> Night Gathers
>  by HereticBRONY
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> PROLOGUE
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

So, they let anyone into the Wall's forge these days, hm? Watch-Commander said that you weren't fit to be up above on the Wall proper? Feather-brained griffon, he is. Thinks that just because I'm getting old means that I need “help.” Not that I mind, see.

Lemme guess, you're a two-bit hustler from Baltimare's lower Diamond Ward, eh? Never so much as seen a sword, much less be out of the city? Heh, don't you worry. You're in good hands, pup. These hands have forged swords, spears, axes, armor, shields, and everything in between. Trust me when I say that my hands are capable.

First lesson of the Wall; don't get too cozy. Job's a dangerous one, let no one here tell you otherwise. Yes, we keep the vigil against the necromancer, the zombie, the dead-that-walk-again, the liches and their hordes, and so on and so on. Yes, our watch is long, tiring, and mind-numbingly dull most of the time. 

But that's a good thing, see? Means that we're keeping those bastards out. Means that they're stuck on the other side of the Wall. They're always looking for a way in. And if they do find a way in, they'll wreak havoc unlike anything you've ever seen before.

Nightmare Moon? These folks would make her seem like a bratty little filly throwing a tantrum.

Discord? Harmless prankster compared to a lich that can command the walking dead—oh don't give me that look. It's true. Hells, I've seen one command a giant troll zombie. Ever see one of those, a troll zombie? Well, take something that looks like it has been smacked around with a very ugly stick. Now make it regenerate. Then make it undead.

Changeling hordes? Flies easily swatted.

Only one who could compare is Sombra, and even then he'd end up looking like an old tattered bag of gas.


Now, second lesson of the Wall, pup; you're not here to prove yourself. You're here because someone wants you dead and they don't want to do you in by themselves because that'd be...inconvenient to them. We get the bastard sons from Canterlot's high ranking stallions, we get the rapists, the murderers, the thieves, the dissidents, the political prisoners...and that's just from the ponies, mind you. Don't get me started on the louts we get from the griffons or diamond dogs.

In the old days, we'd get princes, kings, knights, those that had experience in fighting and leading. Those were the good days, back when the Wall actually mattered, actually meant something other than a death sentence. Nowadays...well, I told you where we get our bodies from.


Oh, you wanna know about me, eh? Trying to change the subject, are we? Well, I'll indulge you, just this once.


They call me “Ol' One Horn the Gray.” I'm a minotaur, as you can tell. Was sent here from Ironsbridge because I may have accidentally killed the baron's arrogant son. Lost both my eye and my left horn in a battle against an orc flesh golem. Killed the thing before he could do the same to me, and now I'm here tending the forge because the previous forge-master passed away due to old age. Not many get to, y'know. In fact, Yoland—that's the griffon who tended the forge before me—was one of the lucky ones. To be honest, you're more likely to die horribly and come back to life as some mindless monstrosity. Trust me, I've seen it happen. Too many times. So many times...


Now, I'm gonna put you to work, pup. Go fetch me some coals for the furnace, will you? And grab me some of those ingots over there as well. Need to get this damn thing fired up again if we're going to keep those up top in ship-shape.

Don't you give me lip, boy. Do what you're told and this'll all be a smoother transition for you, trust me. Actually, that's your third lesson of the Wall; don't piss off anyone more than you have to. Again, you're here because you've made some powerful enemies, pup. Don't go off and make more.

See, there's a good lad. I like you. Never really cared much for diamond dogs, but you? You, I like. You're a listener, I take it. You wait until it's ok to speak your mind, and when you do? Everybody around stops and listens.

Since I indulged you, pup, why don't you indulge an old minotaur in some gossip, eh? Oh, don't scoff at me. Ain't you interested in some juicy rumors?

Grapevine's a-buzzin', pup. There's talk that we'll be getting visitors. And some recruits, too, but ain't the point. We always get recruits. Most of them don't make it past day one up here before winter takes their minds.

You know that new princess that's just been crowned? Twilight Sparkler or somesuch? Heard she's comin' to the Wall to see how we do things up north. And she's bringing an entourage, too. A menagerie of her and her closest friends. Most of 'em has been as far north as the Crystal Empire, but that's about it.

Heh, bet she'll be surprised at what she'll find up here. A motley crew of diamond dogs, griffons, minotaurs, and ponies, all standing watch, keeping folks like her safe from the horrors of the undead hordes just waiting to sink their teeth into her.

Why? Well, no one else will. No one else wants to, either. We're all that stands between society and their utter, complete annihilation at the hands of some mad necromancer. 

We keep the Watch because no one else can. We stand guard because we must or else innocent souls die and get resurrected as zombies. 

It's like our vows say, “We keep the light burning to hold back the darkness beyond.”

Now, off with you. Lunch bell just rung and I want you good and fed before we get to work. Maybe over supper I'll tell you about the politics; ha! Now there's the stuff that'll get you killed if you're not careful!