Became an Exile 4,581 words
Chapter 13: Unfortunate 4,409 words
Chapter 14: These Hooves of Mine4,486 words
Chapter 15: Childish4,560 words
Chapter 16: The Dauntless4,325 words
Chapter 17: Remorse, Hence the Scars4,463 words
Chapter 18: The Observer Effect4,547 words
Chapter 19: Skies of Blue4,017 words
Chapter 20: We Have Held Them Off...4,067 words
Chapter 21:...Until Now4,517 words
Chapter 22: Just Ice 4,622 words
Chapter 23: Up the Storm Down4,229 words
Chapter 24: Refracted Light4,798 words
Whoa Damn I'm back?0 words

Bonus!: Through the Morbid

This chapter is based on Fiddle stick's lore, then how he met Annie and Veigar. I couldn't decide whether to make it a legitimate part of the story; i didn't want to go through Kassadin asking Yoh Fiddle! Whatsup with the lil gurl and da lil boi dawg?!, it doesn't exactly flow~. So i'd rather let you guys read through Fiddle's experience ^_^ Enjoy!

So cold..., his thoughts were clouded with shear darkness. Curious of the state he is in, he attempted to gather himself. His body was far too stiff to even lift a hoof. His eyes disobeyed ,and stayed shut despite his screams to see once again. It was still cold, but not the kind of chill in unforgiving winter, the kind of cold where your body is clutched by the blades of death. He could feel his body quickly losing its life entity. Far too little to live with...

He knew not of the time he has spent laying there, but all he could remember was that it was the day he will die. It truly was one of the most unfortunate ways to die; to only be working at a farm, at the corn fields that slowly faded since their last sunlight feed. That particular day, he woke up casually, then once again cycled his morning rituals. Nothing out of the unusual. He had no family, but he certainly was well known amoungst the rest of Zaun. He may seem like an easy target for bandits or ransackers, but he wielded a un-earthly scythe that can devastate a stallion from afar with just a simple slash. However, he is pure at heart and only turned aggressive towards those who posed a threat.

The clouds were grey and moist, reflecting it's gloom to all of Zaun. It was only morning, so he didn't expect much sun anyways. The pale yellow grass crunched beneath his hooves as he walked through the infertile fields. His farm was barely making profit, and he was lucky in a way, that he didn't have to provide for a whole family. The soft breeze brought him a moment of bliss, along with the scent of adolescent sweet flowers. He didn't question it, but he surely enjoyed it.

As he swiftly swiped down dead plants to make more room for the healthy ones, he heard a rustle to his left. He quickly remembered the warning from his neighbour.

"Somethin's on tha loose Fiddle." said Dandy Lion, "A were-pony has been killin' people all ova Zaun. No doubt that it be comin' after tha farmers."

He didn't doubt her at all; the massacre was always on the newspapers. A death here; then there; then up there. He was tempted to research into depth behind all these murders. Strangely, they were all connected in a way; they all had criminal statuses. The rustle quickly became harsh after a second shake, leaving Fiddle with no doubts that there really was something there. He didn't want to jump to conclusions however. So he prepared to slash down with his scythe, at the ready. He approaches the source of the noise, then swiftly revealed the... crow?

The crow certainly wasn't feeding on the corn stalks... yet; but he certainly was injured. Fiddle had a soft spot in his heart for anything that was injured at his doorstep (corn field in this case). He was tricked by a group of bandits whom used that similar trick, but they didn't cause any harm other than his poor splintered door. Neglecting his daily chores, he brought the crow into his small home. The crow cawed gratefully, making Fiddle smile in return. The moment of bonding was broken by a knock on the door.

"Fiddle!" a young feminine voice resonated through his door, "You there?"

Fiddle sighed. "Just bash it open. The thing is gonna break sometime today anyways."

"You sure?"

"As stone." a rather weird gesture in all honesty.

"Actually, i'll just hop through the window." and so she did, with a miner scrape thanks to a broken metal frame.

"Whatcha need Dandy?" Fiddle asked. He was dirty, as usual, with his dark grey mane that was cut short from the front. It created a little sprout at the back of his head, seemingly like a sunflower. He was in bad shape, dark circles formed around his blueish-green eyes and his dark brown coat was ridden with dirt and grass. His cutiemark was nothing special: just a bundle of stalk.

"Just wanted to stop by today. Nothin' ever happens down at the celery farm." her smile was petite, but adorable. She only had a slight country accent, nothing compared to her brother's. She has a curly and beaded gold mane, which also matched her equally bright yellow coat. She had hazel eyes, and a dandelion as her cutiemark. "Why do you have a crow here?"

"I had to take the poor thing in. Besides, it wasn't eatin' any of the crops or anything."

"Uh huh." she kept a straight face, seemingly unamused. She came over to take a closer look at the crow, who only cawed aggressively in her presence. She didn't flinch, but resented to leave the bird alone. "Anyways," she turned back to Fiddle, "want to come with me to town? I got extra bits."

He pondered the thought for a moment, then came to a conclusion that he has far too much work to be done on the farm. Dandy didn't work very often, simply because her father gets it down. Don't get me wrong, she is a hard worker too-- just with more time off.

"Sorry Dandy," he said, "I got too much to do at the fields. You go say hi to Pasta Crunch for me?"

"Sure thing Fiddle... oh! One last thing!"

"Whats that?"

"Im finally going to visit Canterlot soon!" her smiled caused him to smile too.

"Thats great news, but what for?"

"Just visitin' a relative is all. See ya later Fiddle." she made her way towards the window, extra careful about that broken frame.

"Goodbye Dandy, have a nice day."

Should'a went with her Fiddle... you numbskull. His sweeter side of his memory subsided gently. His crueller memory however...

Fiddle fell over, blood ridden hooves reached for his trusty scythe, but he was too foolish when he left it there, out of reach, to check on yet another rustle in the stalks. Although he immediately regretted it, he always liked the thrill of a fight. He was attacked with great surprise by the were-pony Dandy warned him about. He was quickly hindered with one brutal swipe from his claws, which hurt immensely. He figured that it wouldn't matter much if he died today. So he laid there,cold, and eyes refusing to see once again. He felt a large gash through his face.

"Im more interested in your scythe than your life."(that rhymed) the were-pony spoke. Fiddle could recognize that voice from anywhere.

"Warwick?" the feared and well known body-hunter certainly did not look like a feral wolf the last time he was seen in town.

"Surprised you know me."

"Please, I've always admired your works."

"Thank you for the flattery, but as I was doing so..." he could hear Warwick step behind him, which he predicted was where his scythe laid.

And so, we're back to Fiddle laying on the ground... cold... and stiff.

Caw! the injured crow pecked his ears. Asking if there is some problem. The crow, who was obviously oblivious, flew away when he impatiently received no reaction. Well, at least he's okay. he thought. His head ceased it's migraine, but in return gave him no more sentient thought. He simply could not feel his own mind anymore. What he couldn't hear was the oncoming flock of the crow's allies, from it's own species though. Oddly enough, they plumetted to the ground, intentionally. Those who did not die from the fall, were attacked by it's fellow comrades. One by one, the crow's apparation rose from it's dead body, and drifted towards Fiddle. Just before the pony died, the crows somehow pulled his soul, and transferred it to the nearby scarecrow. All of the crow apparitions followed as if the spectrums were carrying Fiddle. He easily melded himself into the body of the scarecrow, and so did all of the following crows.

With great haste, the crows melded their ghosts into the scarecrow... rendering him alive by giving their life essence.

What--what happened? he felt lively, but extremely unfamiliar with his own body. he was still stiff, but he wasn't cold, and he could open his eyes. He gazed at himself, to see what abomination he has become.

He was made of sticks and straw, yet he was surprisingly well built. He didn't feel to fragile, nor buff. He struggled a bit to remove himself from the stake, but it was done nevertheless. Once he got off, he felt the autumn breeze once again. It felt natural against his wooden frame of so called sticks.

He wasn't horrified of his appearances at all; anything for redemption. An injured crow, with a small bandage on it's wings nestled on his shoulder.

Caw! it cried.

"Thanks little guy. Thank you so much."

The crow merely nodded and hopped off. Fiddle watched it go back into the field of crops. Once it was out of sight, he turned to look for his unearthly scythe, secretly hoping that Warwick hadn't taken it after all. It was highly unlikely that it would still be there.

It wasn't surprising, but it wasn't there. Fiddle sighed, wondering what to do next.

"Hey Warwick, you look surprised to see me." the scarecrow joked with the feral beast who was now upon him. Fiddle decided to track down the were-pony, with ease, he found him by the drips of blood that stained the dirt roads. It was rather foolish of him to escape through obvious paths, but then again, Fiddle was the one who was foolish to track down Warwick.

"You want you scythe back?!" he spat bloody saliva and beared his very sharp fangs.

"Yes." he said with no emotions whatsoever, but he couldn't anyways; not with the features that his straw face allowed.

"Well scram off because you're not getting it back!"

"Oh yea?"

Warwick leaned in, to give Fiddle a clearer message, "Yea." he reached back to prepare to swipe the scarecrow into a heap of sticks. Fiddle nimbly countered unconsciously, by peering deep into his eyes and seeking-- Warwick's worst fear. He grabbed at it, and amplified that image many thousands of times.

Now that, was truly the most terrifying gaze Equestria has ever beheld.

With barely a scratch on him, Warwick whimpered and scattered away... leaving behind his scythe.

He has been wondering aimlessly for about 30 minutes at the least. Tracking down Warwick has brought him to someplace he has never seen nor had knowledge about. It was a bit swampy, but not too dark. The grass portrayed a illusion of black grass by being stained with dark mud. The trees were rotten, which Fiddle doubted could get back to health once again. Through all the foliage, he hears a sniffle and hiccup. He treads closer to investigate; with much stealth.

"I--its alright! I've travelled alone for awhile so I can take care of you!" said a squeaky and high voice. At this point, Fiddle has vision on two small ponies: one is a colt, the other a filly. She was dressed in purple and pink skirt and socks that became dirty from ,what he assumed, their adventure. He was recognizably the infamous Valiant, aka. Veigar. Everypony in Zaun knew of what the little colt has been through.

"Maybe we should go back-- to see if mommy and daddy are okay." she said with doubt and glum. Now that she lifted her head, she was ridden with tears and mud.

"Sure thing Annie... sure thing..."

Fiddle decided to introduce himself the most polite way he can think of.

"Hello little ones!" he rasped, forgetting that his voice isn't his soft pony voice. Before he could continue, he was quickly blasted by a ball of fire, then a sphere of dark magic. The little ponies screamed and ran as fast as they could. Fiddle noticed that his sides were burnt but did not inflict any pain. "Wait!" he called after them. He sighed, determined to help the poor children, he trotted with his stiff wooden legs. He thanked his past self for creating such a lovely scarecrow, otherwise this would've been very inconvenient.

"Think we lost it?" Annie panted between words. She gripped Tibbers extra tight at that moment.

"Yes. But I still wanted to show him a piece of my mind!" Veigar eagerly replied.

"Oh come on, I only want to help you find your parents." a new voice chimed.

"Oh hello! My name is Ann--" she realized that voice was the one they ran from.

"Wait!..." Fiddle reached behind him to pull out a familiar backpack, that Annie seemed to be missing. She turned slowly, finally getting a good glimpse at the scarecrow. However frightening he is, she focused on her beloved backpack that she carried photos of her family. She quickly reached for it, and Fiddle gave it to her halfway. She squealed in glee, hugging the scarecrow's fore-leg.

"You're not such a bad scarecrow!" she stated.

Veigar wasn't all too welcoming, "Just what exactly are you?! EXPLAIN YOURSELF!"

"Please, I just want to help. My name is Fiddlesticks." he winked, "I can also help you two find your parents." he tried to smile, but only opened his mouth which released a dark shadow of a crow, which luckily missed Annie. She gasped in fright, then coward behind Veigar, who had the opposite reaction.

"Whoa! What dark spell was that?!"

"Not sure." he shrugged.

"TEACH ME!"

Author's Note:

Does each champ from league count as an OC? :o whats the record for most OC's in a story?

P.s, enough Fiddle for ya? XD

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KRissCHu573

KRissCHu573 #1 · May 18th, 2013 · · ·

Okay...um...I don't know how to break this to ya...but he has a scythe not a sickle. There is a big difference between the two. The sickle has a short handle and is used to cut down wheat, while the scythe has a longer, slightly straighter blade, on a longer handle, kinda like a staff. If you could please fix that, I'd be mighty grateful.