Bane

by canonkiller

Prologue

I have been told that, at one point, there was color in this world. That the borders of our populace were not marked with deep trenches and walls of disorienting fog. That all races lived together, in harmony.

I have been told my fathers' name was Silver, for his coat was a pale gray - although that is not uncommon - and that my mother was Snow, a white unicorn. They were both killed for interracial interaction. I was spared.

I am an Earth Pony, as all in Terria are. My coat is black as night, as many are, and my eyes are pale as the few clouds that drift from Airtica. All of our eyes are white now. There is no change in emotion through them, for we have no pupils.

I wish I could say that the ponies did this, that some dragon or griffon or changeling invaded our land and cast us into eternal twilight, but it is not the truth. This is the fault of Him. He was the one who changed our lands.

But... He vanished. A thousand years into this limbo, when the sun and the moon vanished from the sky. That was when the last of the rebels vanished as well, eight ponies who had stood against Him.

The Eight divided the land through decades of shadow, splitting it into parts so the fighting would end. On the north side is Airtica, the land of the Pegasi. In the east, Arcana, the land of the Unicorns. The south is my homeland, Terria, where the Earth Ponies live. In the west is Haven, the land where most wildlife fled to, as no pony with malicious thoughts can enter. Around the very center is the Swath, a thick band of churning water that no pony of any race can cross.

Not that they'd want to. Despite the thick, rich soil on the outer edge, but the inner turns to dust and sand, and stretches as far as the eye can see. Some cartographers from Terria have walked the entire edge of the river, and proclaimed it to be a perfect circle.

They say that three of the Eight reside in the Badlands, and one in each other region. Two reside in Haven.

I will challenge the Eight to their honor, find Him and face Him. He will fall, and the world will become pristine again.

That is my goal.

For now, though, I have to bring water back to my colony.

The water jar is heavy on my skull, the bottom made to align with my skull and balance between my ears. I am cautious, more than I was on the way to the river.

Wildlife has claimed all but this path to the river. I can hear the lonely echo of a Timberwolf off in the distance, the churning growl of what might be a Splintercat. There is always the off chance that it is an Ancient, as well; one of the legendary monsters that were chased into the Badlands. I am close enough to the Swath for it to be possible.

The last time I saw an Ancient, it was a great Ogopogo; a massive swamp beast with a maw that could swallow a pony whole. It was not in any shape to do so, as it had lumbered through the forest, gills flapping uselessly, breath heavy and dry in the air. A pack of Timberwolves had followed it from the Badlands; waiting for it to falter. It died a flipper-length away from the river.

Our colony had taken the bones and created a display along the Arcana border, where the unicorns had begun advancing their territory.

Needless to say, they turned tail and fled.

As to what we do here, Terria is basically all farmland. Rows upon rows of trees and vines and bushes and crops. These paths are the only ground free of our farmland, until you reach the far south or the Haven border, which then returns to wild forest. The Everfree, I believe it was called once, and it extends into the deep of Haven.

I flinch as something moves to my right. Heading towards Haven, probably.

The underbrush shifts away as the proud muzzle of a Timberwolf enters the empty space beyond. It seems old, an Ancient in its own right, and is scarred with decades of weather and scarring. It turns to face me, it's eyes a strange not-gray, and then looks back to its' path. It must have noticed me, I am not making an effort to hide, but it simply moves it's bulk across the path and vanishes into the trees on the other side.

There is a fresh wound, dripping pale sap along its tail. No doubt it's the fault of the other two colts my age; Silt and Dust. They seem to enjoy hunting predators. Darwing's theory at its best.

The pair come crashing through the plants right on cue, Silt holding a small blade and Dust armed with a slingshot and a bag of rocks.

"Hoy, Bane!" Dust yells, as if he wasn't standing a pony-length in front of me. "Didja see a big ol' wolf pass through here?"

"Why? You looking to get killed?"

"Huhu, 'course nawt!" Silt replies for him, dropping the dagger into his hoof. "Dem wolves can give enough fi'wood to last all wintah!"

"And have enough teeth to not leave any remains of you." I started off again, flattening my ears as the two followed me.

"You saw t'wolf, Bane! Ah can tell!"

"Yeah! He can tell!" Silt added.

I groaned, rolling my eyes. "I saw it. How's that?"

"Thanks, Bane!"

"Hu, yeah, thanks Bane!"

I grumble to myself as they crash off through the forest on the other side of the path. I want to leave for Acres, the rumored living place of our One, but I am the only eligible young pony for the job; Silt and Dust are also listed for duties, but since they're going to get killed sooner or later, all the responsibility has fallen to me.

The next Rearing is almost upon us; the air has melted the ice and the buds are appearing on the trees. Five more Howls - what I have been told signify the change from awake-time to sleep-time - and then all the foals will be brought to the Caves.

Among them is my sister; a pure Earth Pony, unlike my half-breed mix. She was injured during my Rearing, or she would have completed it already.

The goal of the Rearing is to weed out the weaklings from our ranks. Rearings are held during every new-leaf - the old ones call it 'spring' - and every foal at or above the age of fifty Howls is brought to the Caves. They are placed in the main chamber - I remember it vaguely, the walls shimmered with not-gray crystal - and left there. The old ones know their way, and leave the foals behind in seconds. Then, we wait. The Caves are a natural wonder; every Howl, the old crystals begin to drip. The Caves are directly below an ancient underground lake, and it fills constantly from a spring on the mountianside.

If a foal does not make it out by the closest Howl, they are lost. There are no air chambers, no hidden pockets of oxygen.

The Howl comes, and you are dead.

A voice echoes from the direction of camp, loud and clear.

"Sire Raven!"

I pick up the pace, the fear and loudness urging me on. Water laps at the edge of the jar, running in cold rivulets down my neck and shoulders. A thick, metal scent fills the air, one that emanates from battle wounds and scraped knees. Blood.

The path widens suddenly, revealing the camp and its raw beauty.

In the center, there is a wide black splash, somehow darker than my own coat. It shimmers in the half-light the sky produces, reflecting and spreading. A pony lies in the middle, dark gray coat blending and splashed with this omnipotence of black. His white eyes are dull gray, his mouth frozen in a scream.

Another pony stands beside him, blood staining his chest and hooves. There is something... different, about him. He holds himself differently, placing his weight equally on his four feet. He turns to face me, the youngling with the water, and his eyes are a cold, dark black.

A Pegasus.

He surveys the ponies emerging from their houses, seeing their leader dead, the pony who called his name nowhere to be seen.

The Pegasus lifts his head, confidence and arrogance radiating from his being. "I am Frost." He announced, spreading his wings. "I have beaten you sire. This camp is mine to lead. The Rearing will be tonight." He stamps a hoof, blood splashing up his leg.

There are horrified gasps, but nopony moves to confront him. We have dwindled in the last hundred Howls, most of the remaining stallions being too old or too young. Many of the mares are akin in that status.

There's just Silt and Dust who can challenge him.

A loud howl echoes through the still air; different from the Howls of sleep and wake, steeped with pain and anger. Two screams follow, and then the forest falls silent.

Now, there's just me.

Comments

[Ratchetgreen]

His punishment must be more severe

[Azarune]

This sounds most intriguing I shall begin following this. Now I wonder who were the eight, I have a few guesses but eh. Either way best wishes!

[The Rogue Wolf]

This has my interest. Tracking!