//------------------------------//
// The guildless Minotaur: Gregar Ironhorn 
// Story: The Bull and the Dragon. 
// by Malfrost 
//------------------------------//

	In the Age of Dawn, the Minotaurs united into seven guilds. Known as the Minotaur Alliance of Guilds, these seven guilds crushed the lesser races of the Southlands of Equestria and enslaved them as thralls or forced them them to flee North. The Minotaurs ruled over the Southlands with an iron fist, the seven guilds enforcing their wills upon each of the areas they were entrusted. This rule continued for decades, and eventually, the guilds began to turn against themselves. Each plotted against one another in petty attempts to gain more prestige, money, or land.

During the same time, a great doom fell upon the Draconian Empire of the far east. In their hubris to empower themselves with magic, they set mountains ablaze with fire,and in a  single night, the whole of the Empire was turned to ash and cast into the sea. Fleeing from the destruction, what remained of the dragons fled westward and arrived in the Southlands, on the doorstep of the Alliance.

Each race believed themselves superior to the other during their first encounter and war quickly erupted. As the Minotaurs quickly learned however, their castles and walls did little to stop the dragons and their fire. For dragons fly, and in the opening engagement of the war, the Alliance lost the majority of its armed force, in what would become known as the Burning Plain.

After the Burning Plain, the guilds abandoned each other and attempted to fight the dragons on their own. With the Alliance splintered, it now seems only a matter of time until the Minotaurs are completely and utterly crushed.



The stench, it was the worst thing imaginable. It reeked of filth and excrement, and the flies buzzed about all hours of the day, nipping and gnawing. It was the rats that would wake up Gergar every morning though. They would nip at his body until he managed to swat them away and get to his feet. This morning was no different as he lifted his arms and let out a yawn as he did his best to try and shoo the flies away.

It was a hard life, living in the Rat Quarter, the slums of the city of Minoastu, the capital city of the Alliance. The Rat Quarter is where all the guildless minotaurs were herded into. Dank, grimy, and full of smoke, shit and rotting flesh, the Rat Quarter might as well have been the city's sewers. 

Gregar looked around, his bull head covered in brown fur, while his body was pale and frail. His brown eyes blinked slowly as he tried to get accustomed to the fire that burned brightly a few yards away from him. Sunlight rarely ever entered the depths of the Rat Quarter, fire was the only thing that enable the guildless minotaurs to see their decrepit 'home.'

“Ah, looks like Gregar is up. We're roasting some rats! Come have some!” A blue furred minotaur waved for Gregar to come and join a small group that was surrounding the fire. All guildless minotaurs were comrades, they might as well have been a guild themselves. They looked for food and jobs together and always had each other's back. A Guildless Brotherhood they were often called, and they were the scum of society. They stole for survival, were always disheveled and looking the worse for wear. Many of them were good minotaurs at heart though, and only stole because it was the only way to survive.

Now however, with the war waging and the central authority and control of the Alliance no longer present, it was even harder to get by. Food was no longer being properly distributed by the Merchants Guild or being grown enough by the Farmers Guild. The Magistrates Guild issued decrees concerning the flow of food but they were now largely being ignored while most of the food was sent to the Legion, the main military force for the Alliance. The Guild of Assassins was busy murdering and bribing to obtain their food while the Guild of Smiths refused to supply the army without getting their cut. The Sailors Guild was busy converting their longships into fishing boats to do what they could to bring in more food at the cost of losing the powerful Steelfin Fleet. All seven guilds were tied up in their own way and the shortage of food was affecting everyone, including the guildless. They had to resort to eating the rats that roamed the gutters and streets of the Quarter ironically named after them.

Gregar accepted a rat kebab with a quiet thanks. He bit into the crispy and burnt flesh. Rat wasn't so bad, once one got used to it. Tasted a bit like chicken actually, just much worse. Still, when it was rats or nothing, one didn't really have much of a choice and the guildless were happy to get whatever food they could.

“So, what news from the front?” Gregar asked nonchalantly as he bit off the head of his rat and chewed it, the bone crushed between his large teeth.

“Lots of rumors, some say the Legion has been completely wiped out and now 'King' Damphir and his armies are flying towards Minoastu in full force. Others say the Legion has won a great victory and have driven those giant lizards back across the sea. Odds are it is somewhere in between as it always is.” The minotaur from before spoke, his own kebab already finished and discarded haphazardly. 

His name was Alastor. He was an older minotaur then Gregar and had lived in the dark of the Rat Quarter many a more seasons then Gregar had. When Gregar first arrived, Alastor showed him the ropes of how to survive in the Quarter. For Alastor was born guildless, born in the dark of the Quarter, unlike Gregar who was made guildless later in his life. The two were like brothers now, inseparable and always looking after one another, the bond had only strengthened during the chaos of the war.

“I've heard the Legion is actually thinking of coming down here and pulling some of us gutter snipes up to help fight in the war.” Gregar spoke his eyes staring into the flames as he pulled out another kebab. When he was first put in the Quarter, he would have given anything to escape and see the sunlight yet again. With war waging outside now however, that wasn't the case anymore. While life in the Quarter was hard, dirty, and at time savage, he knew how to survive down here now, it was almost a guarantee. Life wasn't like that 'up top' now. One never knew when one of the giant lizards might swoop down from the sky and turn one to ash or attempt to eat you.    

"I'd rather stay down here and live off of rats then have to fight those dragons.”

“I know what you mean...sadly, we won't have much choice in the matter. We are guildless, we must do what we are told.”

“Must we? With the Alliance how it is, now is the time to defy them! We can break out of this place and be free! Maybe even go work something out with those dragons, work for them as sellswords or mercenaries!” Alastor exclaimed as he bit a rat in two, the fire dancing in his eyes that seemed so full of righteous indignation. After all, the Alliance had forced them to live such horrible lives, and in Alastor's eyes, they owed it no allegiance or loyalty.

Gregar's reply came with a cold glare directed at his friend, “We can't do that, we still owe loyalty to the Alliance,we are still Minotaurs, sons and daughters of Minatus and his stock. Are you so quick to spit on your ancestors memories that you would abandon their memory and your kin just for the chance at an easier life?” Gregar's tone was chilled, and full of a quiet anger. To Gregar, it seemed almost blasphemous to even talk of siding with the dragons in this war. After all, they were the descendants of Minatus, the first Minotaur who was said to have conquered the whole world with his family.

Alastor's face grew angry as he approached Gergar, his volume rising and his tone full of anger and spite, "Are you still so foolish to believe in such stories? They are nothing more than tales for children at bedtime! We aren't descended from some god-like conqueror! Nor do our ancestors watch over us! We live, we die, it is that simple! Only a former surface dweller like yourself could maintain such delusions like that even down here in the pit that is the Rat Quarter!” The older minotaur yelled at the younger, his fury clear and present.

Gregar's reply was to merely stand up and walk away, to walk towards the only exit from the Quarter. He didn't look back, even as his friend and companion continued to yell and scream. He had made up his mind, and it was too late to change it.

Alastor sighed as his anger subsided. He sat  down near the flame and took the last of the kebabs. He gnawed on it, but it just didn't feel or taste the same without company. Rubbing the back of his bull head in frustration he finally stood up, kicked out the fire and went after Gregar, but it was already too late.

Gregar approached the solid metal door that sealed the Quarter and banged on it loudly,”Oi! I know there is someone over there!” Gregar waited a few moments before finally, a small window opened. A pair of blue eyes glared at him. Full of contempt and disgust, the minotaur on
the other side replied,

“What do you want, you guildless piece of trash.”

“Is it true the Legion is accepting enlistments of the guildless now?”

What of it? You want to join? You want to die that badly?”

“I want to right the wrongs I did in the past, I want to repent for my sin, through fire and blood as my ancestors would have, rather than live out a pointless life here in this cesspool! I don't care what the Legion has me doing, I'll do it! On the honor of my name, Gregar Ironhorn, of the House Ironhorn, son of Mentark Ironhorn, I will do my duty and honor to the Alliance. I give my life proudly for our people!” Gregar exclaimed, saying his family name for the first time in years. It felt so foreign now, yet so familiar as well. There was a moment of silence, before finally the window closed and the door swung open. As it did, a bright light filled his eyes, blinding him and causing his eyes to burn as he shut them.

A warmth filled Gregar, a long lost and comforting warmth. It enveloped his body and his soul, warming him more completely than any fire made in the Rat Quarter. Yet it was also painful, it assailed his eyes and gave him a massive headache. It knocked him off balance and he fell to his knees. Yet he smiled, he smiled the largest smile in his whole life. Tears streamed down his cheek, both from pain and happiness as the guards approached him.

For the first time in years, Gregar basked in the light of the sun, and it was glorious. Two guards, clad in plate armor, helm and with spear and shield in hand, pulled him to his feet and pushed him forward, closing the door behind him. “Let's get going scumbag. If you want to die so badly, who are we to stop you.”  One walked in front of him and one behind, to make sure he wouldn’t try anything. However, it was clear he was still much too blinded by the sunlight to try anything. One of the guards had to grab ahold of his arm so he wouldn’t stumble about randomly. His eyes finally began to readjust however and he was able to gaze upon his city once again, after being locked away for what felt like an eternity.

It was a majestic city, built by the combined wealth of the Alliance, and by the labor of the thralls. It was a city built inside of a mountain. The light came from the top of the city where there was a large oculus, allowing the sun’s warmth and light to shine upon the city from above. It was protected by a strong portcullis, strong enough to even repel dragonfire. However, he had only a few moments to gaze upon the capital before the guards pushed him along into the bustling city streets.

“So, you finally decided to leave that hellhole did you? You’ve just about been forgotten what with the war going on. No one has the time to care about some disgraced Magistrate’s bastard.” One of the guards spoke as they began to make their way through the crowded Market District. As the name would suggest, the Market District was overseen by the Merchants Guild. It seemed that even in time of war, business never ceased as minotaurs from all walks of life bartered with the different merchants selling their wares.

Gregar merely shook his head, he could tell the guard was trying to get a rise out of him. He wasn’t going to let his nerves get the better of him as he jostled his way through the street, his escorts by his side,” I care not what others think of me or my father.  I know who my father really was, and what he really died for. That’s all that matters to me.” Gregar spoke plainly and coldly, his tone making it clear that he didn’t intend to continue the conversation. The guards shrugged and continued on their way. It seemed like the years in the Rat Quarter hadn’t broken the will of the young minotaur, if anything it only seemed to have made him more resilient to the hardships of life.  

The three finally out of the Market District and arrived at in the Military District. Here, the Legion was given lodging and room to drill her soldiers. Gregar could see many minotaurs, all wearing similar gear to his escorts out on the field. Their armor gleamed in the sunlight as the tips of their spears shimmered. They sparred with one another, shield crashing against shield as  he struggle of the soldiers could be heard throughout the field.  Across the field, an archery range was set up as more soldiers practiced with their bows. Everything seemed remarkably similar to the normal drilling of soldiers prior to Gregar being sent to the Rat Quarter, but one new feature he did take notice of.

“Gems?” Gregar wondered aloud, running his hand through his disheveled fur in confusion. What was the need of pretty little trinkets to soldiers he wondered. The guards could sense his confusion and one spoke up to explain.

“That’s right, they are the only weakness we’ve been able to exploit against those flying beasts.”

“What do you mean? How are gems possibly going to help slay flying, fire breathing lizards?”

“Simple: dragons seem to have an uncontrollable urge to eat gems. Whenever they see a good amount of them, they seem to lose all rational thought and head straight toward them. That gives us enough time to get the nets over them to keep them grounded.  Still a hard fight though, seeing as how they can breathe fire and have razor sharp claws. It at least helps even the odds a bit.” The other guard nodded his head to affirm his comrades statement. Gregar still seemed  rather confused however as he raised another point,

“How in the name of Minatus do these nets not get burned up or torn to shreds once you have them on the beast?” Gregar picked up a nearby net and examined it. It was larger than most other nets he had seen, but he didn’t notice anything special about it.

“It’s made of out Valorirum Silk, you know, that kind that the Zebra export. It can’t be burned nor torn nor shredded if it is made correctly. The Steelfin Fleet has been making smuggling runs and raids amongst the coast of the Zebra Tribes to acquire as much of it as we possibly can. They've also begun raiding against those puny Pony Tribes to the North as well, we've been getting our surplus of grain from those Earth Ponies, but they've recently unified in the 'United Tribes of Equestria'. That makes it harder for us to raid them now that that those three tribes aren't at each others throats, but that's fine, we still take what we need. Thankfully, the dragons are too focused on burning cities and fields to notices our ships out at sea. If it wasn’t for them, we’d have all been dead many months ago.” The guard took the net from Gregar and handed it to his fellow guardsman. He then looked a Gregar and pushed him along, "Come on Bastard, you want to restore your family's honor and prestige? Let's see if the Tribune will even accept a wretched beast such as yourself.” The guard once more began to egg Gregar on, trying to get a rise out of him. He ignored him once again and began walking towards the Tribunes office, ahead of his guard. The two guardsmen muttered to themselves and followed suit. They reached the large oaken door with a gold plate on the front with letters inscribed that read, Tribune. The guards gave each other a nod as they knocked on the door. There was no response to they spoke,

“Lord Tribune! There is another potential recruit from the gutters here!” There was a brief moment of silence before a stern, firm voice replied from the other side of the door,

“Send him in.”

One guard opened the door and the other pushed Gregar in without warning. The door then slammed shut behind him. As Gregar managed to regain his footing, he looked across the room to find a large, and older Minotaur browsing through maps. His fur was greying due to age, but his body was still in fine shape. All his muscles were firm and showing, and it was clear that despite his age, he could defeat most other Minotaurs in single combat. 

His blue eyes scanned over the map before moving to gaze upon Gregar. His eyes were deep and cold, they analyzed every detail about Gregar before the owner of said eyes spoke, his tone icy and steely.

“It’s you, Mentark’s Bastard. We all thought you died somewhere in the Rat’s Quarter. I must say, it is quite the surprise to see you out of that hole. Most bastards wouldn’t want to show themselves, especially bastards of disowned and exiled nobles.” as the Tribune spoke, every word felt barbed, despite or perhaps because his tone was so collected and composed. Gregar was really beginning to tire of all the insults coming his way, but he should have expected this, and he returned the Tribune’s icy gaze with one of his own.

“In all honesty, Lord Timon, I don’t care about my heritage or my father at the moment. I just want to fight. I was tired of living in that hole not making anything out of my life. Even if I’m to die in this war, at least I died for my people, rather than wasting away as some unknown guildless minotaur in the Rat Quarter. I don’t care if you even refuse to grant me a place within the Legion. I can remain guildless for all I care,put me in the auxiliary if that’s the case. Just let me fight.” Gregar moved forward, slamming his hands down on on Timon’s desk. For a brief instant, there was a fire in his eyes, similar to the one Alastor possessed earlier. He quickly calmed himself however and withdrew, standing at attention in front of
the other minotaur.

Timon examined him again once more and stroked the fur near his chin. After what felt like an eternity of silence, his steely voice rang out once again, "Fine. We need every able bodied minotaur we can find. I have no reason to turn down your service in the legion just because you are the bastard of an exile. By my authority as Tribune, I hereby invest you, Gregar Ironhorn , with admittance and membership into the Legion. From this day onward, you shall serve the Legion and the Alliance without question. For we are the shield and sword of the Alliance, protecting her from all threats , internal and external. We obey the dictates of the Magistrates and fight for the defense of our people.” Timon stood up and slammed a closed fist against his chest, the common salute of the Legion. Gregar returned the salute and stood firm,

“I give my life to the Legion, to serve with honor and dignity and above all else, to protect our people from all threats. No harm shall come to our people so long as I have shield and sword to bear.” Gregar spoke his oath and lowered his salute after Timon did. Timon lowered himself back into his chair and began to gaze down at the map,

“Leave now then, Legionnaire Ironhorn. You begin your training at first light. I expect you to make a name for yourself out there or die trying. Dismissed.” Timon spoke without looking from his map. Gregar bowed silently and left.  As soon as he was out of the office, the two guards surrounded him. Gregar looked at the two with dismay, knowing what was about to happen. 

“So, the bastard is in the Legion now then is he? Well then Brother Bastard, welcome to the Legion. Why don’t you meet the rest of your tent mates with us.” Gregar let out a disgruntled sigh, it seemed he would be in the tent group with his guards. As the two guards laughed and pushed him along, he couldn’t help but wonder if it was too late to run back to the Rat Quarter as he slowly neared his tent and the beginning of his new life.