Zecora keeps a sparse library. Just a few practical tomes... with one exception. One book of stories and legends, of heroes and gods. Just one more link for a young zebra in a strange land that, every now and then, misses home.
Before the time of writing, within the time of song, back when many of you here would call days dull and long. There was a famous fruitbat... well, infamous is more true; the crafty Chorah Mugdha, the greedy bat of blue Chorah so loved fruit, for nothing else she craved. She’d only feast and theft them; she never slept nor bathed. But others caught onto her game and would see and swat her ‘way, but Chorah was a smart one and so stopped stealing by day. Her fur turned gray and pale so far from the sun’s light, but there were still some creatures that also preferred the night She couldn’t steal fruit fast- enough and bit and gnashed her teeth; they broke sharper and she realized she could drink quicker than eat Chorah so delighted but couldn’t steal if she grew fat, so she’d take the juice back to her cave to spit into a vat She thought herself so clever as her harvest grew and grew but she didn’t know just what a vat like that was apt to brew And so one day while searching and lamenting all their loss, guess what the many creatures just happened to come across? Chorah, drunk and silly, singing to the stars above and she offered them her cave, happy and full of love The creatures tried the drink she offered, wary of being tricked, but soon they, too, found happiness as liquor got them licked! And so they all did celebrate as Chorah learned to share and the brew taught all that sometimes one must throw cares ‘way to care.
Back before the ages, races, places that we know. Back when even the eldest trees had just begun to grow There was the chieftain Agra, praise his name, his soul, his mind! The crafter and the weaver, very first of zebrakind! The master of the earth, under the sky he craft the land! The mountains rose, the seas were filled, accord to his demand! He weaved the grass, the trees, the beasts, though not under the sun! But underneath the moon he toiled more than anyone! But, praise his ways, the lonely father of so much we know There was one thing he never found a way to make or grow Throughout the ages he would spin many a won-drous bride! But never could he make one last forever by his side! Great Agra, in his mourning, he would take the wives he'd lost His tears, like flowing diamonds, would recount his great love's cost And so the equine goddess, Luna, came to know our chief For in his sadness the land ran brilliant white in his grief And so the land and moon became as one in heaven's grace And so the world was born in darkness, all within its place But great Agra's heart had split too many times before And his life, which once was ageless, could one day take no more Luna, at his passing, wept her dark tears on the earth For without love, how can the night be made so bright in mirth? But then she looked around at all her love had made 'pon land Es-pec-ia-lly those who his love had made so bright and grand So Luna, in her glory, raised great Agra's wives up high So that they might look down and love his land from her sky And so the stars that watch us still, their children, one and all... And remind us, still, that we're loved for our hearts, both GRAND!
A storm can be quite scary, that's certainly the norm. And so you should be wary lest you're swept up like a worm. But let me tell a secret about their squalling ways, it is because of Agra that they cry through all these days. For once the clouds were mighty, proud and strong and grim, they lorded over zebra, enslaved us to their whim. For even just a spec of rain or sun, there was a price. So zebra toiled day and night in endless sacrifice.
But Agra, he was clever, and knew just what to do, so our father called upon them, and gave them all they're due. He spoke words of such horror 'bout their kin, their ways, their home. Words so clever and profane none could say but him alone. The clouds tried to be mighty, to be proud and strong and grim, and lord over this zebra and enslave him to their whim But Agra would not quiet, his offenses would not cease, and their proud faces would darken and then tremble as they creased. Screaming that he quiet, one cried and threw a spear, but through all of its bawling, not a single one land near. And Agra, he was laughing as the rest through tear-struck fits, and made off to his people as they cried themselves to bits.
No more did zebra sacrifice to get the sun or rain. Instead the clouds gave everything, those words still causing pain. Now Agra may have left us but the clouds never forgot. Even now they still recall him, even now still get distraught So when you see them rumble, when they scream and throw their spears, know that they cry for Agra, the mouth of all their fears!
All dragonkin are scaly friend of zebra near and far Because, you see, through destiny, we made each what we are No paltry tale of stripe or scale could tell all where we've been But still I know of one tale, though, that first made us two kin
So full of fright was the first night, before stars took their place When moon was new, or darker hue, and light graced not its face The zebra shivered in the cold that often took them, young and old. And monsters nigh, on ground or sky, would rarely ever let them lie.
Mahatma was a dragon. The first one ever born She towered over mountains, her wings created storm
She looked upon the zebra, how they suffered in the black And for her kind and glor-ous heart she would give what they lack The sun would bake the land back then, the dry and heat was shrill And so Mahatma rose her neck and bit of it her fill
The fire burned within her mouth, it raged across her tongue Then, reaching down, dropped some to ground, and shared with everyone
The fire never fully left; burns in her children still Nor did the fire she dropped snuff, kept as traditions will Again, there's many more tales left, of dragons and zebra So praise her still, may one and all, our matron Mahatma!
Now I've told that Agra was quite wise, I know that for a fact But when he was still in his youth wisdom was what he lacked The fire burning in his heart, his passion for all things It didn't sit well in the heat which the sun always brings
And so Agra, he schemed his schemes and planned the heat's undoing Deep inside the earth at night he found ways of intruding And when the sun goddess would look upon her many ponies He'd nip up through the clouds and sky and swap her rays with phonies!
The sun goddess, for all her smarts, could not tell what was wrong The heat that fell down from her orb, it wouldn't last as long The cloud lords shivered in the cold and snow came falling down And as the ice was building up such laughing filled the ground
But Mahatma was clever, too, and saw the ploy at play She saw him jump to sky at night, she saw him laugh in day And so before things froze too long, she blew and warmed the earth And from each spot a ray broke free, bright flowers would then birth
And so the game would play each year, with Agra stealing rays Then when the cold had hit its worst, Mahatma bringing days The sun and moon goddesses liked the change so very much They've kept the tradition since then, each adding their own touch
And so while you might feel you hate the heat or cold above We're given both so everyone has a season to love!
In the dark of night she waited, in the winter cold she stayed For her will could not be baited and her focus; not be swayed As she sat up there, so lonely way up on her mountain, matron fair May she hear our prayer
As the fire burned inside her, taken from the goddess flame Like a living, loving pyre, neither wild nor so tame She would warm her clutch, aglow with the power of which she took her share For all of our care
It was then they came unbidden, pegasi in from the cold Greedy eyes spot the warmth hidden, greedy hearts strove to be bold They would come to her, smiling, and tell that she must grant some of her heat Like it just some feat
Taking pity on the ponies, though they were nothing but rude She gave all the heat they could please, told they leave her to her brood They would leave at once, and she thought that maybe they would just go away Least if she had say
But they came back in the morning, then they came back at the noon Always demanding more warming 'till she thought she'd be out soon She told them such, and again with those smiles, each would say "That is fine I'll just take what's mine."
And they looked upon her offspring and she nearly gave to rage They thought she was just some wellspring? That her nest would be her cage? In the cold she still would refuse to leave her eggs to fight off their stand But she had a plan
Granting her heat to one last guest she set down and bore a claw She stated she had none more left and, as a threat, snapped her maw The ponies shivered, then looked to the one of them that now had all the flame And they thought the same
Leaving, they fought each for the heat 'till the flame had long since died Still their battle was not complete, striving to steal the warmth inside 'till they'd wrestled out every last bit of warmth they ever could have had Leaving naught but bad
The story is old, and darker than most, but has the simplest of moral you'll find Never take advantage of a good host, especially a host of dragonkind.
We sometimes call Agra our chief... that isn't quite exact Hopefully this tale I tell will illustrate that fact Pony and zebra first crossed paths with not a little envy The ponies, led by goddesses, the zebra, by family! Agra, known to our kind of course, a god in his own right ...was a hermit who would always ensure to shun the spotlight We pleaded with him day and night, banging upon his door We wanted our own god-king and, with each day, want it more When Agra finally relented there was rev'ry indeed ...but he quickly silenced our cheering, imparting upon us a need A great people needed a keep worthy of a great god-king And so, from far and wide, such a great, grand hoard we'd bring. Rare gifts, treasures and prizes, alchemy and sorcery too. We brought or craft for Agra everything a god-king due. Finally, at the very end, we craft a monstrous door Something to keep safe inside the treasures we'd adore Agra's cave, furnished and gorgeous, made the god-king smile about He then thanked us for our helpfulness... and promptly locked us out.
Once the dragon matriarch knocked the door to Agra's cave Her belly wide, her pride inside, her continence quite grave "Agra, I fear my treasured kin may not all be so tough That when they release fire their scales won't be thick enough!" So Agra, the creator, worked his alchemy and power Such that no more would dragons find fire a reason to cower
Though days went past peace wouldn't last, Mahatma at his door Her belly wire, her pride inside, once more set to implore "Oh Agra, there is danger is this world too vast to fight I beg you give my children a grand share of your own might!” So Agra gave them magic and grew them quite large indeed So that, when facing foes, of more power they'd have no need.
Mahatma came to Agra once more not too long past then Her belly wide, her pride inside, requesting him again. "Agra, though my children have no fear of fight or flame I worry that, upon them, time itself may still lay claim" So Agra made the dragons lives greatest that you could find And Mahatma thanked Agra once more for being so kind
Mahatma bore her kin and watched them grow, now safe at last Then watched as they turned on each other once that peace had passed Her dragons had none to fear save each other, anymore So Mahatma went to Agra to ask for one wish more The dragons were then scattered, remade a reclusive kind And she cried and watched them go, knowing some she’d never find
This tale warns that one's loves must sometimes face dangers their own. Else children unknown to danger endanger themselves when grown.
Once there was a dragon. What was his name? Nobody knows. That name is lost, forgotten! At least that's how the story goes. As dragons grow as their hoards swell he was quite a large beast What's more he was a greedy thing... his thieving never ceased! A mighty, crafty dragon, who stole a wondrous prize A gem from Celestia's very crown, just above her eyes! Dragon put it top his golden hoard to show his clever arts ...then wished to gloat a bit and that's where this story starts.
Kitava was a tiny mouse, no bigger than a hoof A clever little thief, herself, though there was rarely any proof The dragon bade her visit his cave, inviting her inside And when her eyes landed on the gem they grew very, very wide "Amazing! So incredible! How did you accomplish this feat? No, don't say, I am unworthy. Such cleverness could not be beat!" The dragon smiled at those words, though wary of his guest He knew her for a thief just as he knew he was the best "Please, oh mighty dragon, let me bring tribute for your hoard... I need to show everyone how much you should be adored!" With a smile and a nod the dragon readily agreed And so the mouse went off while he reveled in his greed
The first day Kitava brought sparkling bits of glass and tin and steel Brought up from her very nest, her children at her heel Some were carried in by crows and a few magpies For everyone knows such sparkling things they truly, deeply prize He watched carefully as each approached to see if they would steal So each cowered before his mighty gaze, unwilling to be a meal The dragon basked as his hoard grew, many praises sent his way Both he and his pile had doubled in size by the end of day.
The next day brought him treasure still, this time from the shore Now frogs and snakes and lizards were the ones to bring him more Shimmering, smooth stones, scales, even bones carved elaborately Tribute mounted in piles as the dragon grinned triumphantly Still, the dragon was every wary, watching each visitor in turn For he knew, for his real treasures, such as they were apt to yearn And Kitava brought many beings more to visit by day's end So it should come as no surprise dragon and hoard doubled again
The third day brought many treats like honey, pastry and bread They came in such a quantity they still mounted as he fed Kitava brought all from before to bring the tasty hoard All the while insisting it was all the least they could afford The final tribute of the day was a mirror of giant size The dragon gazed upon it and even he was surprised He'd grown to be as gigantic as the hoard on which he stood And as he took in his visage he decided it was good
Without turning to his minion mouse he asked what she'd bring next She, in turn had said "First there's something I need to confess." "The tribute, today, was given to console you for your loss..." "What?! I am such a mighty dragon, who would dare to see me cross?!" The dragon sneered at the idea and asked if the mouse was thick That he could lose something he prized? It had to be a trick The mouse smiled wryly and donned a great gem as a hat Then she bowed low before the dragon, saying "And a good one at that." Bellows and flames burst from the cave as Kitava made away The dragon screaming after her that she was going to pay Getting stuck in his cave's very mouth he cursed her thieving ways And how his gold was stolen while his visage held his gaze
There are many lessons in the tale, though one triumphs all by far Pride will be the downfall of one's strength, no matter who you are.
I recall one brilliant fall when sands ran cold and deep She’d tight her shawl so cold would stall but still the wind would reap
But what she’d find in sand so fine beyond her small town’s wall? Within a bind of earthen kind an egg so bright and small She’d hold it fast to help it last and take it with her there But what it held beyond warmth felt she never was aware
The mare was cold and lonesome, her village empty, poor They’d sometimes give her scraps in summer but of those were no more Her hunger pained with nothing gained though warmth helped her some way The egg held close to help her most but hunger filled her day
Looking on the little egg she wondered if it’d fill A cherished little life form, to leave it... had she will? She fret and cried, felt dead inside, to think to do it bad Finely decide, let it reside, last choice to make her glad
Her fading choice of mercy as starving soul would flee It would be met with glorious bird which then, in turn, held she Beyond the pale it’d carry, frail, the mare who’d passed away Beyond the realms of darkness and into heaven’s day
Mercy can have prices, and horrible they might be But what is right is worth it, of that you just must see Though innocent might heaven sent by sticking such a creed It’s resplendent and always meant unforgotten each good deed.
Agra was a lonely soul, a distant god, a being whole He was eternity and more, so what did he need others for? He would create, as was his due, he saw the world, his project, though A solitary being he, forever to be one, not we What then becomes a distant god? Who, on his planet, never trod? Who never saw beauty he made? Who'd never hear its accolade?
"Not even god should be this way." A single zebra came to say Journeying through earth and stone this zebra took the path alone Bags stuffed full of works and art, so much it more befit a cart So many things all to show the surface world Agra could know All sense would fail beneath the ground except, of course, the constant sound The beating, carving, grinding wake the mighty craftsman ever'd make The zebra found his cave at last, the god still at his mighty task Sightless, his power still was felt, and so the zebra stopped and knelt
What came then were meager pleas uttered all while still on knees Agra would not scorn nor laugh these reasons to see what he'd craft In sightless dark, the art was left, for there its beauty was bereft Desperate, the zebra told of home while god kept at his work, alone. Story of love, of struggle, dread, all of the path the zebra'd led. The zebra stopped, god listened not, and so left, all presence forgot
The zebra come home in defeat with naught to show but aching feet So things continued for a time before the ground gave rumbling whine The earth part and then Agra rose and then, behind, it once more closed Before him stood a gorgeous mare, beyond any he'd been aware He spoke words of great force and will, "I'd hear end of your story, still." The zebra went with his demand, but all the while, she formed a plan. She knew he could not stay too long, lest he allow his work go wrong So she'd weave one tale to the next; the practice left the old god vexed. Truly, he did leave after while, leaving the mare with a coy smile She turned and ran as he retreat, confident they'd again meet
And so they did, again, again, Agra and, perhaps, his friend He'd follow her each place she'd go and to beauty she'd have him know And as time passed he'd move his cave. Before long, view of sky, it gave Faster running over land, now travel gave views far more grand All while, love for his people grew, and for his herald, more than he knew
And so there would then come a day when that brave zebra had her way She took god's promise to always stay and take part in the beauty that, all places, lay More, with no more fear he'd hide, she assented to stay by his side So we recall her name with pride, Akasha, Agra's first bride
I have a tale to tell that Agra wishes I not say. For he thought himself a prankster but he met his match one day. Celestia'd heard of his antics from her sis, who called him the best ...so Celestia sought to see how he'd be as subject of the jest
Sneaking in his cave while he slept throughout her day Celestia took divine brush to his stripes in play Imagine the surprise of the zebra chief and god When he woke to find greens and blues covering his bod!
Wiping at the patters some of the greens slicked away And they pattern still the caves he dwelled in to this very day But the prank was resilient and stuck to him despite And so he jumped into the sea to wash off the blight
Shore to shore the oceans filled with greens and blues in waves And, again, you'll find these waters still bearing the stains Even THIS was not enough to rid his coat of color For a simple prank, goodness, wasn't this one a bother! Jumping onto land Agra bucked the greens and blues His effort and intensity outright scaring off hues!
The lines of color fled to the poles to escape his fury And it's said, to this day, there the stripes in the sky still scurry Huffing and puffing, he turned his gaze on his solar goddess Then he laughed, deep and long, and in so doing passed her odd test The very land shook as if to join the gods in their mirth And from that silly prank one of the greatest friendships ever was birthed
When gods are bored they're apt to play... such was the case for night and day In early times they'd less to do and so they'd sing the time on through Yes, singing songs made up because none were about, nor ever was They set the tone, those two alone, and made the music fill their home Before they were, Agra was still. A trickster, yes, but less of thrill
A busy colt not prone to bolt, he'd craft and work as if in yolk It was sweet Luna drew him out, she pulled the seas, tossed him about He could not hide, least not inside, his mountain flushed, much like his pride So soggy zebra chased the two around this land of green and blue
He could not catch, less give, them due. Far, far too quick, those sisters two. They SANG the time away in chase, with wings allowing lightning pace! Agra couldn't tell but he, as well, before long fell under their spell At first he skipped, and then, he danced. He spun and twist as if entranced
And still, he chased them all along as sisters watched and shared their song And so it spread where 'ere they lead and every ear and eye was fed Like horns it blared and filled the land, music, dancing, big and grand! At long, long last they stopped the chase. They’d land and stand and about-faced Agra was on them instantly... a quicker colt you'd never see. Without word, he tossed them into sea, where they splashed and played quite gleefully Agra would huff but, soon enough, he joined the two and lost his gruff.
And so the gods would grace us all not of benevolence, but whimsy's call A joy made real in a resonate feel, delivered on a mere prank's heel And music and dance became our own as, deep in our hearts, each made its home Because, you see, not everything needs grandiose cause to take to wing Sometimes the best comes 'bout in jest and is that not ALSO a wondrous thing?
Nothing has no name, Nothing has no form Nothing's simply nothing as from Nothing it is born Nothing might seem harmless, but please let me be clear Agra, god of creation, has Nothing to fear
When the world was created and Agra formed each beast Nothing watched from far away, the lesser of the least Each creation a masterpiece, each unique in some way And Nothing but Nothing could have kept Nothing at bay
Nothing wanted everything; it had nothing to give And so it stole from everything, all so that it could live Body of a zebra, eyes of a cockatrice Horn, wings, and hooves of ponies, and the power they produce Claws and tail of griffin, a dragon's teeth and lung From the lesser of the least, how mighty Nothing would become!
Then there was but one thing left to be complete A shadow of his own to spread beneath his feet He'd steal many a shadow, but they would never stay When sun went down and dark took ground they'd always get away And so he's search for ages and his body would grow old And no one could have known how things would then unfold
For, eventually, Kifo, Death, would catch up to Nothing Life's shadow itself yearned to take the wicked being For Death was a just creature and preyed on the cruel Those who harmed life would lose it; that was Kifo's rule
Nothing was prepared, though, and attacked Kifo in rage He beat Kifo into ground and made the earth his cage. In the struggle, at Kifo's touch, flesh rotted away And, of all he'd taken, only his bones would stay
And so Kifo took up a shadow, a purpose, and a name And since that time, since that crime, death was never the same No longer would he prey on just those who squandered life No, this new death was greedy and was not bothered by strife And so Kifo became known for something else after his fall That, no matter what you've done, greedy Kifo comes for all
Akasha was a storyteller, a master of word and lore Whose tales let us see other lives, and showed what living's for But as tales have beginnings, so they each must have an end A final fact of stories Agra himself could not bend Kifo, death, was coming, with no love for stories told! For they told what he did not, could not, and would never hold He began to stalk Akasha in all the places that she'd go
But the power that she held was one he could never know She'd tell stories of her adventures and spread them far and wide And he would chase down every one, his rage building inside Her stories had such power that they'd convince all who'd hear... "...that Akasha had, most certainly, passed by just near here."
But Kifo would begin to close, less and less easily fooled And then he stood before her as his rage, around him, pooled What was this defiant zebra with nothing special that he could see? But before he could close on her she spoke to Agra one last plea
She wished her stories could remain after she did no longer And with that wish came power that grew stronger and stronger Suddenly, her glyph began to flow 'cross wall and floor! Linens, plates, tables, chairs... more, and more, and more!
Every story she had ever told and all she was, inscribed Until there was not a thing left that hadn't been so dyed And Kifo cursed, for the mare he stalked now was no more She had become the stories that, out from her, had pour So Akasha, and future zebra, would thwart Kifo time and again And live on in their stories... though most less literally, in the end...
