This is an epic, a long piece of poetry that tells a tale. This is a story, a winding journey through history lived long ago and almost forgotten. Almost.
When they came over the wake In a tide of crimson hue When the anvil rang and the landers sang Of the bright ones bathed in blue
When they came over the wake In a tide of crimson hue When the anvil rang and the landers sang Of the bright ones bathed in blue
Ah hearken to me, young ones, open your ears As I tell you the truth of the times in the old When winter's wild windblasts would whistle their venom And even in suntime, stone hearts would grow cold
So let your mind out of its cage as you wonder Upon the great stories of ages ago Gaze into the fire and feel fiercely the feelings Of ponies whose souls had been hidden below
Once did a land bear the weight of proud ponies Who strove to be greatest and richest of all But like unto every great nation divided These ponies and their wealth were destined to fall
For it was a grangling time, ponies were cunning And trust was unknown, and the clans fell to fray And greedy for gold, the guilds grew into armies And even the dragons were kinder than they
When they came over the wake In a tide of crimson hue When the anvil rang and the landers sang Of the bright ones bathed in blue
The ponies of earth girded them up for battle Each one armed aready, the archers with arrows The pikeline with points which would pierce through the ponies Whom they'd deemed their bane, with a hate to the narrows
Great oaks fell that day for the fortress of lumber They built up around them, preparing to slay Any foolish invader would fall for his folly And warlike intentions ne'er fell by the way
With grim gob and gizzard, they gat them to gore-talk And many a threat from the threshold was heard And many a pony would die on the morrow And wonder, but willing, would wish every word
And saddled, with standard, stood side to side sorely Awaiting the dawn that would show them their foe But never did question their motive, nor reason That blind rage and Chaos had them in its throe
When they came over the wake In a tide of crimson hue When the anvil rang and the landers sang Of the bright ones bathed in blue
Now think on the sky, where the winged ones assembled With chariots ready and fire in their eyes With boldness and bloodlust, control-thirsty warriors With lightning at hoof waiting for Sun to rise
So fierce were their faces, the visage of ponies Who sought only blindly for gold and the reign That coils of the Serpent at Bitgard seemed mild Contrasted with legions of ponies insane
They buckled their belts and they bit on their bridles And restlessly champed as the he-beaver's jaws And they sharped their wing-spikes and they waxed their war-saddles They polished their helms and they fastened their claws
For pegasus ponies have proven their prideful And arrogant nature as cruel as an asp So watched they and waited, without realizing Their pride fueled the power that had them in grasp
When they came over the wake In a tide of crimson hue When the anvil rang and the landers sang Of the bright ones bathed in blue
But as oft' is the case, magick madly empowers The ones whom it wields, (though they think that they wield) And lights up the eyes with the bloodlust of demons And simpering soul-deep, soon serves as a shield
A shield from emotion, a buckler, lest heartfelt And true and sincere love should ever take hold Aye, the fae-gift keeps many from true peace and union And thus long ago grew the unicorns cold
Aye, the unicorns, shrouded in mist, moon, and magick Were deaf to the crying of Charity's call And they sharpened their horns and they readied their mana For, wise though they seemed, they were proudest of all
And as the groups gathered, in ghastly dominion Of right next to nothing, but reeling, reviled, The dark Lord of Chaos looked out from his ring-room And watched them assemble, and waited, and smiled.
When they came over the wake In a tide of crimson hue When the anvil rang and the landers sang Of the bright ones bathed in blue
At a time when all ponykind seeks only vengeance, And sweet, soothing Sanity slips still away A hero oft rises, though seldom heroic And dearly, e'en dithering, may diffuse the fray
For such was the way of one Silver the Lanky A pegasus pony whose wings were not full Whose heart, never hollow, was wider than wingspread And ready and waiting the hate to anull
He hale from his home in the cold clouds above him And sought with his heart to bring peace to the guilds And thought he would wander, and wished to word wisely Convincing the clans of the rancor that builds
For strong was his blood-thrust, and firm was his fervent And deep-rooted passion for peace on the earth So Fortune was with him, though never he knew it For Wyrd wisely wills, though not all know its worth
When they came over the wake In a tide of crimson hue When the anvil rang, and the landers sang Of the bright ones bathed in blue
So sauntered he on, through the mists and the billows And bravely sojourned through the lands of his foes And would have brought calm to the lands of all living But malice, ne'er dormant, stands firm as it grows
For the clans had grown tired of tending their treaties Convinced in conviction they'd not give an ell Every stranger reviled, every other race banished And Chaos spread rampant as fires from Hell
Aye, fires from Hades, that mead-hall Gehenna Where demons and ghouls all assembled that day This, the downfall of goodness, struck them with deep longing So aided they Chaos with strength on the way
And thus Silver found not an ear that would heed him And every tribe cast him from out of their land And thus Silver found his heart weakened, discouraged At last, all alone, he would seek strength to stand
When they came over the wake In a tide of crimson hue When the anvil rang and the landers sang Of the bright ones bathed in blue
As no one would heed him, and no hearth had holp him So Silver was sent to go solely, and spurned So fled he from out of the clans who had shunned him Yet willed and avowed one day soon to've returned
Now heedless of obstacle, path, or direction The youth yielded nothing, and hardly did halt And never looked back, lest like Trot's wife of legend He too should be shaped to a standard of salt
So galloped he on through the fields and the marshlands And only in front did his gaze ever fall And beggared his breath grew, and fewer his footsteps Unaided by wing, through his strength plew a pall
At long last he came to the roots of a mountain A remnant of giants, a shard of a throne A kingdom of age past, a long-ruined splendor The future that Silver had come to disown
When they came over the sea In a tide of crimson hue When the anvil rang, and the landers sang Of the bright ones bathed in blue
For hours gazed he at the tower, which treeless Had served as a sentry, surrounded to stand And standing surrounded, had stayed still superior In all ways majestic, above all the land
The mead-hall of giants, the conquest of heroes Which through ages long past had stood at its base The ring-room of elk and the playroom of eagles Who soared round its heights with superlative grace
The bane of the ruthless invaders from outlands It stood as a sentinel, barring the way But unto those willing and strong and courageous The monument toppled as it were of clay
For it was a magic time, when both immortals And mortal magicians held runes carved by Wyrd And often as not, held the runes unto leylines Though not 'til the warlock was lengthy of beard
When they came over the wake In a tide of crimson hue When the anvil rang, and the landers sang Of the bright ones bathed in blue
So as the colt stood by the sundering stonework Awaiting the dawn which would bathe it in light His soul, steeped in sorrow, soon sensed his surroundings And Strength, all-pervading, filled Silver for flight
Aye, filled him with courage (though he was not lacking) And heartened him hardily, set him for ought It stripped him of sorrow, and quickened him quivering No nervousness this, but a powerful drought
Which acted as ale, though it veiled not his vision Not blindly to battle, but bravely, and bold He clear coursed with confidence, caring, and careful Ran reckless no more, though he faced the untold
And thusly imbued with the blessing of Fortune He strode forth with sureness and faith in his quest Empowered with energy, never ambition For his selfish gain, he stood pure of the rest
When they came over the wake In a tide of crimson hue When the anvil rang, and the landers sang Of the bright ones bathed in blue
So set he his mouncher, and folded his fliers And straightway set out on his long journey up His blood coursing now like magnificent magma No food he required, nor soup needed sup
So never he harked to the hell-hail and howling And whistling winds but as whispers did sound His eyes fast' he forward, and fairly was flying No freezing, no frailty he felt on the ground
Steep upward he soared; though on hoof, he was gliding So safe was his soul and so healthy his heart While fire of phoenix full flared from his lamp-lights He smiled and ascended, and straight as a dart
And straight as a dart was he lifted by Whoadin, Who graced him with wisdom and strength to rebuild They say that the gods help those ponies with passion So Silver was holp on his quest for a Guild
When they came over the wake In a tide of crimson hue When the anvil rang, and the landers sang Of the bright ones bathed in blue
But this is a story (and natheless a true one) And stories read best when the scroll is unfurled So hie we from Silver, and make the map smaller And fly o'er the land as with wings o'er the world
So passing through prairies and running through rivers And trotting a bit through the marsh and the fields At last we arrive at our story's beginning The place—not the time—and see what it yields
So firstly we visit the unicorns' commons Where they were constructing ballista and sword For tall trebuchet they felled yew in the sapling And vines and e'en fishgut they strung into cord
So all was in shambles, though strongly constructed And Dvalin's Delight then in shame failed to shine And almost all ponies forgot their old nature And all of old Nature began to repine
When they came over the wake In a tide of crimson hue When the anvil rang, and the landers sang Of the bright ones bathed in blue
But even in times when the world seems to crumble And reason by fickle Dame Fortune is tossed She never annihilates Order's firm foothold And Harmony's cause is but veiled, never lost
For there was one unicorn, sprightly and cunning Whose horn only served her to act as a lamp A filly was she, and her magic uncrafted But never for ought grew her young spirit damp
They called her Young Aurum, the daughter of Scefing, Who ruled all the unicorns westly of Gryph Who had now assembled and readied their mana And waited and stood at the base of a cliff
For she was not like them, Young Aurum of Scefing, And never she warred when the bloodmoon was full She set out for peace, and for Harmony's Order And ready and waiting the hate to annul.
When they came over the wake In a tide of crimson hue When the anvil rang, and the landers sang Of the bright ones bathed in blue
Young Aurum of Scefing, princess of the horned ones Though never she claimed it, nor strutted above But humbly she walked through the realm she was heir to And truly and tenderly filled it with love
So great was her heart and so deep her compassion It ailed her to see all the clans gird for war Unwilling to watch as the warriors assembled She waited and wept and she prayed unto T'or
For strength she required, and strength he would grant her But never in ways she had grown in her ken The gods, as they say, grant good help to the helpless Though riddles they work, as is now, it was then
So e'en though he heard her, and heartily holp her She fain would have missed it, and thought him remote If not for the swamp, where she heard and remembered Recalling and grasping, and staying afloat
When they came over the wake In a tide of crimson hue When the anvil rang, and the landers sang Of the bright ones bathed in blue
But now we locate ourselves far from the present And tarrying long for the grip of the sane So tearing ourselves from the mist of the future We lastly arrive at the present again
And rightly we find ourselves just at the moment Of close conference between daughter and sire For Scefing would not heed young Aurum's petitions And sent her out from him with countenance dire
And e'en as she pivoted once more to beg him Entreating that he reconsider her plea His stony-set silence spoke all that was in him His soul sealing solid, he sat stolidly
And sadly she turned from his presence and cowled Her face, lest the tears she shed should her betray And tiredly trotted past trestles and towers And gave up for lost all the blessed of the fae
When they came over the wake In a tide of crimson hue When the anvil rang, and the landers sang Of the bright ones bathed in blue
So sorrowful sauntered she, strolling in silence And silently screaming for faith to be kept At last she had journeyed straight up to the drawbridge And leaning against it, she knelt down and wept
And as the first teardrop slid down from its scabbard And as it arrived at its home on Oor's bride The crystal she shed was wrought eerily sculpted A rainbow, a vision it 'parted, and died
But 'fore they had passed or she reckoned to dreaming The things she had seen of her future and mine She lit in her spirit, her heart, and her Ahn'm The ghost of a flame of a mem'ry to shine
And ghastly and ghoulish the ghost grew gigantic-- At least, in the way of a thought in her mind A reason rare resolute, rising but restful Convinced her to lose all, that all she might find
When they came over the wake In a tide of crimson hue When the anvil rang, and the landers sang Of the bright ones bathed in blue
So then she wrought steady her hammering heartbeat And deeply inhaling, prepared for the task Set her by immortals, who reckoned her suited Still, strong, and steadfast, and full as a flask
Of love and devotion to every last creature Who sentient e'er made his home on the earth So ponies were fae-filled and flyers and farmers All gifts and all-blessed of the gods, they had worth
Not valued by reason or pondering equation Of services due to the army or state Not valued at vision or cursory uptake A glance by one lacking in wisdom and Fate
Not merely constituents, parts of a wholeness Though wholly they stood and divided they paled But fashioned by gods, they themselves bore their likeness And thus all the glory of godness unveiled
When they came over the wake In a tide of crimson hue When the anvil rang, and the landers sang Of the bright ones bathed in blue
But part from philosophy, lovers of wisdom And watch for a moment as tendrils unfold As fools in their folly would fain forge a fact'ry Of hatred and heartlessness, trouble untold
But not for the sight of such wrong do we tarry And so we must light on some new place to scry And so we like eagles shall glide o'er the landscape And listen and learn as we watch and we fly
So hark to the vict'ry of Verity's vessel Young Aurum of Scefing who packed up her stores Not overly laden, but set for the journey A quest for the kindness which virtue restores
She lit to her chambers and there sat composing A missive of madness and mercy in one Farewells it contained for her father and family So quilled she and sealed it at Sleep of the Sun
When they came over the wake In a tide of crimson hue When the anvil rang, and the landers sang Of the bright ones bathed in blue
So on the next night as the mists from the marshlands Rolled over the land in their pale, ghindly way A solitary pony stood shrouded in moonlight Which gorgeously garnered itself up in grey
The guards on the ramparts, though cautious of ponies Of wings or of soil and not of their race And kept a sharp eye on the ground they were holding Did not see a unicorn steal from the place
And thusly Young Aurum made good her evasion And ran from her home with no qualms in her heart She knew that the end is quite often beginning A newer and brighter and wonderful start
So never she worried, nor thought of returning 'Til that blessed day she'd arrive to work peace She trusted the gods, but as Gideop of olden She'd set them a trial, and this was their fleece
When they came over the wake In a tide of crimson hue When the anvil rang, and the landers sang Of the bright ones bathed in blue
When they came over the wake In a tide of crimson hue When the anvil rang and the landers sang Of the bright ones bathed in blue
Now e'en as the even grew early and heavy, And e'en as the war wound its way to the start, As ponies prepared, prejudiced and unyielding, Still some found the time for creation and art.
Small Stammer the sireless it was, of the earth-kind, Whose voice was a vase of the clearest perfume And floated like faerie-kind, flutelike and fragrant Through mudpony camps as they doubled their doom.
And every ear in the area heard it, And wondered a while as the wind bore it by, For Stammer they saw to be sickly and speechless, So frail and so terribly timid to try.
For Wyrd is a wise one, though well an enigma, And Muses attend those the gods have wrought weak; So sense has a portion, though poorly afforded, And Stammer sang sweetly, though scarce could he speak.
When they came over the wake In a tide of crimson hue When the anvil rang and the landers sang Of the bright ones bathed in blue
So never asked Stammer of tribe or of family To cease or to stop all their symbols of war, But went--simply went; from the world he would wander And seek a solution to settle the score.
So calmly he cantered, and chased his reflection Through rivers and willows and woods for a while, And made up his mind he would meddle to mend, For the battle to him tasted bitter as bile.
The weakest the wind lends its breath the more mellow, And so bitter breezes declined to assail His frame, fair and frangible, so it might stand Against all the world, and prepare to prevail.
Little he knew it, but Stammer was god-blessed; The ichor of alicorns stirred in his veins, And though it was hidden and harbored in thrall-ring, A time such as this would soon sever the reins.
When they came over the wake In a tide of crimson hue When the anvil rang and the landers sang Of the bright ones bathed in blue
And as he was travelling, whence, he'd no vision So far on the road to a pasture unknown, He came to a pike in the street set before him, With signs long obscured by the vines overgrown.
As he could not reckon the trail or direction, And as he had need of a right way to go, He sat and he pondered a minute, enraptured And first did not notice a heavenly glow.
Till all of a moment, with a feint and a flutter, There floated unto him a faerie of sorts, Which lighted before him with dainty decorum And impishly prim, interrupted his thoughts.
"Young Stammer!" it shouted with silvery lightness, "From whence have you journeyed, and where are you bound? Seek you help?--it is waiting, and I am its conduit, Thus I have flown to your sky and your ground."
When they came over the wake In a tide of crimson hue When the anvil rang and the landers sang Of the bright ones bathed in blue
Mere moments had moved since the faerie had spoken, Yet unto the lad it had felt like a year; He sorted himself as he stood and searched 'round him And narrowed his eyes as he tilted his ear.
"Who hails me?" he shouted, or would have, had never His voice been as shy as the wind o'er the reeds; He stamped both his hooves on the damp road beneath him, Aware that his gifts were not suited for screeds.
A cry tore asunder the calm and his footing, And fumbling, he fell on his fetlocks and tail, And noticed a creature indignant before him, Which nearly he'd stamped with his hoof on the trail.
He paled and he quivered, so fond of the fauna That lurked in the woods of his earthpony home, But saw that this thing was no typical beastie, But fashioned like him in a butterfly's comb.
When they came over the wake In a tide of crimson hue When the anvil rang and the landers sang Of the bright ones bathed in blue
The thing whirled its wings with a whistle and whinny, Which sounded as free as the frost and the Deep, And shook his red mane as he gathered his haunches, And sprang on a stump with a bound and a leap.
"Your tongue is a twist," it began, ever-blinking, And thus you imagine yourself some the less-- You must not be blinded; for ever the gods Did impair, or confound those they'd chosen to bless.
"Your gangly arrangement, and lolloping conduct Are void and a frail, vapid vessel--your voice They conceal from your own ears, and more than your senses Your churlish bone-case veils your mind from a choice.
A choice you must ponder, O Stammer the Sireless, A choice that may yet set the tremors to right-- But the scales of high Haysgard are thirsting for balance-- So you must be brazen, forsaking your fright."
When they came over the wake In a tide of crimson hue When the anvil rang and the landers sang Of the bright ones bathed in blue
The sprite stood and shimmered, and nodded its brain-box, And dumbly young Stammer stood waving his hoof, And watched as it vanished, an eerie illusion, And felt as his mind were a mile aloof.
When minutes and seconds had come and departed, And all that remained was the silence around, Young Stammer stood treading the ground in a crescent And seemed to be wearing a groove in the ground.
But vacancy did not abide in his hood then; The pool of his mind was fair cloudy, but stirred. He thought on the cryptic and dimly-lit message, Enigmas of choices, and what he preferred.
Although he'd no boldness, he shouldered his burden, And sternly he settled his snout to the east, And soon began singing, the swifter his canter, And something hid down in his soul was released.
When they came over the wake In a tide of crimson hue When the anvil rang and the landers sang Of the bright ones bathed in blue
