Prologue: Setting Up the Stage
“Once upon a time in the magical land of Equestria…”
War never changes. My dad told me that. I looked him in the eye and told him that was fucking stupid. The next day, he died.
I stood over his grave, and I thought over his last words to me. Of course war changes. Every day Zebras are creating new talismans and fetishes. Each day the Ministries create new armor and weapons. Everyday war creates new and more creative ways for ponies to die.
I stared at the simple grave in front of me. All around me, similar graves where spread equally around the vast open plain. No, war never really changes. The combatants change. The means change. The reasons change. But war, it never changes.
War.
Industry started the war. Generators where built to power great cities. Trains constructed to bring supplies across the land. Engines which were powered on coal. Coal we didn’t have. But Zebras did.
In Zebra lands, weapons were made to tame back the Wilds. Weapons made to defend their homes and families. Weapons powered with magical gemstones. Gemstones they didn’t have. But we did.
So we traded, and it worked. We got coal to power our factories, run our trains. Industry took off. Bigger and better engines were made, demanding more coal to run. No one prepared for us not having any more.
Zebras got gemstones to power their weapons. They were able to defend their homes. They could keep their families safe with weapons powered by the magic embedded deep in the gemstones. Gemstones they weren’t prepared to lose.
It’s funny, really, how a country built around the ideals of Loyalty, Generosity, Honesty, Kindness, Laughter, and Magic, could give way to betrayal, greed, deceit, and hate. Laughter died and Magic was corrupted and forged into a weapon.
Equestria was new at war. Zebras, were not. They had been at constant war with the Wilds of their homeland for generations. War was something they all knew. We didn’t know war, but we learned. We learned real quick.
It started innocent enough. Small skirmishes, hardly worth being called that. Few to no casualties, and prisoners were given back almost immediately. It was a game, at first. But it escalated.
Things got more violent. Each battle, there were more casualties on each side. Hate brewed, tensions were at an all time high. We learned just what war was.
I was young, stupid, mislead. I had dreams of honor and glory. Leaving home as an ordinary young stallion, and returning as a hero, single hoofed-ly stopping the war and securing a steady supply of coal for Equestria. I would be the most famous and beloved pony in Equestria. The princesses themselves would thank me for my services.
Reality came to me in the form of a low-caliber zebra bullet to the brainpan.
I was saved by the Ministry of Peace and a lot of luck. I could have left then and there. Returned home an injured veteran. There would be honor in that. I would still be a hero.
But that bullet brought more with it than just reality. I realized, there were a lot of other ponies that were dieing each day. Most all of them could be as lucky as I was. So I stayed. I fought. I killed. I watched friend and foe reduced to ash, gore, goo, a fine red mist. I had seen ponies gutted, gored, dusted, incinerated. You name it, I’d probably seen it.
I still wanted the war to end. Not because I wanted to be a hero, but because I wanted to stop seeing my friends and loved ones die before my eyes. So I fought on. Day after day, year after year. And in the end, all my fighting didn’t change shit.
One final mistake. One more good intention gone bad. One pony’s decision changed the world.
The gates to Hell are opened by the incantation of good intentions.
No truer words have ever been said.
The world died in balefire and megaspells. Millions died. Some survived, The lucky ones found shelter in great underground bunkers called Stables. The rest, weren’t so lucky. If the balefire didn’t kill you, and you weren’t in a Stable, you probably wished it did.
I wasn’t in Equestria on the last day. I was in an independent state to the south, known as Caledonia. They weren’t hit as hard, but they were still hit. When the bombs fell, I was outside. Looking to the north, I could see the distant signs of my home country being burned. I saw the balefire missile coming. I watched as it impacted. I didn’t even blink as the blinding light burned my eyes. And as my world burned, my story came to a close.
But this story, isn’t about me. This story takes place two hundred years later, starting in the Stable labeled 124. This story, is about a simple Entertainer.