The Dragon’s Breath
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Five ponies sat around a campfire. The orange flames cast flickering shadows across their faces as they huddled close for warmth. The frigid wind howled through the boughs above them in the moonlit forest. Four foals. Twilight Sparkle, Shining Armor, and Moondancer. One pure white stallion, nameless, vaguely reptilian, one-eyed One mare with both wings and horns, still not fully grown to her adult shape, Cadance, closer to childhood than maturity. The four sat across from the stallion bard as he rested the seven string guitar on his knee. He said “Okay, Twilight, that’s your Ballad of Bearded Starswirl. I reckon we’ve time for just one more song.” His twinkling eye found Shining Armor through the flames. “I don’t think I’ve heard you request anything all night, Shining Armor. Why? Do you not want to hear anything from this old bard?” Shining stayed quiet. “C’mon.”
Shining admitted, “I haven’t asked for anything, because I didn’t think the girls would like it much?”
The albino stallion’s eye widened. “Oh? Is that so? What did you want to hear?”
Shining slowly answered, “A story about a knight, maybe one with a dragon…” He fiddled his hooves together.
The bard’s mouth curved up. “Ah, I got just the thing for you. Lemme see here…” He rested the guitar across his body and he began to play a lilting chansom tune. At last, he opened his lips to sing,
“You there, hear my tale
Of woe, of courage, of hope frail,
Of fire, of armor, of a bygone era
And rage.
Tis the story of the white drake,
Of lives he did take.
Of Celestia’s knights,
With flames from great heights.
The ballad of Barrakan the White,
Who, with every flap of every flight,
Torments the air with his wings,
Whose black shadow proclaims fell things.
Barrakan, the dragon unbound.
Barrakan, the awful sound.
Barrakan, a story for foals.
Barrakan, who roasts the living into coals.
Long ago, in a time forsaken,
When Celestia had only recently the throne of Canterlot taken.
Word came of a far beast,
They said it huge and from the east.
A dragon of a truly frightful size.
With claws like swords and flame red eyes.
Whose shadow turned day into night.
And whose scales were a pure white.
The horror of his age,
A peer of King Vortex in his rage.
The ponies implored their sovereign to take a stand
Before Barrakan consumed their land.
Princess Celestia yieleded
And so she ordered fielded
Three ballistae large
To stop the dragon’s charge.
They sought out brave pegasi,
Who would into any danger fly.
Brave and strong,
They would take that dragon headlong.
Surely it would avail
To piece the beast thrice with great rails,
But when Celestia eyed the dragon fair,
She was gripped by despair.
Her mouth fell open wide
Despite her power and pride.
Had he stayed still,
Each talon could have been called a hill.
He could crush her castle.
It would be no hassle.
He could coil around her city
And roast it without pity.
Barrakan hardly noticed her castle tall,
Beneath his notice – much too small.
Ponies were insignificant in his eyes;
He needed prey of collosal size.
A hydra would be succour
As would an Ursa Major make a nice supper.
His stomach lacked taste for pony;
Too small and much too boney.
He could not help but bring woe,
For he could not avoid doing so.
He crushed ponies like how you crush an ant
And his concern was scant.
With one beat of his wings,
He whipped great cloud rings.
His tips traversed mountains high to low,
From the lofty peaks to the valleys below.
Over Canterlot he did glide,
And then the ponies unleashed their pride.
Three flights of pegasi
Hauled up great ballistae.
These weapons could pierce any beast,
But what about one from the East?
Their great bolts pierced rock and bone,
But could they defeat scales like diamond stone?
One hurtled through the air!
But it bounced from his belly without a care.
The second flew for his wing,
And pierced through the soft thing.
Surprised, Barrakan scanned the air
Even as the pegasi flew around the dragon unaware.
Knowing fully they would die,
They fired right at his eye.
With a roar that shook every mountain
And spewing inferno like a fountain,
The bolt its mark did find,
And struck Barrakan the White half blind.
The right eye swallowed it whole.
It pieced to the nerve and speared the pupil.
For a moment, observing Celestia considered him downed,
But then his fury came unbound.
Like a a meteor spewing plasma,
He belched his scorching miasma
As he dove at the town below,
The ones who dared to try to rend him low.
Time to kill!
They bore him ill!
They could not understand!
Thus their unmaking was at hand!
A monster is a creature taken incomplete
Without respect for their prey or with what they compete.
Just because an animal may be deadly and wreak a toll
Does not make it without a role.
But defense of self and kith and kin is deeply planted
And should one consider a plunderer’s license granted
When something comes from outside ones sphere
And threatens what is held dear?
Blunders do not add up to right
But they explain many a fight.
And as Barrakan hurtled down to destroy without pity,
The ponies stood firm to defend their city.
Barrakan’s landing broke off the cliff face
And took half of Celestia’s palace with its base.
A jet of flame charred the noble district with its black blight
Permanent, only hidden today by its painted white.
Another thrash, another acre cleared,
Now Celestia understand why her ponies feared.
In a single rage,
The dragon would exterminate her age.
Terror flooded the city like a curve
Ponies ran; they imagined no way of dying worse
Than to perish in fire
Or to choke on the fumes dire.
One guard, whether stupid or brave, I do not know,
Decided to have a go
At stopping the beast
And deny him his feast.
He grabbed his sword
And rushed of his own accord
He walked through the noxious breath
As he welcomes death.
He wove through the streets
All around him horror greets.
Some try to save themselves from their perdition
Others find death easier in submission.
At long last, he found himself faced with the fell beast
Borne of blood and fire, escaped from the savage East.
Though its size struck him with awe,
He started to climb as he leapt onto its claw.
Onto every scale’s roughness he grabbed
A foothold, and between the pleats he stabbed.
But to no avail, he could not deny.
So he made towards the one remaining eye.
Step by step, scale by scale, he made his way.
That accursed monster would pay!
But at long last, onto the snout he fell.
He awaited the fire off hell.
But the drake them saw the knight
And took a peculiar fright.
One so small
Could cause his fall!
And so he sent a jet of fire
To kill in his ire.
The stallion it found,
His agony did resound.
His had won his grave,
For with the life he gave,
He saved them all
From the gravelord’s hall.
Then, the dragon took wing.
He deserted the thing.
Though he was in the agony the ponies gave
Revenge was not worth his grave.
And thus while the knight rests in the ground
Barrakan White has new hunting grounds found,
Though one day, he may come back
To avenge that ancient attack.”
The ponies sat around the fire. The girls huddled together out of fear. Shining Armor sat up erect at the fire, locking eyes with the white bard. A mutual respect flashed between them, followed by a bolt of fear. Who was this pony looking at them really? More importantly, what were they? Shining held his gaze with the ancient stallion, who winked his left eye, the right socket empty as he yawned a miasma which wound into the young colt’s memory. In that moment, they saw the blood of the future. And somewhere in their minds were aches for fire and sword…