Clickity Hack's Tome of Origins

by ClickityHack

Swift Heart

/u/WindyValkyrie

The Legend of SwiftHeart

Far to the west of Equestria, past the Midnight sea, past the lands of Glascow and Gildedale,

past the Shimmerwood and the Archback Mountain, and North of Hoovegorod, there lives in legend

the tribes of the Nordlig Liten Hest, known to some as the Sjøponni. It is said of them that

they sailed the many stretches of the Antlertric Ocean in search of treasure, new lands, and

even in conquest. But before those days were the times of tribulation and ponni turned against

ponni in a bitter dispute among the villages when the winds of winter settled one month too

long.

Blame first fell on the Pegasi of Flygende and the unicorns withdrew from them their magic so

that all their kin were made to walk among the soils of Jord. But the winter did not retreat

and so blame fell upon the unicorns of Etthorn and the Pegasi and the Jordponni braved the

highest summits to enlist the aid of the dragon, Svart Avtale. His blue fire cursed all the

unicorns who had brought down the Pegasi and melted the snows. And so for an age, all were

Jordponni, have they horn or feather, stuck to wander on the ground and make due with the milder

laws of nature. And every year, sacrifices would be made to the dragon, who would melt the snow

so that toiling the land for food in the bleak North could continue.

It was in such times that Swift Heart was born, under the first star of night when the evening

bells of Asatrot were ringing. There in the small village of Vrinsk she was born amid much

suspicion and ill tidings. Though her parents were colors of the blue sky of day, her coat was

black, and the elders debated if she was an unholy incarnation of the Mareritt Månen, the

banished queen of the night.

But as she grew there was no sign of malice in her. She was prone to wanderlust, but also

laughter. She was inventive as well. Her mother taught her the needle with which she sewed not

so many dresses as playthings made from old clothes and the branches of trees. She could not

see very far, but nothing was too far away from her to take a closer look.

She had never flown before, but her family had taken to fishing to make their living. They

would not eat the fish of course, but her father would train the fish to bring seaweed to the

surface in exchange for worms. And it was in this way she took to boating. She even took to

wood-working, making the bark taunt and flexible with her agile wings, a skill that older

generations had not thought to employ. She loved to sing of her work and of the stories of the

olden days. Every tale the elders would sing she took to her heart with haste.

But some feared her craftiness and cleverness. "Hekseri" the elders would mutter to themselves

when she showed her father the glass the smith had discarded and how it aided her to see things

far away. "Trolldom" the council whispered when the dolphins of the sea began to work for her and play with her. Her ways were "forbudt" they would murmur when she wove her hats and capes that reminded them of days when magic led to their ruin.

So it came to pass that the ancient sacrifice should be renewed when mid-winter gave way to the time when spring was overdue. She awoke that morning to a crowd of ponni gathered around her hov. There on the door was the mark of the drage, the symbol of the chosen sacrifice. Whom the dragon chose and why, none could say, but it spelled the end of her happy life in the village, one way or another. But she would choose another.

At first, she meant to fly away, to renew the lost means of her heritage, but many a fall cut short such means of escape. Her only chance was to steal away in the night, with the dolphins leading her small boat by a rope and the last bag of oats from her lands. Where would she go? Who would have to be sacrificed because of her cowardice? It wasn't fair, she thought. There must be another way. Another deal to be struck, without blood. A deal made in love. But where in the world would she find such powers?