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// Prologue: Hauntings 
// Story: Rogue Civil Servant 
// by Heartland Picker 
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50 Years Prior to the Sister's Coronation

In the midst of a beautiful sunny day, a buck fawn was out in the valley meadow feasting on the grasses, enjoying its fill. It has no significant worry of what is going on around it: the meadow has always been a peaceful dwelling with no significant bother. Sure, the occasional horsefly was a bit of a nuance, but nothing a good jump wouldn't kick off. A predator would show up every once in a while, but a good buck to the face from the hindquarters would usually suffice to daze them to let him run off. Granted, there was some stroke of luck that would impede the pursuer's progress to catch it, which made each escape all the smoother.

As of now, though, the day has been exceptionally peaceful.

Off in the distance a small noise can be heard, but it is so distant that the young buck feels no concern, and moves to find a stream to wash down its lunch.

In five minutes, several squawks are heard at once, and three vultures make their presence fully known. They are unique: they have small and bare black heads, and two of them are females. The fawn, having felt fear in the past, makes a run for it into the mountain forest adjacent to the meadow. It has always been his default tactic dealing with past pursuers. The predators, typically being slower, usually end up losing its trail and giving up to find another unfortunate victim.

However, the vultures are not alien to the fawn: each has pursued and made its mark on the buck in the past, and each has failed to make the kill. Unfortunately, the little buck is not aware of how persistent these birds of prey are in the face of favorable conditions. They outnumber him now, and are smart enough to put it to use.

Eventually, the fawn is trapped in a corner in higher mountain cliffs a few hundred yards below the tree line, near a slow section of a stream. Before it makes a break to find another path, the vultures have caught up to him and have him blocked off. The little guy can only see one thing in their eyes: savage intent. They slowly pressure the buck to the corner in the cliff. After slow motion for about twenty seconds, the little buck charges them to at least bruise one or two and make its escape.

A grave error on his end: it has the necessary instinct, but its development has been significantly slow. Without any antlers, a charge against the threat is no good. The most cunning of the trio, the young female barely out of the fledgling state, makes a move to counter the little buck to throw it off-guard. The action is successful: the vulture has executed the first stage of the capture and now has a bloody grip on the fawn's back.

The fawn now bleats in pain, but the noise doesn't seem to reach anything that can offer any effective help. The elder female, a cruel spirit with the blackest head, begins the process of tearing the little guy apart very slowly. At the same time, the lone male just goes all in, as is the nature of a true alpha-male black vulture. He just wishes to end it fast so they can feast on the buck's live carcass.

The pain is too much for the fawn, and its hide is nearly half-shredded by the clawing and impaling of the vultures' talons. Its cries are loud and blood-curdling, but they are getting weaker, becoming excruciating to anything nearby that would listen. It is barely on the edge of life and death.

However, in the midst of the fawn's agony, the vultures have stopped tormenting it to its end. Upon catching its breath, the reason is known. A large bald eagle has gripped the neck of the youngest vulture in one talon while impaling the chest with the other, killing her instantly.

This eagle is an instinctive protector of whichever mountain it chooses to take roost in, safeguarding its inhabitants not knowing much more. It obstinately maintains the balance of power and nature everywhere that it travels. If any opponent were to study it closely, they would know that this wasn't a normal eagle. Its brown feathers are tinted in red, and the white feathers have blue highlights: it's a thunderbird hybrid.

The other vultures take to the sky and begin circling each other, looking to gauge the eagle's strength. The eagle determines what they are up to and prepares to take off. The elder female, being the most bloodthirsty, dives to get an effective first strike with her maw open.

It was a good idea at first, but it was an action in futility. A bolt of lightning shot from the eagle's right eye with nary an effort. The vulture is frozen in horror at the sight for a mere instant before the charge strikes her on the tongue. The current spreads throughout her entire body to reach her extremities. She crows in a fit of pain and seizes up, dropping like a lead balloon to the ground. The resulting crash to the ground, compounded with the shock, causes her to lose consciousness.

Now facing the alpha male, the eagle takes off. The report of its wings creates a noise much louder than should be expected. The sound is a blend of war-drums and the sound of a distant storm moving in fast. As the eagle starts gaining vertical momentum, the male vulture goes in for a spiraling dive to attempt to throw off any further lightning strikes. They meet at about 150 feet off the ground, and the two birds engage in an all-out brawl. They make an initial passing strike before U-turning to engage again, this time to lock on with their talons.

They scrape and peck at each other at every chance they get while in a slow fall. The vulture's raw strength is able to slash at and bruise the eagle, but it's not without consequence. The eagle's strikes are more pointed and deliberate, almost mechanical in their precision. The vulture's wings and neck are now sore and mildly bloody, leaving him close to permanent handicap.

As this has gone on, the fawn is watching in utter shock and awe at what was unfolding, failing to make sense of the whole thing. The brawl went on for what seemed like ages with neither side backing down. Both birds were showing signs of fatigue, but the vulture wasn't used to prolonged fights like this: the eagle had struck smartly, denuding his advantage of raw strength and forcing him to lose altitude for several seconds. Now that he was worn down, the eagle went into a sharp dive to finish the fight.

The female came out of its trance, and went in to reengage. Seeing that the eagle was distracted by her falling comrade near the ground, she intercepted him with her talons open, ready for some shredding. As luck would have it, her talon managed to rip through part of the eagle's left wing, practically grounding him. As she had control of him, the wounded vulture had gained a partial second wind and decided to join in a vulture flock's favorite pastime: torturing their prey. They pecked at the eagle's sides and shredded his hide, leaving some painful cuts and several eagle feathers strewn about. He is now left for dead.

Taking a moment to catch their breath, they turn toward the fawn in anticipation of accomplishing their original objective: dinner. The fawn, having witnessed the carnage firsthand, has now completely given up, knowing he is still too severely injured to do anything to avoid it. He bows his head one last time.

The eagle made one last move and reared to attack. Despite being crippled, he mustered the last of his strength and surged forward in low flight with talons raised again. The vultures realize their mistake at the last instant, as the eagle's talons sink into their flesh, piercing them straight through the heart and killing them instantly. They bowl over in a mass of feathers and wings.

The eagle, now seeing that the threat is truly gone, withdraws his talons and stands with the last of his energy. He looks over at the fawn one last time before falling over one last time to breathe his last. His duty is done.

The fawn cries in lament at the sight of the eagle fading. Half a minute passes, a phoenix and a dove arrive to the scene. The phoenix move in to tend to the fawns wounds as the dove begins to lay flowers around the eagle's corpse. The entire scene makes his heart shatter. He bleats continually in lament of the eagle's sacrifice.







Starswirl woke up in a cold sweat screaming with his eyes open like he had seen a ghost. This woke the rest of the pillars aside from Rockhoof, who was still snoring a short way from the firepit that was still burning nicely.

Flash Magnus took a defense pose. "We're under attack!" However, looking around he only sees the clear night sky.

Meadowbrook was the first to see Starswirl's state. She grabbed him by the withers and looked him in the eye, only to see that he was still frozen from shock. "Starswirl, what happened? You look like you just saw another murder in the works!"

The old stallion eventually came out of his trance. "What? Oh, it's nothing." He paused to look at everyone else, knowing they weren't buying it. "Just a nightmare. Go back to sleep."

While everyone else dozed off again, Starswirl grabbed his journal and wrote down every last detail he could remember, holding nothing back.