A Brief History of the Past
Author's Disclaimer: I don't own the Witcher series, MLP, or the invention of Prose.
Equestria wasn't always the peaceful place that most of today's ponies know. In fact, the peaceful times of today are but a footnote, a moment's respite, in nearly thirteen millennia of constant conflict and hardship. A mere two centuries, the barest of generations, but still enough for many to forget what the world was once like, a world of war and famine and plague, where monsters and villains and devils roamed. To many, they're simply moments in a book. Pages of words that don't mean anything, glossed over with a pretty smile and a wink to the rising sun. A dash of daydreams and fiction, and the truth of history becomes a bland slate of heroes triumphing over villains, of quick resolutions to complex problems and of lessons that teach nothing of consequence.
But as much as one might gloss over the truth, it is there, buried under a millennium of lies. For you see, there was a time when Equestria wasn't the unified body that one might think, a monarchy ruled by a beloved Goddess fairly and over all. There was a time when great armies marched across the whole of the continent of Fantasia, when creatures of monstrous size and proportion stalked the dark corners of the land, things with too many teeth and too many eyes, made of teeth and claws and death. There was a time when Gryphon warlords fought Zebra khans and where the name Celestia brought shudders and whispers of fear. A time when the Ogre tribes raided villages and goblin pirates struck at coastal cities, where the Wolfhounds would drag ponies off into the earth to slave in their pits or be feasted upon like cattle. A time when words like Discord were unthinkable, lest the creature visit you personally and drag you off into some kind of hell dimension, and where unfathomable horrors would rise up from the bloodied alters of mad cults and demon worshipers.
These were dark times. Times when no land was safe from the touch of evil and war and madness, where the only bulwark between they and the dark was the will and the courage to take up the sword and bow and spear against the evils of the world. It was a time of heroes, a time of villains, a time of saints and sinners, of butchers and martyrs, and it was a time of strife, a true Dark Age, of which the likes of modern ponies couldn't even begin to dream of.
But in all that darkness, there were still those who fought for the light, even when all other hope was lost. Those who stood against the tyrants and the monsters and the nightmares, those who bled and died for their country, so that their families might see the dawn of another day.
They were the first of us. The first to take up the chalice laid before them, and through them, all of us. The greatest of heroes, they were, mares and colts who knew no fear and felt no hesitance, who carved their names into the annals of history with the edge of a sword and a draw of a bow. Warriors and mages and clerics and rangers, they took up arms against the dark things in the night and the monsters that lurked in the shadows, and through insurmountable odds gained title and fame for their heroic deeds. This breed of pony, this rare breed fought tirelessly against the Eldrich horrors of Old Equestria and won, and from their deeds grew many tales of great and powerful heroism.
And it were they, those ponies of name and title and heroism that caught the eye of the Goddess of the Night, as it were. She of the Moon and Stars heard tale of these brave ponies, who fought to make the days of Equestria radiant and the nights of Equestria peaceful, who shed their blood and lost their lives in service to the Crown and all that entails, beyond the call of duty, beyond the doors of their homes and the walls of their villages, so that everypony could once more feel safe. They, who hunted the darkest of beasts to their lairs and cut them down, sending their twisted souls to Tartarus, tithing blood and fire in their wake. They who shielded pony kind from all that are evil, all that sought to taint and deceive and destroy, and she felt moved.
So upon them, she bestowed her blessing, a great boon, one that even today persists to all those who join our ranks and share their lives with ours. By her decree, those she touched would be stronger and more stalwart than any three ponies. She blessed our flesh so that it would age slower than any other, so that it would knit and heal from even the most grievous of injuries, and that we would feel no illness and know no fear. She blessed our minds so that we could look upon the most unfathomable of horrors and maintain ourselves, and touched our magic to hers, so that it would glow strong and bright in even the darkest of places. To our senses she granted sight beyond sight, to where no shadow could blind us, made us more agile than a robin and swifter than a hawk. And finally, she gave us the gift of inheritance, so that all who took our oaths could bask in the power of her boons, and thus she bestowed upon us the honored title of Warders, Guardians of All.
And so it came to pass, our people drew sword and spear and bow in the name of Justice, and in the name of freedom and peace, against all that would bring our ponies harm.
So it was that we, the Warders, went out into the depths of Equestria and fought for all that we loved, cared for and sought to defend. In the name of the Moon and the Princess thus, we bled and carved our way into the darkest depths if the Everfree forest, into the Shadowdown Mountains, to the very gates of Tartarus and beyond. We fought the great sea leviathans and krackens and pirates, our blades giving unto the wicked the mercy of our Goddess. We scoured the Zebra steppes and jungles, deep beyond the boundaries of Equestria, fighting the Grootslang and cannibals and asanbosam. Across the great eastern mountains, in the distant lands of Chineigh and the Hoofalayans we met blades with the yaoguai, yeti and tengu that infested them.
With each victory our fame grew, as did our numbers. Gryphon knights and Zebra archers came to seek a place with us, hoping for glory and riches beyond measure. Ponies and pegasi and unicorns all flocked to us, seeking to lay down roots within the annals of the Warders. Buffalo hunters from the plains, Ram monks from the heights of the Hoofalayans, even Wolfhound outliers from the wilder packs scattered throughout the Everfree sought to join us. More than once a young dragon came to us, seeking mighty riches and famous tales, and beyond. A scant few centuries, and we were numbered in the thousands, our reputation a thing of legend.
But as the old saying goes, if one should deign to hunt monsters, they should be wary as to not become that which they seek. Such was doubly true for our ancestors, touched by powerful magic as they were. For you see, magic is a wild thing. One can bind it and brace it and make use of it's power, but for all the good that it did, magic can never be controlled. Only directed. While the Goddess of the Moon's magic was great, it was still magic, and magic has a way of changing the rules to suit it's fancy, like pegasi and their ability to dance on the winds or the unwavering strength and fortitude of the earth ponies, the magic that filled them adjusted to augment that which they were born to. It filled them and gave them their gifts. Unicorns even more so, given their infinite and delicate control over magic itself, and thus was true for those doubly touched by it's gifts.
A Warder's life had always been one of sacrifice. Sacrifice of blood, of life and innocence and soul, sacrifice to the gods of death and fire and war, all the same. They killed, ruthlessly and skillfully, for that was the life of a Warder. To kill those that would threaten the innocent and enslave the weak, to fight and war and watch and defend against the dark things that scoured the world like a plague. But for all of their good intentions, they still took lives. It was their profession, to be warriors and soldiers, masters of blades and bows and all other manner of killing implements, as well as war magics, assassination, and even to go so far as to perfect the art of killing itself. Thus is was their purpose, from simple farmers and merchants to killers one and the same, and thus the very nature of magic began to change them, alter them so that they were more than just talented killers, but so that they were true predators. Mutation, they called it, and even Princess Luna herself was unable to reverse it's effects. Over a thousand generations of Warders had bound her magic into their very being, it's potency only growing with each child, each year, since as far back as the Warders had existed.
Bound into them, along with the natural magics of their heritage, they began to... to change... in ways that many ponies couldn't imagine. Oftentimes they would grow spines or scales, or have their tails fall out, only to be replaced with thick, lizard-like appendages tipped in barbs or razor sharp protrusions. Some had redundant organs grow in, or gain freakish regeneration. The cause was always the same, though, forced upon by the rampant magics that Princess Luna's blessings had evoked, directed by the Warder's desires and skills. For some, they would grow gripping claws from their hooves, for better purchase upon their chosen arms, or steel hard skin or razor sharp senses. Mages and clerics would find the very essence of magic searing it's way into their skin, covering it in arcane runes and mystic chants, their horns growing or twisting or curving to better their casting abilities. Winged warriors would often find second sets of wings growing in tandem to the first, effectively doubling or even tripling their ability to fly and maneuver, and even more outlandish alterations began to take place. But for all that changed about them, one thing always remained true.
That was the color of their eyes, golden and slitted, draconian in every sense of the word. One could always tell a Warder from the color and shape of their eye, no matter how much they changed or how outlandish they became.
But time, like all things, has a tendency to erode even the most stalwart of stones, and as the centuries passed and the monsters in the depths of the darkness began to fade into memory, the worst moving beyond the ken of mortal pony, those who were left began to see something else to fear. Time took with it the tales of sacrifice and heroism of our forefathers, and with them went the legend of the Warders. Many questioned why we still existed as peace began to truly take hold, and despite the efforts of the Goddesses, many began to forget just what being a Warder meant.
The end of our legacy began slowly, where a Warder would enter a town on bounty, and the streets would quietly empty. Purses and gifts became sparser and merchants often “ran out” of wares to vendor. Inns were full when Warders sought rooms, and farmers who once welcomed a Warder to watch over them a night in exchange for room and board began turning us away, our services “unneeded”. Eventually, towns began to bar us completely, preferring Royal Military or local militia against the skills of the Warders, and in turn, we began to drift away from our people. Food was growing sparser and work even more, and eventually Warders began selling their swords as mercenaries instead. Ten thousand mouths across a dozen great keeps, and not a scrap of food for any of them.
It was during these difficult times that the Gryphon Kingdoms began to eye Equestria and it's bounty of living ponies as a viable alternative to scrounging across their own barren lands, their population booming as the monsters that kept them in check vanished for places unknown, and the local forests and marshes were no longer filling their bellies. What's more, their pride and honor had no great opponents to slake their blood lust against, and in their warrior culture death from old age was more an insult than any other. They began to raid border towns, killing whoever they wished and taking all they could carry, including, in many cases, living ponies to feast upon in their camps.
Princess Celestia, blessed Goddess she was could not breach peace talks with the Kings in their Aeries, and as the slow moving behemoth that were the Royal Armies began to march, many towns and villages were bereft of their guards and their militias. Alone and separated, they feared bandits and gryphon raiders. The call was made for the Warders once more, and in we heeded the song of our ancestors and donned our blades once more.
And for a time, it was good. Coin and good will flowed once more, and the Warders thought their troubles over. Even with war on the horizon, the Warders felt no fear, for they had been forged in the fires of worse, had seen worse, than a spat between two old enemies. A great folly, as it were, for we let down our guard, and in doing so, opened ourselves to the worst betrayal imaginable. All it took was a single spell cast by a Warder turncoat, a gryphon mage, to drive several others to madness and delusion, and in their warped state, they turned on the village they had been called to protect and slew every single pony within, from oldest mare to youngest foal, deceived into thinking them undead horrors. Rumor spread, word took root, and eventually Princess Celestia herself was called forth to pass judgment. Though they were found innocent, word and tale had flown far and the damage done.
No town welcomed Warders, not after that, and many called for the disbandment and imprisonment or execution of the whole Order. Monsters within and without, tainted beyond redemption, they cried, and with war looming, Princess Celestia had little choice, lest she lose half of her conscripts to desertion. She turned upon us, against the wishes of her sister, Princess Luna, to appease the masses. Many towns burned without the Warder's hand to guard them. Those who stayed behind despite warnings often found themselves hunted by lynch mobs, shunned by towns and traders alike, and eventually were either driven off or, in some cases, hung or stoned to death.
It was during this time that the first true seeds of dissent began to grow in the heart of the Goddess of the Moon. The Warders were her chosen, in many ways, and for millennia she and our forefathers held a close and well loved bond, and to see her people turn against them brought forth a deep dismay. Many saw her as the progenitor of the Warders, the creator of monsters and devils, and in turn found their scorn and their dark glares against her, despite that she was innocent, and while Princess Celestia knew it, there was little time for comfort, for the Gryphon Kingdoms had struck out and war had taken hold.
Those were harsh years for all of Equestria, and even more so for the Princess of the Moon. She was shunned, hated and despised, and while none ever dared say so within her hearing, whispers behind closed doors were more than enough. Her statues and temples were defaced, her acolytes and faithful shunned and sometimes killed in the streets, and her children, her Warders, were driven to homelessness and destitution, and all the while she was helpless to stop it. Eventually all stopped coming to her night court, started to shun the very night she gifted them and turn their eyes away. Unloved and unwanted, her heart grew cold and broken, and she began to hate them. She began to hate everypony.
Many think that the incident with Nightmare Moon was a short, if violent affair. This was not so. Common history will tell you that Princess Celestia defeated her sister and sentenced her to a thousand years penance for her fall, but in truth, it was never such a simple affair. It was a war, one of the likes not seen for ages within the borders of Equestria.
When Nightmare Moon broke away from the Crown, it was a perfectly timed rout. Equestria was reeling from the Pony and Gryphon war, to which much of the army was lost, even in victory. Using her power she established a state apart from that of the Celestial Monarchy when it was at it's weakest and began to gather an army unlike any that had ever been seen before. You see, by this time, the Warders had long since lost all respect of the people of Equestria. We were starving and segregated, unable to find even the most demeaning of jobs, many had been forced into hiding into the Everfree. Many were enraged and vindictive towards their fellow ponies, those who had never sacrificed as they had for the good of all, wondering how they could dare to judge the Warders as monsters when they didn't know the meaning of the term.
Nightmare Moon didn't even need to try to convince the vast majority of our people to join her cause. Many joined her out of desperation or hunger, but some wanted revenge as well, a chance to show the world what the term monster truly meant. All she had to do was say the word, and at her call were a legion of warriors and mages who had spent their lives learning the arts of killing and armed with weapons and armor divinely gifted. When she marched to war, it were we who did the killing in her name. Even though the Royal Army stood at thirty times our number, we fought with a brutality that could only be bought with the combination of vindictive rage and starvation.
Diplomacy was all but ignored, and Nightmare Moon was a hellish dictator, converting or killing all in her path. Blood drenched the streets and fields as Princess Celestia scrambled to call forth her own legions to combat her sister's army, and for a hundred years both sides fought a vicious campaign of dominance. Day and night became entangled, oftentimes the sun or moon rising and staying for several days at a time, fighting for a place above all of Equestria. Arrows and magic and massive stones filled the sky as the two armies clashed, sometimes for days or weeks, carving misery into the land around them. Countless hundreds of thousands died, both soldier and innocent, and as Nightmare Moon grew more desperate, she began to call upon the most vicious of monsters, those that had been thought to have been lost to time. The Equestrian civil war was the worst of all recorded history, far outstripping any before, and it's closing years were the worst of all, for Nightmare Moon and her Warders had grown beyond desperate as the borders of her New Lunar Republic collapsed back into Equestrian hands.
But all things come to an end. They are destined to, after all. And so did the war, in one final stroke. In the fields between the Everfree and Canterlot, the new capitol of Equestria, Nightmare Moon and Princess Celestia both drew into final combat. As war raged around them, they fought to a brutal standstill, until eventually Nightmare Moon found herself broken and outmatched. Using the Elements of Harmony, She banished her defeated sister to the moon, as the story goes. But that wasn't the end of this chapter. There was still one final act.
Princess Celestia had won the war for Equestria, and in doing so had lost her sister. Around her her nation burned and fell, and many of her people lay dead in the aftermath. Grief clouded her mind, drove her mad with guilt and anger and she began to seek somepony, anypony, to blame for the living hell that had brought itself upon her. Many of her ponies blamed the Warders, the army that had fought for Nightmare Moon, with their mutated bodies and their dark magics, the monstrous butchers of ponies that they were. Many called for blood, knowing the Warders as something to be hated and feared.
The darkest day of our order was the day that Princess Celestia decreed the Warders as enemies of the state. Officially, it was for our crimes, perpetrated against all of pony kind, calling us murderers and traitors and beasts. It banned our practices, banned our traditions, our magics, everything. It took from us what little remained of our homes, broke what few of us had families from them, and declared that we were outlaws, turncoats, sneak thieves and cultists. It called for a bounty on all remaining Warders, what few of us still lived, and exiled us from the land itself.
It became known that we were the progenitors of monsters, the ones who corrupted the Princess Luna with our dark rituals and blood magics. They claimed we had cursed her, tainted her purity and her soul with our viciousness and blood thirst. Some claimed that we were demons in mortal form, things to be burned at the stake, or hung or stoned or beheaded. The tales of our dark rituals spread like wildfire, songs warding against were sung, and great walls barred us from town and village and city alike as bands of hunters sought us in some sick parody of our own history while mothers warned their children that we would steal them with our bewitched gaze, to drag them off and consume them in some pagan ceremony to our dark gods. It was how we became known as Witchers, from our eyes, and the stories that we could lure out ponies with a magical stare of our golden eyes.
For two hundred years we teetered on the edge of oblivion. Our customs nearly lost and what paltry dozen of us remaining fighting for our lives. Towns and cities barred us, or if they could, lashed at us. Hounded at every turn, we were run ragged and bled harshly for the failings of our forefathers. Many died, many more saw the insides of dungeons and worse, at the hands of the special Inquisition the Goddess of the Sun tasked with our removal. We fled Equestria, fled across the mountains and steppes and jungles, and as time passed, eventually Princess Celestia's anger was spent. All that was left was regret and the blood of too many ponies.
Time stole from us our reputation once more, and while many instinctively hated or feared the Witchers for our differences, if nothing else, the stories of our history, both good and bad, have faded from all memory but our own. All that remains are old mares tales about the Witchers, steeped in superstition and mythology. No knowledge of the Warders remains, not even in the oldest of history books, nor of the civil war that engulfed all of Equestria. Much of the past was lost, is lost, and will remain so, for betterment of all. Today, the Witchers are all that remain of our Order, our traditions and beliefs as old as the nation of Equestria itself and to it we are bound, as we are bound to our Goddess, and to our brothers and sisters.
Taken from The Precepts of the Order of the Witcher, Vol 1:1
Author's Blah:
As you can probably tell, I don't have an editor, and honestly this idea struck me over the course of a couple of nights on it's own so I haven't looked. I am looking for an editor, so if you like this fic, like the idea, have some experience in being part of the editing process and want the illustrious chance to deal with a slightly OCD writer that loves using ridiculous amounts of prose and copious redrafting send me a tell and we can talk.
As it stands, I'm drawing ideas from the series itself, along with the concept of the Witchers in general. A lot of the lore from the games is untenable, however, so this is going to end up as definitely more AU than Crossover, but given that I'm a fluid writer that doesn't plan far into the future of the fic, that may change as the plot demands. This is going to be clearly AU, however, so please bear with me as we dive into this one together.
As far as my update schedule goes, well, that's up in the air. I work two jobs, so, yeah. It does tend to cut into my writing time a lot, and that's not including the fact that I have a number of other fics that I work on as well in a different fandom. This has my eye right now though, so expect at least one more chapter before I vanish forever. Ha ha, that was a joke. I swear.
Anyway, constructive criticism is always welcome. Destructive criticism too, but only when I want a good cry.
See you guys next time!
~J