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// Aragniel the Devourer 
// Story: Equestrian Mythology ~ Tale of the Scions 
// by Keeper of Jericho 
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Equestrian Mythology
Tale of the Scions
by Aristallion

"Thirteen Scions that share One history."
Nostradamare, Equestrian History VI

~ The tale of Aragniel, the Devourer ~

Scion of Fate, Aragniel was the fifth of Ilfirinë’s children, born in the shape of a majestic, glorious arachnid of utmost beauty. None but her fellow Scions could claim to have seen her as she was upon her birth, and few of those who remain would speak of their sister. Nevertheless, artists of all races have always depicted her as a giant spider, coloured in white, with intricate patterns of gold gracing her body, and four pairs of wise but distant blue eyes. She was said to weave threads of pure gold and silver, though her actual weaving held value even greater. Alas, the knowledge, yet alone art that depicted the Weaver, as she was then known, is all but lost. Those very rare few who know her name, speak it in fear only, and have no knowledge of her noble beginnings.

Yet noble and righteous she was, earnest, hardworking child of Ilfirinë. For she was the one who wove fate’s complex pattern, weaving eternally the life-threads of all those mortal into her web, a grand tapestry of fate, the beauty of which has never been surpassed and shall never be seen again. And with her hard work, Aragniel aided her hallowed mother in bringing harmony to the world, for she wove her web neatly and with order, ridding fate of its chaotic nature. Her work was appreciated and admired by her fellow Scion sisters and brothers alike, making her fall all the more tragic.

Alas, as hardworking and earnest as she was, her ears were not deaf to the words of her brother, Discord. Too concentrated and focussed on her work, she failed to notice that madness had claimed him, and when he spoke she could hear not the deceit lying within his words. One may forgive her for it, perhaps, for Discord had a silver tongue, and knew his sister’s weaknesses as no other. Through compliments and flattery, as well as veined awe, he whispered into her ears words of corruption. Her web was the greatest beauty of all, so he said, but surely it would be even more magnificent if it was Aragniel, the glorious Weaver, who would decide its outlook?

For indeed, though she was the one who wove Fate’s web, it was not she who made its design. It came to her from sources none – not even her hallowed mother – knew, her task consisted only of ensuring the plan was carried out. But Discord, with sweet words and a honey-coated tongue, whispered suggestions and ideas to her, which sounded all the sweeter and more appealing the more he repeated them. Indeed she was the Weaver of Fate’s web, all the work was done by her and her alone, and she excelled in it as no other. 

And she, the hardest working Scion of them all, found herself upset and unsatisfied. Never had Ilfirinë explained her decree – though the truth of the matter was that even the Hallowed Mother herself did not know why it had to be so – and until then Aragniel had never questioned it. But now doubt had been sown in her earnest heart by her silver-tongued brother, and the Weaver found herself wondering. Boldly she made an alteration in her web, one that had not been given to her by the force that had given her the Web’s design so far. No, this alteration was of her design and hers only. It was but a small thing, a hesitant, fearful step, but it was enough. Discord watched from afar, and he laughed, for with deceit and lies he had brought disharmony into the ordered web of Fate, and reunited Fate with Chaos.

Unaware of her brother’s glee, Aragniel the Weaver found herself enthralled by the alteration she had made, and now that she had tasted the power of being in control of fate, she found herself thirsting for more. She grew obsessed with the endless possibilities for her weaving, now that its design could be decided by herself. No longer was she an instrument for whatever it was that planned fate. She was now its Master, and it would bow to her design and hers only. So she wove the web of Fate, her web, designing it as she saw fit, and the chaos and disharmony that resulted from her work wrought disaster upon the world. Yet she paid it no heed, spurned on by the compliments and admiration of her deceitful brother, who veined that the web, now a disharmonious mockery of what it had once been, of the most beautiful work of art in existence.

Gleefully Aragniel weaved on, pleased with her work, and flattered by Discord’s false words. And as she further and further distorted Fate’s web and twisted its beauty into something vile and devoid of harmony, had the Weaver herself changed as well. The more she twisted what had once been her masterpiece, the more vile, monstrous and black she became. Her eyes, once wise and distant, were now red and filled with a hunger for more. Tragically, in striving to make even greater beauty, she had ruined both it and herself. Ponykind, and all other living beings, would forever remember her as the black, grotesque spider only, the memory of her pure, white and golden self forever lost to all but the Scions themselves.

It was then, when Discord’s words had already twisted her beyond recognition, that Ilfirinë, worried by all the disharmony and chaos that plagued the lands, came to look upon the web. She had intended to come as soon as the corruption had merely begun to spread, but Discord had foreseen that and acted accordingly, keeping the mother of all Scions busy with trickery and chaos, until her arrival at her daughter’s web was all too late. The Keeper of Harmony arrived to find the vilest, most horrendous weaving she had ever seen, and her beloved child a grotesque mockery of what she had once been. His work done, Discord discreetly hid and observed, going unnoticed by the two female Scions as they confronted each other. The Bringer of Disharmony could only watch with glee.

Ilfirinë demanded to know what Aragniel had done to her beautiful weaving, but the arachnid only replied she had taken its design in her own capable hands and improved it. She would no longer be a tool through which fate weaved itself, so she said, she would be its master. Ilfirinë tried to reason with her fifth child, pleaded to her even, but her words fell on deaf ears, as the Weaver was too far gone in her delusions, too absorbed in herself and the presumed superiority of her own design. Horrified, Ilfirinë pushed Aragniel aside and touched the web with her Harmony, attempting to restore the damage done. Furious by what she saw as an unforgivable offense, Aragniel lunged at her Hallowed mother and cast her aside, climbing in the web and declaring it hers. Ilfirinë did not give up and tried to reach out with her harmony towards her daughter and her weaving once more. 

Aragniel would have none of her mother’s interference. If she could not be the master of Life’s web, then none would be. It was then that madness claimed her fully, and in her folly did she rise up and devour the web wholly, destroying what little remained of the order that had been shaped in Fate. The meal made her swell and become even more grotesque, as she had taken in her something vile and corrupt, which only amplified the disharmony that Discord had sown in her. Proudly she gloated, utterly satisfied with what she had done, heedless of the blow she had dealt to her mother’s hope for a harmonious world. The Weaver she was no more, for in her madness had she destroyed her most prized creation by devouring it, and henceforth was she known only as the Devourer.

With horror did Ilfirinë look upon what had once been her beloved child, the monstrosity before her bearing no resemblance to the dedicated Weaver. The grotesque arachnid now hungered for more, and moved to devour the mother of all Scions. But as she moved against her own mother, Ilfirinë rose just as well, and her vision was one of righteous fury, terrible in its beauty. The corrupt Scion shielded her eyes, for the sight of the Hallowed mother of all Scions standing before her in all her fury hurt her sight and blinded her. Thus she did not see when Ilfirinë struck her down and threw her earthbound, never to return to the Scions’ land again. And from where he watched, Discord was pleased. His whisperings and lies had destroyed Fate’s web, surrendering it to chaos once more, for none but Aragniel had the ability and knowledge to weave the web. Thus the Bringer of Disharmony secretly stood victorious and celebrated.

As for the fallen Weaver, she was now but a vile monster that roamed the world, stripped of all her glory. So she was abandoned by all Scions, and all that remained with her were the madness, and the hunger which she had unleashed inside herself when she devoured her web. In her anger and frustration, and spurred on by her madness, she devoured all she came across, for she despised all that had been blessed by and lived in harmony. The monstrous spider threw a dark shadow over the land, but her rampage was stopped by the father of all dragons, whose fire even the fallen Scion could not withstand, and she fled. He chased her until she crawled into the deepest, darkest bowels of the earth were none could reach her. There she sat, brooding in utter darkness and solitude, until, so it is said, in her madness and hunger, she devoured herself.

~~~

AN: I thought it would be fun to create a 'pony mythology', so to speak. We all know ponies have "old mare's tales", and the idea to write my own "old ponytales" and expand them into one coherent mythology that not only explained the origins of our beloved Princesses, but also of their great nemesis, Discord, and the Elements of Harmony.