Chapter One: Dreams Granted Through Tragedy
Chapter One
Dreams Granted Through Tragedy
The sun rose over the small trading town of Trotston. The desert wind blew stinging sand through the hot, morning air as the townsfolk rose, ready for another day of work. Steel Mill the Earth pony got to his forge, eager to get to work on that shipment of swords for the Canterish Patrol. Sand Breeze, a pegasus, sat in her watch tower, eyes open for any sandstorms, Dust Devils, or bandits that would dare even think of coming into town. Nearby her was her partner Sharpeye, a rough young gryphon mercenary that the sheriff had hired to help keep Trotston safe.
Speaking of the sheriff...
Things were fairly quiet in the sheriff's office that day... as usual. Being a small town, Trotston didn't usually attract the kind of attention that brought in many bandit raids. And there was rarely any unrest in the town... most citizens were too busy working to cause any trouble. Small as it was, Trotston was an important part of Equestria, known both for the quality metal workings that came out of Steel Mill's shop and for being the go to rest and trading stop for almost all the big caravan routes. Most of the town's life and economy revolved around the caravans. From the business they give the local tavern, the Smoking Mane (long story behind that name...), to the trading they did in town, caravans weren't only supplying necessities here... they were also bringing in money for the town!
As the day begun for the rest of the town, Sheriff Swift Shot, a rather plain-looking, aging unicorn, found himself faced against his most hated enemy... paper work. Being a small town, he also functioned somewhat as an unofficial mayor.
"Approve this... read through that... bah! List of caravans expected today, know that like the back of my hoof! Hmph... damn bureaucrats... Sign here, initial there, blah blah blah... Why in the divine name of Celestia do I put up with this-"
Suddenly, a pegasus mail carrier burst through the Sheriff's Office doors. "Sir, sir! Important message! Important! Must read! Your eyes only!" Slamming the letter down onto Swift Shot's desk, the panicking pegasus quickly turned tail and flew right back out the way he came.
Sheriff Shot stared dazedly at where the spot where the pegasus had been a moment ago, before slumping his head to the desk with a frustrated groan. "Damn... doesn't he ever just slow down, stop and say 'Hi', or 'Good morning'? Miss that other mare we had... she was nice, bit odd thing 'bout the eyes, but nice... well, at least Bad News travels fast... ugh..."
Raising his head, he glanced down at the letter. He was skeptical that it would be THAT important... Bad News had a habit of making everything he delivered sound worse than it was. Why, he'd once delivered a birthday card, and acted as if it would explode the moment it left his hoof! But... 'For your eyes only'? That was... unusual, even for him. With a dejected sigh, Sheriff Swift Shot levitated out his letter opener.
"Well," he said, bored and tired, lifting up the letter to read what had been so important... "Let's see what all the fuss is-... wait... no... how..." His brow furrowed as he read, his face quickly taking on a look that it seldom ever even came close to resembling: shock. "He... he can't be..."
It was terrible news. And he knew why he'd been the one to get the letter... He let out a sad sigh as he finished and the reality of it hit him. But this was no time to mourn. He had business to attend to.
First off... he pulled out that list of caravans he'd dismissed... and crossed off the top name. "Well old friend... looks like we ain't going to be having that beer after all..."
And now... one more thing... something that utterly broke his heart.
Time to go tell the family.
Wagon Trail's day had been downright awful so far. He had fallen out of bed, an hour late for work. He didn't get the chance to grab something for breakfast, and as punishment for being late (again) his boss, Track Keeper, had him skip his lunch break. Half of the loads he took in his wagon were too heavy and strained his back to no end, and the other half were typically garbage or something equally foul. Now he was getting off work, tired, starving, and filthy...
And with a big smile on his face the entire time. Why? Because today he knew was when his uncle Side Track's caravan was going to stop in town for the day. And there was nothing in this world that Wagon Trail loved more than spending time with his uncle and his crew. Hearing stories of their daring battles and adventures, watching the crew members do business, learning all the fine points of how to keep a caravan successful and running... those were the highlights of his days!
His life long dream had been to be a caravaneer like his uncle. To go out and help the loose confederation of towns survive the harsh land of Equestria. To fend off the bandit hordes that swarmed the deserts and wastelands. It was all he'd ever wanting from his life. He knew one day he'd get the bits and supplies to go out, get a crew of his own, to start buying and selling. He'd spent his life studying the ways the economy of places like Trotston worked. And he'd never forget when his uncle had given him an Earth pony's best friend in combat... a wrist blade. After months of practice, Wagon was sure he was decent enough at it to stand for himself in a fight with it there, ready to spring out with a twitch of the wrist.
Wagon Trail wasn't much to look at. He was a relatively handsome youth, an Earth pony like all of his family members. With his charcoal colored mane, inherited from his father, and his beige coat from his mother, he looked pretty average. He wasn't big, but he wasn't small. He was strong, but it didn't really show much. All in all, he was... himself. That's all that mattered to him. Let them judge me by my looks... I've nothing to prove to anypony.
He had to swing by his house, where he stayed with his mother, Dust Bowl (not an inspiring name when one learned she was a cook...). Just wanted to clean himself up before he went out to see uncle Track!
When he stepped through the kitchen door, he knew something was wrong. Usually his mother would be working in the kitchen right now... then he noticed a sound from the living room... a mare crying.
"Ma?!" he shouted as he galloped into the room, only to meet with a distraught mother and a solemn looking sheriff.
"Son... oh my darlin' son..." his mother cried as she flung her forelimbs around him, crying into his shoulder.
"Ma, what's wrong? C'mon now, what's the matter? You don't want uncle to see you like this when he-"
When her crying grew louder at his last statement, it started to dawn on him what was going on. The sheriff shook his head sadly as shock, disbelief, sorrow hit the young stallion's face. He swore he saw the colt's mouth shape out the word "No..."
"Son... your uncle ain't comin' back... not ever again..."
After letting the two cry themselves dry, Swift Shot gave them the details.
"Now son, your uncle has always been a great friend of mine. And I know for a fact that he could always handle himself in a scrap... but there are some things that nopony, not even your uncle, can face. And your uncle... Celestia bless his soul... his biggest flaw was that he didn't quite take stock in that. So... he decided to take his caravan through Cracked Wing Canyon..."
"What's so bad 'bout that canyon?! What's so bad that he had to go and..." Wagon stopped as the sheriff held a hoof up, asking for patience.
"No caravan the size of your uncle's EVER makes it out of Cracked Wing Canyon. Few ponies ever make it out, but from them we know that there's somethin' in that canyon... somethin' dark... somethin' that kills... and leaves no trace. Some say it's cursed, some say Discord himself lives there, that it's a gateway to Tartarus... me, I don't know, and I don't wanna know. All I know is nothin' good comes of goin' through there."
Wagon's mother sniffled slightly, then looked up to the sheriff, tears threatening to start once more. "Th-thank you... for comin' to t-tell us... it means a lot to hear it fr-from you..."
Wagon sat there, trying to console his mother, while at the same time fighting back tears of his own... he was devastated by the news... but... there was something that didn't fit here... he looked to the sheriff, and hesitantly asked, "Was... was there anything else, sir?"
The sheriff nodded. "Yes son... there's... there's still the matter of... Side Track's will and testament."
Wagon sat... he couldn't believe it... he ran his uncle's passing words to him through his head again.
To my favorite nephew, Wagon Trail,
I cannot tell you how proud I am of you. I've watched you grow from a weak, young colt to a strong, hard-working young stallion. I know I used to joke to you that you'd have to work harder to follow in my hoofsteps. But oh was I wrong. You were always ready; you just needed the push, the resources, to get you on your way.
I know you and your ma will be sad. I know you'll miss me. But let me tell you now: don't. I went into this job knowing fully well I could die any day, from any cause. And don't let Swift get you down with his talk of how I never knew when to stop, never knew when I'd met my match. That's a load of dragon dung. I always knew what I was getting myself into. I never took risks without a damn good reason! Never forget that.
Now then, like I said, all you need to start being a caravaneer are the right resources. Well, nephew, take a guess what your inheritance is. Whatever of mine is left over after I'm gone is yours. Wagons, bits, crew (I forgot to mention in that their contracts they had a clause making it so they stayed employed to my next of kin in the case of my death!), all yours! And from the time you've spent with me and my crew, I'm sure you'll be no stranger to the workings of things.
And if it's one of those cases where "nothing was left"... you don't take me for an idiot, do you? I always leave a wagon or two, plus bits, supplies, and a few good mates behind when I do something risky. Wouldn't want to leave you high and dry, now would I?
In any case, it's all yours now, lad. Treat your caravan right, and it'll return the favor. Make me proud as I go to join the Princesses in the Sky... keep an eye out for my star tonight! Ha! Sorry, I know your not the religious type, I just couldn't resist. Well, I suppose that's goodbye then lad. It's been an honor to call you my nephew. And I know you'll make the right choices! Don't let your ma stop you. Chase that dream of yours. Like a phoenix you will rise from my ashes... wow I shouldn't have let Short Cut talk me into writing that... anyway...
Sincerely yours,
Side Track
Sat on the porch of his family home. His mother, while resistant at first, had eventually folded, agreeing to let him go.
"I... I don't want to lose you like I... like I lost your father, or my brother... but... I know that this is what you're meant to do, son... I know I can't stop you... so I... I'd rather us part on good terms... I'll miss you... but this is something you have to do..."
He looked up to the sky, seeing evening approaching. He closed his eyes as the cool desert night wind crept forward. His dreams... his dreams were coming true... but at what cost?
No. You can't think like that! You've got to do this... do this for him!
He turned to head inside. He had packing to do. The next day, he would catch a ride with a caravan heading for La Colte, the place where his uncle had told his standby crew members to wait. The sheriff had sent a letter out to them, explaining the situation. All that was left to do was get there and get started.
Honestly... Wagon was scared. He had never left Trotston before. He had figured it would be about a year, maybe more, before he'd have even gotten started in the caravan business. Instead, he was being thrown right into it. And he had little idea what to expect.
But... he wouldn't let that stop him! He WAS going to do this, and he WAS going to make his uncle proud!
He packed up every bit he owned, a few articles of clothing necessary for traveling and sleeping in the desert, his wrist blade, some bottles for storing water... basically anything he knew he'd need to make it.
Satisfied he had everything, he climbed into bed, and hoped that sleep would come.
Tomorrow... tomorrow would bring the end of one life...
And the start of something much, much more.
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I can picture the Diamond Dogs (or Canids/Canines if the DD's were just a gang) as being the world's equivalent of goblins or orcs. Weak individually, but in huge numbers they can become a deadly threat.
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Yeah, I had plans for basically a run of a very dangerous type of shipment: gems. Because a load like that attracts... a tougher variety of caravan robbers. And not just the Diamond Dogs either...
Since at least someone has taken an interest in this, I might try bringing it back up later. Finish that third chapter I barely started...
You've got my attention. I like the concept a lot, and there's the potential for lots of different adventures here. Can't think of any complaints. I'll be keeping an eye on this one.
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Thanks!