This is what royalty is, this is what it takes to rule Stormgate. When foolish rulers take charge, it's up to those with strong wills, sharp minds, and the might to make right. Against impossible odds, nothing short of real leaders must take a stand.
In a kingdom far from the land of ponies, there is a place that has been ravaged by war but remains resolute. While some foolishly admire their riches, the lawless stir and grow. However, both groups will soon realize that the suffering of others cannot be ignored forever. With just a nudge or a spark, change can come, for better or worse. This has been the reality for ages, and it will continue to be until the kingdom's end. Stormgate is not for the faint of heart, and this is only the beginning. It's a small but powerful story, like a shortsword, as paraphrased by Gile Romp, expeditionary extraordinaire.
Once upon a time, in a kingdom far far away, an old foolish King of might once sat, idle on his throne. Such a thing had never been seen in this era, and the foolish King properly earned the title 'The Lazy' for his lack of ambition. Though strong and true, he had bested the king and queen before him, earning his seat fairly to the throne. Once taking the crown, he was there known as Vinette 'The Lazy' Stormgate. His rule, careless and fickle, would reign for years. He'd hardly speak to anyone below his entrusted nobles and gave no public decrees. His rule was for his own sake, and only his own, and for the first time in an age no queen sat beside a king.
At first, all was well, no major change came to be. The peasants remained well fed, the merchant's pockets full of golden coins, and the nobles feasted and quarreled as they do. It was then from the month when things took a turn, specifically a lack of intervention, as belligerents swelled beyond the safe walls of their capital. Bandits, monsters, and even devilish cults sprung from the lands, seeking feast and fortune.
The Capital, a fortress of little faults, found themselves sacked and raided, day in and day out. At first, the surrounding farmlands were choked by flame and left to roast and the skies filled with black smoke. Then came the outposts, steel-plated soldiers left to be picked clean as canned food for the carrions. Before the year was out, the walls were met with a siege unlike those that came before. Not of traditional troops and trebuchets, but of monstrous infantry and demon engines. Balefire boulders pounded the mighty walls of Stormgate, butchering those who couldn't make it to the safety of the walls with fang and claw, yet still, the King idly sat by. What guardsmen were left took to the defense of their homeland, raining arrows and flaming tar upon the invaders. It was, of course, to no avail. By the time the mighty gates began to yield to the invading forces, all had seemed lost.
It was then a duo of gryphons stood above the fields of battle, looking on in horror that they decided to act. They had seen this attack coming, months in advance, but to no ears of nobles did their outcries reach. So they do what those fail to acknowledge. The first of the two, no more than a refined peasant, stepped forward, pulling from his side a blade of steel, and reached high to meet with the blackened sky. He turned to face the army he had collected behind him. He cried out to his small army, voice booming loud over the hill they sat across, preparing, rallying together.
"Today, we either live as kings or die as heroes!"
The fairest of maidens turned with these words, adding her own with a standard raised, voice reinforced by magical might.
"For if we fail, all will be lost, so fight with the might of our lord Raum himself!"
And it was with that a rallied cry blasts over the hill, chanting a battle hymn to their God as the flanking army pushes over the hill and directly into the backline of the invading forces. The flank had been strategic, lead on by the mighty maiden, completely encircling army of beasts, their strongest at the front to capture the commanders at the back, then reinforced with armored calvary to sweep in the sides. Pushing together the hostile masses for the combined archers of the Captial's guards and their own to slaughter with ease, hitting from both sides at once. Such a strategy worked almost too well, as the brave peasant lead directly from the front, pushing directly into the enemy's lines. Such a blatant act of selflessness propels those beside him, driving steel into the backs of the wavering enemy.
Completely trapped and resolve broken, the invading beasts were cut down by the hundreds, many of which chose to surrender instead. Mercy, of course, was granted, as the two brave leaders of this assault had ordered. The battle would rage no longer than two hours before a month's siege was over.
Having survived the grand battle for the capitol, the two brave heroes of lowly birth were exalted by those saved within the walls. Regaled by those within, they were allowed entrance to the home they had saved. The two would push past the praise, despite being winded from battle and covered in fresh scars and blood, they'd charge directly forward, heading up to the castle. Nothing would make the two yield even as the royal guards attempted to stop them. Forced to fight through, cutting down a league of hardened warriors by themselves, they'd finally push open the final gates to the King's throneroom. Dumbfounded, they'd see Vinette, true to his moniker, sitting on his throne without so much as a care in the world. Despite all the trouble, fighting against exhaustion, the brave peasant would raise his crimson-coated steel to the king, issuing his challenge.
"I, Galient, issue to you a challenge, the Right to Rule!"
"I, Thessia, issue to you a challenge, the Right to Rule!"
His beloved would speak with him, both warriors to the core, and horrifically at a disadvantage. The king would chuckle, then laugh outright at such a notion. Long had it been since a challenge was issued, he thought it a joke, even as he stood tall from his indented seat.
"I accept, know well that your heads shall serve to only stain the floors!" A billowing laugh would ring out, the large doors swinging shut as the ritual had begun.
The battle would rage, and all those that would witness would do so from beyond the closed door. The dance of steel and the song of magic blasting within the halls of the castle would be loud enough to hear to the walls far below. It would go on for hours, as before sundown would it finally end.
A new King and Queen would take the seats, weary from a battle long fought, but soundly won. Changes would come another day, for now, they shall feast. Thus begins the reign of King Galient Stormgate, and Queen Thessia Stormgate, titles earned and consequences awaiting.
Out of retirement again, it'd seem. It would be remiss of me to say that I am not excited at least, as it's come to my understanding that a far-flung region of the world has remained undiscovered. I happened by a typically unusual sight on my vacation to the small town of Ponyville when I bore witness to a giant of a creature. A griffon, no doubts about it in all but the sheer size of the being. For a visual idea of the beast, he stands clean over double my height. It'd be rude to ask, but I am an average 4'5'' for mare standards. Even holding back what rude questions I'd normally poise, I postured a joke about it. He seemed an agreeable sort, having pulled a chuckle from him.
"Ain't noth'n to it, s'typical size for my folk." He'd state with a simplicity and honesty I couldn't contest. His accent sounded nothin unheard of at the apple acres, though deep and matured. It was then I took notice of him better, having been able to address him. He was etched all over in what I had mistaken as stretch marks initially but were, in fact, scars, all sorts of shapes and sizes too, coating every part of his body from head to tail. Parts where you'd scarcely imagine what could cause such things, were it not for the growth of his feathers and fur to lightly cover up all the marks you'd think it a-typical of fur patterning, or welts from working on hard labor or matted patching from tight clothing. He must've caught me staring a bit at that since he'd chuckle again and wave a claw in my face. Despite my embarrassment, I'd settle myself with a proper apology and a less proper introduction.
"Gile Romp, expeditionary extraordinaire!" He'd take quite a positive response to that with a firm grip that nearly crushed my hoof! The shake was quite rough too, might I add. Oh, if anyone else is reading this, HANDS OFF MY JOURNAL! Unless you give it a good review and afford proper royalties. Mama's gotta eat.
"Draneth Isle, retired adventurer!" This piqued my interest, as nothing is quite as intriguing as a like-minded individual. So much so it was enough to ignore the pinching pain in my wrist from his rather energetic, even by my standards, introduction. Unfortunately for me, he was quite busy at the time but managed to find a time to talk after his 'duties' as he called it. Could've sworn I hear someone snicker from nearby at that too. Did a bit of sleuthing while I waited, heard around town he isn't exactly scarce, but only arrives to work on the local farms during harvest season. Gossip says that he's definitely an outlander, and not just Griffonstone far, but beyond known regions. This would certainly come up often when next we met.
He had invited me to his home, and upon entering it was rather surreal, a large, bustling home, enough to fit a full family of six, but given his size thinking back now it makes a lot more sense. Despite this, it was empty of all other people than just the two of us. It was obvious he had a big family, a score of three hippogriff kids, and a rather bulky earth pony wife. Then again, I doubt any other creature of somewhat normal stature can even manage the big guy. I asked if anybody else was around. That pulled a familiar look of pained joy, and I knew the moment what his next words were.
"Kids're living their own lives now." An off-steady breath betrayed his attempted calm. It was more than obvious he missed them greatly, and I dared not to ask of the misses. Pulling away from that sour topic, I'd instead reengage with the one of interest before, trying to pry in on his previous exploits. That breathed life into the older gent as he opened right up with a smile and a challenging chuckle.
"Swappin' stories already? That's tavern talk." Despite those words, he couldn't help but regale an old tale he himself took part in, even gesturing to a suit of metal plate armor he claimed to have worn, still upkept and shiny in its glass. Said he used to tell it to his kids when they were young and still argued about who got top bunk that night. It was far more mature than I was expecting, and I've taken its entirety as told to pen in another section for review later, much to his annoyance, might I add. Wasn't exactly something I'd tell my kids about, but, according to him, it was their favorite tale of his. I asked him about this Stormgate, as it was something I'd never heard of.
"It's where I was born, though it ain't a friendly neighborhood, I'll tell ya that much. Nothin' like the sheer quiet of Equestria, even when those weird'n crazy folk come 'round, but it does have its moments." Holding back, he expressed discomfort talking about his old homeland. "Ain't for normal pony folk," what a joke. Made it clear I wasn't taking no for an answer either, so I got him to finally spill.
"It's a warzone, ever and always. While you may think that story ends with peace, it never does." A cold sternness in his voice startled me, his accent dropping entirely, taking the time to speak clearly, deliberately. "It's a death land, beguiling onlookers to entice them to enter, and never to leave." To point out the hypocrisy in that statement, I addressed him being here with me at the time. "Am I? Sometimes I have trouble believing I ever did. Like it still has a grip on me, always pulling me back. Perhaps I should." Against the chill up my spine, I prodded for a bit more information about it, offering that maybe I will attempt an official hearing for an expedition. "You'll never make it by foot, I'm afraid. Took me five years to make it to Equestria, and I only made it here alone. If by traditional means, you'll need naval and land transport. Such a trip could take... a year I'd estimate one way. If by airship and good weather, maybe two or three months, assuming it can transport enough food and water to survive such a trip."
"Airship it is." Reminder to self to pull that favor from Fancy Pants.
"Still not possible. Not without me, anyway." He put a pause between, trying to sound dramatic. It was apparent he was correct, seeing as though he's the only one I've known about to talk about this place. I questioned him about the validity of this place finally, for if I was going to commit to a full commission, I'd need some kind of proof for the sponsor I'd be needing. He'd offer me a single item to prove it true.
"The battle standard of Clan Isle." He'd present with pride, staking it into the floor of his front yard. As it did so a small wave of magical energy rushed out from it, making my heart rush in my chest, not of my means either, as a sort of adrenaline rush overcame me. The fabric of hardened, reinforced threading the likes I've never seen, presenting an emblem of three feathers upon a small knife or dagger. Retracting the banner from the punctured floor, I've since taken it for appraisal. Three historians, a tailor, a local mage, and a close colleague of mine all agree it to be of unique creation. I've since taken their written accounts and signatures for proof and validity.
This has got to be my most hastily written excerpt to date. I haven't even finished paying for this new damned journal, and already I've filled three pages. That concludes day zero, at least. Tomorrow I make for Canterlot to present my case to the Princesses. No doubt I'll be given a handsome sponsor, just need to work out a team now.
