FoE: Snippet Story

by Windrunner

The Legend of Queen Whiskey

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The wizened ancient zebra looked out towards the horizon of the once devastated landscape. Over a hundred years before it had all been one terrible blasted place. In many areas it still was, not without dangers and secrets even now. Not one but three major conflicts had all destroyed the world, and partially restored it again. She churned her bubbling cauldron with a makeshift pole then called the others together. It was time for the weekly story by the fire, for which both young and old huddled around eagerly. This night she decided it was finally time to relate a very special tale, one she had not told in a very long time. As the little band settled she began to speak:

Come little children. I'll tell you a tale about woe, of wild ole Queen Whiskey and the seeds she did sow.

A torrid tale of suffering, of pain. A tale of learning, of grief and of gain.

She left her home to slake a desire, to justly shield those held dear amidst strife and fire.

Right out the door to return nevermore, rushing towards a far distant moor.

One takes care of their home no matter the cost, no care for how dire the loss.

Within a clean stable she lived in seclusion, beneath the world not safe from confusion.

From afar came a thundering knock, to force apart already broken lock.

In through the door came death and derision, it took not long to make her decision.

A machine barely understood upon a leg sending her across to beg, for knowledge she had little.

Into her mind the question did while and whittle, burning a hole she could only ponder and riddle.

Fighting their way out, an unknown dread to stop them in the middle.

Little could she fathom the idea of jumping from one hot plate out onto a griddle.

Her journey started with blood on her hooves, now onto planning out her next moves.

The first place she tread was saved then from dread, and thus it did greatly swell up her head.

On then toward a song full of power, nary a place to find a good shower.

The swelling was popped when a pony head dropped, for from the owner it was quite cleanly lopped.

The old zebra took a deep breath and looked to her cauldron. It bubbled and sloshed with a pop. The soup would not be ready for quite some time yet but still needed tending to. She took a moment to pour in some arcane ingredient which gave it a slight green tinge. The soup had to be the perfect temperature for cooking or it would not come out right at all. For her age she was still quite spry, as zebras are wont to be thanks to a lifetime regimen of agility exercises. Though the others would scold her for doing it, she was still capable of balancing on her head atop a hoop. Using a wooden ladle that had clearly seen better days, she took a sip of the softly glowing concoction. She then turned her attention back upon the waiting crowd, it had grown larger:

A friend in dire need of care, how far might she now dare?

A time into the abyss now to stare and ponder the quirks of fate and despair.

Time waits for no pony, hurting or not. Her story unfolds in a quite special spot.

To find a way through and again save the day, when all that is wanted a bed soft as hay.

Over the land an ocean of fright in which she then finds her delight.

One evil down she could smite, to unleash only yet worsening plight.

A sight quite enough, she had enough stuff. Now to wind inwards in bluff.

One out of three, a threatening plea, then onwards for an illusory sea.

Listen now children quite well. There is much much more of this tale to tell.

Tarnished, her journey just started and almost departed.

To pick from a list of terrible louts. Enough to make one wish to shout.

Decisions done and payments to be made, into the austere halls of a hospital strayed.

Tasked to go throw them out, some ghosts of the past are real no doubt.

Laughter did echo through dim blistered hall, cries of young foals and fillies calling to all.

Come now ye hither, we just want to play. Forever and ever you are to stay.

Through quite painful choice she silenced the voice of past sins left in her sway.

The zebras in the clan listened intently with hushed breath, hanging on the elders every word. This story had never been passed on to any of them before. They had heard every tale she ever told before numerous times. All of them were good, but none were like this. This was something new. As she spoke more and more of the clan gathered to hear this epic regaling of the past. Why had she never told it before, and how did she know it? Curiosity drew nearly the entire clan together while she related a saga in rhyme. She stood behind her cauldron, paying it special care as she poured carefully chosen grated herbs into it. The soup seemed to be gaining more potency. The smell of it drifted through the conclave almost tauntingly as it simmered. The aroma was most enticing. Her carefully crafted tale continued:

Already carrying a great pain in her heart. Forced from her home and not very smart.

Ole Queen Whiskey one day she would be, for the moment only wishing to flee.

Slow to learn and needing to see, how to fill a life with glee.

Coming to face a painful past whilst burdens mount to torture so fast.

Once so uncouth as deluded in youth. In pain she did now pine for sooth.

Like a chipped tooth needs some care. She played out her passions with far too much flair.

Somewhere in there a lesson to learn. Her hearts yearning desire to set things afire.

Blazing forth to another campaign. One and another strain upon her poor aching brain.

She pondered her life so full of strife which left her feeling it vain.

Into her mind was planted the idea that much later would lose all she gained.

In her heart a poisoned feeling did grow to gnaw at all she might know.

On the road once again which slowly did spend much of her will to comprehend.

A pain in the tail and under the pale her journey begun to feel quite stale.

So much pain felt under the endless rain near a city of steel, mayhaps to take a ride on the rail.

The sun not free by any a pony eye yet to see, the will to do so in lee.

The wastes so deadly and terror filled veil, now you must wait for more of the tale.

A murmur went through the gathered crowd at the sudden end. The old zebra leaned over her cauldron, having decided it was finally ready to be served.

"Like fine wine a story this sublime must be savored and taken in sips over time." She would say no more. They would have to come back for the next story session. Not a one would miss it. The dispersing crowd chattered amongst themselves with a slight air of disappointment but also excitedly at the prospect of hearing more. The old zebra smiled to herself. She walked back into her ramshackle little hut and gazed at a photo faded with age.

---

The past ever weaving into the future we can but guess what lines it shall draw.

Comments

[Deathpony]

Looks pretty good

[Windrunner]

3833249 Yes, whiskey can indeed be quite nice.

[Somuchforaname]

This lil tale makes me think of blackjack with her crown of wild pegasus bottles.