//------------------------------// // Chapter 1 - The Journey Begins // Story: The True Story // by Visharo //------------------------------// ===1=== I watched from afar, just another passenger on this great trip. Not many were sure, especially me, why this journey was being conducted, but nopony complained. My tail swished behind me as I gazed at the leaders of our trip. Five ponies, all friends, despite their differences. Sunny Starscout, the navigator with a cheerful attitude. Hitch Trailblazor, the ship's bosun with a kind heart. Izzy Moonbow, the chef with an optimistic smile. Zipp Storm, the scientist with a passion. Pipp Petals, the entertainer with an inspiring voice. Our crew, the ponies that I would travel with, totaled up to around 50. Our hearts and will belong to the never-ending expanse of everything. I signed on with high expectations and the knowhow to operate a floating ship. The moment our pens touched the paper, our souls were tied. Forever bound till release. Not that it mattered, each pony agreed to the terms and accepted the dangers; after all, when's the next time an odyssey like this will occur. ===2=== We set sail. The wind blew our fur, big grins on our faces, and our spirits high. Nothing could bring us down. On our first day, we were doing the work that was needed to be done. Those who didn't work, would get a stern talking to by our bosun. Then our night, peaceful and tranquil, was only broken by the cheers of the ponies who wanted to hear the next song. Our luck wouldn't last, as within moments on the second day, storms buffeted our hardy ship. 79 days of being tossed and turned, seawater spraying everypony, leaving us miserable and sodden. The clouds, however, dispersed in the light of the 80th day. The sudden brightness allowed us to see an island in the near distance. With relieved sighs, we made forwards. I was scrubbing the deck when I heard it, the sound of our heel crushing sand. With cheers, we leapt over. Our navigator left a fourth of the crew to guard the ship. I was to follow her with the rest. Only a two minute canter away, there lay a stream of sorts. One brave stallion took a sip, then a huge gulp, then nearly drowned himself drinking more. The water was not water, but hard apple cider. Cider of the zap apple kind. The curious inventor decided she wanted to know why cider was flowing out. The ones who weren't drunk or passed out went with her, me included. My share of the cider was kept in several canteens stuffed in my saddlebag. The leaders of our merry band did not leave a guard of sorts to watch over the left-behind ponies. I did not voice out this observation. The following of the cider stream led us to a clearing of trees. Not just any trees. Wooden mares. Mare growing out of the ground, complete with roots and leaves. These were no ordinary mare trees either; they could talk, bat their eyelashes, and leer with sultry eyes. Their entrancement took only two stallions. We, the leftovers of the multitudes of splits, could only watch as the stallions, filled with desire, caressed their chosen tree. It wasn't long before sensual kissing occurred, and nopony stopped them. As we watched, our confused curiosity turned to horror. Saplings, then bush, to tree. The two who were once our party, were no more. Flesh and blood, now only wood and sap. Our haste could not have been faster. The cackles of the tree mares floated downwards, waking those on the riverbank, out of their drunken stupor. The trotting of hooves became more erratic as the laughing continued, our party increasing as we passed the ponies that had split off earlier. Some, either brave or foolish, stayed behind a bit longer to collect as much cider as they could. We casted off as soon as we could. I barely casted a glance back as our wooden ship made out of the bay. ===3=== The days after that were calm and collected, if one could say that. Many were in shock from the events on the island. Nopony has ever dealt with death of that caliber before. A quick, but not quick enough, death. Alive and watching, your colorful pelt turns into a hard brown of wood. The five that started this whole thing were in deep contemplation. From the bow, working on ropes, I could see and sense the cracks taking shape. Cracks only horror could produce. I will not lie; a crack of similar nature lies within me as well. I turned my gaze away, respectful as well as bored. Warnings usually come too slow, and this was no exception. Winds buffeted the sails, the ocean heaving upwards, and the clouds above darkened. The deck pitched, sending many to the side railing. The rain poured heavily on heads and tops. The wood creaking from excess pressure. All this from below decks where everypony lay. Huddled like the herd animals we once were, we comforted each other. Windspeeds of unknown velocity screamed outside; items that were not fastened, whistled away, to be never seen again. Then, just as suddenly, the ship lifted. Groans and yells occupied the ears of the passengers below the decks; then even those were incomprehensible as the winds drowned everything else. My frightful eyes peeking outside would tell me that we were no longer touching the water. Rain making every surface a health hazard and gales forcing us up and up. Our tough ship of wood, held together by the beam. Before long and way after short, the winds silenced. Whimpers and scuffles were to be heard once again. One brave mare of unknown origin took a single step to the door. The hooffall, just as fast as honey dripping. Then another and another till the mare touched the door that protected us from the worst of everything. With bated breath, we watched as the door was slowly opened, revealing not the sunlight we all expected, but instead the blackness of night and the stars of our ancestors. One by one, we all filtered out, our confusion turning into gasps. Our mighty ship of ponies was above cloud level, high up above the air that we all hold precious. Except, there was preciousness here as well. Above the atmosphere, the air was not thin as one would believe it to be. After much debate, our journey is not to be stopped. Raising the sails and cleaning the deck, our travels had only just begun.