In The Service of All

by TheFullCrumb

Tale 1 - Summons

John 15:13 Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.

- Words of Wisdom

It is amazing to witness just what happens when someone achieves a goal they never had in the first place. To watch as they follow a path of self-denial to protect those they care about. Every creature in the history of the world understands this. It is known as an epiphany to many.

A shaggy brown head rested on the open book, occasionally rolling over to snort as it snored. Crumbs of old bread lay scattered around the heavy mahogany desk, half-eaten sandwiches still laying on their plates. Somewhere in the background, a bell chimed, although no one appeared to enter. The room lay in disarray, papers strewn all over, ink stains covering many surfaces, while mice scurried through, collecting up small bits of what food was left behind. The shaggy head shifted, raising up as it shook. Lifting up a limb, it repositioned the spectacles that sat precariously upon its nose. A cacophonous clacking from below startled it. It stared down, remembering the stone floor and its own hooves. Opening its maw wide, it yawned, staring around at the state of the room. Sighing, it picked itself up from the stool and trotted around, carefully tidying the room as to allow its rodent companions to continue to scurry about. A loud knocking brought its attention to the heavy birch door that stood majestically across from him.

“My lord, your presence has been requested by the king! Come quickly!” The door opened, revealing a large auburn equine, its blond mane shortened, wearing a thick blue tunic.

“Right you are, good steward.” A lantern was brought into the dimly lit room, light flooding in. A mirror glinted, allowing the shaggy headed equine the first look in days of itself. Its dark grey coat was smeared with ink, its mane wild and unruly. “I should, perchance, stop at the castle baths before I appear before his Majesty.”

“My lord Dogan, it is urgent that he will not tolerate any tardiness on your part anymore.” Dogan stared at the steward with irritation. He sighed, glancing over to a cabinet filled to the brim with corked, glowing vials.

“Just let me gather up my medicinal materials, and I will be on my way.” The steward tapped his hoof in impatience as Dogan filled two leather bags with the vials. Once the task was complete, he strapped them to himself, nodding to the steward. “I will now go to his Majesty's throne room.” The steward, relieved to be leaving Dogan's strange book-laden room, led him through winding corridors. Dogan never stopped, only looking at the flowing tapestries that covered the stark, bleak grey of the stone walls. Various emblems covered the shields that adorned various doors to the personal chambers of several of the king's court. A large, but simply adorned door, rose before them. No matter the amount of times Dogan stood in front of that door, it still caused him to pause in awe. The door opened to fanfare and ponies lining the room, each tunic either gaudy with embroidery or markings, or very simple with small tassels. A royal messenger announced Dogan's arrival.

“Now entering, the king's Royal Apothecary, Lord Dogan Von Satasil!” As trumpets played, the king, an older unicorn with a white mane and coat, entered to bowing subjects. His robe was of the deepest red, trimmed with darkened leather. His fatherly gaze fell down upon his Apothecary. “Silence in the court. The good and wise King Eris Guardia will speak.” The court fell silent, leaving only King Guardia glancing about.

“My closest and dearest friend, Dogan. For years you have served me without fail, without a single hesitation.” King Guardia stepped from his throne, the eyes of every subject in the room following his every movement. He stood in front of Dogan, who bowed. “There is a grave matter at hand.” Dogan stood up to face the king as an equal, his hazel eyes meeting the king's soft, blue eyes.

“My king, what matter could be so grave that it requires the assistance of an Apothecary such as myself?” Dogan tilted his head slightly, a questioning expression crossing his face. King Guardia moved to the side, his eyes locking to a pane of stained glass.

“Two thousand years ago, the six heroes of the realm, the Knights of the Elements, defeated the effluent, destructive and seductive power of what many call the 'World-Eater', the mythical equine known as Abaratos.” A collective drawing of breath flowed across the court. Dogan stared wide-eyed at the king. “We crafted the very Gates of Tartarus to contain the evil that is his power.”

“My king, I do not understand.. What does this have to do with me, and the work of an Apothecary?” The king turned with determination in his eyes.

“Dogan, Abaratos, when he was imprisoned, vowed that on the longest day of two thousand years, the very ground we stand on would burn, heralding an era of blood, fire, and death.” He raised a hoof at Dogan. “Dogan Von Satasil, as the last remaining descendant of the Knights, listen to the reports of these scouts.” Five equines were ushered into the throne room, their tunics and leather armour indicating them as Royal Scouts.

“My lords and ladies, we have come with news of disease the likes of which has not been witnessed in over two thousand years. Ponies scream as their flesh boils away, whilst others, once thought dead, now roam around, consuming the very flesh of the living! It is as if Ragnarok is upon us, my king!” The scout fell on the ground, quivering and weeping. Dogan turned back to the king, who gazed upon him questioningly.

“Apothecary, what do you make of this?” Dogan set down his bags, removing various examination implements. He approached the scout, who backed away.

“No, you monster! I will not be killed by your hoof!” Dogan extended his hoof.

“Be still, good sir. I am merely attempting to reveal the cause of your ailment.” Dogan stared down with what appeared to be a hoof-held microscope. He looked over the coat of the scout, the scout still wary of him. “My king, it is not Ragnarok, nor is it much to be frightened of. It is a resurgence of a disease, yes, but this disease is not causing the equines to consume the flesh of the living. That is merely a by-product of the pain caused to the mind, driving an equine insane.” The court began to applaud, their uproarious praise silenced by the king.

“I task you, then, to find where this disease resurfaced, and remove the cause.” Dogan bowed before the king.

“Your wish is my command, my sovereign.” Dogan bowed out, backing towards the door slowly. Turning, he trotted out, galloping towards the heavy oak doors of the front of the castle. His mind ran with questions, plans, and statements. What kind of equine would be so foolish as to attempt to bring back Abaratos? I do understand that the disease is a resurgence, but I do know of the depraved power of Abaratos, including the ability to bring back the dead into a twisted mockery of life. His questions continued to rattle about in his mind as the guard equines at the front stood at attention as Dogan galloped by. The doors swung open, the ancient wood creaking as it slammed against the frame that barely contained it. He turned to face the interior of the castle, a smile crossing his face. The guards saluted him, Dogan returning the same salute.

“My lord, will you succeed as you have in the past against ailments, illness, and agony?” Dogan tilted his head, the smile growing wider.

“I will not return until I have rectified the problem. I will be victorious. There is no plague that can defy me!” Deep down inside, he was quivering in fear. He had no inkling of where to even begin. He stared down at the ground, trotting slowly until he could not move forward no more. Looking up, he found himself staring into the face of one of the Mercenaries, equines for hire with various skills. The one he had collided with was well-known for her thievery skills. Her leather armour had been recently replaced, her twin daggers carefully cleansed of any blood that may have been drawn by them. Her wide-brimmed hat was drawn low over her purple face and cobalt-blue mane. Looking up, her turquoise eyes met with Dogan's red ones.

“L-Lord Dogan! W-what a pleasure!” She bowed before him, her hat tumbling off. Dogan raised a hoof, lifting her head back up.

“My dear Hynesta, it is a pleasure to see you once more. How goes the hunt for the Helmet of- well, what was it again?” Dogan tapped his chin, attempting to remember what exactly the title of the strange artifact was.

“The Helm of the Dragon, Dogan. Even the youngest of foals knows the legends of the artifact.” Dogan sighed, staring around at the castle's town. The construction was oak, as many of the structures were, with thatched roofs and cloth awnings. The more effluent of residents afforded themselves birch planking for their roofs, the wide lane between a marked area for conflict. The peasant equinnes would often find themselves surrounded by the emerging middle-class equines, beaten down before they could even understand what they had done wrong. Hynesta trotted beside Dogan, looking around at the peasants, their smiles as Dogan passed testament to his viewpoint that it was not only the effluent, the wealthy, and the nobles that deserved his attention, but the common equine as well. A particularly large grouping of the peasantry cheered as he trotted by. “You are quite the saviour to the destitute, Apothecary. Without your aid, many would have never seen their offspring grow, or peace be restored after the Five Years War with the Valley Kingdom. Our greatest enemy became our most trusted ally because you did not notice an equine of the Kingdom of Guardia, or a Valley Equine. You witnessed disease and death, and arrived at the conclusion to assist whichever side required your assistance the most. If you had not saved the life of King Dastan of the Valley Kingdom, we would still be at war.” The information she had brought forth was well-known fact by that point. Dogan had, in fact, saved the life of the opposing king, but in doing so, had, without the motive to end the war, brought peace to the Realm.

“Yes, my dear Hynesta. It is a great deed that I committed unto the Valley King, although I just intended to heal another equine stricken with the Withering Plague, a disease which still affects the Frontier, the Outlands, and the Mountain Kingdom.” He drew a vial from his bag, his smile fading. “The price of the antidote... I still wonder within my mind if it was too costly. I lost my brother to the gathering of the Venus Blossoms I required for the final ingredient, Venus Nectar. They only found his fear-stricken face. What was most horrifying was the fact that his face was not a part of his head any longer. The blood that seeped into the ground... the area grew to a sort of coffin. The forest around must have known to protect my brother's passage into the afterlife.” Dogan stopped in front of one of the peasantry's hovels. Coughing was heard within. “Please stay here, my dear. I do not wish for you to accidentally 'catch' the Faltering Cough.” Dogan retrieved a mask from his bag, a long tube dangling down towards an empty flask.

The interior of the hovel was sparsely decorated, only various small animal skins detailing the walls. A small fire burned within a simple hearth, while an older mare lay in her bed, her coughing fits loud and full of agony. Dogan knelt beside the bed, the quilts shifting and moving.

“Mother, I have returned with a remedy for your cough.” The wheezing of the mare underneath the quilts and blankets was barely a response, but Dogan did not press. He brought forth a cerulean-tinted vial, popping the cork in the end. “Mother, drink this. It will sooth your aching throat.” His mother peeked her gray mane and face out from underneath, her almost pure-white eyes darting around. Dogan nearly dropped the vial. His mind raced, attempting to understand what was happening.

“My darling son, I am not long for this world. It is not the Faltering Cough, as you might have surmised before... although it is not far off. It is-” Dogan cut her off, fearing she would pass on before he finished his talk with her.

“-The Forsaken Death.” Tears welled in his eyes as he stared down at his disease-stricken mother, wrapped tightly in bandages. Her neck just barely peeked out, the blood seeping through. His voice quivered with sorrow as he spoke. “Mother, I will stop this! I will-” She cut him off in turn.

“Dogan Von Satasil! Is that any way to talk to your faltering mother?” A coughing fit overcame her, the hacking bringing blood to her lips. She wiped it away, attempting a weak smile. “Your father would have been proud to meet you, if he had stayed around. Always with the adventure, always with the...” Her words trailed off as her eyes rolled back into her head. Her body shook once, then was still. Her breathing form remained like a block of ice, frozen in one place. Dogan rose slowly to leave, tears streaming from his eyes. Hynesta poked her head in, staring around.

“This is where the great Royal Apothecary hailed from? I am amazed-” She stopped when she saw the mare on the bed, the grey mane and coat, and the almost pure-white eyes. She whispered in a foreign language, her body language clear. “Vdekja Braktisur! Dogan, what is going on?” Dogan did not speak as he left the hovel. “Nga yjet! Dogan!” Dogan turned to Hynesta, tears stinging his eyes.

“Hynesta, dear, sweet Hynesta.” Hynesta backed away slowly.

“Dogan, you're frightening me. Who was that mare?”

“My mother. A mare so full of strength you would swear she was a stallion in disguise. A mare like that should not fall prey to such a fatal disease!” He stomped hard, his hoof leaving an imprint in the dirt floor. “She was the only equine to help me fully realize my potential, and this is what happens?!” He spat on the floor in disgust. “Hynesta, you're not coming with me this time.” Hynesta stared wide-eyed at Dogan.

“But Dogan, I-”

“Save your speech for an equine that cares. I do not. Good-bye.” And with a swish of his tail, Dogan was trotting towards the gates, leaving a partially-confused Hynesta behind. I'm sorry. If I could say what I wanted to, I would bring you. This is too dangerous for even a Mercenary. He approached the wrought-iron gates, staring around. The stonework was such that if you even attempted to pull one stone loose, it was impossible. Each stone fit perfectly together. Tapestries adorned with the emblem of Guardia, a shield crafted from wrought-iron and oak, rustled in the light breeze that had come along. The gatekeeper stared down from his lofty perch, barely noticeable against the sun.

“Oi! Is that a Master Dogan I see? Well, bless me heart! Off on another court-ordained mission, aye? Good luck to you, friend!” The gate clanked as it rose, the iron quivering with some unknown purpose. The drawbridge, a structure made from some of the most ancient of oaks, was lowered with a crash, earth on the opposite side thrown into the air. Dogan saluted the gatekeeper.

“Good day, friend! I shall return!” Dogan sighed quietly as he trotted through the gates to the outside. Fog had rolled in, the thickest in as many years. He stared forwards, his mind racing. If Abaratos is truly returning, then I am the only one who can stop him. As the last descendant of the Knights of the Elements, it is my duty. For Guardia, and for the world!

Author's Note:

I've changed up how I write. This story, this whole story, is set in a time before anything we all know about MLP in general. Welcome to the Realm.

Comments

[CometTail]

I LOVE THIS STORY!

[TheFullCrumb]

3140470

Thank you!