//------------------------------// // Chapter 2 - Under the Gray-Clouded Winter Skies // Story: The Longest Journey // by Ek Vitki //------------------------------// I don't own My Little Pony, Hasbro does, etc. Enjoy. ----- The Longest Journey Chapter 2 - Under the Gray-Clouded Winter Skies 1001 A.E. The morning dawned as Warden rolled off out of bed onto his legs, his knee complaining at the sudden weight it was supporting. The old stallion went through a series of stretches to loosen the tight muscles in his limbs and back. He bit the pillow he had slept with and threw it onto the floor so that it landed in the center of the room. The knight’s legs folded under him as he sat on the pillow, closing his eyes and sitting as still as a stone. Warden’s breathing slowed, as did his heartbeat. One... Breathe in.... Two... Breathe out.... Three... Breathe in... He let the numbers fill his mind, replacing the noisy background thoughts with the silence of focus. His breath became his world, and he became his breath. The meditative pony sat in the void, letting his lungs fill and empty until not even they were subject to his attention. He sat unmoving as if he were frozen in a block of ice, but after mere seconds the void began to collapse around him. Frustration replaced the calm as his senses reawakened to the outside world. He flared his nostrils with a snort, but kept his eyes closed. Resigning his efforts, he went through the finishing thought as instructed by the meditation guide he had picked up in Trottingham a few weeks prior. Three... Two... One... I am done and am returning to awareness. The stallion opened his eyes and looked at the saddlebags leaning against the bed. Reaching over with his good foreleg, he pulled them over and sifted through their contents until he found a thin book titled, The Secrets to Relaxing the Body and Mind. Warden licked his lips as he flicked through the pages, searching for the meditation section. “Don’t fret if you can’t maintain the peaceful state for more than a few moments! It takes practice and time, just keep at it!” Warden sighed as he returned the book to its pocket. He thought after a thousand or so years, consulting a book on something as simple as sitting and breathing wouldn’t be necessary. Grunting, he rose from the pillow to begin his preparations; he had a long day ahead of him. Packing up the gear and donning his armor took little time, so he was off sooner than expected. The innkeeper, a matronly mare with an ocean blue coat and sea foam eyes, gave him a parting gift of mixed nuts and berries. “A stallion in uniform can’t go off on his quests with an empty stomach,” she had said with a less than innocent smile. Warden’s face heated up at the generous offer, but he accepted it graciously. It wasn’t the first time a mare, or even a stallion for that matter, had given him a look like that. However, it still made Warden blush furiously when an older pony did, despite being over a millennium in age himself. The walk out of town was quick. Warden found himself on the highway within half an hour with a gentle cool breeze to help alleviate the sun’s heat. The road to Canterlot was far and winding, but he could see the destination easily from here. The flat valley in which Ponyville was situated quickly gave way to the soft rolling foothills that preceded the mountain upon which the city was perched. Life has been an adventure alright. They better have a bucking cup of tea ready for me when I get there. ----- 226 A.E. Far north, beyond the bounds of Equestria’s borders and at the very tip of the Griffin Kingdom’s territory, stood Final-Wing’s barrow. The tomb was an impressive mound of dirt that surged 100 feet into the air, creating an artificial hilltop upon which gnarled, leafless trees crept like spidery veins. The early winter morning sky was gray, with a thick fog rolling in over the hill like an immense mold growing over the decaying land. The first snows had yet to fall, but the chill of winter had already made its presence well known to the northerly lands. “Are you entirely sure this is a bright idea, Vigdis?” a younger Warden asked his griffin partner. “What, Are you afraid little pony? There’s nothing in there but bones and treasure, now come on! It’s cold and I wanna get this over with!” she exclaimed with a flick of her golden wings. She quickened her eager pace towards the hill, leaving an exasperated Warden shaking his head in tow. They ascended the moss-cloaked mound, the dead grass crunched and crumbled under their falling feet and twigs snapped as they brushed by dead trees. Atop the false hill there was a depression about twenty feet wide, with a carved stone door large enough to barely allow a pony of Warden’s size to enter. “There it is, our way in,” spoke the stallion in a hushed tone. “Let’s see if the priests left it locked” Replied the griffin in a matching voice. The two crept over to the portal, inspecting it for any signs of what may be a means of opening it. Warden glanced up from the door, peering around him at the surrounding trees. The fog had all but encapsulated them now; his vision couldn’t penetrate the thick cloud more than a few feet beyond the rim of the bowl they were in. “Help me pull this,” Vigdis said as Warden turned his attention back to the door. She latched her talons around a large handle that had been covered with a layer of dirt and mossy growth. She freed it from its stuck position, giving Warden the chance to grip it with his teeth. The two pulled with all their might, but the door wouldn’t budge. The stallion’s relaxed his jaw, spitting bits of acrid soil out of his mouth. “Well, now what?” he asked. She didn’t reply, instead she eyed the handle from a variety of angles. “Maybe if we...” she began as she grabbed the handle and pushed it in a sideways motion. The door groaned under its own weight as it slid an inch to the left. Warden quickly bit down on the handle to help her, sliding the door farther and father until the opening was wide enough for them to fit through. “That’ll do it. Ladies first, dear Vigdis,” he said, pointing a hoof at the door with a smug grin on his face. She huffed at the pony, folding her golden tipped wings as she crawled into tight space. He followed, barely able to squeeze his large form into the less than large hole. A small tunnel followed, which opened up into a dark room. Vigdis removed a torched from her pack and struck it on the ground in front of her. The brilliant fire ignited, illuminating the room. Its circular shape had only two entrances, the one they had entered in and a larger tunnel that could easily be walked through on the opposite end. The walls were smooth with reliefs depicting battles and ancient griffin legends. Warden lit his own torch and walked slowly around the perimeter of the room, taking in the sight of all the pictographs. “Hey Vigdis, how come griffins bury their dead? I thought they did something involving the sky?” The treasure hunter smiled. “The most common belief amongst my kind is that the first griffins emerged from the earth alongside the cicadas and took to the air. Like the cicadas, we bury our dead to give back to the earth and replenish the soil of nutrients.” “Interesting, and this tomb? Tell me of its owner.” “King Final-Wing was an eccentric griffin, to say the least. He believed that far north in the taiga there was a society that called themselves the Northmen.” Warden twitched. That name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t remember exactly where he had heard it before. “He also believed that these Northmen held an artifact of incredible power, known as Thragal Hirdr. Roughly translated, it means throne of the heathens. The legend yells that he who sits upon the throne shall bask in the light of some Northmen god, and be granted immortality and power beyond imagining. The king found the idea lucrative, so he dedicated much of the nation’s resources towards finding it.” “Did he ever end up finding it?” Warden asked. “Nope, although his efforts did uncover quite a bit of historical knowledge. He had inadvertently caused something of a cultural boom with all the treasures and artifacts being dug up in search of this heathen throne.” Vigdis replied with a bit of a laugh. Several minutes of searching yielded some broken pottery and nothing of use in the reliefs. The musty, dank air made Warden scrunch his nose while Vigdis didn’t seem too bothered by it. The two adventurers made their way down the second tunnel, which was crudely carved out and in no way decorated like the antechamber. The only sound was the stallion’s clopping hooves and crackling of the hot torches. The darkness ahead and behind them felt like it was sucking away at the light, causing Warden to groan. “Y’all right back there pony?” Vigdis called over her shoulder. “Yeah, I hate caves though.” “Well we’re almost-” she was cut off by a rumbling sound behind them. “Oh heavens above, what the buck was that!” “Relax, it’s just a-” “Just a what, feather head?” Vigdis stopped in her tracks. “Hey, you needed the money, this is what the job entails! So relax and let’s keep moving.” Warden grumbled as they continued down the passageway. Minutes later, they had reached its end, which opened up into a smaller, square room. Their firelight cast shadows across the space, revealing more reliefs upon the walls and a rectangular stone sarcophagus in the center of the chamber. Jars and urns littered the ground around the edges of the room, and a single urn sat atop the sarcophagus. Warden scowled at the sight. “So, we’re stuck in this hole, only to find a bunch of flaming jars?” “We’re not stuck! and it’s what’s inside the jars that counts, pony. ” She smirked as she picked one up, and let it fall to the floor. It shattered with a loud crack, letting handfuls of ancient gold coins poured out. The two went to work opening urns, and smashing the ones that wouldn’t. Their bags filled with coins, small gold idols, and supremely carved gemstones. Warden collected all the precious goods his bags would hold, all the while he had a nagging feeling that he was being watched. “It’s hard to believe this place hasn’t been touched by anypony before us,” Warden remarked, breaking the silence. “The tomb was rather well hidden, this place is supposedly cursed too, my kind are a superstitious lot.” “And for good reasons.” An airy voice resonated around the room, coming from no particular place. The two froze. “Oh heavens damn it-” he growled as the lid on the sarcophagus began to vibrate, then exploded off, flying into the air in three chunks and shattering on the chamber walls. The adventurers cowered on opposite sides of the room to feebly try and protect themselves from falling debris. “You would dare desecrate my tomb? I will devour you mortals!” The crumbling skeleton of King Final-Wing crawled out of the sarcophagus in front of Warden, spreading its fleshless wings with an ethereal roar. Acting on his royally trained impulse, Warden lashed out quickly with his left hoof, catching the undead horror in its dusty beak. A chunk of it broke off with the strike as the stunned skeleton reared back. From behind, Vigdis flew out over the fight, diving down to tackle the dead king. It dodged, leaping towards Warden with wicked claws of bone. The stallion tripped over an urn trying to avoid the horror, and ended up caught by its talons. The claws scratched at his metal plate, sliding off the old metal harmlessly. They found the gaps between the plates around his neck and shoulder, however, and slithered through, tearing at his flesh. He screamed as every nerve in his upper body fired. Vigdis latched onto the skeleton’s wings as she jumped into the fray. She pulled on them and pecked and bit at the back of its neck, trying to sever its head. The king bucked her off with surprising strength, but it gave Warden an opportunity to strike back. His rear end was free, so he swiveled in the griffin’s grasp with a yell and bucked hard with his back legs. The claws that held him firm ripped his skin apart and cut bloody gashes all along his shoulders and back, but the impact of the kick shattered the right shoulder of the king, sending it flying back into its sarcophagus. It clambered to its feet as Warden struggled weakly to move as his lifeblood poured out of him. King Final-Wing turned his bleached skull towards Vigdis and let loose a banshee wail. “I have become death, feed me daughter!” The griffon flew up to the high ceiling of the chamber, but the king followed by skittering up the walls much as a spider would. The two traded slashes and bites, but the living griffin could not harm the skeletal monstrosity. With its only arm, it dragged her flailing body to the ground, gnawing on her limbs. Her cries echoed in the room, rousing Warden from his agonized stupor. Papa didn’t die just so I could get eaten in some hole in the ground. “King Final-Wing... I know where the throne is,” he managed to croak out. The skeleton’s beak ceased, blood and flesh dripping from its edges. “You know of Thragal Hirdr?” It raced over to the Wardens place on the ground, pinning his neck down with its only arm. “Where is the throne, horse?” The stallion squeezed his eyes shut as the nightmare moved its face ever closer to his. “Tell me.” Well, here goes nothing. I love you Luna. He took a deep breath, but let it go. Nope, can’t do it. I’m dead. “Where is it!” the king screamed in his face. Warden cried and rammed his hoof into the undead king’s as hard as he could. Its skull shattered where the impact landed, and the griffin recoiled as it screamed in horror. The stallion blinked at the opportunity his frightened reflex created. Despite the spikes of pain burrowing in his shoulders and sides, the stallion pulled himself to his feet. Adrenaline drove him now as he galloped at the monster and delivered a final hoof to what remained of the skull, pulverizing it with a dry crunch. The bones fell to pieces and clattered to the chamber floor as a ghastly wheeze faded away from hearing. “Oh heavens above, oh heavens!” Warden groaned as he fell onto his rump, tears streaming down his face from the pain in his shoulders. “Oh bloody heavens, Vigdis! Vigdis?” He clambered over to the griffin who lay beside the shattered sarcophagus. She lay unmoving. Warden checked her over for wounds and put his ear to her chest. Her left arm was severely broken and mangled while her head oozed blood from her right temple. There was no heartbeat. She did not breathe. “Ah buck,” Warden looked over her body as he sniffled and gasped for air. “You saved me, I’d be dead without you. I’m sorry I couldn’t return the favor.” Warden sat in silence, but he did not know for how long. His vigil was bathed in the light of the two torches, lying discarded on the ground. At last, wiping away his tears, the stallion put a hoof to his forehead and touched her own before rising on unsteady legs and leaving the crypt. He prayed that she find solace as he made the journey back to the nearest town, a trail of blood marking the path back to her corpse. ----- 1001 A.E. Warden had traveled across most of the nations of the world, and yet the sight of the Equestrian capitol filled him with an awe and desire to reach it unlike any other. This was due to the fact that in no other place in all the land was there a princess of the night waiting for him to return. I have gone on too long, why aren’t I dead? Once more, the theories and ideas rolled through his mind, fumbling ignorantly with ill-gotten knowledge the desperate need to understand. There was only one solution that could temporarily rest the stallion’s thoughts. It must be magic. Luna’s magic. What else could it be? His steps on the road were dusty and dry; rain had not fallen in weeks. The sun was brilliant and hot overhead, but his thoughts kept him from noticing it. Warden let out a tired sigh. The scars ached as he ruminated on all the lives he had influenced and all the death he has seen. From his knee to his eye, running down his torn shoulders and across his throat. With all the armor he wore, he found it bitterly ironic that he managed to get injured in all the places it didn’t cover. Perhaps I’ll get a new set, I need to retire these old plates anyway. -----  483 A.E. West of the Griffin Kingdom were the lands of Germaneigh, a nation whose control was traded between the native wolves and pony emigrants from Equestria over the course of a four hundred year war. Outside of the princess’ borders, they were unable to live in the sancticty of her harmonic protection. The heavily forested hills and mountains of the region were soaked with the blood of millions of fallen soldiers. On a cliff overlooking the eastern hills of the territory perched Citadel Equus. “Underlord Warden, are the stallions ready to move out?” an old dirt brown stallion asked his ancient subordinate. Warden looked out over the walls of the citadel, watching as his soldiers made the final preparations for the expedition out to claim Ulrug Pass. The strategic advantage that it would provide was immense, for the pass was the only viable way for large amounts of individuals to move through the mountain range known as the spine, dividing Germaneigh in half. “They’re about ready sire, we should be moving out before noon if all goes well.” “Excellent, we need this outpost if we want to begin thinking of moving beyond the spine. Well done Warden,” the elder stallion smiled. “Thank you Steeltooth, sir. I will see to it personally that we make it to the pass as hastily as we can.” “Good, be off then Underlord.” “Aye my lord.” Down on the ground, the workponies were finishing loading up the carts with the gear and supplies the trek would need. Stallions were saddling up, organizing the twenty carts behind the mass of chainmailed soldiers. Warden strode across the muddy ground towards the pony he sought. The skies were gray with impending rain and the wind blew briskly as the weather front settled on their location. “Spaulder! Are the stallions ready? The overlord wants us out!” the underlord shouted over the bustle of the stallions at the plate armored form of his field captain. “Aye sir! We await your command!” Captain Spaulder yelled as he closed the space between the two, bringing his hoof to his heart. “Alright, I want to be out on the road within half an hour,” Warden gave him a grim look as his captain nodded and left to pass on his orders. “Why am I still doing this horseshit,” Warden grunted to himself as he turned to survey his readying stallions. Because I need money, of course! Because all I’m good for is pointing idiot soldiers in the right direction! Because I know which is the helmet and which is the ass-plate!    ----- 483 A.E. The evergreen forest through which the expedition caravan passed had thinned considerably near the mountains. It provided an excellent vantage point for occupiers, and any invaders would be hard pressed to try and slip in without being caught. The weather had been dreadful for the past week; storm after storm of chilly rain and biting winds sucked the stallions’ morale down like water down a drain. The sight of the mountains brought them much relief from their suffering though. The natural barrier blocked the easterly winds that carried the cold front, so the weather on their side of the mountains was pleasantly clear. Warden brought the party to a halt as they came up on the pass. Turning to Spaulder, he issued his orders, “Have the scouts move up and see if the pass is clear. I don’t like surprises.” “Aye sir!” with that, the lightly armored scout pegasi were off. For ten minutes the caravan waited silently. Weeks of traveling were about to pay off or lead to their certain doom. Fifteen minutes. Half an hour. An hour. “The task was bloody simple enough! Where the buck are they? Captain, come-!” Warden was unable to finish as a deathly howl cut through the still air, echoing through the trees and boulders of the forest. “Why did I volunteer for this?” Warden groaned as a rumbling grew louder and louder. Out from the mountain pass burst thousands, no, millions of wolf soldiers armed to the teeth with weapons in their primitive claws and coated in wood and even bronze armor. The mountainside was alive with the charging bodies as non-combat members of the caravan panicked and fled. The soldiers stood ready, waiting for their leader to order them. “Retreat! Everypony retreat!” the underlord yelled over the roar of the assault. The soldiers didn’t hesitate in running as fast as they could from the incoming horde. Warden himself galloped as swiftly as his knee would let him, his shoulders burning under the intense exertion. The wolves were ever faster, closing the distance between he and his stallions within a few minutes. The raging throng of furry beasts collided with the herd of soldiers as the bloody battle ensued. The wolves’ capability of gripping weapons in their claws gave them an enormous advantage over the ponies on top of their sheer numbers. Warden maintained speed as his routing stallions got cut down like offending weeds in a garden; blood soaked the earth like fresh rainfall. The cries of battle shook the old stallion as he tried to block it out, but failed as each scream rang clear in his ears. An unnoticed tree root snagged the underlord’s leg, sending him toppling forward down into a sinkhole. Warden bounced off of rock and dirt, falling deeper into the pit between the immense boulders of the forest. His head smacked into a small stone as he finally reached the bottom, knocking him out instantly. ----- 483 A.E. The sound of crickets echoed throughout the dark pit. The light above from the silver moon barely had enough strength to reach Warden, but it gave him the ability to see his surroundings. The shaft of the pit opened up into a cavernous room roughly thirty feet across, with stone walls that were fractured with the invading roots of trees that grasped boulders like immense wooden hands. The stallion lay still, listening for any sounds coming from above. Nothing but the gentle wind whispered to him down from the surface. He tried to move, but gasped as his right arm failed to obey his brain’s commands, and instead sent a jolt of pain scouring through his veins. “Oh heavens damn it! Why always the right one!” Warden groaned as he let his body go limp. His eyes wandered as his vision grew fuzzy and landed on the opposite end of the hole he was in. Lying on its side between a pair of body-sized rocks was a smaller stone that was was indistinct at first glance. Letting his pain subside, he regained focused, and saw that this stone was roughly cylindrical in shape, with a flattened edge on the side facing him. Upon this surface were unusual glyphs carved into the stone. They were made of no more than four vertical and diagonal strokes, but never any horizontal lines. Now what the buck is that? This seems familiar... I don’t even care anymore. With a sigh, Warden let his head rest on the ground. He turned himself so he could lay on his side, letting his injured arm sit on the ground. The hole was silent. Silent like a grave. I’m dead, aren’t I? From the surface came a caw. Warden looked up, the moon filling the little space he could see. The crow’s silhouette darted overhead, eclipsing the moon momentarily. Well, the scavengers have shown up. For all my ‘bravery’ and ‘prowess’ as an ‘adventurer,’ I never thought I’d die in a hole. “The path of mortals, so narrow and brutal!” came the crying voice from above. “What the buck?” Warden watched as the oily black crow perched itself on a rocky overhang near the lip of the hole. “Only the bravest of them all will find true valor!” The stallion could only gape up at the bird. Birds can’t talk, let alone sing! Well, like a pony anyway. “Hey bird! Go get help!” he yelled up at the raven feebly. Warden knew he was wasting his time, but it was better than nothing. “On the horizon, the last rays of light! A breeze from the other side before he dies!” “Go away if you’re not gonna’ help me!” he snarled up at the infernal bird. “Far beyond the dark stream, we will meet again! Across the wilderness and we will be home! Gather your strength, do not be afraid! Far beyond the dark stream, we will meet again!” and with that, the crow was off, the sound of its beating wings caressing the stallion’s ears. Warden let his head drop to the ground, cringing as it impacted a little harder than necessary. “Oh buck me.” The hours ticked by as the stallion drifted in and out of fitful sleep. As he dreamed, the sound of distant voices swarmed in around him. Shaking himself from his most recent nap, the knight held himself still as the gruff sounds of speech came from the surface above. “...But mother-” said a masculine source. “Silence child!” came a matronly voice in response. “But he is a horse! We can’t help his kind!” Warden turned his eyes up to the daytime sky. The light burned his eyes and he shut them quickly, giving them time to adjust. I must’ve slept longer than I thought. What the hay is going on up there? “It is this ignorant thinking that you young ones have that is destroying our people, you stupid pup! Fetch the rope, go down and get him!” Moments later, the end of a length or rope smacked the stallion in the side. Up above, a dark, furry shape scampered down into the hole, repelling off the walls as it slid down closer and closer. Warden’s heartbeat raced as the figure went lower and lower. The wolf turned as it reached the bottom, looking him in his good eye with an icy blue gaze. “Are you hurt, horse?” he said flatly. “My elbow,” Warden replied as the wolf helped him up off the ground. Indeed the stallion’s was swollen and red. The wolf grimaced at it as he tossed the infirm soldier over his shoulder. “Hang on horse, we’re going up.” “Call me Warden,” he mumbled into the wolf’s shoulder. The wolf answered with a grunt as their ascent began. Nearing the top, the wolf scrambled up onto the ledge, hauling the pony with him. After being unceremoniously dumped on the ground, a dozen canine figures surrounded him. They leaned over the foreign creature with their myriad colored eyes seemingly glowing in their sockets. Many sniffed at him with beared teeth, others simply looked on impassively. To his right the crowd split open as a wolf with an elderly silver coat and a wooden walking stick slowly shuffled over. She knelt down next to the pony with younger male’s help and spoke, “What is your name, little pony?” “Warden,” he swallowed as he warily eyed all the hairy beasts around him. “You’re gonna’ eat me, aren’t you?” The motherly old wolf laughed at him, “Don’t be silly little colt, you have nothing to fear. Show me where you are injured.” Her tender voice eased the stallion’s nerves as he motioned with his eyes to his broken elbow. The old wolf’s claws glided down his arm, coming to a stop above the injured joint. “Vurr rel norrur tur vela nurr,” The she-wolf whispered softly, her voice imitating a gentle summer breeze. A wild array of strange sensations wormed through his arm as his pain receded, and right before his eyes the swelling shrank into nothingness. “How... not even the princesses could do that!” the pony marveled as he moved the once shattered elbow. The matron laughed softly, “No one is omnipotent, young Warden. Even your rulers cannot do many of the things we can.” Warden rose, allowing the wolf mother to use him as a support so she herself could stand. The rest of the pack had since sat nearby on dry patches of rock and grass, maintaining a watch over the surrounding area. “I... thank you. What can I do to repay you? Ah, I never even learned your name!” Warden felt any distrust in the matron vanish. With a chuckle, the old mother replied, “I am old, young Warden. Any who remembered my name are long dead now.” “I can Imagine what that must feel like.” “I’m sure you can, young Warden. You’ve lived a hard life, haven’t you? You have many years ahead still, you reek of times long gone,” the wolf’s face hardened, “I do not believe in this war, in this struggle for something we can all share. You will long outlive it though, little horse. When it comes time that you die, even the books in the old cities will have forgotten we had ever fought over this land.” The stallion looked at her blankly. “What? How did you know? I don’t understand!” “Be at peace with the forest and the mountains and the hills, you will hear and know all that the land feels. Be off, Warden, my sons and daughters need to feed,” the old matron turned slowly, hobbling off with her walking stick as the pack regrouped. They disappeared into a stand of trees not far from the pit he had been dragged out of. Warden simply watched, perplexed by the matron’s suddenness of leaving and awareness of his age. He sighed, shaking his head and turning towards the sun. It was late morning, the sun rose in the east. He turned, facing his back to the great ball of fire in the sky and walked west back towards the citadel. ----- 1001 A.E. The golden ivory gates of Canterlot gleamed majestically in the late afternoon sun. Their tall and monolithic visage was enough to awe any visitor not used to the sight, and to turn any armed force foolhardy enough to try and break in. Despite their impressive and imposing nature, they still managed to capture the elegance that only Canterlot could possess. The gates themselves were wide open. Various carts for merchants and hawkers lined the road into the city on either side, and a dense throng of ponies cluttered the streets. A stream of goods flowed in and out of the city, fueling the thriving garden-palace. Warden pushed his way through the horde of citizens as he slogged his way towards the palace, where the gala would be held this evening. I’m comin’ Luna, I didn’t forget about you. ----- End of Chapter 2