//------------------------------//
// Part One - Storytime in Elsewhere / Das Leben ist kein Ponyhof 
// Story: The First Lunar Guard 
// by GhostWriter 
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– Storytime in Elsewhere / Das Leben ist kein Ponyhof –



(Shyft narrates)

Long ago, the three pony races of ancient Equestria came together and put aside their differences to work together. A fourth race, however, was left out of this grand event; that race was the Thestral. The Thestrals, also oft called 'batponies' because of their bat-like appearance, were somewhat more primitive during those time, much more content to live by the ways of their ancestors rather than progress. The other races did not understand this, and looked down on them for it.  Even so, thestrals existed everywhere across Equestria, living in groups. Most were nomadic by nature, preferring to move around every few nights. They could be found in the forests, in camps that could be as small as five huts, or as large as a small village.
In one of these camps lived a young thestral, only a colt at the time. This young pony had a coat as black as the night itself, and his mane and tail were silver, like the moonlight. He was dashing, to say the least, even at his age. His name, however, had not been given yet. You see, tradition said that when a young male thestral became an adult, his father gave him the name they had earned in youth. This young colt was soon to be a stallion, and then would he earn his name. His father, a strong hunter called Swift Wind, was perhaps as excited as his son about this soon-to-come event, and every night he told the colt of the grand feast they would have at his ceremony. Life could not have been better for our young thestral as he counted the days to this event.
But on a cold winter’s night, under the light of the Winter Moon, the life of this thestral would drastically change. He was in the hut he shared with his father when he first heard the shouting. It was not a voice he knew, and it was joined by a few others he also did not know. Then came the cry of one of the mares, then more shouting. Rushing out of the tent, the colt saw three strange stallions in the camp, each wearing golden armor, and one was shouting at Swift Wind, who was shouting back at them while standing over a mare huddled on the ground.
Before he knew what was happening, the sound of a blade was heard, and the colt’s father fell. More shouting came from the other thestrals, but none was louder than the young colt as he rushed to his father. Throwing himself in front of the attackers, they appeared confused, but then simply laughed and shouted, for all to hear, Praise the new alliance! Three pairs of feathery pegasi wings unfolded, and the attackers flew off into the night.
The young colt laid on his father’s still body and wept for what felt like hours, until one of the elders finally came to pull him away. In but a single night, a happy, promising life had taken a heavy blow. For the young colt, it was near devastating. Sadness quickly became anger, and anger gave birth to hate. That night beneath the Winter Moon, as the snow fell on his father’s dead body, the young colt swore to his kind’s gods that he would make the attackers pay. He would not kill them, however; he instead wanted to take what they held dear, as they had taken from him.
Over the next few years, the young colt grew into a fine stallion. He was strong as well as fast, an excellent hunter, and skilled at silent movement and flight. Others in the tribe called him the Quiet One, as the incident so many years ago made him become very reserved. The elders had tried to give him a true name at his ceremony, but he had refused it. This was unheard of, but, he had decided under that pale moon long ago that he would live nameless until those attackers had paid with blood. And his patience had granted him two perfect targets: so-called princesses that now ruled over the other races. His father’s death would be avenged in the death of these princesses, only then would he have his name.
Another year came to pass, at which the Quiet One decided he would wait no longer. With thanks to those who had looked after him over the years, he gathered his bedroll and only a few possessions, including an obsidian knife his father had made for him as a colt. It was with this he intended to kill the princesses, and he already knew how he would reach them. Since their kind had such a tendency to move from time to time, there were some places where the Earth ponies were more accepting of them, agreeing to sell and trade items. In these places, the stallion had listened closely to conversations, hoping to hear something that would be of use to his ultimate goal. 
A week before, he’d heard mention of the princesses looking for strong stallions to join their Royal Guard. The sisters would be making an appearance, to inspect newly-inducted volunteers and visit citizens. This would be his best chance. And so, on a warm summer night when the moon was full, the Quiet One left his home and set out into the night, a dark and troubled soul who sought death. His destination: a small town to the north called Canterlot.





You wake up feeling dizzy and disoriented, and soon realize that you’re lying on the ground with something laid over you, keeping you warm. You sit up slowly and look around; you’re back in the center of town, in front of Town Hall. The big red pillow is still there, probably what your head was laying on, and you discover that the thing blanketing you is the tattered cloak of the storyteller, Shyft. However, the strange pony is nowhere to be seen.
Just as your mind begins jumping to conclusions, you notice something under the pillow. Pulling the cushion aside, you find a folded piece of parchment. Like any other pony who just woke up in the street after a strange and unexplainable experience with a mysterious storytelling pony, you unfold the paper.

	Dear New Friend,

I am filled with joy to see that you enjoyed the story thus far! It has been ages since one listened so intently to one of my tales. It truly restores the faith in this old storyteller. You may have noticed I left my cloak with you. Keep it! I have many others, and I certainly didn’t want you sleeping in the cold.
Now, you may feel a teensy bit odd when you wake up. Dizziness, queasiness, sore throat, dry throat, seeing spots, having spots, things you touch suddenly gaining spots, breathing fire, being on fire, or a sudden craving for cauliflower can be minor side effects, but I assure you they will shortly pass. If any persist longer than an hour, then just give it a few days/months and I’m sure it will work its way through your system, eventually.
Meet me here at Town Hall tomorrow night if you’d like to hear more of the story. Bring some dead branches, too. And cauliflower.

Shyft