The days were many, but the lives were few. Violence and darkness swept the land of Hippoborea, with various barbaric tribes controlling sections of the massive, Proto-Equestrian continent. One of these tribes was not the Doron. The earth pony clan roamed the steppes of Greeinom, trying to better the land as they trudged through the harsh climates, seeking a better future for the land. They took care of the wildlife and turned blighted areas into palaces of wilderness as they believed it was their religious duty. They worshipped the Princes and Princesses of nature and magic and cowered in fear of the war god. All except for Bronze Tusk, a hearty warrior set out on a quest to simply see blood shed from his tribe’s foes (which was everyone else) and possibly to gather food, as the steppes were progressively becoming more barren, but that was not on his mind. So did he roam the land, seeking whatever crossed his path to a greater, or at least more violent, future.
After hours upon hours of travel, Bronze Tusk happened upon a precarious pub, perched upon a cliff. It had seemed as if there was much less food on the way towards his destiny, than his blighted wastes of Greeinom. Tusk stepped in, and witnessed violence and debauchery. As natural as sex and violence were to nearly all the inhabitants of Hippoborea, it wasn’t nearly as concentrated as in this Tartarean tavern. After dodging a couple of customers being flown about, Bronze Tusk sat down at a rickety table and ordered a cider. He imbibed the contents of the frothy tankard and asked the barkeep if there were any important events that he should know about.
“I don’ know what you’ve been talkin’ ‘bout” said the surly bartender in an incomprehensible, central Borean dialect “but –”
Suddenly, the pub burst into a radiant display of flames. Tusk stared at the carnage going on, gazing at the great fires of Tartarus until all was ash except for him and a crude wooden idol formed from the remaining wood. It resembled a bipedal, but still grotesquely equine figure holding a scythe. Scrawled across the base was the phrase “The Beastmaster shall return.” Bronze Tusk grinned with delight, smashed the idol with his hoof and made his way towards the nearest town.