Amount to Nothing
I grunted as a hoof slammed into my muzzle, sneaking past my feeble attempt at a block. Blood erupted from where the hoof made contact, and I was knocked backwards, seeing stars as my opponent bore down on me once more, a cocky smirk spreading across his face as I sought to keep my balance.
Taking my eyes off my opponent for a second, I looked around for anything I could use to level the playing field between me and the Earth Pony bearing down on me once more, but as I had feared, there was nothing to hoof that could help me. Other than the on looking ponies, there was nothing save for the snow and ice, punctuated by a few small buildings arranged into a rough village of sorts off in the distance. Looks like this fight would be won or lost on how good I was with using my hooves. Oh joy.
The pony lunged at me again, and I only narrowly dodged in time to avoid his wild hay-maker, before springing forward and bringing my head up into his chest, winding him for a split second, but not really doing much more than pissing him off. I knew I couldn't win, but I also knew that not fighting wouldn't lessen the beating, so I might as well make him work for this. It’s what we northerners were known for in any case. We would fight until our bones broke, and then fight some more.
“That hurt runt,” the pony growled, before lashing out with a hoof once more, catching me in the stomach and sending me skidding across the ice, until I finally came to a rest in a small snow bank.
Groaning, I tried to get up, only for another hoof strike to slam into my stomach. Letting out a gasp, I tried to roll away, but the attack was merciless, each strike hurting more and more, until I was sure he wouldn't be satisfied until my ribs broke or I started to cough up blood. Probably both to be honest.
“That’s enough Grafter!” another pony shouted, running over towards Grafter and placing herself between me and him. Even through the pain, I managed a crocked smile as I looked up at Gale.
Gale was an oddity in the village, which was probably why we gravitated towards each other so much, but while I was seen as second rate because of my small size and lack of a Warrior Brand, she was an outsider because of the fact she was a Pegasus. The village had nothing against Pegasus per say, but everypony who lived in the hold of Fitjar had to pull their own weight, something many believed that Pegasus simply couldn't do. There was no room for dead weight up here, not when the cold itself could kill you in an instant, and the animals could and would jump out at the unwary without a moment’s notice.
“What do you care Gale?” Grafter sneered, looking round her and staring down at me. “The strong survive, or the lucky. He’s chip out of both.”
“You've beaten him,” Gale reasoned. “What fun is there in playing with a broken toy? Wait until it’s fixed and then play with it.”
“You’re lucky Gale was here for you this time runt,” Grafter snorted, before turning and trotting away, walking back over to a group of ponies who treated him as if he’d just returned from a successful hunt, as opposed to having just beaten up a smaller colt.
“What did you do this time Hoarfrost?” Gale asked with a sigh, looking down at me with a slightly pitying stare.
“Training for the hunt. Picked up his spear. He didn't like that,” I muttered, forcing myself to get to my hoofs and spitting a wad of blood flecked phlegm onto the snow. I looked at Gale, my vision swimming in and out of focus, but I could still make out her features perfectly, filling in the blanks from my memory, everything from her pale grey fur, to her deep blue eyes and her lone white mane.
“Maybe let him pick up his spear first?” Gale suggested, shaking her head exasperatedly.
“Sure, because that’s the only thing that he ever picks me up on,” I rolled my eyes. “If it wasn't that, it would be something else. I won’t let him bully me out of everything though, he doesn't scare me.”
“Well, he scares me,” Gale replied, shaking her head before looking back towards the village.
Already the ponies who had been watching the fight between Grafter and I had begun to head back towards Fitjar, the light snowfall reducing them to hazy outlines rather than ponies, although I could still make out which one was Grafter, the massive muscular Earth Pony having a very noticeable swagger. Grafter was an ass, but he was a strong ass, and that meant he commanded respect and had earned his place in the villages warriors, but that was all he was. He had no skills outside of fighting, not that many were needed outside of fighting in Fitjar. You were born in the village, you lived and worked in the village, and unless you died in a raid against one of the nearby villages or out on a hunt, you were likely to die in the village. Fitjar was my whole life, and I knew the place would be the death of me, one way or another.
Gale on the other hand, she would make something of herself beyond the village, the Pegasi always did. Thanks to their wings, they could quickly reach other villages, bringing messages to them for any number of things. They could find where the good hunting grounds were, or if a pack of Arctic Wolves was approaching, or even worse, one of the feared and nigh on mythical Frozen Hydras. I had never seen one of the creatures, very few ponies had. Those who did usually didn't live long enough to tell anypony about what they were like. There were rumours out there about something even more deadly than the frozen Hydras, ponies with skin of metal and weapons that could kill with but a glance. I didn't know if the rumours were true or not, but I didn't have a large desire to find out.
“Sun’s going down, we should get back to the village soon. Don’t really want to be out here in the dark,” I said thoughtfully, cracking my neck to work out a kink that had built up in it. “The saga of the walking sun is being told tonight isn't it?”
“Either that or the risen moon,” Gale nodded, flapping her wings and buzzing alongside me, her thick blubber skin outfit hugging her form closely, making sure there was little room for the cold to seep into her bones.
My own outfit was less form fitting, but held more meaning to me, and that helped me get through the worst of the cold. The fur coat of an Arctic Wolf was a family heirloom, passed down from my father to me. It had been taken when three of the vicious creatures had attack Fitjar, very nearly destroying the village, and they would have done, if it had not been for the actions of my father. He had stood while others had tried to run, and with spear in hoof, he had managed to slay one of the smaller beasts, in a feat that had never been done before, nor had been matched today. Arctic Wolves were terrifying creatures, and even the smallest of their number could survive blows that would fell a pony ten times over, and still take its share of souls. They didn't go down, but they didn't attack much either, recognising that there were easier targets in the Northern wastes.
When the bodies were cleared away, and the village chieftain found to be among the dead, there had been no contest as to who his replacement would be, and my father became Chief Umbrage, the mightiest warrior the village had ever known. Then, a few weeks after the attack, he had vanished, disappearing in the night without a word to anypony, leaving only the pelt in his household. No body had ever been found, and the village had been forced to accept it as the will of the goddesses.
In our village, if a warrior had done a worthy deed and received a trophy for their efforts, it was a tradition to hand down the trophy to your child, be they filly or colt, on the appearance on their warrior brand, a sign of respect, and that the pony receiving the fur was an adult in the eyes of their parents and the village. I had bucked that trend when my father had disappeared, leaving no living heirs besides runty, old me, the oldest blank flank in the village. Yet another reason why I was looked down on, and yet another reason I would someday prove them wrong. I would work myself to the bone to become a great warrior in honour of my father, or I would die in the attempt. That was my aim in life, nothing more, nothing less.
Finally reaching the village, we both made our way through the gate in the ring wall, nodding at the lookout before looking around. There were a few ponies darting around the village still, but most of the villagers were at home in their long houses, nursing fires or wrapped in sheep’s skin to keep warm. The storyteller wouldn't be recounting the sagas till later, when the moon was high in the sky in what was known as ‘Luna’s Hour’. I had never figured out why really, but who was I to go against tradition.
“I’ll see you later yeah?” I asked, turning to face Gale.
“Sure, meet you at the Chief’s longhouse,” She nodded, before buzzing her wings and flying away.
I watched her go for a moment, wondering what it would be like to have wings, to soar across the snow and ice and to truly be free. Anywhere she wanted to be, she could get there with but a few flaps of her wings, while I was earthbound. It hardly seemed fair.
Sighing, I turned towards the edge of the village and slowly began to trot towards my own hovel, the building not even being worthy of being called a true household. After Umbrage had disappeared, a new Chieftain had been chosen, and I had been kicked out of the Chiefs longhouse, relegated to the smallest building in Fitjar, and the one which was the closest to falling down. Nevertheless, it was home, for better or for worse, and with a sickening creaking groaning sound, I pushed the door open, walking inside and looking around.
The inside was slightly better than the outside, most of the furnishings coming from the days before my dad had gone, but they had still fallen into disrepair. Walking over to the polished piece of metal that served as a mirror, looking at the damage that Grafter had done to me this time.
My brownish red mane was soaked, a mixture of melted snow and blood clotting into it, while my orange fur was stained with yet more blood, some of it being from Grafter, but most of it being mine, yet another reminder that I had just had the crap kicked out of me.
Moving over to the small bucket of water, I tried to wash the worst of the blood stains off, before lying down on my bed and closing my eyes. I didn’t want to sleep, not if it meant risking missing the sagatelling later, but I did want to rest for a bit, just for a few minutes.
I was awoken by somepony banging on my door, and the voice of Gale calling out.
“Hoarfrost?! You in there?!”
I was instantly on my hooves, running for the door and wrenching it open, finding Gale standing there, looking at me with an annoyed glare.
“What are you doing? You said you’d meet me by the sagateller’s,” She asked, peering round me and looking into my house.
“What time is it?” I asked, rubbing me eyes with a forehoof. “I haven’t missed it have I?”
“It starts in five minutes, come on,” she rolled her eyes, as if she had half expected something like this to happen, before turning and running back towards the centre of the village, leaving me to follow behind her, struggling to get my fur coat back on properly.
The pair of us rounded the corner, the village’s longhouse coming into view. There were no ponies outside the building, which probably wasn’t a good sign. The saga telling was an important part of village life, and while it wasn’t required for a pony to attend, it was expected, not to mention one of the few ways to stave off boredom for a few hours.
Skidding to a halt just before the building, the pair of us composed ourselves as best we could, before walking inside, instantly being confronted by the Chieftain of the tribe, and to me great annoyance, the Chieftains son. The Chieftain was huge, his black fur rippling with muscles that lay just beneath the surface, while his long braided mane and scraggy beard let off an air authority, marking him as our leader.
“Gale and Hoarfrost, late as always,” He shook his head, looking down at the pair of us.
“Chief Stronghoof,” I nodded, bowing my head in respect. “Grafter.”
“Gale, go,” Stronghoof ordered, nodding behind him. “Hoarfrost, stay.”
Gale cast me a concerned look, but slunk off inside the main hall of the building, leaving me alone with Stronghoof and Grafter. Looking up at Stronghoof, I stared into his eyes, determined to keep his gaze and show him I wasn't afraid of him. The chief stared down at me for a second, his face impassive as he observed me, before he finally spoke.
“You and Grafter again?” He asked. It was a rhetorical question of course, everypony in the village would have known about that by now.
“Yes sir,” I nodded, “Grafter was helping me train. That’s all.”
“Is that it Grafter?” Stronghoof asked, turning to his son.
“Yes father,” the black furred buck nodded, his cropped brown mane ruffling slightly as he moved, causing a shower of white flakes to swirl around his head, instantly catching Stronghoof’s attention.
“I told you to get that sorted out,” he snorted, making sure none of the flakes came near him. “Go to Lach now, get it sorted out.”
“But…” grafter began.
“No but’s. Go to the doctor, now,” Stronghoof glowered down at his son, making it clear that this was an order, not a request.
Grumbling to himself, Grafter headed out of the longhouse, roughly pushing past me on his way out, before disappearing from sight, leaving me with the chief.
“Hoarfrost, what am I to do with you?” he shook his head. “You don’t have to defend my son you know. If he is attacking you…”
“He was helping me train sir,” I replied firmly, cutting him off.
“I know you’re father’s disappearance was hard on you, but you need to stop living in his shadow. He was a great warrior, the greatest, and you? Well, you’re you.”
“Thanks,” I muttered sarcastically, before steeling my voice. “I will make him proud.”
“No, not like this you won’t,” Stronghoof shook his head, sighing slightly. “Getting into fights, allowing Grafter to push you around? That won’t bring him back, and it doesn't help the village. You’re not a warrior Hoarfrost, you should stay in the village, help…”
“The cripples and the old ponies?” I finished for him. “You've told me this hundreds of times sir, and I'll always tell you no. I will live up to my father’s memory.”
“You never will,” Stronghoof insisted. “You’re not your father.”
“I’ll keep trying till I can’t try anymore,” I replied, keeping his gaze.
“Fine. You want to try your hoof at being a warrior, then you can take a message to Haell. You come back alive, and maybe I’ll reconsider your position,” Stronghoof scowled, reaching behind me and drawing out a scroll and holding it out for me to take, which I did begrudgingly. “Now get out of my sight.”
And with that he was gone, turning and walking inside the main hall of the longhouse to listen to the sagateller. I stared at the doorway he had passed through for a long while, before turning and walking back out into the darkness, scowling as I began to walk towards the wall that ringed the village. Reaching the main gate, I caught the eye of the pony on watch duty there.
“Hoarfrost?” The lookout asked, peering down at me. “What are you doing out? Wild animals are out there, not safe for a pony like you.”
“Got a message for Haell from the Chief,” I called back, before grabbing hold of one of the spears set into the snow at the base of the wall.
“You must have a death wish,” the lookout shook his head, before looking out across the ice. “Might as well go now, I can’t see anything moving out there.”
“Thanks,” I muttered, moving through the small gate as soon as it opened and heading off into the dark.
It was a long trek to Haell, even if it was our closest village, the walk made even longer when I had to keep hiding behind snow drifts whenever I heard the crunch of snow not coming from my own hooves. Most of the time it turned out to be nothing, a goat or some other harmless creature, but I didn't want to take any chances. Knowing my luck, it would be a harmless creature nine times out of ten when I hid, but the moment I stood up, it would be something fully capable of ripping me to bloody rags in a few seconds.
This wasn't a job for a warrior, skulking and hiding at any imaged shadow, especially not an Earth Pony. If Stronghoof had really wanted this message delivered, he would have sent Gale, or at least a stronger warrior, but instead he had sent me. It was unfair, boring, and dangerous, but I would survive this, if only to prove Stronghoof wrong.
Eventually, I caught sight of a faint orange glow from a villages beacon on the horizon, making sure to angle towards it, and slowly causing Haell to come into view. It didn't take me long to reach the village now, and I quickly found myself at the main gate. I felt the hairs standing up all along my back, my tail beginning to twitch slightly as I looked up at the thick wooden gate, the thing swinging softly in the breeze. Something was wrong here, otherwise the gate would be locked and barred, and I would have already been confronted by the lookout.
Gingerly, I pushed the gate open fully, peering inside the ring wall, and feeling my blood chill in my veins, even more than it already was.
Dead ponies littered the street, spears still in hoof, and their blood dripping out and staining the white snow red. I counted ten bodies in as many seconds, and I knew that if this was the scene at the front gate, the rest of the village wouldn't be any different. Haell was bigger than Fitjar, almost double the size of our little holdfast, but they were the closest thing we had to allies. Stronghoof would want to know about this, but I had to know what did this, if only to confirm what I already feared.
Creeping towards one of the bodies, I rolled it over, the idea of the dead not scaring me, but the magnitude of corpses here making me wary that whatever had done this could still be lurking around. Death was a natural part of life, but there was nothing natural about this. Looking at the body, I found what I had been dreading, looking at the row of puncture marks and the jagged rips that were dotted across the ponies body. No weapon could do this, only teeth. This hadn't been a raiding party, this was done by vicious creatures, and I was wearing the pelt of one of them on my back.
Fear gripped hold of my heart, but I pushed it down, trying to clear my thoughts. Stronghoof had to know, I had to warn Fitjar. If there was a pack of wolves out there that had destroyed Haell, then the only chance we had would be to be ready. It was a slim chance at best, but it was better than nothing.
Scrambling away from the corpse, I sprinted back out of the gate, heading back the way I had come as fast as my legs could carry me, all thoughts of being silent forgotten. I just hoped I wasn't too late.
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This story is off to a great start. I look forward to seeing more
A story about the Ponyverse equivalent of the Space Wolves?
BEST THING EVER! *tracked and faved*
Great start so far.
4142657
I'm glad you like it.
The wolves of Fenris approve of this
5 bits those were daemons or something, not wolves.
Tracking.
Side-story to the God-Empress, yes please! Seeing the tale of one the Legions, should be interesting, tracking.
Vlka Fenryka! AAAWWWOOOOOOO!!
Needs some grammatical editing, but the story is solid and interesting. You'll improve as you write more, and I think this will be quite the tale to tell.
I already want Grafter to be eaten by an Arctic Wolf, Hoarfrost to kill one, and Gale to be with our hero, so good job for making me invested in them so quickly. Ten internet cookies say that Umbrage has been recruited by the Arctic Wolves Legion.
4144071
I'm not giving anything away, but on the issue of grammar, would you like to edit this? It's cool if you don't, but you seem interested.
4144071 I agree; Gale seems like an interesting pony, and I would like to know more about why being a Pegasus isn't that favorable.
and yeah, Umbrage probably met up with some of the Arctic Wolves. Maybe there will be a reunion of sorts
I wonder how a unicorn would fare in those cities.
hummmm
4172702
I'm guessing that's good?