A young colt raises a unremovable sword from its pedestal, and fate has many plans for this colt
A large carnival was held in one of the regions of new Hoofshire, a small rural, yet beautiful town located in the outskirts of Eobôr, or the Equestrian Empire. Calling the carnival a local and small party was a bit of an understatement. Massive games such as racing and archery were held in the Town's arena and there's even the traditional duel, where a pony must defeat it's opponent to claim a mystery prize. However a special game was held in this carnival this year, a game to test one's strength and worthy. A test to see who can lift the legendary 'Excalibur' from it's rock pedestal.
A story heavily inspired by the King Arthur mythos, with a pinch of Lord of the Rings thrown into there as well.
Chapters would be updated irregularly, depending on my schedule and available free-time (which is essentially none)
It all started in the great mountains of the North, a largely desolated area only inhabited by the occasional lonely dragons and the once-prideful Diamond Dogs. They were both the masters of the Earth, one would dig straight down while the other soar through the sky in search of new mining areas. This led to an alliance between the both races and soon they endured many trials together such as the War on Chaos and the Nightmare Rebellion.
However, an evil thought lingers through the minds of both species, telling them to betray each other for their gold. They dismissed these thoughts and continued to collaborate for a few more centuries until... it happened.
On an expedition to find new mining areas, the Dragons and the Diamond Dogs stumbled upon an old mine-shaft filled with riches unimaginable. The gold shined brightly even in lightless cavern, and soon greed overtook their hearts; as one side doesn't want to share their gold with the other. This ultimately leads to a massive war that destroyed much of Dragon and Diamond Dog civilisation, thus both species returned to their animalistic ways.
The Dragons—once good and humble—began to corrupt themselves with the lust of power and greed; and so they were no longer the merciful and kind race they were before. They were now evil creatures, capable of mass destruction; and anyone that tries to stop them, would be destroyed in a matter of days.
News spread quickly throughout Equis, and soon everypony knew about the war and it's reasons. Some of them were morbid and confusing, others made the ponies disgusted at such barbarism displayed by the two species. And the rest ignores it as just another day in the office. But the Celestial Sisters knew something was pulling the strings, and so they sent spies and emissaries towards the Dragonacus Confederacy and the Atuâlis Kingdoms(Diamond Dog Empire.) Many of the spies were killed even as they try to enter the capital city of the Dragons, Asôria.
Eventually, this cause great tensions between the both kingdoms and soon full on war against Equestria was announced. With the Atuâlis Empire being the first nation to fall under the coming darkness that is the dragons, Equestria prepares for war: foundry's burning day and night, thousands of soldiers preparing for the oncoming storm, and lavish weaponry that will be used against the Dragons.
Unfortunately for them, the corrupted the Diamond Dogs and forced them to their will, and it was also during this age, that the first Akhtal pony migrated to Equestria. They came in with massive boats, covered in runes and fine details of art. But do not mistake them as friendly and peaceful; in fact they were quite the opposite. They immediately allied themselves with the Dragons and conducted massive invasions against the allies of Equestria.
And so the Dragons made the first move, attacking Ponyville first, for they know if they just leave the Mane 6 be, they will certainly defeat them. The battle was fierce, and the sky was coloured red with blood as the Dragons sacked the town. They searched the entirety of the town and they were angered and furious to learn that they did not find the Elements of Harmony there. Some may ask: "So who did stole the Gems?" and the answer is quite simple. Spike.
It was early in the morning, the sound of birds chirping a soft yet beautiful melody woke the 5"1 feet giant Spike, who had matured greatly in the past decade. He yawned rather loudly and scratched his back for a few times. He felt the skin of his arms first, feeling the roughness and the texture of his skin being bathe by the sunlight.
He smiled genuinely and made his way downstairs, ready to cook for Twilight.
"Another boring day in the library"He said to himself, as he continued to made his way downstairs. It was a quiet day in Ponyville, with most of it's citizens laying in their beds or singing merry songs and drinking the finest drinks in all of Equestria in the local tavern. He care not for the everyday businesses of Ponies, for his sister—Twilight—was nowhere to be seen.
He scratched his head in confusion and sacked the library just to find her. Books were flying across the room as Spike continued on his endeavours to find her missing sister. After many hours of searching for her (He went outside for a moment to check all the places she was known to go to), but alas neither Twilight, nor any of her friends were found during his small quest.
He gave out a sad sigh and retreated back to the library where he would spend the remaining entirety of the day catching up on some books—particularly a new copy that had just arrived from Canterlot, called: "Easy ways to hook up with Mares;" a book that caught Spike's attention a few days prior. Sure, the stallions of the town might call him a fool if he were to bring that book out in the public, but still, what other option does he have than to read the copious amounts of Equestrian history books that he'd probably skim through in a couple hours or so—a talent gained from years of helping Twilight of course.
Suddenly, a deafening crack roared in the skies, sending the birds and crows flying. Then, wings flapping across the sky, before finally the final roar of fury. The dragons were here.
Spike rushed towards the window and eyed the sky with great intent. There, massive carriages carrying the Diamond Dogs and the dreaded Akhtal ponies, their sharp fangs and sharp reptilian-like iris' pierced through his very soul.
The ponies of the town quickly grabbed their bags and items that they held dearly—some of them refusing to leave their houses for this very reason—and quickly made their way to the wagons, where they would be carried to a safe and disclosed location; wagons coated with detailed markings, carved on birchwood and safe and cozy interiors that will guarantee a safe and comfortable ride. As a loud and long whistle blew in the air, the wagons of Ponyville made their way towards the city of Baltimare, where they would be safe... for now. Unfortunately, I'm afraid that those wagons never made it to Baltimare, for they were attacked and burned by the dragons, soaring through the air, assuring it's dominance.
Amongst the rubbles of Ponyville, a lone drake woke up from it's perpetual slumber, gasping heavily as he eyed lazily the destroyed town of Ponyville. His eyes widened as soon as he see's the library on fire. Not caring for anything else, he made his way towards the library, his big stubby, yet strong legs, aiding him as he run towards the library.
The smell of books and ash was apparent as soon as Spike enters the library, and a single sad tear streak on Spike's face. His home, gone. Everything that he and Twilight has ever known, destroyed by the ashes of war. He shake his head to dismiss these troubling thoughts and made his way towards the basement, where the Elements of Harmony was stored. While much of the library is naught but ash, the basement remained intact, with only a few rubbles here and there.
Spike kicked the door leading towards the basement and surveyed the room intensely. A few moments later, a chest glowed brightly with all the different colours of the rainbow, lighting profusely in the corner of the room. Bingo. He crawled his way towards it and opens up his saddlebag, while opening the chest slowly, not wanting the invaders hear the loud creaking noise of the chest.
His eyes stared at the gems intensively, fixing his gaze upon the purple element that reminds him of Twilight. He sighed sadly and puts the elements into his bag and journeyed upwards where he would flee the town. As he made his way upstairs, he caught something in the peripheral of his vision: A pony, cladded in black armour whilst wielding a heavy yet powerful looking mace, riding a large dragon. The hood of the pony covered much of his face, but a flash of lightning soar through the sky, allowing any survivors to see the wretched and devilish smile of this pony.
Our little drake treaded silently upon the Earth, not letting out a single shout or scream as he leaped over piles of disemboweled body parts belonging to the ponies of the town.
A guard passed by Spike, carrying with him a grey mare with white hair. She had a peculiar cutie-mark that resembles a mare's flank, tattooed with the same exact cutie-mark as hers. She continued to struggled, trying to loose herself from the strong grip the Akthal Guard has on her. Curious, Spike made his way towards the back of a building, eyeing the pair with great curiosity. The guard presented the mare towards our hooded pony, who did not seemed pleased at all. He swung his mace at her, sending her flying across the town before her limp body impacts on one of the many trees of the Everfree forest.
The figure laughed grimly and loudly, letting his army know that he is most pleased about his recent endeavour; and with a low and grim voice, he shouted: "Let the green lands of Equestria burn under our feet, as we march our way towards the heart of this so-called 'Empire!" The figures on voice sends shivers down Spikes' spine, as he shivered coldly. He looked up at the sky, painted red with blood, sprayed by the Dragons.
And after weeping silently, he treaded silently away from Ponyville and made his way to Canterlot to warn the Celestial Monarchs.
Somewhere in the far north of Equestria, the evil-lord of Darkness grinned darkly at his servants—who were forming up their ranks, preparing their march towards the cities of Equestria. He had longed for the day that he would step into the mighty and glorious hallways of the Canterlot castles and burn it to the ground, for deep in his heart, a fiery hatred towards Equestria continues to brew every day, engulfing him with rage if even a single rumour of hope spreads across Equestria. He had diverted most of his attention towards the Griffons previously, for they were the masters of War, their sharp and iron-like talons perfect for piercing through even the most toughest and refined of armour. He sent his mighty Dragons to pillage their farmlands but to no avail; for they had produced great ballistas that would shoot down his Dragons with a single sharp and deadly arrow. When news of their new weaponry spread all across Equestria, the wavering ponies gained their hope; and so they fought his forces with great tenacity, that even the most prideful and honourable of dragons would nod in approval.
But he would not let this hope continue; for he controls the Elements now—well the bearers that is. Yes amongst his evil army, our heroes were corrupted and transmogrified into hollow beings. They were the generals that will order their troops to march onwards towards the Land of Harmony.
How did he acquired our heroes? No one knows—but there was a rumour that says that the Elements were sent to the Mountains to propose a cease-fire; and with that, the Diamond Dogs' superior noses caught their scent and so they captured them. The leader of the Six Generals were none other than Twilight Sparkle herself. Unlike her delightful and vivid purple coat, it was now dark and covered with dirt; for she was tortured for hours on end. Eventually, they cut off her wings and replaced them with something more... crude and dragon-like. A black helmet was covering much of her face, for inside that helmet, an entirely different face was there to greet any unwanted visitors.
The Lord of Darkness ordered his squire to blow the mighty horn, made out of the Ivory of an Oliphant, great beasts located in the far east. A mighty horn echoed throughout the lands, and so the dark army marched onwards. Ponies, Dragons, and Diamond Dogs alike united to conquer the world and enslave all the good races of 'Avalon'.
He smiled darkly and nodded at his squire, in which he returned with a simple nod before he goes bellowing down to join the main force. He took a few steps forward and he whistled loudly; ordering his dragon to pick him up. As he waited for his escort to come, he could hear the great flaps in the air coming straight towards him, and a deafening roar in the clouds signalled his great dragon, his most prized possession: the Mighty Dragon of the North, leader of the Dragon-kin.
And so this great dragon landed on front of him and whimpered. The Dark Lord approached it and patted the dragon with his front hooves. "Be a good dragon and carry me towards the ruins of Ponyville?" He asked, and so the Dragon gave out a loud roar. The pony climbed the Dragon and patted it's back for a bit. "Onwards, Ikalidîr! For evil will cover the lands of Equestria forever!" And with that, Ikalidîr flapped his large and magnificent wings upwards and soar through the sky.
"THEY WHAT!?" Shouted the blue Alicorn, as she continued to listen to Spike's report about the attack on Ponyville. She ran her hooves to her messy hair, which flows endlessly with the air. Ever since the war began a few months back, she hadn't have the time to sleep pleasantly, for she was the head of the Military Council, ruling side by side with her trusty advisor and personal friend, Kàshin, an Earth Pony hailing from the small mountain town of Riverrun.
The drake nodded grimly. "They attacked Ponyville with such fury, I'd reckon even the most powerful of Griffons would quiver in fear if they were to experience such an attack on their towns." Said Spike, his eyes tearing up. "I bet that they took Twilight and the rest of her friends as well. Poor Twilight, what would I do without you..." He embraced himself with his arms as he silently cries. He felt a friendly hoof patting on his back, and soon he stopped crying and straighten up. The Princess of the Night gave him a friendly smile and gave Spike a reassuring comment: "Do not cryest thee, my dear Spike; for all we know, our friends might stillest out there, fighting the good fight" Spike smiled at her and wiped away the tears on his cheeks, leaving behind tear stains on his cheeks.
"Thanks, Luna"
"It is my pleasure, Spike. But if your report is true, then the dark forces of the North are ready to march upon our lands; and so I must call upon the War Council."
He gave the blue alicorn a worried look, and said: "Are we going to be okay?" Luna looked down upon her hooves, unsure if whether they will win or not. "I do not know, but for now, try locking away your fears and keep fighting the good fight, okay?" The drake nodded, and soon she was alone again in her vast castle hallways.
She sighed sadly, and looked at the night sky, her moon shining brightly upon the city of Canterlot. "War is coming, and soon the fate of Equestria—and even Avalon—would be decided in the oncoming storm..."
The next few weeks would be very hectic for both Luna and Spike, as they prepared themselves for the oncoming storm. She ordered her War Generals to train the finest roster of troops in Equestria's history, a daunting task for them but what other options do they have against the mighty Dragons and the tenacious Akthal ponies?
Across the lands of Equestria, great forges worked day and night, smithing and forging the finest weapons and armour ever produced since the Nightmare war.
And the little Dragon, Spike, would be essential for the oncoming battle; for he was tasked to lead the new regiment of troops dubbed: The Grey Rangers, mighty warriors equipped with the finest bows and arrows ever produced in the lands of Avalon. This might be a daunting task for the little drake, but he had trained under the banner of Luna and Celestia for the past few weeks, and so he would be more than ready to take up the flag and lead them to the battlefield.
With each passing day, the dark forces of the North drew closer to Equestria, and their mighty dragons would pillage and burn the surrounding countrysides, destroying much of Equestria's withering crops and agriculture. But, they worry naught, for the great mills of Vanhoover continued it's work, supplying Equestria's armies and citizens with plenty of food and vegetables.
And in the middle of December, the dark forces approached the glorious cliff-city of Canterlot, who's light is shining brightly against the dark clouds that shrouded the land.
The bells were ringing all across the city of Canterlot, Colts and Mares running towards the nearby shelters and seeking safety amongst the crowd. The mighty army of Equestria, fifty thousand strong, stood outside the walls, their spears standing out against the smaller ponies. Among this army, a Dragon surveyed his ponies, eyeing them carefully, looking out to see any wavering souls ready to run for their lives.
But not one of them wavered or shivered in fear; and they stood proudly against their crude and savage enemies. They gave them cold-hearted glares, letting them know that they will not run away in the face of defeat; for the forces of Darkness brought a hundred thousand troops with them.
Spike gave them a kind smile and approached the nearby tent of Luna and Celestia, where they are discussing the battle plans. From afar, he could hear the arguments and commands given by the Celestial monarchs towards the War Generals. Then, six ponies exited the tent, their golden armour glimmering brightly, and their great swords protruding from their holsters. Spike entered the tent and bowed at them, in which the Celestial monarchs bowed in return.
Celestia was the first one to speak. "Captain Spike of the Grey Rangers; I assume that you and your ponies are ready for battle?" He nodded. "They are more than ready, Princess." Luna smiled and muttered something about 'Spike growing up.' Celestia approached him and drew out a sword from her holsters, gripping it with her magic. "This is 'Excalibur', Spike. It is made out of the finest metals in all of Avalon, and decorated with lavish runes and carvings." Said Celestia as she slowly gave the sword to Spike. "This is your sword now, the very Elements of Harmony is inside this sword—in fact, the runes were made out of each Element, creating a powerful sword with unprecedented power and magic." Spike smiled nervously and grabbed the Sword. The leather of the grip was cold, but it slowly suit his temperature after a few seconds. He touched the blade, sending shivers down his spine; for it was extremely cold and sharp. He took out his old sword from his holsters and threw it to the ground, replacing it with his new sword, Excalibur. He bowed honourably at the Celestial Monarchs, and he exited out from the tent to lead his forces to battle.
'Charge!!!' That was the word that was chanted all across the battlefield, and the forces of good and evil soon clashed with one another; the soldiers of each army proving their mettle and devotion towards their leader, cause, and country. Arrows whistled across the battlefield, sticking itself into the many souls fighting valiantly in the field.
A Dragon soared through the sky, letting out a deafening roar; and on that dragon, the Lord of Darkness rode his mighty dragon into battle. Ikalidîr landed on a hill of bodies, belonging to both sides. At this point, the battle has reached the city walls, and the great rocks of the North were being flung towards the Great Walls of Canterlot. He grinned devilishly and dismounted his dragon. He noticed something shimmering amongst the crowd of ponies and diamond dogs: a Drake wielding a glowing sword of tremendous power. He snarled angrily at him—yet for some reason he felt cold inside, as if there was something about this sword that terrifies his very soul. He eyed the battle, his sharp eyes intending to find the leader of the Six Generals, Twilight Sparkle.
He spotted Twilight and eyed her with curiosity. The way she moves, quick and deadly, and the spells she casted: perfect. He uttered something in an unknown dialect, and Twilight came over to him as quickly as she can, hurling her own soldiers at the long spears of the Equestrian forces. She bowed honourably at him, and took off her helmet. She still retained her signature purple made—alongside the pink streak on it—and lavender coat. However this was not the Twilight she used to be: Nice, kind, polite, and tolerant; she was a force to be reckon with, the very definition of pure evil. She starts to say: "What is it, thy Master?" and which he responded with: "Haventh you seen thou enemy? The great drake in shining gold armour and a mighty sword?" She nodded.
"Spike the Dragon, I'd reckon. Only a coward would side themselves with Equestria—that or he's just suicidal." Her tone filled with venom, as if she has a personal vendetta against him.
"Killest thee, for he is an obstacle in our glorious conquest" Ordered the Dark Lord. And with that Twilight dispersed and flew across the battlefield to meet her new target, her own brother in-law: Spike.
63. That's how many kills he had racked up with this sword. He swung Excalibur at a nearby diamond dog, decapitating him almost instantly. It had been an entire day since the battle started, and most of his troops were exhausted. Yet, they continued to fight valiantly with such tenacity, he could see the forces of evil quivering and running away in fear.
An Akhtal pony rushes at him, gripping his Warhammer tightly. He continued his charge even when Spike decapitated his head, and soon the body fell limp on the ground. He smiled proudly and wiped the blood of the blade with his shoulder-pads. A horn blew behind him; and a flurry of Griffon knights stood proudly over the hill, their pearly white armour shining brightly against the crude and dark armour the Dark Lord's armies wear. An old Griffon stood on front of his army: grey feathers, golden armour, and extremely sharp talons, ready to pierce through the toughest of metal.
Even from the walls of Canterlot, he could hear his noble speech:
"They attacked our lands for the sake of glory and evil; They pillaged much of our homes and burned them into ashes. But we will not falter; for in this hour of need, our allies fight valiantly against the darkness. They had helped us countless times without us repaying them; and we will repay the debt with thy noble order!" He ran across the fields, shouting one word: "DEATH!!!" His soldiers follow suit, and soon they were charging at the enemy, their swords and axes drew out, ready to spill blood.
The Griffon army—ten thousand strong—struck hard against the rear of the enemy, dealing tremendous damage towards them; for they have took out the heavy forces: tall and strong Diamond Dogs, primed with powerful maces and indestructible armour. Some of them had begun to flee from the battlefield, dropping their weapons and making a run for it while they still have the chance. Of course, they were immediately shot down by the Grey Rangers, who were standing still in their stations, the Canterlot Walls and Bridge.
Spike smiled and sighed heavily with relief. He ordered his troops to charge once more and to 'finish the fight'. Thousands of ponies came charging at the exposed front of the army, crippling and killing much of them with just a single wave. The Dragons began to lay siege upon the city, but they were shot down by the powerful ballistas of the Griffons and the Ponies.
The Dark Lord bellowed in rage, running his hoofs down to his final and most deadly weapon: The Hammer of Aömyër. He surveyed the landscape once again and he puffed angrily to see that five of his most prized generals were dead already. He spotted the Celestial Monarchs in the field, casting powerful spells and magic at his forces. He muttered something to Ikalidîr's ears; ordering him and his Dragons to fall back into the mountains, while he finish off the rest.
Ikalidîr let out an animalistic roar, ordering his kin to fall back into the Northern Mountains; for they were severely outnumbered and outgunned, and so they had to retreat. He flapped his magnificent wings, sending dust all over the place and fled towards the mountains with all of his remaining kin: all forty seven of them—the last Dragons of Avalon, destined to grow more powerful, yet more incompetent as time goes by.
Across the battlefield, Spike spotted something quick charging at him; and so he moved into a defensive stance, ready to retaliate against his opponent. He gave a confident smile before a flurry of punches and kicks were sent hurling at him by his attacking, sending him a few feet away. A single blood drip down from Spike's nose as he was about to look at his attacker.
The whole world froze.
It was her. It was, Twilight Sparkle: her sister.
Tears were filling up his eyes as he realised what he would have to do now: He would have to kill her, ending her misery. Twilight—no—the Beast snarled at him, puffing heavily as she gripped her daggers tightly, ready to thrust them at him. She charged at him, giving him all the energy she could muster onto her hooves, intending on doing the finishing blow.
But she felt something protruding out from her back. She looked at her stomach and gasped in shock to see a sword in her stomach. She looked at Spike, who was crying heavily, tears dripping down from his cheeks. She staggered back and looked at her hooves: 'What have I done? How could I bring myself to do this to him'. She fell down to the ground, gasping for air. Spike approached him and embraced her. She looked at Spike and smiled sadly at him. She brought him closer to her muzzle, whispering into his ears: "Thank you, Spike. For being the best friend I've ever had..." She smiled sadly once again and closer her eyes; the eyes that will never open ever again.
Spike could feel himself breaking down. He threw away his helmet and hugged her former friend tightly, crying onto her coat, now soaked with tears. The Equestrians and the Griffons had driven out most of the invaders off the battlefield, running for their lives. They noticed the late princess, their hung low, honouring and grieving over the death of the latest Princess.
But the battle wasn't over; for a large pony dug itself out from the pile of bodies on top of him. He was easily the size of Celestia, and he wielded the mighty hammer, Aömyër. His crooked face was shrouded in darkness, hiding away the dark grin he has on his face. He slowly approached the allied forces, confident that he would take down hundreds—if not thousands—of them before he'd lost the will to fight. Both the Celestial monarchs approached him slowly, exchanging worried glances with each other. They both drew out their sabres and waraxes and proceeded to march closely towards him.
He gave the monarchs a crooked smile, his golden Iris sending fear in the hearts of mortals. But they refused to give up. He too, slowly marched towards the Princess', his hammer raised into the air. Their pace quickened when they were 20 feet away from him, shouting vulgar words at him. But he continued to charge at them.
Just before they could deal the final blow, he struck his hammer to the ground, shaking the ground and sending massive boulders at the city. These boulders would smash through the elegant and well-built buildings of the city, sending rubbles and ruins down the cliff. He started chanting: "Hearest me, thy Goddesses: you are weak and the races of Avalon will no longer need your services; your magic is withering away, flying away from your world to another. If thou can control the Celestial bodies with thoust grasps, then that power would no longer be yours; for fate has decided that it has different plans for Avalon." He glowed brightly, his eyes turning white. He gave out a loud shriek before he was torn apart into billions of tiny pieces.
Celestia felt something deep in her heart: She could feel the very essence of magic slowly withering away. She looked at her subjects with worry, only to see them casually using their magic. Luna approached her and nodded: The Celestial bodies are no longer theirs. Their subjects and the other races of the world would have to go on without them. She fixed her gaze upon Spike, embracing Twilight closely as he continued to wept. She felt a tinge of sadness within her heart: her prized pupil is dead. Died in battle. Luna gave her a reassuring pat on the back and she retreated back into the castle...
An old stallion slowly closed the book and smiled at his nephew: a brown colt with turquoise iris' with a lust for knowledge. He softly crooked his beard, trimming them softly. "And that concludes the story of the Great War, my dear Palven." He frowned sadly, and looked down upon the ground.
He whispered softly to himself, as soft as a feather. He nodded to himself and asked: "What are the Grey Rangers, uncle Lombard?" Lombard smiled at his little nephew, before chuckling softly.
He messes his mane and smoked his pipe, puffing out beautiful and colourful rings. "Well, the Grey Rangers are protectors of our fair country, Eobôr. They guard us from the evil forces of the north—who were still licking up their wounds after the great war, thousands of years ago. They serve in the Northern Walls, and the Northern Walls only." The little colt processed this information carefully and he erupted in joy and wonder.
"I want to serve in the Grey Rangers, Uncle!"
He laughed and smoked his pipe once again. "In time my dear nephew, in time..." The sun sets down over the horizon, shimmering its last fade
"Move along now, the Wall is only a day away!" Shouted the leader of the raid party towards his troops. They have treaded upon the cold earth for hours now, never stopping; for the Direwolves and those damn Wildlings are always watching them, waiting to strike at the right moment. The many Ponies and Griffons among this party all wore heavy fur coats from the wolves and light leather armour underneath them. All of these ponies and griffons were hard and rough people, drinking countless jugs of mead and alcohol in one night.
Young Palven Nos Elwë, the youngest of the garrison being fifty himself (fifty is quite a young age in a time where most ponies would live up to 400 years old and Griffons even longer), shivered even after being coated with countless coats. He had joined the Grey Rangers a decade ago, yet the cold always gets to him, the harsh winter wind caressing his already frozen coat. The people on front of him were laughing and grumbling towards one another, discussing about the small errand the Captain-General—Jörb Gålid—had did a few moons ago, saying that he slayed a monstrous Direwolf—large creatures with strong paws and teeth as sharp as knives—on the way back to the wall.
A hoof punched his shoulder, causing him to jerked towards the side a bit. He looked up at his 'attacker' and puffed: It was that bastard, Ròtharíen the 'Mighty.' He had targeted Palven ever since the first day he was stationed on the Wall, tasked on keeping an eye on something that would never come. He would come up with lavish pranks and shout insults at him—most of them related towards his 'Mother' whom he have never met, for she and his father died during an accident in the roads near the damn Everfree forest. Some ponies say that they were mauled by the nearby Timberwolves, who would sometimes march out from the Everfree forest to get fresh meat for their younglings. Unfortunately, his parents were one of the many victims that have been taken away from the safety of the road towards the dangerous and dark forest of Everfree.
He glared at Rò coldly and snarled. "What to you want, Rò" He said alas, with venom on his voice. Rò laughed mockingly at him and just smiled smugly. "Don't want my favourite 'buddy' to die of frostbites, do I?" Although Rò was an imbecile and snobby, he can be incredibly charming. Probably because he was the King of Eobôr, Atùrias', favourite great grandson (or so he says). In court, he would often drool over the many ladies and mares that would visit the King and beg their thanks. Often times, he would go to the tavern and pick up some lads to hunt over some mares to fuck with. Nonetheless, the King one day ordered his ponies and Ròtharíen to the great Northern Wall to join the Grey Rangers.
"I am doing just fine, Rò, thank you very much!" He exclaimed, stomping over thick piles of snow with his hooves. Rò only sniggered before going back to his lads, tall and stupid most of them. Palven sighed and muttered: 'Damn fool' and 'Gods' under his breath and continued to walk along with the band.
"Open the gates!" The great gates of the Wall opened up for the warband—50 warriors strong, bringing booty from the nearby forest. It never stopped to amaze Palven: a true marvel of engineering, made by the ponies of Old. Jör looked upon his warriors and grunted, signalling them to go in without him. Palven walked in with the rest of the band into the wall, and the first thing he sees were soldiers, decked with Golden armour and long silver spears protruding from their backs, marching. They were among the finest troops the South can provide. They were the Visculis Knights, great warriors from the Principality of Udàin—a strong vassal below the Eobôr Empire—that would send shivers down a Dragon's spine.
His eyes were as wide as saucers as they marched onwards towards the many castles that dotted the Wall, those being: Castle Faith, Solaris Fortress, and the Unicorn Citadel, a citadel decked with the finest ballistas and trebuchets ever produced. "Scramble and share tales of your adventures, young las!" Shouted Jö, and soon the warband dispersed towards the nearby Tavern: Drunken Mare. Palven smiled with glee and trotted his way towards the Tavern, his hooves already covered with wet mud. He reached the tavern and creaked open the door, but the people that were in the tavern care nought of this disturbance of peace and continued to drink and sing great tales:
Let the gust of wind course the great wall, and the Grey Rangers shall continued to stand! Dragons and ugly Diamond Dogs cannot withstand our might! Let the Narsìl ponies, with their sharp teeth and bountiful arses, flood the wall and the Grey Rangers shall fight to our grave! For the courage of Grey Rangers cannot be burned out so easily by a flood of energy, oh no my lads; We shall drink their blood and spill out their guts if they dare to step foot on the green lands of Vynarîa!
Palven shivered in thought of drinking blood—what is he, a Wildling? He shrunked back to his fur coat and snuck his way towards the corner of the tavern. There, a broad and old Griffon—probably in his middle ages—drank a jug of Whiskey, produced by a brilliant alcoholic, Bröm the Drunk. He drank his whiskey with pride and all the other younger ponies and griffons watched in awe as he finished the jug of whiskey in one take. Some ponies begin to clap their hooves and the Griffons just continued to watch him, eyes as wide as saucers and mouths gape opened. Palven chuckled and approached the old Griffon.
The Griffon eyed Palven with his sharp eagle eyes and laugh merrily. "Why, Palven Nos Elwë" He shouted gleefully, happy to see his old friend. "Long time no see. Say how long has it been: 5 years? A decade?" Palven laughed softly and shook his head. "No Uncle Jär, it's been three decades since we last saw each other. If I recall, I think the last time we saw each other was in Hoofshire, where you and my uncle talked about your past and how you were happy to see him again." The old Griffon smiled and nodded. "He was a fine lad back in those days, always cheering up the squad whenever we're feeling down. Hell, I even think he's related to that old bard, Pinkie Pie." Palven listened on to his stories—which always intrigue him, since he was the type of pony with an unquenchable thirst for knowledge, always wanting to learn more. Thus, his uncle had bought him countless books ranging from ancient history, to fables and legends.
Palven thought deeply, for something has been troubling his mind for the past few months; a question, a question that must be answered by a true veteran. He looked up at the old Griffon and asked: "Can stallions be brave, even if they're afraid?" Jär stopped what he was doing previously—that being drinking a fine jug of whiskey—and pondered. He sighed, a grim look over his previously happy and old face. "That is the only time a Stallion can be brave, my dear Palven."
In the middle of the room, Rò was arguing among his friends about something rather major (For them at least). "All I'm saying is, that the old Monarchs might still be around!"
His griffon friend spat out his drink and laughed. "They!? The damn Celestial Monarchs? They're long gone, Rò. The old tales said so themselves!" His voice was rough and course, just like any other Griffon. Rò slapped his face with his hooves and groaned rather loudly. "Yeah, and it also says that they were immortal. They're Alicorns, you imbecile!"
"Says the pony that once had sex with a cow! You were so high on weed, you didn't knew who you were fucking!"
"That's it!" Rò climbed over the table and punched the griffon in the beak, staggering him. He fell back to his chair, as it topple backwards. Everyone stopped at stared at the duo, gasping. Some of the ponies begin to crack their necks in anticipation; for they knew what comes next. The griffon stood up and scratch Rò in the chest with his sharp talons, his chest now coated with blood. He groaned and slammed a wooden chair at the Griffon's head, knocking him out.
A mule stood up and shouted: "Tavern fight!" The many ponies, griffons, mules, and zebras ran towards each other, their personal weapon in their hooves and talons. They clashed one another, and soon the brawl was at its peak. Blood was everywhere, and dozens of unconscious colts were on the wooden planks of the tavern; and poor Palven crawled his way out from the Tavern—without Jär of course, for he was too busy knocking some bastards off their feet. He opened the door and ran as fast as he could, never looking back.
Jörb Gålid entered the tavern and shouted loudly at them. All of them stopped their fighting and shared worried glances with each other, for the Captain-General wasn't all that pleased whenever he see's his troops fighting amongst each other. He picked up a Griffon by his neck and shouted at his face: "By Celestia, what the fuck happened!?" He asked, but the Griffon was too afraid and dizzy to reply to him. Jär approached to Jörb and patted his shoulders with his talons. "That fool," He pointed at Rò, "started the whole fight, arguing about the 'Old Monarchs' and how they could still be around." Jörb laughed mockingly, wiping away a single tear from his eye.
He sighed happily, smiling at Jär. "That bastard's a fool, old Griffon. The monarchs are long dead, and that's that!" He patted Jär in the shoulder with his stubby hooves, and walked out from the tavern. Jär glared coldly at them, nodding. And soon the many soldiers in the tavern returned to their previous business—that being drinking merrily with their lads, of course.
Palven stood on top of the wall, watching the stars in the night sky twinkle brightly. He had read from a book that each of these stars were created by the gods that made Avalon, and tasked these stars to guide their children towards the right path of salvation. Of course, that was false—well to those who read ancient books—for each one of these stars were suns, not some guardian that watched over them.
He sighed, content on living in the north. The snow fell on his shoulder, covering it with white puffy snow for him to play—or blow—around with. A bell sound throughout the wall, signalling the guards to go back to the common hall to sleep. He peaked over the wall and smiled, before retreating back to the common wall.
He opened his eyes once again, and stared at the ceiling. He woke up to the sound of his roommate snoring loudly, as he shift around the bed—that was another reason. He rubbed his eyes and yawned softly, not wanting to wake up his roommates. He left the room and trotted towards the mess hall. As he walked, his hooves created loud creaks on the withering wooden board, for it has been there for countless centuries.
For a while, there was peace. Palven sat alone over the corner of the room, eating a meal of hay, a common delicacy for many ponies, zebras, and donkeys. He mused to himself by humming a song that he has heard a few weeks back, what a beautiful song it is. He finished his meal and lay the plate on a table.
He walked out from the mess hall, his belly full with hay. He was content with the things he have, and smiled proudly as he walked out the common hall and towards the wall. And at that moment, something popped up in his head: "I wonder what kingly deeds, Atùias, is he doing right now?"
In the grand castle of Windhelm, an old pony—long grey beard and bushy eyebrows—sat pridefully on top of his iron-throne, made out of hundreds of swords all clumped together to make one giant iron-throne. Although it was uncomfortable, it can be easily solved by a comfy pillow and a long—and thick—blanket below the sitter. On front of the old pony was a young Zebra, sharing the king about his noble deeds and how he was worthy to take his daughter, Evening Star, as his bride. The king only puffed, and ordered his troops to escort this 'noble' zebra out from his court.
As his troops drag him along the stone floor, he shouted at the guards, saying that they were not worthy. "Mark my words, King Atùrias: You won't last a day when my army marched upon your gates!" The king snickered, and commented how much of a fool he would be to attack the most heavily defended city in the south. The zebra seemed offended and tried to charge towards the king, only to be stopped by the hooves on his shoulders. He screamed loudly, only to be muffled by the large golden gates that closed on front of him.
The king ran his hooves and stroke his long grey beard, deep in thought. His wife, Lady Viamìr, approached him and patted his shoulders. He looked up at his lovely wife, her golden mane reaching down to his hind-legs, her kind smile shining at him. He sighed happily and pecked her lips. "Just another day in court, love, that's all." Not happy with his answer, she grabbed him by the cheeks and stared at him. She whispered to him: "Maybe we should sail towards the Pniä Republic; I heard that the waters are at its warmest this time of the year." He thought about the idea of a vacation a few moons ago, but dismissed the thought after a Dragon attacked the major port city of Coltvania, near the strait of Mare's Deep, a thin bridge of land that connects the North with the South.
He sighed sadly and hung his head low. "I can't my love, the threat of the Dragons returning is far too great. I can't just dismiss it." He told her, and she smiled sadly. "It's alright dear. But promise me one thing: we will run towards the shimmering sunset one day and we will stay there for the rest of our lives." That was the promise they gave to each other when they were married; a promise they would hold until the end of time. He grabbed her hooves and kissed her passionately. He stared at her blue eyes, smiling. "We made that promise to each other for three hundred years, and I intend to fulfill it for you, my love." They hugged each other, before she parted off to their six kids: three girls and three boys.
His eldest child, Arachîr, approached to him and bowed politely. "How's your day, Father? I heard that Zebra shouting insults at you across the castle." He asked kindly, patting his back. "It's the Queen's bastard son, Faèdin. He thought it could barge into my castle and demanded the king of the Eobôr empire to give up his eldest daughter—who is only 16, just to clear it out." He replied, and Arachîr was smiling back at him. He noticed a scroll in the peripheral of his vision and levitated the scroll from across the room. Ever since the Great Battle, the Unicorns have been on a decline, as the magic that surrounded Avalon disappeared with the Dark Lord. For thousands of years, those who were born as a Unicorn had two options: Become the king of a new kingdom, or be apart of the Council of Magic with some of the most talented sorcerers, magicians, and warlocks, the Nine Kingdoms have to offer.
He read the scroll rather quickly, for as an apprentice of a Zebra apprentice, he had to read countless books and tomes to understand the concept of potion-brewing and casting. He gave his father a grim look, and sighed. "The Principality of Udàin has been attacked by a large dragon, and would no longer give troops to the alliance," He read out loud, and the king cringed. "And addition to that: the Akmârians (Changelings) have declared war against the Vale of Bòn-Gålid and have form a blockade around the vale, intending to starve them out to submission. We are still gaining an additional fifty thousand gold-bits annually, thanks to the trade between the Pniä Republic and the Minathràwl Kingdoms—though the Akmâr have ceased trade with us for some time now." Arachîr continued, and he soon noticed that his father seemed to be sad and frustrated at the same time. He patted his back and give him a peck on the forehead. "There, there, Father. Dismiss those troubling thoughts from your head. Those thoughts will only frustrate you more." The king gave out a heavy sigh and hung his head low.
He stared at Arachîr with his old eyes, and smiled sadly. "I'm old, Arachîr. I can't do warring or throw lavish parties in the name of honour anymore. Oh, Arachîr, what would I do without you" He lay his head on Arachîr's shoulder, letting out the tears he had build up for the past few minutes. The unicorn patted his shoulders and smiled at him. "It's alright, Father. We all grow old eventually. But look on the bright side: you rebuilt the empire to its former glory, you secured countless trade agreements and alliances with the neighbours that despised us in the past, and the people of the empire will remember your history: A simple farmer to a King of an empire. Imagine all the foals wanting to grow up like you, Father." He said assuringly, making his sad father smile proudly. He fixed his posture and hugged his son tightly, sighing happily. He parted from the hug and stared at him in the eyes. "Thank you, my dear son. The gods gave me the best son a pony could have." Arachîr hugged his father again, smiling with glee.
"Thank you, father." He parted from his hug and walked towards the porch. There, he saw the golden sun shimmering upon the white city of Windhelm, a city built in the ashes of Canterlot. Over the years, the terrain of has changed drastically, with the valley down Canterlot now filled with salty water. The sea of the Endless. In the distance, he could see a golden statue of the god, Artemis—the father of Celestia and Luna, and the creator of the sun—looking down on the denizens of Windhelm. The great port of Windhelm was busy, shipping in and off luxuries such as fur coats from the north and Dorwinion wine from the Minathràwl Kingdoms in the far south of Vynarîa. He sighed happily, and trotted away from the porch, leaving behind the grand city of Windhelm behind his back.
Palven stood proudly on top of the wall, the calm winter breeze blowing against his coat. It had been two weeks since the bar fight, and everything seems to be going just fine—except for Rò and his Griffon friend of course. A friendly hoof patted him on the back. He turned around to see the kind smile of Thomas, a young lad in the age of sixty two. They met each other one day on top of the wall, where they were both stationed on the same day. They talked for a while and found out that they have much in common—though he was undoubtedly stronger than Palven, able to lift dozens of swords and hammers on his back. "How 'ou doin', Palven? Dazzin' or Shimmerin'?" He asked him nicely, his long hair covering much of his round brown eyes. "I'm doing just fine, Thomas. The weather is nice up here, not to cold and not to hot, and with you around my day just got a bit better." He replied, a smile on his previously bored face. They both laugh merrily and sighed. They stared at each other before Thomas patted him in the back. "Don't stare off the wall for too long, young Palven. Might give 'ou the shivers!" He shouted with his thick accent, a common accent in his village of Edinmare. Palven smiled at him and returned to his duties: staring at the...unknown, the great tundra of the North. He had heard tales of that land, telling him that there were large beasts made out of iron and rock lurking in the heavy mist, looking—and sniffing—out for any fair meat.
He eyed the tundra with great curiosity before going back to his duties.
Night fell on the north and the cold harsh wind returned to haunt the hearts of ponies and other beings alike. The mares from the nearby village of Hjärib, ran towards the mist, their hooves leaving imprints on the thick piles of snow that has already been piling up. Palven shivered under his fur coat, as he sat on one of the stools on top of the Wall. The cold up on the wall was even worse, thanks to its high altitude and how close the clouds seemed to be.
A snow flake fell on top of Palven's muzzle, causing him to sneeze. He continued to shivered, his teeth clanking to one another. Suddenly, a bell rang all across the wall, waking up the sleepy troops and ordering them to get out from their beds. All of them put on their armour and trotted down below, while others stood on top of the wall, waiting for further orders. From the distance, they could hear something approaching the wall. The sound of wood creaking. The troops drew out their swords, axes, and spears in fright, clenching onto their weapons tightly.
In the distance, they could hear a warcry. "Let those dogs face the wrath of the Narsìl ponies!" Soon, dozens—if not hundreds—of ladders landed on the wall, spilling out ponies cladded in black armour with crude—yet sharp—swords, hurling towards the rangers. Some of them gulped loudly, while others prepared for battle. Palven drew out his bow and loaded it with Black Arrows, forged in the fires of the nearby forgeries. The attackers charged towards them, their shields raised to protect them from the hail of arrows that were befalling on them. The Grey Rangers stepped back a few steps, and soon the Narsìl ponies were upon them.
Swords were clashing with one another, and loud warcries and insults were sent hurling towards the other ponies. A fat mule was running towards them, shouting: "The Wildlings are here—" An arrow whistled across the air and landed upon its target: The mule's fat and ugly head. And from the mist, were ponies—and diamond dogs—with nasty teeth and hard faces, covered with scars and tattoos. "Az' fàr!!" Shouted one of the Widlings in a language none of the Grey Rangers could understand. The mist cleared away, showing dozens of Wildlings charging at them, their weapons and tongues out for blood. Some of the Grey Rangers begin to run, only to fall to their deaths. Soon, the Wildings clashed the Grey Rangers with their dangerous weapons at their hooves. Some of the Wildlings leaped into the air and stuck their sharp and deadly teeth into the flesh of the Grey Rangers, eating their red flesh.
Palven send his quivering arrow towards a large and muscular diamond dog, the arrow whistling past his fellow lads and the formidable Narsìl and Wildlings. A loud crack echoed throughout the wall, and soon the lively beast came falling down on his comrades. An uproarious cheer came from the Rangers and soon they fought their attackers with great tenacity, sending savage blows with their heavy swords and axes. They climbed over the pile of bodies on the ground and pushed against the enemy, far more harder than ever. Some of them began to slip off the wall and fell to their deaths. Then silence. It permeated the Rangers as they watch their helpless foe fall to their deaths. Some began to laugh, others muttered prayers to Artemis under their breath. Nonetheless, the Wall is devoid of any Narsìl or Wildlings...for a time.
A horn echoed across the mountains, a loud and ancient horn: The horn of the Ancients, created specifically for Unicorn Citadel. The Citadel is under siege. A zebra put on his golden helmet, dented and covered with blood, and barked out orders for the Rangers: 3/4 of the Rangers on front of him to aid the garrison, and the other quarter to warn the south. The Zebra pointed a hoof at Palven, and asked him to join the other quarter. He complied of course and ran towards the lift.
"Women and Children first!" Shouted a Ranger, as he helped the nearby villages to evacuate to the nearby forest: Everfree, that dark and wretched place. Dozens of ponies flocked towards the gate, running and stomping their heavy hooves upon the ground. Apples and hay fell out from their baskets and they were smashed—or stuck unto the ground—from the stampede of hooves. The Ranger was forced to move back a few steps to let the flow continue. A fireball smashed against the Wall, causing the ground to tremble. He stared at the wall: a massive stone chunk falling towards the tavern. He screamed silently, as the boulder smashed against the tavern, sending splinters everywhere.
The ground began to shake again, and then it stops. There it is again; and deep in his guts, he knew that trouble is coming. Then the wall came tumbling down to the ground, sending huge chunks of rock unto the many buildings that surrounded the wall. Ponies and Griffons ran out from their homes, shops, and taverns and fled towards the forest. Dust was everywhere, as the winter breeze blow harshly against the ponies, the mist covering much of the land below. The Ranger coughed violently as he wave his hooves in the air, clearing away the dust on his face.
In the midst of chaos, a loud and scruffy voice shouted in the distance: "DEATH!!!" At this point, all the citizens have been evacuated to the forest, giving them time to catch their breaths. They raised their weapons into the air and rushed into battle. But what they didn't know, was the Ice Dragon that sent it's chilly breath towards the Rangers, freezing them. Unfortunately, our Ranger was also frozen along with his lads. A shadow blocked the light over him, and the last thing he knew, was a claw smashing unto his frozen figure.
Fear. Fear overtook Palven, as he run away from the battle. He had dropped his gear—except for his trusty bow and arrow of course—and rushed towards the forest, caring nought for the battle that was all over him. Suddenly, a fist punched his face, staggering him back a few steps. He shake his head and focused on his attacker: A large and formidable Diamond Dog. He drew out his bow and pulled the string, the bow shaking with him. The Diamond Dog smiled smugly and sniggered. He raised his fist high up into the air, but Palven released his arrow and sent it flying unto the Griffon's fist. It pierced through his hand and the Dog shrieked in pain. He let out a mighty roar and charged at Palven, only to be block by a mighty shield blocking his savage blow against Palven. He looked up to his saviour and gasped: It was Rò, cladded in leather armour and fur coats, his black mane flowing along with the air. Rò looked down at Palven and uttered one thing: "Run." With that, Palven got up unto his hooves and ran as fast as he could.
Jär approached Rò, his armour shining glamorously in the dark. He nodded at Rò and they both drew out their weapons. Rò turned to face the old Griffin and smiled sadly at him. "I'm sorry, for all the bad things I've did to you and Palven." Jär only smiled back and put his forehead against his, and soon they were both clashing their sword against the Dog's mighty and large hammer.
Palven ran as fast as his hooves can go. He could feel snow dropping down to the ground, soft and puffy as usual. He slowed down and panted heavily. He had ran for hours, and the sun was starting to dawn. He looked to his back and saw black smokes coming from the Wall, Dragons flying up in the air. He sighed sadly, as he made his way deeper into the forest.
***
He lay down his weapons and what little armour he has onto the ground, as he slowly erected a tent. He stifled a loud yawn and rubbed his eyes, heavy black bags under it. He gathered a batch of logs and threw it onto the ground, and lit the logs on fire with his clever wits. He chuckled softly and lay under his make-shift tent, his eyes finally closing for the day, as the sun send it's rays upon his sleeping figure.
A song was being sung in the distance; a message to the world: Darkness shall cover the earth for a hundred years, and we shall be cast to a new Dark Age. All across the ruins of Equestria, foals wept on and on until they can no longer cry; mares and colts embracing each other, as the great storm covers the land.
Dark, Cold, and Ominous.
Like a weeping mare, the cold swept throughout the land, covering the land with snow and ash—remnants of the greatness they once had. A tall hooded mare, with short ethereal blue hair, and a sword on her back, treaded upon the battlefield: The Canterlotian fields. She eyed the fields with great sorrow, and she let out a single sad tear stroking down on her cheeks.
drip!
The sound of her tears echoed throughout the desolate fields, now covered in snow.
crash!
Her ears picked up the loud sound coming from the ruins of Canterlot: That city that was mostly destroyed during the battle. The remaining structures left were scorched in black. The mare pulled down her hood, her muzzle looking up in the air, sniffing the ashes of war left by the darkness.
'How must it end like this?' she pondered, her hoof stroking her soft and short mane, her blue eyes staring gently at the corpse beneath her; a stallion, white fur and red eyes, armoured in gold. A royal guard. She inspected the corpse: Deep cut in the throat — presumably by a sword, judging by the gaping size of the wound, still soaked in blood. She chuckled grimly; a corpse still fresh like this, must've been unlucky enough to fought the bandits that have been gathering 'round these parts.
She rose up; an arrow whistling pass her. The arrow only missed her head only by a few millimetres, leaving behind a long and deep scar on her cheek. She screamed in pain, and put her hoof on the wound, now spilling out blood. Her blue cheeks mixed with the deep scarlet of blood; purple, like a lilac.
She looked upon her attacker: An old stallion, probably in his late hundreds. He had ashen-grey hair, and a short yet scruffy beard. On his hoof, was a steel sword with a serpent-like head as the pummel of his sword. He spat out his spit and glared the mare harshly, grinning wickedly as he charge towards her. The mare drew out her sword: Deep blue, decorated with runes on the blade — Igni, it says, meaning 'Fire' in the old alicornian language. As the colt continues his charge, he let out a deafening roar, his other sheathed weapons clanking upon the silver armour he was wearing: A rogue knight. The blue mare raise her sword to the air and swung a savage blow upon the stallion's head, cutting it from it's neck. The lifeless body fell unto it's knees and topple over a rock, raising it's flank in the air. She looked at the stallion's cutie mark: A sword coated in blood.
She wiped the blood on her blade with her coat, soaking it with wet and red blood. But she cared naught for the scarlet on his cloak, for she was only here for one reason: To climb the Canterlot Mountain.
'Damn wings, work you useless fucking things!!' She shouted, her voice echoing throughout the snowy mountain ranges of the Canterlot mountains, her wings as stiff as ice. She had stop using it a year after the Great War; for her dear sister told her to not reveal themselves to the mortal races. She would leave the following day, only leaving behind a note.
A tiny pebble fell unto her muzzle, and she sneeze rather loudly. The cliffside shook, as a massive boulder was hurling down towards her. In her mind, she thought of one word: "Shit." She felt her grip on the rocks loosing; rocks falling down to the ground. She took one deep breath and jumped with all her might towards the other side.
"Arghh!" She rolled around the surface, dirt on her once clean and beautiful mane. But she cared naught for her hair, nor she would ever will, for the Great War has done her many things such as making her incredibly dirty.
She stood up, her legs shivering, her teeth clanking with one another. She felt cold...and afraid, as if she was in a nightmare; a harsh and horrific one. She pulled up her hood and wrapped herself with a long, silky red scarf she had looted way back when. The mare turned around and saw a beacon of light on top of the mountain: Celestia's light, as they called it.
'If only you were here, thy sister' She sighed sadly, and walked upon the steep stairs constructed thousands of years ago; all slippery and wet from the ice that had melted here.
She reached to the top of the mountain, and she gasped at the sight she saw: It was her sister, dressed in a fine dress, woven in silk, her scarf made out of fur. Her hair was as beautiful as ever, but rather than the long and ethereal rainbow mane she used to have, long golden strands of hair replaced each and every strand of hair. She smiled gently at her; a mothers smile, and opened her arms for a hug. The mare wept tears of joy, dropping her sword on the ground and running towards her. She hugged her sister, and nuzzled her closely. Soft, more soft than ever. Just the way she liked it. She look at her face and whispered: "Why did you go, 'Tia?" She asked, her eyes soaked with tears. Her sister — no less the same — stroke her short mane softly. "I can no longer be here, Luna. My magic is withering, and the world doesn't need me anymore." She said sadly, and her sister looked at her in disbelief. "What do you mean, Sister? Have thou forgotten the times we have led our ponies to glory? To harmony?" Luna asked eagerly, awaiting her sister's response.
Celestia looked at the dark and cloudy skies, and frowned. "I have not forgotten, my dear sister. But they must learn how to be on their own now, for Winter is Coming and I don't have the magic nor the capabilities to stop it." She responded, continuing to stroke Luna's short mane. She stopped stroking her mane and smiled. "You've grown a lot taller, Lulu" She remarked, and Luna blushed. "Why, yes I have, Sister. Before I was 5"4, now I'm 6"2; you know, growth spurt and that," She giggled. "And yet, here I am, still shorter than you by a few feet — 2 feet, that is." They both laugh merrily and hugged each other once again.
They sat there, blinking at one another, before stifling out a chuckle. Luna fixed her gaze on the ground and sighed sadly. "What am I going to do without you, 'Tia? The world has fallen into madness, a madness that I can't fix." She confessed, and Celestia gave her a sad smile. She raised her large wings and blanketed Luna. "I'm scared, 'Tia. The winter is getting nearer every passing day, common sense is deteriorating as the survivors of an destroyed world fight over what little resources there is left; and what did I do about it? I ran away from the problem, the madness that has consumed Avalon, and traverse across the world, seeing the damages that damn menace has bestowed upon the land."
As Luna talk about the on-goings of the world, Celestia frowned sadly and sighed. She stood up, extending her hoof for Luna to stand up as well. She does so and they both stare at each other, their eyes fixed unto one another. Celestia shed a sad tear and hugged her dear sister, the sister she had grown up with for thousands of years. She stared at her and smiled sadly. "This has been fun, my dear sister. But I fear that we can no longer meet no more." Luna froze, shocked and confused. She muttered one word: "Why?"
A wicked smiled (or was it a frown?) crept upon Luna's face, as she laughed maniacally. She pointed at Celestia accusingly. "You, get to go see Father — whom I've never met — while I have to stay here, trapped here as if I was back on the moon!?" Luna continued to laugh, whilst Celestia's looked at her sister with worry. She then noticed something streaking down Luna's cheeks. Tears. Her wicked laugh soon degraded to a wet sob, as she laid her head on her sister's shoulder. Celestia felt sorry for her sister, away from her, trapped in a place where the chaos reign the land. She hugged her sister once again, and laid her head on top of hers.
It will be another 30 minutes until Luna stopped crying, her armour and weapons on the ground, its silver and steel shimmering upon contact with Celestia's light. 'Tia grabbed Luna's sword and inspected it: Silver steel, blue runes — Igni — and a leather handle. She smiled at the sword, then at Luna. "Tis a fine sword you got here, Luna." Luna looked up at her sister and smiled sadly, tear stains on her cheeks; she smiled at her sword, a priceless commodity to some, but it meant the world to her. She grabbed the sword and stroke the blade gently. "I made it myself, thanks to the lessons our old Forge-master gave to me. As for the runes... well, let's just say that I had to go through a lot of old books — most of them were banned by us — to find at least one sign. It was a pain in the arse, really; countless days of reading books in the old ruins of Canterlot, whilst the bandits roamed free across the fields and the cities."
She laughed heartily. "Entire camps of bandits have fallen to this sword!" She exclaimed with joy. Celestia smiled once again, her long ethereal golden mane glowing harmoniously, a cold breeze settling upon Luna. "I must go now, Lulu. But please remember: No matter where you are, or what situation you're in, just remember the times we had with each other" A ray of light settled upon the two sisters, and Celestia looked at her sister with great sorrow. "I must go now..." Tears were dropping down from her cheeks, her white cheeks now stained with wet tears. Luna sniffed softly and hugged her sister one last time.
She looked at her sister, a smile creeping on her face — a sad smile. "Goodbye, my dear sister." And with that, her sister walked back to the mist, fading away as the light engulfed her form. Luna stared at the mist with great sadness, her sword in her hoof, her armour now rusted and losing its colour. She pulled up her hood and tread the mountain path slowly, pondering about the future.
And as she walked away from Canterlot, a great winterstorm settled in, covering the many corpses that littered the land in snow.
