way downstairs to make ready for her great entrance. A low laugh accompanied her as she trotted down the stairs.

The time had come. Canterlot would fall, and the childish dream of friendship with it.

Author's Notes:

Hope you enjoyed the story! If you enjoyed, please leave a like and perhaps a comment about what you enjoyed or disliked.


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