A bat pony with a gray coat and silver mane. He was clad in dark purple armor and was seated behind a faded oak table. Extending his hoof, he reached for the stack of papers on the right-front corner the table and clipped it into a brown clipboard. "NEXT!" he called toward the clustered, ill-organized line of gray blobs waiting to receive either a helmet or some colorful souvenirs.
A gray bat pony with a dark purple mane and tail stepped forward.
"Fill out this sheet then proceed to the courtyard," the pony behind the table instructed.
The applicant grasped the clipboard with his left hoof and picked out a semi-used pencil from a blue coffee mug with his mouth and began scribbling amongst the black type.
From the shadowed arch behind the table emerged a lime-green waterfall, then the gray pony it flowed from. The pony flicked up his head, allowing the neon curtain to flail back, revealing one autumn-yellow sphere, pierced in the center by a singular, vertical black slit; the left eye remained hidden behind a purple bulge. His left ear was missing the top half while his right ear had but a miniscule bite taken from the back, three inches from its tufted top. The rest of his muscle-toned body resembled a similar array of black, blue, and purple bruises.
He limped toward the silver-haired pony sitting behind the table. By the time he had reached table the purple-haired pony had finished the application and gave the clipboard and paper back to the silver-haired pony that sat in the chair.
"Hey bud!" the silver-haired bat pony said as the applicant spat the pencil back into the mug.
"Huh?" The bat pony looked up with a dumbfounded expression painted on his face.
"Take the sheet with you and give it the guard waiting at the entrance." The silver-haired pony's voice was dry from the constant shouting.
"Hey, Silver." The maimed bat pony spoke in a deep, gravely voice. "Could ya lend me a little help with my wing?" The pony turned to the left to show a limply swaying wing.
"What? Oh, sure thing pal." Silver pushed back his chair and stepped down.
The pebbles shifted and grinded under the weight of the bulky pony. His purple chestplate clattered as it bobbed against every step of his thick forelegs.
"Here we go, buddy." Silver sat back on his hind legs and lifted his right hoof underneath the nearly black, leathery wing. He brought up his left hoof on top of the wing, gently clasping the base of the humerus bone. "Ready?" Silver looked up to meet the half gaze of the bat pony.
"Ready," he replied.
There was a very audible pop that echoed against the high walls of the Canterlot Castle. The batpony groaned as Silver released his wing, leaving a pulse of pain that throbbed every time his heart pumped blood.
"Thanks," the pony grunted through his pain while flexing his left wing to assure himself he could use it.
The pony began to walk away hearing Sliver call after him. "You should go home and get some rest." Silver sat back into his chair, still watching the pony walk away.
"Ya," the pony grunted in reply.
"I'm serious! You need to go home and rest, let your body heal." Silver grabbed another sheet from the stack.
Limping his way to the back of the line, the pony slowly sat down behind a large bat pony with a purple mane to match his wings. The bat pony looked down at the maimed pony. He said nothing and instead turned his attention back to the front of the line. Lifting his injured left foreleg, the pony stretched it in different directions. First stretching it straight out in front, then to the left, then above his head, and finally to his right, allowing his hoof to slowly descend to the ground.
“One thousand-twelve,” he muttered to himself. He looked to the ground, staring at the gray, colorless, joyless rocks. The line moved a half-step forward. As he took a step forward he focused on the sound of the gravel beneath his hooves. Listening as each rock grinded, shoved against the next, giving way to the force of his hoof.
He saw as the dust below his knees swirl and sway to the movement and breath of every being around. He remembered the golden fields of wheat he used to run through. All the cabbages he once stomped, the turnips he once plucked, and the frogs he tried to catch.
The emerald meadows he had rolled in fading away – giving way for golden-gray sand, the Asthma infested wind, and the dry riverbeds. Watching as the world he had once known disappeared. Standing as his home crumbled and rotted leaving only an ankle high out line.
He watched as his world disintegrated to nothing, yet, still he stood. Witnessing as the new land he came to find shelter in threw its rage and hatred toward him – pushing him to the mud. He roamed the cold streets. He slept in the gutters as the light that once welcomed him with warm hooves, cursed his skin to melt beneath her gaze.
“Next!” Sliver cried, his voice strained from the lack of moisture in the dry night. The pony approached the table. “Fill out this for-” Silver halted as he stared at the maimed pony before him. “YOU!” He roared with shock. “That’s the fifth time tonight! How many times do I haf’ta tell you? Go home!” Silver pulled the clipboard back before the pony could grab it. “No!” Sliver snapped. “Go home! NEXT!” Silver motioned for the next candidate to step forth.
“Is there a limit to the amount of times I can apply?” The pony replied calmly, not moving. Silver looked at him slightly confused by the reply. “Is there?” The pony said once more.
“Well, no – but that doesn’t mean you sh-”
Silver was cut off by the pony. “Then I may do as I wish, can’t I? Is this not a now truly free kingdom?” He said crescendo.
“Yes it is, b-” Silver wasn’t allowed to continue.
“Then do I not have freedom of choice without ridicule?” The pony paused only to continue just as Silver opened his mouth. “Have we not been given our freedom but instead to have been given hope stricken from us by our very kind?” The pony was at a near yell by the end.
Silver sat silent, the gaze of the pony’s one good eye rendering him speechless. “Fine.” Silver loathingly yielded allowing the pony to pass.
Triumphant, the pony strutted to the archway as boastful as his limp would allow. When the pony reached the entrance to the training field, he was confronted by the guard that would collect the applications and send them to whomever judged the applicants.
The first to receive the guard’s attention was not the pony, but rather, the pony’s lime-green main. “You again?!” The guard was not shocked, but instead, concerned.
“Miss me?” The pony smiled, not stopping. The guard allowed him to pass sending another to inform the judges. The pony hobbled to the chalk circle while the guard galloped up the eccentric white marble staircase curving with the castle wall to the judges who await at the top.
When the messenger guard reached the top, he stood before the judges. They were still discussing the performance of the last candidate. The messenger stood in a rigid salute catching the two judges attention.
“Your Majesty. Commander Reaper.” He addressed.
“Has another candidate come already?” The guard nodded. “Well, give me his form so we can assess him before hoof.” Commander Reaper routinely stuck out a hoof to receive the non-existent form.
“Actually,” the guard began hesitantly, “there’s no form this time.”
The two judges gave him quizzical looks.
“And why is there no form?” Commander Reaper said making sure to express his agitation.
The guard had faltered for only a moment then answered. “It’s that pony again… Sir.” The guard watched as the faces shifted from stunned and annoyed to puzzled.
It was the midnight judge that spoke first, her cyan eyes fixed on the guard’s gold-hazel eyes. “What do you mean “it’s that pony again”, private?” She cocked a single eyebrow.
The private’s face paled, withering beneath the judge’s gaze. “Th-the one-” the private stuttered, trying to force the words out through his fear. “The one with the green mane,” the private finished.
The commander walked over to the edge of the plateaued training field and looked out over the white granite railing. The other two were soon to follow, peering over the edge, finding a pair of vibrant green brush strokes bobbing across the field.
“The kid’s gonna get himself killed!” The commander exclaimed as the pony made his way to the display of weapon choices.
“I think that might be his plan.”
The pony hovered his eye over the many weapons of all sizes and types. He took a step to make a decision, but then immediately rejected it. He stood for a moment and then reached for a small dagger, grasping the handle in his mouth so that the blade protruded to his left. The iron of the blade was scratched and dull from mass usage.
“Hmm, I would have chosen the hammer.” The private said disapprovingly.
Commander Reaper whipped his head around to scold at the private. “Get down there and ring the bell already!” The private jumped at the venomousness of the commander but quickly obeyed, sprinting down the stairs.
The arena was a chalk drawn circle roughly ten yards in diameter. At the Western end of the circle stood a gray bat pony stallion with dark purple mane and tail and a battered suit of armor to match. The soldier's shoulders were broad and bulged with muscle. the rest of his body was just as well defined - pulsing with veins. The guard brought his head down to his right side and unsheathed his double sided sword.
The private dug his hooves into the dirt, skidding to a halt. Almost unable to keep up with his body’s need for Oxygen. He bit onto the handle of a hammer leaning against a wooden post and swung it against a medium-sized bell that hung at the top of the post. The sound was loud and long, ringing unchallenged through the silent night.
Hunching low The guard took a battle stance. The pony mimicked, sliding his left forehoof and back right hoof outward. The ringing soon faded leaving a second of silence for the two opponents.
It was the guard who was first to batter the silence with a brutal cry. He stampeded forward, raising his sword tip high above his helmet. His dense shoes crushing the thin layer of freshly stirred dirt and loose gravel that lay atop the well-used arena.
The green-haired pony slowly limped toward the guard. He kept his attention not on the guard but upon the blade. The two opponents collided at the Eastern half of arena. It was the guard who swung first – using the aid of his momentum. The pony was quick to defend – swinging his head to the right – folding his ears as the flats of their blades screeched against each other. Using the guards’ momentum, the pony collapsed to the ground.
The guard – unable to react in time – tripped over the pony. Now on his back, the pony stuck up his legs, pole-vaulting the guard several feet forward. There was a loud clunk as the guard hit the ground, rolling a few feet. His helmet went soaring off his head and out of the arena. Getting up, the guard searched for his sword and found it just within reach.
Biting down on the handle, the guard brought himself back up to face the pony, who was just now just managing to stand up straight. The guard - seeing his chance to attack while the pony was staggering to stay up - ran forward. With his blade stuck out to his right, the guard planned to swing low with the sword flat and take out the pony’s legs.
As the guard closed in, the pony crouched low. The guard didn’t run at full speed – anticipating that the pony might jump out of the way or attempt another trick. The pony showed no signs of attempting to move. As the guard drew near, he readied himself for the attack: And.. Now! The guard said in his head and swung the sword low, aiming for the legs.
The pony then jump in the air using his wings to propel himself higher and slightly to the right of the guard. As the guard’s blade swung through the air, just missing the pony’s hooves, he spun around bringing his right hoof around and striking the guard in his muzzle.
“He seems most apt at defending himself, even after all he has endured during this night.” The alicorn judge commented, her Prussian head pivoting around as she observed the two bat ponies clashing against each other.
“I agree,” Reaper began, “but he won’t last forever. Eventually he’s going give out.” They continued to watch the pony’s hair flail through the air as he defended against another attempt from the guard.
Digging his hooves into the ground, the guard stomped toward the pony. When the guard came close the pony sidestepped to the left of the guard, avoiding his blade. The guard, however, anticipated this movement and brought his left forehoof out to clothes-line the pony.
Unable to evade the guard’s arm, the pony was struck just below his jaw. The force of the blow caused the pony to be thrown several feet away. The pony skid on the ground and his dagger – which was knocked out of his mouth when he was clothes-lined – struck the ground with a clink and bounded onto the pony’s head, then slid off and fell to the ground beside his left ear.
Squirming on the ground, the pony tried to breath past the swelling lump in the side of his throat. His vision was static and when it cleared, the broken tip of a double bladed sword was inches from his face. Both foes held stoic. The pony glanced from one eye to the next and then to the bell. The bell that hung atop the post was vacant. The bat pony that was supposed to ring the bell to signify the end of the match was further in the background.
There was another bat pony clad in matching armor with the private. They appeared to be having a conversation, thought, it was the private who seemed to be doing most of the talking. The private’s back was turned and the other pony was making an effort to look anywhere but at the private.
Looking back at his enemy, the pony said, “You win.”
The guard let out a sigh of relief and backed away from the conquered pony, sheathing his sword. Turning his head to pick up the dagger, the pony attempted to stand up.
Seeing the pony struggling with all his might to even attempt to get his chest but half a foot off the ground, the guard walked over to the maimed pony.
“Here, let me help you.” The guard extended a hoof and grasped the pony under his right armpit.
“Thanks.” The pony replied, his voice heavily worn. Together, the guard was able to lift the pony to a half-stand. At that moment, the pony swung his head up, catching the guard under his blood-stained chin.
Feeling the force of the collision, the guard stumbled back, his snout numb, the taste of fresher blood in his mouth. The pony leaped forward, his dagger ready to strike. The guard managed to recover quick enough to see the moonlight reflecting off the blade of the dagger. Taking a step back, the guard narrowly missed the assault, but wasn’t able to fully avoid the blade. The dagger whistled through the air, cutting deep into the guard’s left cheek.
The pony brought his head back around for another attack, but this time the guard was prepared and ducked under the blade. The pony was quick to attempt another slash, but the guard was quicker and struck the pony in his jaw with an armored hoof.
The pony fell back from the concussion, the blade flying out of his grip. He landed on the ground with a thump. He breathed twice, then attempted to stand. However, before the pony could plant his hooves, the guard had picked up the dagger and placed a heavy hoof on the pony’s right shoulder, planting him firmly against the ground.
Dropping his head low, the guard placed the edge of the blade against the pony’s throat. The cold metal against the pony’s skin made his nerves shiver. The guard huffed in a heavily cadence slightly slower than the pony’s breathing.
“Hhet’s… hhovher!” The guard yelled through the dagger between breaths.
The pony showed no sign of disappointment or hatred. Staring him in the eyes, he said, “I didn’t… hear…” – This time, the private was paying attention and sounded the bell – “the bell.” The pony finished with one last huff.
“What a cheap move,” Commander Reaper said under his breath looking away from the pony and guard and walked away.
“’twas not.” The alicorn stated calmly not taking her eyes away from the green-maned pony who was now picking up the dagger the guard had dropped a few feet away from him.
“Your majesty?” Reaper turned not quite hearing what she had said.
“It was not,” – she paused a moment to recall what he had said – “a cheap move. Making your enemy think that the battle was over when it actually wasn’t.” She turned away from the pony who was now staggering to stay up. “He has fought well, even in his obviously weakened state.”
The Commander was taken back by this. “You’re not actually thinking about considering him, are you?” The Commander walked back to the edge of the raised training grounds to better observe the pony. “He’s puny, probably no older than fifteen. And the minimum age to be guard is twenty.” Reaper was about to continue but he was prevented.
“Do not raise your voice at me.” The alicorn flicked her head around and stared the Commander in the eyes. “I am well aware of the age restrictions as it was I who established them.” The alicorn countered.
Reaper appeared hesitated, but then bowed his head and said, “My apologies, your majesty. It will not happen again.”
The alicorn brought her head back to stare at the pony who was putting the dagger back on the table. “I would hope not.”
“Will you ever listen me?” Silver said turning his head back around to the other side as the pony walked around behind him.
“Possibly,” the pony mumbled, barely audible. “That depends.”
“Depends on what?” Silver yelled as the pony continued walking away.
“On whether I become a guard or not,” the pony took a place in line behind a black-haired bat pony.
“One thousand-thirteen,” he mumbled to himself as he sat down.
The black-haired pony turned his head and looked down at the green-haired pony. “You should listen to him.” The black-haired pony said in a deep voice. “You’re not lookin’ so good.”
“I’ll live.” The green-haired pony stated stretching his forelegs and stared at the ground, ignoring everything else around him, his mind drifting deep into his thoughts.
He ran.
He ran from the world, form their looks, from their words, and above all, their swords.
The world became hateful, despiseful and disgusted by not who he was, but what he was.
“It’s the Princess!”
The pony looked up from the lifeless gravel. He searched to see where the whisper of a voice was. More exclamations of shock and disbelief washed over the crowd in low whispers. The pony stuck his head from the crowd – as many others did – and saw the whispers to be true.
She strode as elegant and as graceful as a rare orchid blooming. Along the line, bat pony after bat pony bowed low, their muzzles almost kissing the gravel. The wave of bows continued through the line as she walked by.
Standing up, the pony prepared to bow. Extending his right foreleg forward and his left foreleg back he slowly began to lower his head to the ground. His muscles still very weak from the continuous sparring. Without warning, his forelegs gave out from under him and his head fell the last two inches to the ground.
The cold gravel pressed against his forehead. “Ow.” He grumbled.
Luna walked down the long line of bat ponies, each and every one bowing as she came. Holding her head high and proud, she gave a slight nod of her head to each pony, smiling warmly.
She proceeded placing one hoof in front of the other, each time the gravel giving a muffled grinding crunch. When she had arrived to the appointed pony, she stopped and turned to the face the line of protruding flanks.
“You are Eclipse, I presume.” Luna stated looking down at the lime-green tentacles that lay sprawled across the gravel.
There was an extensive pause before the green-haired pony answered. “I am.” He said, trying his voice as clear and audible as possible.
Luna smiled, though she had already known it was him, she liked the extra necessity of being proven correct. “I have a proposition for you, if you would hear it.” Commander Reaper had come to stand beside her.
“I would.” Eclipse responded.
Luna opened her mouth to begin, but stopped herself. “Um, would you like to stand to hear it?” She decided to say, noticing that Eclipse had made not even the slightest notion of raising himself.
Eclipse brought his left leg forward and attempted to stand. His muscles surged with protest at the strain of the exhausting exertion. His legs wobbled furiously, and after a couple of seconds he stopped. “I can’t.” He admitted.
Luna – not surprised by the level of exhaustion the pony had – looked to Reaper. “Could you help him?”
Reaper gave a sigh of annoyance and walked up to the pony’s left side. “Here,” He said reaching a hoof under Eclipses’ armpit. With some grunting – mostly from Eclipse – Eclipse was able to stand.
“Thanks,” Eclipse said when he was stable enough to hold himself up.
“Don’t mention it.” Reaper replied as more of command then an acknowledgement. He took his place beside Luna.
“My apologies for inconvenience, Princess,” Eclipse said choosing to bow his head.
“There be no need for apologies,” Luna waved a hoof, “’twas nothing.”
There was a moment of silence where nothing was heard except the awkward sniffling and the occasional cough of bat ponies that were either bowed with heads to the ground, looking up, or otherwise standing up and straining their ears to overhear. Eclipse took this moment to better observe the majestic being that stood not ten feet away.
The first of many features to captivate his attention were her eyes. Two sparkling, flawless sapphire rings. He admired how the pale velvet of moonlight glistened off the ever illustrious gems.
The second aspect to lure his attention was her horn. It’s so long. He thought looking at it from tip to base. I guess it just comes with being an alicorn. He decided.
Luna cleared her throat with an audible, “Ahem,” causing Eclipse to bring his attention back to hers. “Would you like to hear my proposition now, Eclipse?” She restated.
“Y-yes,” Eclipse stuttered, but soon regained himself. “What is it that I can do for Her Royal Majesty of The Night?”
“Ooh, now I like the title!” Luna said listening to how the name sounded in her head. “But that is aside the point.” Luna snapped to herself, not wanting to become distracted. “How would you like to become my personal Errand Pony?”