//------------------------------// // Ch.1 "It Was a Simpler Life" // Story: The Tale of Draknirv // by Draknirv (Sortos) //------------------------------// ஜ۩۞۩ஜ But what good is life, when everypony whom you cared for is dead? ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ Coltan, such a quaint and peaceful town to visit, with it's cobblestone roads and crepid wooden architecture. Your day of touristry has so far been comprised of sightseeing, waffle eating, and aching hooves. However after playing "the idiotic foreigner" game for five hours you start to think that it would be good to get a taste of the local flavor, and what better way to meet local people than by visiting a local pub! __________________________________ You stand outside of a two story building that is supported with birchwood beams and white tarp laiden over stone masonry and directly above the rather decrepid looking door is a sign that, at one point was probably very bright and cheery looking, but now seems to be flaking away and stained with years of rain and dirt. It aptly reads "The Clock and Plucker", an interesting yet suitable title for sutch an establishment. You push the door open with a forelimb and the top hinges end up popping, both surprising you and causing you to lose your balance and fall flat on the cobbled-brick floor. As you rise from the calamity of the situation, a rather grumpy and scruffy looking white stallion in a black leather craftan behind the bar's counter shoots you an irritated look. The interior is dimly lit with parafin lanterns on the three walls opposite the entrance. The walls are of a rugged uncovered birchwood and every few feet along said wall sits an odd painting or "ye olde tools" and furniture for decoration. The bartender walks out from behind his station and strolls over.The glazed look he gives you as he goes to place the, now diagnolized, door and set it back to its designated position is nothing short from furious. "Oi mayt aym terribly sorry bout'dat, this bloody thing was close te'breakin anyways, go ave'a seat first rounds free!" ... While his accent may be thicker than week old molasses, at least he's friendly! ___________________________________ After about a half an hour of "Alchaholic Ensamblery" the bartender, as he's pouring a drink for another patron, remarks about your lack of attire in comparison to the more notably clothed in the room. You honestly hadn't noticed your own nudity considering how normal it was back in Ponyville and you retort justly. He second-guesses that your a tourist and you confirm his suspicions. You continue to ask him if anypony might know some interesting stories or tales during your stay at this "fine establishment". His face suddenly drops all sensible pleasant expression it once had and he simply nods and motions towards a robed figure in the furthest corner, sitting upon his haunches in an unearthly fashion! ___________________________________ As you approach this almost "apporitional" figure you notice that jutting from the back of his hood he has, not one, but two horns! On top of that they are both facing backwards and have a noticable curve to them. As you near the table he turns his head away with an apparent popping sound and a raspy voice from under his hood says in an indiscriminant fashion. "Not many care to approach such a polarizing figure, wich can only mean Nevets sent you to hear of me... please, take a seat." He extends a hoof gesturing at the empty cushion across from him. You notice the striking eggshell white coloring in his hoof and the dark green of his fur, from the exposition of the robe, resembles that of dying grass. The robe itself is pitch black at the bottom in a flame border pattern and a dark brown further up. The dim lighting in contrast prevents you from ever hoping to see under his hood. You sit across from him on all fours, as your kind usually does, and you are somewhat surprised by how mutch taller than you he appears considering the way he sits upon his rump. He exorts an extremely dry cough before speaking. "So.... you have come to hear the tale of this decrepid old sack of flesh?" You offer a compelling and somewhat chastened nod to the question and he continues. "Very well then.... my name... it is Draknirv,..... and I hail from a respectable village of Cossack Gazelle". ____________________________________ It was a very, very long time ago... my tribe was a very prosperous one. We spent most of our days tilling and harvesting flax and cabbages (our main produce). I was the son of the village elder "Pappy Meczuev" we all called him. My two brothers, Etrosk, Yealtev, and myself were, by happening chance, the most physically fit of the village and as such it was our job to both forage and defend the village should something go wrong. For a long time it was a peaceful life... it was a simpler life... it was a better life... Me and my kin spent most of our time running amongst the forest and returning with whatever might be useful, or tastier than cabbage. We met the occasional traveling Tatar, and few run-ins with timber wolves. All-in-all it was everything a young Gazelle could want from life. But one day... we recieved a very strange visitor... He was a very large Stallion-of-a Gazelle with a deep tan fur and coated in armor of polished steel, laiden betwixt his two fairly large horns was a Dark Crest made from the feathers of a Griffon. He had a look about him that said "Mess with me and you'll spend the rest of your' days in a dungeon!" Him and five other, slightly less regal, Colts came to our village. Our best guess was that they were members of the Hetmanate most likely here for. "CONSCRIPTI-AAAAN!" Upon hearing the large lummox literally scream that word at the top of his lungs, our hearts all sank and we knew what was coming next. He had his underlings root through our houses and bring out all the able-bodied Colts and Stallions of the village. We were lined up to be inspected by him, Pappy Meczuev (being the village elder and deemed to old and frail to fight), was trying to tell the absolute giant of a Stallion that we were too young and have not yet seen enough of life to be conscripted. Of course his words went in one ear and out the other as he inspected us, and of course me and my brothers being the most physically fit of the bunch were, not only the first, but the only ones to be conscripted! We were taken out of house and home.... to fight a fools war...but we dared not resist for fear of what would happen at the hoof of our very lordship. I can still remember the look our father had on that fateful day....tears welled in his eyes and he looked as if he were made a broken shell of a Colt right then and there. _____________________________________