The Crusaders ask a question that Ms. Cheerilee doesn't feel comfortable answering in class.
The Crusaders are sitting in school, listening to Ms. Cheerilee talk about some boring historic something or other. Nopony thinks that any of the three are really listening, least of all Scootaloo. So when the flightless pegasus asks a question, even the teacher is surprised. Unfortunately, the question in question regards to a particularly hazy and sketchy part of Equestria's past. (Terribly sorry, chaps. My first "sad" story. I'm afraid it may not be terribly good. Well, hope you enjoy it nonetheless.)
A muggy day in Ponyville. That was the general feel of the entire scenario.
Applebloom sat in her assigned seat, head on the desk facing the window. Sweetie Belle also held this position, feeling mutually as Applebloom did.
Staring beyond the walls of the schoolhouse was the only reminder that she wasn't in prison, and was likely to be free soon... likely.
Ms. Cheerilee herself spoke enthusiastically, though still found herself gazing longingly out the window. Heat was the thing that was really on everypony's mind. Heat, and their clever schemes to cool off once they were released from this oven of a school.
Nopony was listening to Ms. Cheerilee ramble on about the founding of Equestria, which really only served as a depressing reminder that it was not Winter, and the lot of them were suffering through the last few, humid weeks of school.
Yes, nopony, likely not even Cheerilee herself, was paying the lesson any real attention. Nopony, save Scootaloo.
Scootaloo was by no means Ms. Cheerilee's star student. Having hardly paid attention all year and favoring focus on obtaining her cutie mark, Scootaloo's was the last hoof Ms. Cheerilee expected to see shoot anxiously into the air.
Startled at first, Ms. Cheerilee had to resume her focus on the lesson and her classroom. Seeing that it was Scootaloo, and she was waving her hoof like no other, she disinterestedly dismissed her.
"Yes, Scootaloo. You may 'Use it' as you are so fond of saying."
"No no no," Scootaloo declined, "I had a question!"
This was not the sort of reply she was expecting, though she gladly welcomed it. (Though she was sure not to get her hopes up too high, as Scootaloo was also fond of cracking jokes during class time.)
"Oh! Well in that case, go right ahead, Ms. Scootaloo!"
"Thank you! I was wondering, what about war?"
This seemed to gain the attention of the entire class, mostly gathering looks of concern as apposed to interest. Ms. Cheerilee nervously fumbled over her words, not entirely sure how to interpret this question.
"I'm sorry. Can you please elaborate on your question, Scootaloo?" Asked Cheerilee, praying that she didn't mean war when she said "war".
"You know," Scootaloo explained, "ponies fighting. Battles for territory and glory, fighting to decide who was better. And I mean wars, not little slap fights between the sisters. Like, real war."
Ponies were beginning to get upset now, and Ms. Cheerilee certainly didn't need that on her list of things to deal with while she fought for the strength to reach Summer.
Ms. Cheerilee was a clever mare, however, so she didn't take long to, at the very least, post-pone the answer to Scootaloo's awkward question.
"Um, Scootaloo, I'm afraid that I'm going to have to ask you to see me after class, if you really want the answer to that question."
There, thought the clever Ms. Cheerilee, hopefully she'll forget she ever asked, and if she doesn't... well if she doesn't I suppose she asked, and as one of my students she deserves to get the answers to the questions she asks.
And so the day carried out in relative normalcy, nopony making any more scenes, and the rest of Cheerilee's boring lecture going off without a hitch. Scootaloo sat, patiently. She asked a question, she needed to know the answer, so she would get it. Yes, she would.
Cheerilee stood at the doorway, giving farewells to each of her students, wishing them a fine afternoon. When at last she had finished, she turned to see three fillies who remained seated, eagerly awaiting her attention.
"Girls, can I help you?" Cheerilee spoke to three self-dubbed Cutie Mark Crusaders.
"Ms. Cheerilee," spoke Scootaloo, "remember?"
Cheerilee eyes lit up with recollection, and then her ears splayed back at what the question had been.
"Scootaloo, this is a very dreary subject. The same warning goes out to you girls, if you are not one-hundred percent sure, please take the time to think about it."
She hoped that they would change their minds and go back to their Cutie Mark acquisition, rather than pursue this terrible side of history. Even she, being an experienced teacher, knew fairly little on the matter and what she did know troubled her greatly.
"Ms. Cheerilee, I'm fully ready for this. For some reason, I just have to know, okay?" Scootaloo seemed to have a genuine desperation for this knowledge within her, and Cheerilee almost thought it criminal to not indulge this sudden craving for education.
Cheerilee sighed. "Fine. But a few things first. One: It is very dark and sad aspect of our history, and not all ponies are able to handle it. I would ask that you not share this information lightly."
The trio nodded in agreement, accepting the first term. Cheerilee nodded back hardly believing that she was consenting to this taboo knowledge.
"This story..." Cheerilee found herself struggling to decide whether or not to carry on or to abandon the project and keep the fillies innocent. She decided on continuing, "This story will be filled with... vulgarities. What I'm going to tell you comes directly from a journal kept by a soldier, and a soldier does not think about fillies reading what he's writing, so it may be inappropriate. Are you girls mature enough to handle that?"
The three eyed each other suspiciously, then after a brief consultation and an explanation of the word "vulgar", the CMC agreed to Ms. Cheerilee's terms. After apologizing in advance, Ms. Cheerilee began,
"There is something you must understand first, girls. Equestria was a diff... Neigh, the world was a different place. Before the Great Alicorn Monarchy, there was the Republic of the Three Tribes.
"Uneasy peace was maintained between the races, and even thought they did not fight each other, the world was still a very dangerous place...
Spell Sword sat outside his tent, enjoying his rations as the other ponies idled by him. Each believing that where they were sent was the most important task they could have to carry out.
"You're a racist asshole."
With that a pegasus walked out of the mess-hall tent a few feet away from him, taking to the air and shaking his head.
Ugh, sounds like Gilded Armour is at it again
Like a devil being summoned, Gilded Armour stepped out of the same tent as the pegasus, laughing heartily at his own hilarity. Turning to the side he saw Spell Sword and called out to him.
"Spell Sword! Did you see that Feather get mad at me like that? They can be so immature."
"Don't call them that." Spell Sword said it loud enough to be heard, but knew he would be disregarded.
"It's not that I don't like them, it's just their kind."
Spell Sword was by no means a friend to Gilded Armour. In fact, if it were up to him, Spell Sword would have fixed the day they ever met, mending the moment they became "Friends".
Spell Sword quickly finished his drink and set his cup in his tent. He got up and started on his way, Gilded Armour following closely behind.
"So," Gilded Armour began, though Spell Sword really wished he wouldn't. "I overheard a couple of Dirt-Molesters talking, and apparently there's a push of monsters at the edge of the forest. Chances are we're likely to deploy tomorrow."
Spell Sword sighed, he had been in the military far longer than Gilded, and it showed. Gilded Armour only saw glory and adventure, while the older unicorn saw the pain and loss that was inevitable in the military. He'd lost friends, he'd seen stallions he barely even knew die in his forelegs, asking him to tell their special somepony that they loved them. It was tragedy.
After a walk around to refresh himself, Spell Sword found himself tiring, and that the day itself was coming to an end. He retired to his tent and bid Gilded Armour goodnight.
"Don't let any of those Wingers take your stuff while you sleep."
Spell Sword sighed and reminded Gilded Armour. "Your race makes you no better than they just because of it."
Crawling into his tent, he climbed into his bedroll, knowing that all of his daily duties had been finished and Lights Out would be called in not long. Closing his tired eyes, his lids fell over the grey that had once been a brilliant blue, and he found himself slipping into sleep.
Spell Sword was up before the sun, though not begrudgingly. It gave him about an hour or so before he really had to get up. An hour were he could be left alone with his thoughts.
If Gilded Armour had told the truth, and there was no reason for him not to, Spell Sword would not be able to write in his journal for quite some time after today. Mobilization made it a pain in the ass to find time to sit down, let alone write.
Reaching out with his magic, he detected the familiar aura of his satchel, an aura he had called upon time and time again. Seizing it, he manipulated it so that it floated over to him.
Once the satchel had floated close enough to him, he took it in his hooves, opting to rifle through it with them rather than attempting to weave through its clutter with his mind.
Pulling out a familiar leather-bound notebook (monster leather he had harvested, let it be said) along with a quill and some ink. Opening his journal to the first page that wasn't already filled, he took his quill up with his magic and dipped it in the now open ink. After the tip was whetted of it's need for ink, he proceeded to write down his more notable experiences that had occurred since his last entry.
After finishing up his writing session, Sell Sword decided to chance a look outside of his tent's flap. Seeing the Commanding Officer take his position to start yelling at everypony to get up, he steeled himself to get out of the almost comfortable bedroll.
"RISE AND SHINE, COLTS. IT'S A NEW DAY AND Y'ALL ARE GON' GET SOME NEWS! GET UP! I WANNA SEEYA MOVE! NOT FAST ENOUGH, TIP!" Spearhead made a point to increase his pace as the C.O. called him out.
Spell Sword was of the first three to exit his tent and was the first to line up. As the last stallions fell in line, the C.O. nodded his head, satisfied, if only slightly.
"Alright, colts. I know some of you have heard about the possibility of mobilization soon here. I know since I've heard several of your dumb asses gossipin' 'bout it. I don't know exactly what you've heard, but mostly it's true."
Most ponies would have gasped or engaged in small, worried chatter over this revelation. None of the soldiers flinched.
"Heh, good colts. Now, we're gonna be on the move first thing tommora, so after y'all get somethin' in yer stomachs, you get your asses packin'. Ya hear?!"
"HOO-AH!" Confirmed all the soldiers in unison. The C.O. nodding his head and dismissed them to breakfast. Gilded Armour took no time to find Spell Sword and start going on and on about how ready he was, and how many monsters he was going to kill. Spell Sword just let him go on and paid him no mind, opting to dwell on it internally.
After breakfast he packed up anything he wasn't going to be needing for the rest of the day and tonight. Leaving out only his satchel, journal, bedroll, and cup. He nodded when he was satisfied he had packed up adequately, and took to his daily responsibilities, leaving the journal until he had time for it later. Towards the end of the day, if he were to be honest with himself.
"Unfortunately, a lot of good stallions lost their lives today."
"We were slaughtered. Not a single stallion was prepared for what happened out on that battlefield today. It has been about a week since I last wrote. I do not even know where to begin. My own personal horrors almost prevent me from writing, however I write so that what happened today may not be forgotten. And I write so that I may forget what happened today. I suppose that I will start at the beginning of this day. And I will tell the events so that perhaps when ponies live in a world of peace, they may know what was suffered so that they can cherish that peace. Forgive me, I digress. Today went thusly..."
Spell Sword woke up in his tent, and stared at the 'ceiling' of said tent. His unit had finally reached the outpost they had been marching to, and last night had been the first one where they would be able to sleep until dawn at least.
Spell Sword shifted so that he was on his right side, and he stared at his journal. He had not been able to write for days, and he was tempted to write in it now. He ultimately decided that he wouldn't write at the moment, but would likely compensate for it tomorrow morning.
When he heard the quiet hoof-falls outside his tent, he knew he had better prepare to awaken. He listened as his C.O. stopped and breathed deeply, sighing before he went through the arduous process of waking up all the sleeping soldiers tented before him.
"ALRIGHT, UP AND AT 'EM! TODAY'S GONNA BE A BIG DAY, NUMB-NUTSES! GET YOU FLANKS OUT HERE BEFORE I GET IN THERE AND TAKE YOU OUT MYSELF. C'MON AND MOVE IT, WE AIN'T GOT TIME TO WASTE TODAY!"
Once again, all of the stallion found their way into a line and, after being thoroughly woken up, were dismissed to prepare for the rest of the day, all being informed where they needed to be by seven, sharp.
Spell Sword made his bedroll and headed out for the mess hall. It took him a minute to get his bearings in this new camp, but he eventually found the mess hall and was able to get his meal before a lot of other soldiers, making it so that he could enjoy his breakfast in some peace. At least, for a little while.
Spell Sword had seen him to late, and by the time he saw him, he was out of line and heading in his direction. He attempted to quicken his eating pace, but even so, he would never be able to finish before he would reach the table.
"So!" Gilded Armour started, placing his plate on the table. "We're going to battle today! I don't know about you, old timer, but I'm ready to kick some ass! I just hope the other two races don't blow the whole thing." Spell Sword raised an eyebrow as if to say "Excuse you?". Spell Sword wasn't that much older than Gilded Armour. Also, Spell Sword had almost been proud of Gilded Armour when he had almost managed to go an entire sentence without introducing racism into its wording. Almost.
Okay, maybe Spell Sword was a little hard on him. Though his racism bothered Spell Sword to no end, he couldn't help but feel a little bit of companionship towards Gilded. He was, when not being a racist, a genuinely entertaining individual. Spell Sword had also gotten to know him a little better a while back, when he had been drinking and was willing to share things a sober Gilded Armour was not likely to share with anypony.
"I, hic, know I haven't been the best of ponies, Spell..." Gilded Armour paused, lowering his chin into his chest, then releasing a belch. "... Sword. I just think that other ponies don't take the time to get to know how great I am!"
Spell Sword rolled his eyes, his friend was clearly drunk, and was still totally arrogant; though this didn't really surprise him. He listened to what he thought was going to be another "I'm the best" speech that quickly evolved into something else entirely.
"I mean, even my dad was only ever: 'Train so that you'll one day be as great as me!' He never asked what I liked, or what I wanted to do, you know?"
Spell Sword cocked his head inquisitively. He, in fact, did not know. His mother had loved him, his dad had gladly played hoofball with him, he didn't really have anything from his childhood to complain about.
Gilded Armour sighed, and sought to explain to his friend what the experience was like, swirling his hoof around as he spoke. "You never really feel loved. I mean, they'll say 'I love you' and give you gifts on your birthday and on Hearths Warming, but you never feel loved. Kind of like if you only ever drank, but never ate. You'd feel fine for a little while, but after too long of this, you'd feel... like something was missing, though not empty."
This analogy surprised Spell Sword, finding it curious that Gilded knew more vocabulary than ignorant racial slurs. He also found this interesting because Gilded Armour had never shared anything about himself or his home that didn't describe him as "all-around perfect".
"Here," Gilded Armour started, desciding that he had found a suitable example to illustrate what he was saying, "lemme tell you about the day I got my cutie mark."
Gilded Armour tilted his head back and quickly pressed the mug to his lips, throwing the alcohol back into his throat. The majesticly fluid movement was followed swiftly by his rump smashing onto the hardwood floors, nopony stirring as yet another drunk hit the ground.
Pulling himself back onto the stool and faced Spell Sword, continuing as if gravity had done nothing to him. "Okay, so I was a late bloomer. I didn't get my cutie mark until well after all my other classmates got theirs."
He motioned for another drink to the bartender , who shook his head in a manner that plainly announced "You've had enough". When Gilded Armour protested, the bartender sighed, ducking his head behind the counter and informing him "You only get one more, then that's enough for you."
Gilded Armour smiled in his intoxicated victory and continued his tale. "So, anyways, the day I got my cutie mark. I was training in the yard, private school, and I was suited up, right? So, I was there training with my bud, uh. He was, um. Don't remember, doesn't matter. Anyways I, thanks guy," he gladly recieved his drink from the tender, quickly consuming a quarter of it. "I was training an, an out the coner o' ma eye, I see a, a, a stupid fucking earth pony!"
Spell Sword almost visibly deflated, any vested interest fleeing with any sign of racism. "Only, get this! An older unicorn, big tough 'un, was, burp, was all up in the earthy's face. And he was pushing him 'round. Jus' when that stupid, dumb, stupid unicorn was 'bout to hit him with tha trainin' sword, I jumped in! I don't know why! I jus' did. And I almost regret it."
Gilded Armour sighed as Spell Sword had returned his attention to the story. "Well," a drink, " I lost my friends that day." Another drink. "Got my cutie mark though, heh, didn't even feel the wood splint'r." A big gulp this time. "An' tha wors' part is that my own dad, hic, he go' mad a' me fo' helpin', hic, tha' stupi' earthy." Gilded polished off his mug, shouted behind him "MY TAB!" and proceeded out the door. As the door swung closed behind him, the sound of barrels toppling accompanied them. Spell Sword excused himself to go help his friend.
So, as far as horribly racist individuals go, Gilded Armour wasn't all that bad. He was at the very least forgivable when you realized that perhaps his racism was not entirely a fault of his own. Deciding to begrudgingly tolerate his ignorant associate, he retarded his eating to a normal pace.
Spell Sword endured Gilded Armour's ill-informed excitement, trying to enjoy the meal in front of him (trying being a key word). After Gilded Armour's titillation and rambling of "I'm going to slay pretty much all of the monsters" Spell Sword was finally offered the opportunity to speak, Gilded Armour now practically enveloping his meal with his muzzle.
"So," Spell Sword began, "how do you suppose you'll do so well when you've never actually engaged in a real battle before?" Gilded barely lifted his maw from the tray to speak. "Because I'm me!"
Spell Sword watched as he witnessed something he could only describe as disgusting, terrifying, yet somehow exhilirating to witness first-hoof. He looked away and rolled his eyes, returning his attention to Gilded Armour only when he got up, saying "Come on! Let's get ready! We don't wanna be the ones that end up holding everypony up!" Spell Sword followed without arguement.
Spell Sword rushed forward in the mass of armour and thundering hooves. He felt himself fiercly gripping the hilt of his sword, it's history spilling over into the aura and filling him with adrenaline. It was almost like a smell, but was something not quite that. He could sense the blood that had been washed from the blade.
He narrowed his eyes on what he would direct his first attack on. A mid-sized manticore, fury in it's eyes, sunlight flashing off of the chitin of the tail. He counted how long until his first encounter of the battle would take place.
15
It saw him eyeing it.
12
It focused on him.
7
A burst of speed from the hybrid.
4
A final push from the unicorn.
Now.
Spell Sword threw both his back hooves into the ground, launching him into the air. As he sailed towards the monster, his magical focus on his trusty blade tightened, violently gliding it from it's sheath and whipping it to the left, countering a lash that had been made by the scorpion tail that the beast brandished. Quickly, effortlessly, he turned the sword and pushed into the right paw of the manticore.
A massive roar erupted from the beast. There were other clashes and cries amongst them, but Spell Sword heard none of them, his focus being solely the creature bellowing in front of him.
Landing on his hooves, he re-gripped the hilt of his blade with his magic. The manticore was thrown into a rage and rushed the unicorn, lunging at Spell Sword so as to overwhelm him with his mass and pounce on his 'victim'.
Spell Sword thought quickly. He ducked his head down, then suddenly thrust it and his sword upward, plunging the steel into the breast of the monster. Before it hit the ground, the sword was removed from it's chest and the stallion it had been trying to maim had strafed to the right (the manticore's left) and out from under the lion-scorpion.
As soon as the bloodied mass of fur and exoskeletal tail hit the ground, Spell Sword thrust his sword into the base of it's skull, ensuring its demise. Whirling around, he quickly caught a serpent on his blade, it having launched itself at him. The purple snake landed behind him, slithering to reorient itself to face Spell Sword once again.
It was about as long as two ponies and thick as his forehoof, but he felt no fear, for some reason. Seeing the head rear up, Spell Sword widened his stance, preparing for another airborne assault. The violet reptile had hoped for this reaction and dropped it's head, speeding for one of his hooves.
Surprised but not off-guard, Spell Sword slammed his sword into the ground, directly on top of the abnormally large vermin's skull, ending it's attack. Spell Sword did a quick check of his surroundings, half-resting as he did so.
No immediate danger prevalent, he took a little extra time to recuperate himself, then launched back into battle. Seeing the struggles of a war-axe-wielding earth pony, Spell Sword rushed to provide assistance.
Smashing the pommel onto the cragodile's snout he jumped onto it's back, providing ample distraction for the earth pony soldier to cleave his axe onto the top of it's head, killing it instantly. The two shared a knowing smile, slamming the gilded boots of each's right forehoof into the other's and siding back-to-back.
The two returned to an offensive stance as a pack of wooden wolves surrounded them, howling with the excitement of trapping prey.
Spell Sword paused at the edge of the treeline, huffing and puffing as the ripping of flesh and clattering of armour sang out behind him. He stared into the forest, deciding whether chasing the jewel-sporting hounds was in his best interest or if he should return to the battle raging behind him.
CLLLAaAAAAAaAAAAaaAAAAaAAAANNNNNNNNGGGGG
The unicorn whirled around, reversing his six o' clock. A large grey dog with an even larger smile stood, holding his wooden club proudly. Before the mongrel could react, Spell Sword lunged, thrusting the broadsword into it's chest and subsequently ending it's life.
Almost immediately following, several diamond dogs dropped around him, swinging wildly and then retreating into the thick trees behind him. Spell Sword gave chase, allowing himself to be lured to where he did not know.
Spell Sword stiffed his forelegs, attempting to stop himself as he slid towards the maw of a gaping ravine. Small mounds of earth accumulated in front of his front hooves as his momentum decreased and so too did the amount of soil actually in the ground. Skidding closer and closer to the edge of the gorge it quickly became apparent that he would not be able to stop in time.
His forehoofs slipped over the edge and his chest slammed onto the well-packed earth, causing him to grunt at the pain. Panicked hooves slapped at the rock wall anxiously as he attempted to back-peddal up the face of the canyon. Barely managing to get a hoof-hold, he squirmed back up onto the ledge.
Spell Sword lay, panting heavily and still terrified. As his breathing slowed he was able to take in his surroundings. A bridge, built not long ago, leading across the gap to a massive stone fortress. He grinned at what must be the residence of the monsters' ruler.
His confident smile was ended abruptly when he heard what he assumed must be sobbing. The weeping was not what surprised him most, however, but that the voice was distinctly male.
Ears perked, he turned his head, scanning for the origin of the sniveling. Once he had discerned it's direction, he set a light trot towards the tree the distressed was hiding behind.
Rounding the tree, Spell Sword registered a familiar golden coat set behind a suit of armour. The weeping pony before him was none other than the oh-so-brave Gilded Armour.
Spell Sword stood for a minute, allowing the unicorn to sob to his heart's content. When at last he realized he had been discovered, Gilded Armour stood quickly, wiping his nose on his right boot.
"I.. I.." Gilded stuttered, fumbling with an exceptable excuse. Spell Sword had so many things he wanted to do. He could mock him for his cowardice. He could start patronizing how 'brave' he was. He could hurl an endless slew of insults and comments of how 'There are Earth ponies and Pegasi still fighting, but here you are.
"You ran." Spell Sword himself wasn't even really sure if it was a question or a statement. He could only blatantly point out what was already prevelant to both.
A tear slid down Gilded Armour's clearly ashamed cheek. He didn't try to excuse himself, just explained what had happened. "I saw three good ponies. Crushed. By one claw. They died instantly. I just ran. And ran. I just... I ran."
Spell sword lowered his head, nodding slightly. He understood well the trauma of watching other's being slaughtered while you did nothing. All he could do was extend a hoof in an attempt to console the very pony whom he had held what he thought was contempt towards for so long.
Patting him on the shoulder in a manner that spoke "there, there", Spell Sword led Gilded Armour out into the clearing in front of the bridge. He judged that it would be fairly easy to get a bearing and lead the pony out from the treeline, where at least he could be safe from the dangers of this forest which had already proven willing to attack any who pushed through it's treeline.
Not long had the two been out of the thick of trees when Spell Sword felt a sharp pain in his neck. Hitting the earth hard, it took him a moment to realize that he had been airborne. He rolled quickly onto his back so that he could see where his attacker was coming from.
Too late. The large diamond dog had already begun to lunge the sword towards his unprotected belly.
Before the sword could even touch his coat, the mutt was pushed to it's left, a unicorn having charged and thrown his shoulder, and his weight behind it, into the would-be slayer of Spell Sword.
The dog reacted quickly, spinning around and catching Gilded Armour's face on the back of his hand. While Gilded recoiled from the hit, the diamond dog slammed his open paw on the unicorn's neck, lifting him off of his hooves while he held and choked him.
In a flash, the sword was in Gilded Armour's abdomen, and just as quickly found it's way out. a shocked Spell Sword had only just found his way onto his hooves and stared, mouth agape, as the limp body of Gilded Armour dropped onto the forest floor, blood dampening the soil around him.
Spell Sword shook his head violently, picked up his sword in his magic, charged, and swung visciously. The sound of a small pop sounded out as the diamond dog's spine split, blood spurting from where his head resided only moments ago.
The massive hound dropped among the creepers, his sanguine fluid too spilling upon the earthen ground. Spell Sword took no notice of this but instead rushed beside the sputtering Gilded Armour.
The penetrated stallion only blinked, rapidly, as he looked at the very unicorn he had thought he was saving. "I. I. I."
Gilded Armour seemed to be struggling with his words. "I didn't. What? Am I? Am I dying? Holy shit. I'm dying. I am literally dying. Well I'll be damned..." he thought about his wording, "I'm going to Tartarus, aren't I? I know sure as shit that I'm not going to any Elysium, but I never really thought that I was going to Tartarus." He looked up at Spell Sword, terror splayed on his muzzle.
"No, Gilded, you have all your life to turn it around, pal. You're gonna..." "I'm fucking dying, Spell! I'm dying. I'm going to be judged, and I'm going straight to Tartarus. Oh, woe is me."
"Shut up, Gilded. Just shut up. It may not look good, but, I mean, even if you are dying, you're not going to Tartarus."
Gilded Armour only shook his head. The initial shock had died down and he had started calming a bit, though Spell Sword had noted that his breathing was becoming more and more shallow as time went on.
Spell Sword knew exactly what this meant, and he was nowhere near inclined to share this information with the bleeding individual in front of him.
Spell Sword knew that they wouldn't be able to get out of the forest in time. They were to deep. He just had to let the inevitable happen, but he would at least try to comfort him as it happened.
He was never really good at saying things. It was something he had always regretted, though had been content in the ability's absence. On top of his own lackluster speaking quality, he had never really liked Gilded Armour.
It was terrible to think about as he was visibly fading, but it was true. He could not bring himself to say that he would really miss him as a friend. So, he decided to just let him go on.
"Just. Keep talking. Okay?" Spell Sword urged the mortally wounded unicorn to talk. Gilded Armour just made a sort of 'Pfft' sound. "You know what's going to suck?"
Gilded Armour looked back to Spell Sword from his place on the ground. "Literally nopony is going to remember me. And all who do will with bad taste. I was a terrible pony, and now I finally see how far that gets me."
Spell Sword didn't say anything. He just sat, listening to the final testaments of the stallion before him.
"I am Gilded Armour. I have been rude, racist, and cowardly. I am the killer of none and the saviour of just as many." He rolled his eyes. "Well, okay, one. Here I die. Nopony will remember me."
We buried our dead last night. Ten bodies each, and then everypony was allowed to sleep. I... I couldn't tell you which one was Gilded Armour's. He's gone now, and... and I don't know what. It's... wrong... without him here. Hearing, or rather not hearing, his bitching makes me wonder about things probably best not being wondered about, at least where I know I'll need my morale.
What really has me pissed is that they want us to march another attack on the beasts. Today. They're saying to strike them while they lick their wounds...
It' not my place to question. I'm a soldier. I'll do what they tell me and when all's said and done, I'll write it down in my journal. I don't know, though. Something feels off this time... I'm sure I'll figure it out. Ah, there's the bugle. Time to go.
The fillies three stared at their teacher. For a moment they were confused. Then Scootaloo urged, "Well?" Miss Cheerilee managed to hide the tear sneaking out of her eye. "There is no more, girls. That is where his diary ends, and the beginning was so worn with time that this was all that they managed to copy. I'm sorry girls, that's where it ends."
The three sat there for awhile. Apple Bloom was the first to understand. She was visibly sad, but that was the extent of it. She didn't know why but she was. It wasn't even like she cared for either Spell Sword or Gilded Armour. Just the thought of ponies dying, though. It was... sad.
When the other girls had gotten it, only Sweetie Belle had cried. Miss Cheerilee had gladly answered any questions the fillies had had, though they numbered few. She sighed as they walked out of her school. She thought she already regretted sharing these few entries with them, perhaps she was wrong.
The sun set on another day in Ponyville, and on the beautiful meadow outside of the village limits. Between the small pony settlement and the evil forest. The meadow that had once been a battlefield, then a graveyard, now a field. The sun set on it indiscriminately. Wishing the weary souls rest among the flowers.
