The Last Songs of Empire: Child of Shadowsby FafnirChaptersEyes of the DivineDiscord, Lord of Riddles Epigraph : A Timeline Return to Darkness Going Even Deeper StillPrologueEyes of the DivineLike all other phooka, I was born from a malignant dragon’s egg, but not just any dragon – a Titan Dragon - one of the seven species of Fire Titan. From the depths of the Nether the Fire Titans created the races of fire: drakes (dragons), phooka, basilisk, changelings, goblins, balrogs, and the many Stone Skins (trolls, diamond dogs, and gargoyles). Due to apparent disfigurement the many Stone Skins - I among them - were cast out from the fire brood (such was the case with changelings, and goblins). Because of this disownment, our kinds were thankfully not involved in the era of time that came to be known as the Kindling of New Fire - a crude translation from an unwritten language. The actual meaning is much more involving and elegant… whatever. The Kindling of New Fire involved a dispute between the Younglings - called ‘underlings’ by the Titans (a nomenclature which still stands today as a grievous insult to all draconic kind) - and the Titans, or Adults. Likewise, the Younglings called the Adults by a phonetically indescribable name; which roughly translates to ‘old farts’. Exactly how the conflict began is debatable, but it probably was an overzealous pissing contest. Basically the First Drakes, and basilisks slayed the Titan Dragons. In the resulting power void the victors laid waste to the Earth fighting among each other... go figure. This was by no means a sudden occurrence. After my birth, the slayings lasted for roughly 300 years, and the infighting for another 700. In total, this Era of Tartarus lasted for one thousand years. I could expound upon this, but it’s really just a bunch of whom-killing-who stuff, with no end in sight – all the while I just tried my best not to get indiscriminately killed. During this time of attrition I kept my head down the best I could. I moved from place to place; only coming out during the day to avoid the drakes whom enjoyed basking in the sun. It was during this time of hardship that I took to my first home - the Valley of Ents. This particular setting would eventually be the location of Equestria’s capital, Canterlot, some 16,200 years later. At the base of two mountain ranges, in the glen that stands there, was a luscious garden. I had stumbled upon it after a hostile encounter with a clan of Stone Skins. Wounded and dying, I collapsed in the fields just South of where Canterlot now stands. At first, I thought I was most certainly going to die. Laying there, strewn across those amber blades of grass, I was bleeding to death. I had managed to kill every last one of those bastard dogs. Really, they attacked me for no apparent reason. You know how diamond dogs are. They don't like your face so they jump you? Anyway, I was just laying there on my back looking at the sky. I decided I'd admire how beautiful it was in my final moments. Just as death was about to close the door on me, a large shadow appeared above me. My sight was fading, so I couldn't tell who it was. I said something along the lines of, "Your too late. I'm already dying." And then a soft yet commanding voice replayed with the strangest notion, "Too late? I'd hardly say so. You're still alive, aren't you?" "Then make it quick and painless please?" I begged. "Oh little one. I'm here to help you." "Oh, thanks." and with that I blacked out. I probably should have said something more appreciative, but then again, I was losing consciousness. It was there, on that open field of undulating grass, that Father Tree found me. Alone and dying, the First Ent did not see the savage vagrant that I truly was. He didn't see the uncontrollable inferno of desire for mischief that I harbor - simply Father saw something else. Despite my retched form. My unctuous spiny black coat, blood red eyes, snarled snout, crooked tail, and my hideous claws; that old bastard took me in. Maybe that old bucker just didn't want a dead body on his hands, but, honestly, he was a pure soul. Having had a miserable existence eking it out among the Fire Brood, and upon seeing my horrible condition, the noble Ents adopted me as one of their own. The valley was sheltered from the Kindling, and it was there I learned my third tongue, Ent (the first being Titan, and the second Ancient Drake). The Ents taught me forest magic, the likes of which have been lost to the ages, save for me. The majestic spirits of the forests also taught me how to live off the land, and be self sufficient. Most importantly, these righteous creatures educated me in what was then, just history. In the sacred valley, I learned of the ages even before the colossus, the times when the gods where born and the universe began to unfurl. The knowledge confided in me by the Ancient Ones of the Forest is beyond comprehension of all proceeding times. I will not write of it loosely. Private trust is needed for me to give it. As a young phooka, I was mischievous as ever. Skipping through the Ancient Forest - which was to be called the Everfree Forest by the Fays, or Fairy Ponies, latter on - I enjoyed complete freedom for about 800 years. I lived day by day, and I can recollect few specific instances of this period. It was true euphoria compared to my existence before stumbling upon the valley. A great release of freedom swept over me, and just like the rest of the valleys inhabitants, I was completely blind to happenings outside the shelter of the two mountains. I had forgotten that reality was slowly encroaching. Nothing pure can last forever. I will explain later what happened to the forest I knew so long ago. Events that transpired forever tarnished the beauty of the Everfree, and made its current condition unfitting of its current name. Basking in the sunlight, swimming in the cool waters, and sweet talking local nymphs occupied this period of Adolescent Freedom. It is a time that I reflect fondly upon, because after this time, my whole outlook on life would change drastically. The world moves on with or without you. I neglected this fact of life, trying to repress my former sorrows, but my futile actions would only make the sudden transition into adulthood much worse. Like the splash of scalding water, reality would return and sweep over me. Ages of agony were lurking in my future then. But before my schism from the realm of euphoria, there were past-times to be enjoyed. I was particularly fond of entertaining the local Naiads, or water nymphs. However treacherous they where in love, they where excellent in bed. I remember this one time I almost drowned getting this one... And that's enough of that... Beyond the redolent, carnal misadventures of my youth, there was a darker force lurking in the background. After its fruition, I would no longer give my allegiance to anyone other them myself. This period of self imposed isolation would continue indefinitely. Now enters Sharowdon, The Lord of Goblins and Changelings. Sharowdon was the horror of horrors. Never did a more terrifying thing tramp upon the world. So massive was he, the beast could have taken me in single fore claw and crushed me in a one brief squeeze. With a gaping throat that could swallow a river, his vicious maw brought only fire and carnage. When he came, his plated iron scales rattled like bones against a grind stone. With gale force, his wings beat like hammers. The wake of their blast could demolish buildings, and level forests. The First Drake's dingy scales were only a shade lighter than black, with a purple hue of dried blood stained round the raised, spiny edgings. His big red eyes pierced the souls of the living, and I’m scared to say the dead as well. When he approached upon the ground or by the sky, the Earth and air below him shook and trembled, fearing his presence. His claws would scrape the bare rock like files on slate. He shifted and shook, commanding his body with petrifying barbarity. Sharowdon thumped and bumped, and made your heart jump. Whenever the silence was broken, it was him. When you feared he was just around a corner, he was there. The shadow overhead in this sky, he was coming. But far worse than his mere presence, his fire, and that unctuous breath he breathed, was his bellows. Oh how I loathed, downright abhorred them. That morbid monstrosity produced a war cry louder than thunder clap. It was louder than the beginning of existence. When the beast cried out, his shout shook beasts to the core. It made my heart thump in my side, and my throat swell with fear. My eyes rolled back, and my breath grew dry as the desert. Petrified like stone, one would become, and those unfortunate enough to be caught in his gaze were massacred. Even today, his harsh hollers haunt me. It was the dreaded anticipation of his coming. A fretful, fearful imagination makes terrible things absolutely abysmal. Sharowdon sent hell hounds back to Tartarus, and Gods fleeing back to sanctuary in the heavens. To this day, I have no doubt as to that his brood so willfully and capably slaughtered the Fire Titans, their parents. The contemporary hearsay, back then, regarded Sharowdon as a mild drake, among other things! Sól have mercy! For the remaining 200 years, of my second 1000 year epoch, The Valley, my home, was cast into Sharowdon's retched silhouette. His watchful, wrathful, inferno red eyes watched the valley relentlessly. The sky clouded with soot, the waters rancid with sulfur, and the nymphs in hiding – something had to be done. Of course, you’re probably thinking I saved the day, right? Wrong! Are you kidding me? You should have seen this guy! Sharowdon was all like, “Boosh! Bwoom! I will deprive all who oppose me, muwhahaha!” And everypony was all like, “Run away!” No way in Tartarus would I have confronted him, let alone look at him for extended periods! Heck, even the Ents suggest I go into hiding with them! So that’s how it happened – me, the Ents, and some innocent nymphs all stuck in a cramped, confined cave… Wait. What? Oh hell, no! I know exactly what you're thinking... and it’s not like that... at least I don't think it was? Anyway! Back to the issue at hand. The inhabitants of the valley when into hiding for about 200 years. The blight of Sharowdon upon the land was unyielding. He turned the grand paradise into a forlorn wasteland. For me, it was back to eking it out. Suicide crossed my mind may times. I guess it was just primitive instinct to not let go, and keep on living. Gradually the Ents grew weaker away from the sun and many of the nymphs when into hibernation. It was at this critical time, the valley need saving. The luster of the valleys beauty had been drained. Trees and vegetation withered and shriveled, as the rivers ran foul - reeking of disease and pestilence. Thick, unctuous smog rose from the smoldering valley and billowed into the atmosphere, blotting out the Sun like a massive canopy of death. In the Final Sanctum, Father Tree, before he went into slumber, spoke to me. What he said is forever etched into my memory. One of the few people I've dared call a friend said, "There is no more light in the land, I fear. 'Tis a sad thing for it [life] to have ended here," and with that, the monolith of living wood drifted into a deep slumber. The whisper of phrase echoed in the dark, as his luminous eyes faded in brilliance, looking only then to last rest. The ent's powerful frame coalesced with the dank cavern hallow. His movements ceased, and he merged with time - frozen and immobile - he and his companions lay therein today, never to return to the living world. Go now to Sól, great Father Tree. You're life's burden is gone, it's time to move on... Normally creatures of few words, the Ents spoke only when necessary; despite that, I doubt there was much of anything to say. If Sharowdon was not killed, everything in the valley would perish. Even Sharowdon himself would fall victim to his own affliction - an awful irony - the Paradox of Tyrants, contradicting those whom blindly seek self annihilation. All hope seemed lost. It was then, I had an urge to join Father Tree in the Great Beyond; a slow, ravenous death was unappealing to me. I went out onto the valley overlook, near the caverns mouth. Peering over the cliff's edge, I looked into the space below with thoughts of suicide racing. My mind was clustered, and disheartened. Just as I made up my mind, when I had become resolute of killing myself, it happened. Fate intervened. There had been rumors of an army led by a strapping young warrior. Savage in appearance, yet gentle, and graceful to others, save all whom wish unwarranted harm upon the innocent; his army was said to march towards the Valley. On that spectacular day, just as the light of life began to fade from the Valley; when all hope seemed lost - from the North they came. The greatest heroes of all time, led by the one named Aelius. Offspring of the Wind Titans, he, much like his comrades, was a greater gryphon (as opposed to lesser, mortal gryphons). Aelius, the warrior of ages, wielded one of the seven magical swords - said to have been forged by fire giants and enchanted by goddess Sól. Massive in stature, Aelius was the largest and strongest of his kind. He was easily capable of shattering boulders, and bending rivers. As for his glorious weapon, the great sword gave off a golden aura produced by its embellished hilt. A most magnificent weapon, forged from adamant and furnished with marble taproot, the sword was an equal spectacle to behold; and it was with that hammer of woe which Aelius would confront his final adversary. Aelius led on, in front of six hundred dazzling gryphons (and a few blessed hippogryphs), flying to confront the evil horde and its master. Like a piercing beam in the dark, hope flooded in. A great cloud, soaring like lightning, the blades of the Righteous Army whirled through the air with a sound ten times louder than thunder's boom. The swarm of feathers descended upon the opposing masses, and cut deep into their ranks. Deeper, and deeper they drove. Inward, towards the fire the mad beasts flew. Steel rein, and forces clashed. I dare say there hasn't been a greater battle since. Into the Valley of Death, rode the six hundred. "Forward, the Brigade of Light!" screeched Aelius. No soldier replied to the command. No soldier knew why, all they knew was to do or die. Enemies to right of them, enemies to left of them, enemies in front of them. The noble army boldly rode and well, into the jaws of death. Into the mouth of hell, rode the six hundred. When did their glory fade? Oh, the wild charge they made! All the valley wondered. Honor the charge they made, Honor the Light Brigade, Noble six hundred. Fire shot from the Earth, killing friend and foe. Sharowdon’s rage split the ground in two. Aelius' sword fell enemies in droves, passing through-and-through, like wind in open air. Boulders charged down from the mountain tops and the peaks swayed against the rising Sun of morning. The commotion was so awesome, it awoke all whom slumbered in surrounding lands, miles and miles away. The swarm of bodies was immense and all encompassing. An awful Armageddon of aggression, there was no regression, only battle. No lull, or pause occurred. The entire conflict was a single motion of death that arduously dragged on. From my perch above the Valley of Death, I witness a battle to end all battles. Horrendous, like a mass of swarming ants and flies, the emulation played out in the valley below. Terrified, I found myself transfixed upon the carnage. Unable to look away, a sick fascination drove me to watch. The fighting lasted for several more days, during which period I barley slept - neglecting respite entirely. Little by little the opposing forces slowly dwindled. One-by-one each forces' dynamos, their best warriors, where succeeded by death's cold grasp. Finally, there were only two combatants left – retched Sharowdon and noble Aelius. Tarnished and worn, the opposing forces contested for two more days anon. On the final day of battle, Aelius was dealt a fatal blow by the accursed Dragon of Woe. There, our hero lay, bleeding on the rocks, his sword broken in two, and armor torn away; anticipating the coup de grace! Nearly biting my claws off in dread, I looked on as Sharowdon made his final approach. Strewn moribund upon the mountainside, the noble one stared into his demise with unmoved visage. The reaping dragon stood erect, his hind claws gripping the loser in disgrace. He tossed the gryphon round, teasing the warrior with quietus. You’ll never believe what I did then. Just as Sharowdon was about to deliver the final blow, he let out a vicious bellow of arrogant victory. It was then, it happened. Without warning, a massive slab of rock from the mountain, disturbed by Sharowdon’s overzealous war cry, toppled down and smothered him to death. A tsunami of stone with relentless power, its impact shook the entire valley. The evil beast had no time to react. He was crushed instantly, and that accursed inferno was doused from his evil eyes once and for all. It was then I did the unexpected. I really am the hero. Silence fell upon the valley. Despite the sweet smell of death, the dusk air was still, and crisp. Aelius lay dying, as his final Sun set over the ruined valley. I made my way down the mountain. Upon reaching his contorted form, I simply stared, and said nothing. His feathers, white as the driven snow, where stained red in blood. Burned, and cut deep, the majestic gryphon turned his head one last time to look at me. He laid like a painted beast, upon a painted mountain. I was to be the last living being Aelius saw with his deep, majestic blue eyes – a pure soul, just like Father Tree. As the gryphon’s immortal life drained from his expression, he spoke not a word. While his breaths grew few, and faint; we continued to gaze into each other's souls. For an eternity, it lasted. A trance like state - so unreal, yet vivid all the same. Finally, the creature's head slowly drooped back over the edge of his final perch. His eyes rolled back in the sockets, as they closed for the last time. I stood alone confounded by internal reflection, unbelieving of the sight before me. I’m ashamed to say, I felt no guilt. I actually thought, “Better him than me.” My own thoughts astounded the better portions of my consciousness. How could I think such a terrible thing? How could I produce that brutal and dark honestly when confronted by the terrible carnage of the good? It was after Aelius’ death I began to cry aloud. I never knew Aelius, greatest warrior of all time. I had little personal feeling for his death… my sorrows felt for something else entirely. Personally saddened; cognizant and ashamed that I hadn't the slightest sympathy for Aelius - let alone any of his fellow soldiers slain. Had I already convinced myself of his death? Was that the reason, or was it something else entirely? My question of sorrow went unanswered. Despite deep reflection, I could not stay in the Valley much longer. It was then and there I made my decision. On that rocky outcropping, I left the noble warrior's remains to rot - it would have been damning with faint praise to have buried one among thousands. Without saying goodbye to Father Tree, without a word to any soul, I migrated South towards the Kingdom of the Changelings. I don't know why I didn't give a farewell. Maybe I was too deep in sorrow, and couldn't stand it. Perhaps I was ashamed of my powerlessness? Whichever the case, goodbyes have always been difficult for me. I have forever paled to understand exactly what transpired. Regardless, from that point forward, I would shy from others. I would know not friendship, but isolation. Again, my personage slipped into despondency. I fell into a deep well, filled with chilling water. Dark, inky black waters - which I am far too accustomed to. Perhaps I could have saved the hero? Author's Note It's a work in progress. This portion of the story is a bit... stale, but I promise you it gets better. I will pursue writing the rest of the story none the less. Discord, Lord of Riddles Discord, Lord of Riddles Now called the Badlands, the area to the far South of modern day Canterlot is drastically different now from how it was 16,000 years ago. As I knew it then, that land was a fertile garden of unimaginable natural wealth. Now, it's a sweltering desert, devoid of life except for the the remaining Changeling population. It was there that I immigrated to next. Prosperous and promising, tales of its grandeur attracted me to it. But before I reached my destination, I would encounter him. Discord, Lord of Chaos. Well there I was. Minding my own damn business, walking along a narrow dirt road that led south toward the ice-caped mountain ranges the boarded the Domain of Changelings. I was on my merry way when all of a sudden something caught my right, hind leg. Thinking at first it was a just a root or something that my claw had gotten caught on - I yanked hard, only to feel slight popping in my joints as the leg stretched. Looking back I could see my appendage was slowly sinking into the earth. Of all things! In the middle of no where, sinking sand? So, I did what any phooka would do and I changed forms in hopes of dislodging myself. To my surprise, no matter what form I took, my leg continued to sink ever slower. Suddenly, I heard a unctuous voice call out to me, "Well if it isn't the ugly ducking, turned away from the nest?" "Who the hell are you?" I asked, turning to eye the draconequus before me. I had heard stories of Discord from Father Tree, but I never imagined he'd be such a pompous ass face to face. By the gods! He was even uglier than me, and age sure hasn't treated him well. Of course, nowadays, I'm not afraid to say something like that to his face - I'd crush him - but back then, heck no. I would have rather have avoided a conflict with him back then. Especially considering that he had the drop on me, I was going to try my darnedest to be polite. "Why I'm Discord, the Lord of Chaos," he smirked. "How quaint, now if you could please help me? As you can clearly see, I'm kinda in a predicament here." "Only if you ask nicely, ugly ducking." "Please?" I asked, gritting my teeth; holding back my anger. "With a cherry on top?" "Yes, with - a - cherry - on - top!" "OK then," and with that, he summoned a magic wand, and cast some sort of cheesy spell on my leg. It didn't help me... what an utter surprise. Not only was my right leg sinking, my left leg was now going along with it; and I was sinking faster still. I could feel the circulation in my rear appendages slowly beginning to cut off. A tingling sensation came over my feet. I was growing desperate, but I couldn't advertise it. Not to that bastard's amusement. I hid my fear as best I could. "Aw come on! You have got to be kidding me?" I said in forced monotone. "Oops, sorry! You should have been more specific on what you meant by help," he laughed. I had enough. My youthful anger was getting to me. "Are you blind? What in Tartarus does it look like I need help with?" I asked, looking back at my knees which were almost wholly absorbed into the ground. Looking back at Discord, I saw he was now wearing pair of darkened glasses, and holing a white cane in his paw. "No need to raise your voice young one. I'm all ears," and with that, he smacked me on the head with the cane. That bastard annoys the hell out of me... I thought hard of what to say next. What could I possibly say that would manipulate him into letting me out? It didn't matter though. Discord had other plans, as I soon found out. "Tell you what ugly ducking, lets play a game?" suggested Discord. "What?" I asked, absolutely confounded. "I'll tell you a series of three riddles, and if you guess them all correctly I'll let you go. You have all the time you need to answer them." And with that he gave a little chuckle at his own jibe. "Well shit?" is mumbled. I guess playing along was my only hope for survival. "Are you ready?" "Yes, I'm ready." "Are you sure?" he asked in a dubious voice, pointing his cane in my face. "Absolutely, positively ready." I said, in annoyance. The draconequus leaned down, and met me eye to eye. After licking his lips and wiggling his brow, he asked the first riddle, "I have a heart of gold, and I smell when I'm old. What am I?" Unknown to the Lord of Chaos, I was (and still am) a master of riddles - it was one of the few pastimes the Ents enjoyed occupy their free time with - and trust me, they had a lot of free time. After being around them for 1000 years, the answers to just about ever riddle imaginable, no matter how obscure, came second nature to me. With a smirk, I answered, "The answer is, I'm an egg." "No fair!" pouted Discord. "Next!" I demanded impatiently. Time was most certainly of the essence. "What's black when you get it, red when you use it, and white when you're all through with it? Ha!" "Simple... charcoal," I replied defiantly, rolling my eyes. Discord huffed and puffed around; he thumped his tail angrily at my expedient answering of his used riddles. I could see a fury building in his eyes; even greater than Sharowdon. Suddenly, to my surprise, his fit of rage stopped. Like an arrow shot into sod - abruptly stopping - his intense anger quelled instantly. Little at first, soon a large, devious... dastardly grin came over his face. It had me worried, even if I wan't showing it. I couldn't see past that damned grin! Despite his display of extreme emotion, the smile was strangely... worryingly... disturbingly void of sentiment. It was as if his smile existed simply to be a smile, not alluding in the slightest to Discord's inner feelings... if he has any. "Ah! You'll never get this one!" smirked Discord, "Stopped like hardened sap, it sinks down, into an Earthly trap. In sight of journeys end, the adventure is extend. Black from head to toe, no one know when he come and go. White all over, one has little time to mull it over. Who am I? Ha - ha - ha!" It didn't take me long to discern the answer, or so I though. The answer seemed blatantly simple at first, "That's the oldest trick in the book Discord! The answer is me! I'm who the riddle is about." "Nope!" "What?!" "Good try! Guess again!" he said with a mask of malevolence. How could this be? How could 'I' not possible be the correct answer? By now the ground was up to my waist. It was becoming painful. My heart was racing, which didn't make it any better. The submersion was gaining speed! Circulation was cut off in my legs almost entirely, but I had to focus. My life depended on it! Mind racing, I thought back to every riddle I'd ever known. I thought deep, deep like lacerations forming on my brain because I was thinking so bucking hard! I kept on thinking, every possibility flew through my head. Vocally pained, I strained, "A fool! That's the answer, a fool!" Discord vocalized his reply in a mockingly unpresuming manner, "Not quite." The draconequus' smile remained emotionless as a porcelain doll. "Aww, come on!" "Guess again." he said, pressing his head against mine. I saw it; I really did. I could see the murderous intentions in his eyes. The Discord I knew then wasn't so benevolent. Questions of death paraded within my consciousness. Was this where I was going to die? Was this the end? Nope. It dawned on me. By the mercy of Sól, the answer to Discord's riddle struck me like the mountain crushed Sharowdon! I had figured out the cryptic riddle, and in the simplest of ways. I had realized the conundrum itself was a red herring. It misleads the thinker into believing the subject in question is a traveler, or actual individual, but in reality it was something that exhibits the riddle's clues. At the last possible second, I blurted out the answer. "Death! The answer is 'I am Death!'" "Right on the money, sonny!" squealed Discord, with delight. At that point, the bastard had obviously gotten enough out of my displeasure not to be pleased by my success. Already, at that exact moment, he was probably planning when to interlude me again on my journey. Instantly, my body was released form the Earth. At first I was so grateful, but then the pain started. Blood flooded back into my lower extremities, and my... my particulars. The pain was ungodly. I tried to scream, but all I could produce was a faint, "Ow." "We'll, I suppose I'll be going then," said Discord, just as he placed a hat on his head, and picked up some travel baggage from thin air. Right before that bastard got away, I called out to him, "Wait!" "Yes?" "Aren't you going to give me some sort of compensation? You've delayed me in my journey, I expect some sort of award for participating in your shenanigans!" I demanded. There was no way Discord was getting off scot-free from torturing me. "Well, well, well... well. What do we have here? A sore whiner? Boo hoo hoo!" "You bet," I said panting from my recent pain, "And as for yourself, you won't have such a smug look on your face when I awaken that drake resting on that hilltop over there," I added, pointing to an empty hill adjacent to the road. The fool tuned to look,"Where? I don't see any drake over there." "That's because I'm right here!" I bellowed, morphing into a behemoth First Drake. I had transfigured into an impression of Sharowdon, and a damn good one at that. Lunging forward like a cannon shot, I extended my immense fore claws and caught Discord in a deathly grip. Fury burned in my eyes, as I wailed, "You cur! You tried to kill me!" I forgot to mention I could do that. With the strength of a colossus, I grabbed Discord by his neck, and pinned him to the ground with full force. The ground trembled as I bared down. My claws bound my tormentor to the ground, immobilizing him like worm in a hungry bird's grasp. This time I wasn't going to be the victim. Heat of rage was imitating from my ridged stance, tension filled the air. Discord tried to use his powers to escape, but it didn't work. The grasp of a First Drake cannot be escaped so easily. "How do you like a taste of your own medicine?" I growled angrily, with a spice of revenge. "Hmm, it taste quite bitter." he curtly replied, smacking his lips sarcastically. He rolled his eyes with disdain. Again, the emotionless smile took to his visage. "I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation?" "Do you?" Before I could reply, my body began to feel extremely heavy. Discord suddenly disappeared from my steely grasp as his physical form disintegrated into dust. The last thing I remember was my body slumping onto the road. It felt like an extreme weight that was all over me; yet, I felt no pressure. I blacked out. Author's Note This chapter is a bit shorter than the previous one. Hope you enjoyed it none the less! Epigraph : A Timeline Epigraph : A Timeline Before I delve any further along my life's story, I would like to explain something to the reader. I would like you to know, this journal entry is for clarification purposes only. Skipping it will not subtract from my life's' account. First off, I would like to iterate that I have lived for more than eighteen thousand years. In contrast, Celestia and her sister Luna have lived for a mere nine thousand or so. With that fact now firmly established, I now feel the need to summarize the relative direction this epic timeline is going to take. This trope will allow readers to wrap their mortal minds around just long my life really is. So far, I have segregated my life into precisely 18 sections. Each one is 1000 years in duration, and I will refer to each of them as Epochs; by the nomenclature of: 1st Epoch, 2nd Epoch, 3rd Epoch, 4th Epoch, etc. I have labeled each one with its own unique title, according to the events that transpired during it's duration. I will now list them; including sub divisions of time (estimated): 1st Epoch - The Kindling of New Fire Rise from the Fire (100 yrs) | Rise of the Younglings (300 yrs) | War of Fire (600 yrs) 2nd Epoch - The Age of Adolescence Rule of the Ents (800 yrs) | Rule of Sharowdon (200 yrs) 3rd Epoch - Rise of the Changeling Empire The Division (300 yrs) | The New Pact (400 yrs) | Wrath of Two Queens ( 300 yrs) 4th Epoch - The Majesty New Dominion (600 yrs) | Arrival of the Fays (400 yrs) 5th Epoch - Era of Grandiosity Beginning (325 yrs) | Middle (450 yrs) | End (225 yrs) 6th Epoch - Age of Warring Nations 7th Epoch - The Fall of Civilization Triumph (300 yrs) | Entry into the Last Song (700 yrs) 8th Epoch - The Last Song 9th Epoch - Age of Silence 10th Epoch - Age of New Beginning 11th Epoch ~ 18th Epoch Birth of the Two Sisters (2 Epoch) | Rule of Two (3 Epoch) | Foreboding (1 Epoch) | Rule of One (2 Epoch) 19th Epoch - Present Day Now, let us return to the story at hand. Now where was I? Return to Darkness Return to Darkness I don’t remember anything after the blackness took me. The void I entered totally engulfed my consciousness. Anything that might have occurred for the duration was lost to amnesia. Even the smallest spark of thought was extinguished by sleep. Despite my respite, I was by no means rested. A bone chilling wind cut against my exposed skin. From head to back claw, my body ached all over. Finding myself no longer on the road where I had passed out, I awoke to discover myself strew upon a crag atop the mountain range. From my vantage point, I could spy the rolling hills of the steppe. It was then I came to a conclusion. I assumed that somehow, after having been knocked out by Discord, he had in fact given me the compensation I demanded. The draconequus had delivered me half way to my destination. Flying over the mountains would be impossible. Far too high, and cold; I had to make my way through the narrow gullies and passes of the Macintosh Mountains, a formidable range that separates what is now Appleoosa from the Badlands. In the time of my voyage, the Macintosh Mountains where called by another name, Imperil Massif. It, by far, would be the most dangerous stretch of the journey. Not only would the elements pose a formidable obstacle, the natives to that region where none the less hospitable. Among the many warring goblin clans and countless mountain giants was a greater threat. Gargoyles would prove the most difficult obstacle. The most ferocious of the stone skins, they are extremely territorial, and in those days usually would kill their victims without warning. From nowhere they stuck. Thousands of tales circulate the region. Stories of whole, hundred pony caravans completely massacred, and giants slaughtered in droves. All who entered the range ran the risk of a hostile encounter with the mountain savages, and I was no exception. Nearly devoid of life, the mountains where not a place I could afford to stay long. Behind every corner danger lurked. Rock slides, sudden chasms; and steep, slippery slopes into bottomless pits – a single step could kill you. As I went up and up, the snow drifts grew deeper. Snow reached heights of thirty feet. A sudden gush of wind, or shift in the unstable terrain, and I would have been buried alive in an avalanche. Fortunately, I was used to hardship. During The Kindling of New Fire, I experience far more grievous times. It was back into the darkness I went. Paradise was just over the mountain. I just had to keep going. … By far the greatest danger was monotony. I had spent five entire weeks climbing and climbing; and then climbing some more. The higher I went, the further away my objective seemed. No closer did I get to cresting, and after many days and nights without rest, I decided to take a break. Frustrated and exhausted, I took shelter in a cave, just off the narrow path. It was a damp, smelly little thing. Plastered in slime and mold, heat from hydrothermal vents spewed noxious gases into a large portion of the cavern. As such, I was forced to sleep near the mouth, almost completely exposed. I did so in fear of asphyxiation. The sleep I had was well deserved. My body was so numb from physical expenditure, I felt nothing. I couldn’t even scene the hard rock I laid on. It was as if my existence where reduced to but a throbbing head. Against the jagged stone, I laid to rest. Deeper and deeper I fell. Down and down into sleep I went. My eyes closed like castle portcullis, and my body became immobilized like a corps; I slid into a deep slumber. I faintly remember the dreams I had during that sleep. Mostly, I just remember it being the most soporific thing I’ve ever experienced. What I do remember is this. I felt as if I were being carried, like all the weight and pull of my body left me. I began to rise through the sky like a balloon. Despite my slight fear of heights, only peace and comfort was on my mind. Eventually, I was enveloped by a beautiful aurora. It was of an unprecedented beauty, of which only the mind can conceive. There, in the celestial ethereal, I came to rest. … My rested energy was quickly replaced by fear, as I awoke not knowing where I was. Bound and chained to the back wall of an unfamiliar cave, my heart sank. My carelessness, my procrastination, had gotten me captured. I struggled in my arrest, but to no avail. My bindings held firm. Enchanted with runic magic, the cuffs detained me with an anti-shapeshifing hex. Guess gargoyles aren’t savages after all. They are just shrewd business creatures, as I would come to learn. Although they fed me, they didn’t speak to me. When not attending to me, they didn’t even make eye contact, much less look my way. My captors paid no attention to my screams, pleas, and insults. An interesting bunch, their kind spoke very little, and on the rare occasion they did; it was very terse and concise. Moving very little during the day, the gargoyles subtle glances and gestures composed the majority of their interaction. I spent maybe fifty years chained to that back wall. They only let me out once of twice during that time. Such rare view of the outside was greatly enjoyed by me. Times seems to blur during this time. I have not real recollection of any particulars of that place, other than my arrival and departure. As for my departure, I soon found out why I was being kept for so long. I was to be used as a bargaining chip. Sold into slaver I was. When my new owners arrived, I had had my suspicion for some time. They where Changelings. The ones who bought me where Red Changelings. Paying in rare gems, and precious metals, of an unprecedented amount, they took custody of me. For what reason, at the time, was unknown to me. I joined several hundred other captors, whom I had no knowledge of, and together we were herded over the crest. Author's Note Hope you guy's enjoyed this section. I've decide to write my story in 1000 - 3000 word chapters, to be releases as individual installments. This is particularly due to my time constraints. Going Even Deeper StillAnd so over the mountain we went. Slaves were chained in groups of ten to twenty. We faced forward, never looked back, never uttered a word, and didn't stop for any reason - for fear of death. On we toiled, heaving our rusted chains across the barren rocks. Away and away. The quiet breeze and the whistle of the wind upon the rocks, and the beating sun heated our iron restraints. My bindings were heavy, and uncomfortable. So heavy, many beasts collapsed after only a few hours - and where killed by the guards. The sentinels then tossed the bodies aside, or rolled them into ravines and gorges. The links bit my wrists and ankles. I still feel the sore calluses they made. The rusted iron painted red rings around where they cut, of flesh and flaking metal. To make it worst, mine were imbued with runic magic - it burned in the vicious wound like salt. Racked with pain, I had no choice but to continue, and soon the pain faded to a terrible itch. Being a phooka, I was selected as the lead slave. Ahead of all the rest I went. Accustomed to hardship, I never faltered in step, nor did I grow tired from exhaustion. Marching all night, my nocturnal vision aided the column's advance. Of course, as I was the lead, I had the benefit of no collar restraint. All those behind me wore wretched yokes, witch prodded them in their movement. If a slave's head lowered, the yoke spiked their chest; and if he turned his head, the yoke bit and clamped the neck. I truly felt sorry for them. Especially on steam gradients, when they had too look up. The yokes bit into their exposed backs. I thought I was alone in sorrow, but there on the mountain I leaned of Empathy. Suffering brought me tears of understanding. My heart was filled, despite the emptiness in my body. By the time our convoy neared the top, my linkage had lost over half of its original members. With me in front, there was a mountain troll behind me, and, to my surprise, a kelpie behind the troll. Devilish in nature, kelpies appear all white, with the exception of their sky blue eyes. Skin smooth as a seals, it's deathly cold to the touch. Of course, this kelpie was a shadow of his former self. The white skin was splotched and scarring, sullied with dirt and grime. The troll was no better of. His face was torn, almost beyond cognition. His back was lashed heavily, and callused from salt rubs. His fore teeth had been pulled by force, leaving his jaw permanently slanted. My disgruntled chain mates fortunately had no problem with me. We had a rhythm going. We were all in step. It helped pull the chain across the rocks. More importantly it kept the linkage from catching, if it did we would all fall over, and I feared not having the strength to get back up. Red in appearance, our changeling masters where quite an annoyance. Constantly prodding and hissing at us in their slimy tongue. If it hadn't been for the mystical restrains, I would have crushed their measly bodies into the mountainside, and ejected the remains into the chasm below. They looked like fire ants, spiked and armored in their crimson chitin. They carried spears and sabers crafted from a blued steel, and their armor was a scaly bronze plate mail. They hovered over the lines, watching those below, seeking out the weak. When a beast fell from exhaustion, the beast was slain. But it was not a mercy killing. It was a vicious beating to death, a reminder to those remaining, strong incentive to keep moving no matter what. Before the final climb, up and over the top, our group was show brief mercy. The remaining 97 slaves, I included, where allowed one nights rest. Well, it really was not a full night. We slept maybe for five to six hours, and then trudged on. When we awoke, the accursed collars where removed and discarded into the chasm below. Our linkage was magically extended - for what reason I was soon the learn. The climb before us was just that - a climb. Nearly strait up, the series narrow foot holds lead up a towering escarpment. We new then why the Changelings had given us rest, and relinquishment from grievance. We needed it. Climbing would have been impossible with the collars and short irons. Up an up we went. Like rancid buzzards, changeling guards hovered nearby, simple watching; never helping. Our struggle was our own. I certainly had no trouble tackling the climb. My claws gripped the rock face easily. As for my kelpie companion, he had a greater degree of difficulty. His oily body would caused slippage in his grip. I am certain the water horse would have fallen to a certain death, if not for the troll. Alone, it would have been impossible for me to have held the kelpie's weight. Fortunately, the troll's barbaric strength kept the kelpie alive. Normally trolls are quite ferocious, even when not provoked. For whatever reason, this one had no problem with his close proximity to us. He didn't mind catching the kelpie, and never muttered an utterance of complaint. In fact, the big guy even carried the kelpie half way to the top. Perhaps the troll was being nice under threat of death, or maybe he just didn't want dead weight on his hands. Whatever the reason, his question-less cooperation saved our hides. It was oddly comforting to know that at least somebeast was looking out for my hide. Come to think of it, without my good vision he wouldn't have survived. Perhaps he was just as confiding in me? I would never know. The question stays with me to this day, how I befriended that noble savage of the mountains. We didn't climb the whole way in one attempt. Rather, several would be taken. Using advantage of nearby outcroppings, we rested after a two hour climb. At night, without the heat of the sun, the mountain face was blasted by bone chilling gales. It was here, our little group worked silently to stay alive. Unlike the changelings whom wore fire amulets, the slaves had no protection from the elements. So we... we... cuddled. Don't take it like that! The troll faced the leeward side, resting his head on me like a living pillow. This allowed our champion to regain his strength lost to hauling our bodies, and it gave me a wind shield. The kelpie would sleep against the troll, protecting him form the wind. Kelpies have remarkable resistance for cold, so he didn't mind in the slightest. In fact, the kelpie had the most conformable position of all. Resting against the troll's fatty side, he had a drastically softer surface to rest on than the hard rock below me. Fortunately we slept full nights on the climb. For obvious reasons, the others could not blindly follow me at night. After three days of climbing we reached the top. Seeing the crest, my heart leapt for joy! It bounced between the ribs, and I could feel its pump in my side. Reaching the top, I thought it would burst. Before us was a flat plane which cut round the final bend to the other side. As we rounded a narrow passage, wind blasted through the gap. For several seconds I was blinded by the flow of air, but then! Oh sweet Sól! The land beyond was remarkable. Words cannot describe the beauty of the land beyond the mountains. Never was a place more fertile or lush. A garden of unimaginable beauty, my words fail me. Towering trees touched the heavens, and roaring river rapids irrigated the garden that was beyond. But the view was short lived. We now had to climb down the other side. In an effort to save time, I will skip describing our decent. I assure you, the climb down was just as arduous - if not more so. ... The lush green forest sprang up at the foot hills. We left the barren mountains with sullied bodies. I thanked Sól for my deliverance. My strength had long since left me, my mind was but a phantom adrift on a still ocean. The ghostly, emaciated bodies of the slaves drifted across the land like a nightmare out of madbeast's dream. As we loped our links through that spectacular wood, the clinking echoed in the beauty. It anguished in the trees, and disturbed sweet bird song. I felt ashamed to disturb the picturesque scene. We where enveloped by greenery. It was above, aside, and below. The low chains caught in the brush sometimes, so the going was slow. Escape, the idea had crossed my mind. Unfortunately I didn't have neither strength, nor will for it. My mates seemed even less inclined. Especially the kelpie. He began to slow and stumble. Our climb had worn him to the bone, he was thin as a rod. The poor beast slowed over a period of three days. His links fell out of sink, which was an annoyance, but still. I felt a deep sorrow plummeting within me. It left my head, and sunk down towards my stomach, where it felt like a stone. I wanted to cry out to the poor bastard, but I couldn't. When the water horse stumbled for the last time, I felt a sickening tension in the chain, dragging of the body. It dragged, and dragged, and dragged. Oh, how it pulled along! Thumping like a horror it rolled and slumped. My mouth too dry to scream, my stomach to empty to throw up. My eyes to dry to cry. My face was devoid of all expression. I had lost it long ago on the trail. My mind burned with anguish for my fallen comrade. Finally, I had enough. I could not allow my friend's honor to tarnish. Where was dignity?! With throat unslaked and with black lips baked, I could nor laugh nor wail. Through utter drought how dumb I stood! I bit my arm, I sucked the blood, and cried, "Cut him loose! Cut him loose already!" My anguish echoed through the woods like a scream from Tartarus. I was thrown to the ground. My head hit a stone and the world blurred. Swarming like vultures on a carcass, the changeling guards enveloped me and struck. Vicious was the pummeling. Half dead already, they where determined to expend what remained of me. I had lost all hope. I had seen it all before and it didn't turn out well. The bastards were laughing, like they'd been waiting for it the whole time. Laying there in the mud and filth, I just waited for eternal sleep to pass over me. A long rest after a sorrowful, pointless journey. I could see just beyond the gate of the dark forest that awaited me. I could see Sharowdon, Aelius, and Father Tree standing there hand in hand, as if to greet me there. Through the darkness, some thing was pulling me. I was dragged along, delivered from the beating. No more did the strikes meet my raw flesh. It was the troll! Laying on the ground defenseless, I stared up at him. The mountain troll, Lord of Hills and Gullies, pulled me towards him with furious vigor by my leg chain. I could see it in his eyes. His tortured orbs teared with a blazing fire, he was turning to blood rage. The anger had built, and built until it could build no more; and it was about to come toppling down on our foes. Ponies today have no respect for trolls, but I do. Despite outward appearances, and seemingly rude mannerisms, they are fiercely loyal friends. The troll pulled me, delivered me from certain death at the cruel hooves of the murderous. He broke his cuffs - the ones he had slowly filed down on the mountain rocks, and eroded with urine. I learned right there an then, an angry troll in contested ground is not to be bucked with. Despite their prodding of spears, and slashing of swords, the puny changeling blades could not pierce the madbeast's hide. Upon realizing the troll was invincible, the guards attempted to flee - only to die with their backs turned. After wrenching up portion of a fallen tree, he hurled the missile with all force. The immense red wood, ten times my size, bashed and bludgeoned the insidious mob. Bodies rag dolled with the dynamo's strike. The guards where strewn about, all dead; a shattered carnage in the mud. More came and more died. The guards could not stop, much less stagger the beastly King of Peaks and Chasms. In righteous rage, he seized each one by one and broke them. Cracking heads like eggs; and stomping bones like twigs, the troll gave a barbaric display. Pounding his chest with blood soaked hands, the troll laid waste to the onslaught. Slapping foes aside like mosquitoes, the beast's crushing blows bent bodies, and broke blades. Thundering away, the woods echoed his throws, and death blows. A smile came to my face as I passed out. I viewed shadows coming to the trolls aid. Again, a great sleep took me. Down, down, down I sank into rest. My body lay in the soothing warm mud, as the leafy green canopy faded to and emerald haze, and then to black. I had no dreams. I was living one. Author's Note Hope you guys enjoyed the latest chapter! Boy did that troll turn out to be something, or what? Thanks for reading! PrologueThe Last Songs of Empire: Child of Shadows Recounted Tales of the Life and Times of Black Bramble Pax Equine Equestria is the greatest empire to date. It has lasted for more than two thousand years. Since the birth of the Great Sisters it has flourished vibrantly. Spanning entire continents, this grand state has become an indivisible kingdom of peace. Since its annexation of the Crystal Empire and the apotheosis of Twilight Sparkle – Equestria has become formidable. I have at last come to peace with an existence, and I have found confidence in Equestria’s monarchs… … This diary is the culmination of my life’s journey, an epic which spans a great length of time. My memory is vaster than most mortals have time for in their lives, so to benefit the ever-deathers I will abbreviate my life’s story the best I can. Of course, I will explain any major gaps, or jumps that my story might take; and will introduce key moments and highlights, well and bad, throughout my experience. My name is Black Bramble, but officially it's First Moonchild, or at least that is the closest translation of it. The title of First Moonchild was graciously bestowed upon me by the Titan Ents of the Beginning, over eighteen thousand years ago. Since then I have acquired many other names; each incurring its own chapter in my vast lifetime. I am a witness… bystander, to empire after empire. I am the one who heard the final songs of their populace - the fables and stories of their demise. My memory includes empires which have no remaining evidence upon the Earth, all history erased but the traces that remain within me. … There was a time before Equestria, long before the two sisters… long before even their progenitors. It was a time of spectacular empires and species. I am among the few remnants of these great times… not even Discord himself remembers them. I have noticed, over my life span, that Discord is prone to memory loss, and he has never been a confidant of mine. I probably should use a memory incantation on him one of these days… For the first time in my life, I will expose myself to the world at large. Previously, I shifted through existence like a granule through a grate - unnoticed, and barley touched. Hiding in the shadows, isolated, alone; adapting myself to the contemporary regime – blending in with the ‘native’ population that surrounded me. Here is my story.
Eyes of the DivineLike all other phooka, I was born from a malignant dragon’s egg, but not just any dragon – a Titan Dragon - one of the seven species of Fire Titan. From the depths of the Nether the Fire Titans created the races of fire: drakes (dragons), phooka, basilisk, changelings, goblins, balrogs, and the many Stone Skins (trolls, diamond dogs, and gargoyles). Due to apparent disfigurement the many Stone Skins - I among them - were cast out from the fire brood (such was the case with changelings, and goblins). Because of this disownment, our kinds were thankfully not involved in the era of time that came to be known as the Kindling of New Fire - a crude translation from an unwritten language. The actual meaning is much more involving and elegant… whatever. The Kindling of New Fire involved a dispute between the Younglings - called ‘underlings’ by the Titans (a nomenclature which still stands today as a grievous insult to all draconic kind) - and the Titans, or Adults. Likewise, the Younglings called the Adults by a phonetically indescribable name; which roughly translates to ‘old farts’. Exactly how the conflict began is debatable, but it probably was an overzealous pissing contest. Basically the First Drakes, and basilisks slayed the Titan Dragons. In the resulting power void the victors laid waste to the Earth fighting among each other... go figure. This was by no means a sudden occurrence. After my birth, the slayings lasted for roughly 300 years, and the infighting for another 700. In total, this Era of Tartarus lasted for one thousand years. I could expound upon this, but it’s really just a bunch of whom-killing-who stuff, with no end in sight – all the while I just tried my best not to get indiscriminately killed. During this time of attrition I kept my head down the best I could. I moved from place to place; only coming out during the day to avoid the drakes whom enjoyed basking in the sun. It was during this time of hardship that I took to my first home - the Valley of Ents. This particular setting would eventually be the location of Equestria’s capital, Canterlot, some 16,200 years later. At the base of two mountain ranges, in the glen that stands there, was a luscious garden. I had stumbled upon it after a hostile encounter with a clan of Stone Skins. Wounded and dying, I collapsed in the fields just South of where Canterlot now stands. At first, I thought I was most certainly going to die. Laying there, strewn across those amber blades of grass, I was bleeding to death. I had managed to kill every last one of those bastard dogs. Really, they attacked me for no apparent reason. You know how diamond dogs are. They don't like your face so they jump you? Anyway, I was just laying there on my back looking at the sky. I decided I'd admire how beautiful it was in my final moments. Just as death was about to close the door on me, a large shadow appeared above me. My sight was fading, so I couldn't tell who it was. I said something along the lines of, "Your too late. I'm already dying." And then a soft yet commanding voice replayed with the strangest notion, "Too late? I'd hardly say so. You're still alive, aren't you?" "Then make it quick and painless please?" I begged. "Oh little one. I'm here to help you." "Oh, thanks." and with that I blacked out. I probably should have said something more appreciative, but then again, I was losing consciousness. It was there, on that open field of undulating grass, that Father Tree found me. Alone and dying, the First Ent did not see the savage vagrant that I truly was. He didn't see the uncontrollable inferno of desire for mischief that I harbor - simply Father saw something else. Despite my retched form. My unctuous spiny black coat, blood red eyes, snarled snout, crooked tail, and my hideous claws; that old bastard took me in. Maybe that old bucker just didn't want a dead body on his hands, but, honestly, he was a pure soul. Having had a miserable existence eking it out among the Fire Brood, and upon seeing my horrible condition, the noble Ents adopted me as one of their own. The valley was sheltered from the Kindling, and it was there I learned my third tongue, Ent (the first being Titan, and the second Ancient Drake). The Ents taught me forest magic, the likes of which have been lost to the ages, save for me. The majestic spirits of the forests also taught me how to live off the land, and be self sufficient. Most importantly, these righteous creatures educated me in what was then, just history. In the sacred valley, I learned of the ages even before the colossus, the times when the gods where born and the universe began to unfurl. The knowledge confided in me by the Ancient Ones of the Forest is beyond comprehension of all proceeding times. I will not write of it loosely. Private trust is needed for me to give it. As a young phooka, I was mischievous as ever. Skipping through the Ancient Forest - which was to be called the Everfree Forest by the Fays, or Fairy Ponies, latter on - I enjoyed complete freedom for about 800 years. I lived day by day, and I can recollect few specific instances of this period. It was true euphoria compared to my existence before stumbling upon the valley. A great release of freedom swept over me, and just like the rest of the valleys inhabitants, I was completely blind to happenings outside the shelter of the two mountains. I had forgotten that reality was slowly encroaching. Nothing pure can last forever. I will explain later what happened to the forest I knew so long ago. Events that transpired forever tarnished the beauty of the Everfree, and made its current condition unfitting of its current name. Basking in the sunlight, swimming in the cool waters, and sweet talking local nymphs occupied this period of Adolescent Freedom. It is a time that I reflect fondly upon, because after this time, my whole outlook on life would change drastically. The world moves on with or without you. I neglected this fact of life, trying to repress my former sorrows, but my futile actions would only make the sudden transition into adulthood much worse. Like the splash of scalding water, reality would return and sweep over me. Ages of agony were lurking in my future then. But before my schism from the realm of euphoria, there were past-times to be enjoyed. I was particularly fond of entertaining the local Naiads, or water nymphs. However treacherous they where in love, they where excellent in bed. I remember this one time I almost drowned getting this one... And that's enough of that... Beyond the redolent, carnal misadventures of my youth, there was a darker force lurking in the background. After its fruition, I would no longer give my allegiance to anyone other them myself. This period of self imposed isolation would continue indefinitely. Now enters Sharowdon, The Lord of Goblins and Changelings. Sharowdon was the horror of horrors. Never did a more terrifying thing tramp upon the world. So massive was he, the beast could have taken me in single fore claw and crushed me in a one brief squeeze. With a gaping throat that could swallow a river, his vicious maw brought only fire and carnage. When he came, his plated iron scales rattled like bones against a grind stone. With gale force, his wings beat like hammers. The wake of their blast could demolish buildings, and level forests. The First Drake's dingy scales were only a shade lighter than black, with a purple hue of dried blood stained round the raised, spiny edgings. His big red eyes pierced the souls of the living, and I’m scared to say the dead as well. When he approached upon the ground or by the sky, the Earth and air below him shook and trembled, fearing his presence. His claws would scrape the bare rock like files on slate. He shifted and shook, commanding his body with petrifying barbarity. Sharowdon thumped and bumped, and made your heart jump. Whenever the silence was broken, it was him. When you feared he was just around a corner, he was there. The shadow overhead in this sky, he was coming. But far worse than his mere presence, his fire, and that unctuous breath he breathed, was his bellows. Oh how I loathed, downright abhorred them. That morbid monstrosity produced a war cry louder than thunder clap. It was louder than the beginning of existence. When the beast cried out, his shout shook beasts to the core. It made my heart thump in my side, and my throat swell with fear. My eyes rolled back, and my breath grew dry as the desert. Petrified like stone, one would become, and those unfortunate enough to be caught in his gaze were massacred. Even today, his harsh hollers haunt me. It was the dreaded anticipation of his coming. A fretful, fearful imagination makes terrible things absolutely abysmal. Sharowdon sent hell hounds back to Tartarus, and Gods fleeing back to sanctuary in the heavens. To this day, I have no doubt as to that his brood so willfully and capably slaughtered the Fire Titans, their parents. The contemporary hearsay, back then, regarded Sharowdon as a mild drake, among other things! Sól have mercy! For the remaining 200 years, of my second 1000 year epoch, The Valley, my home, was cast into Sharowdon's retched silhouette. His watchful, wrathful, inferno red eyes watched the valley relentlessly. The sky clouded with soot, the waters rancid with sulfur, and the nymphs in hiding – something had to be done. Of course, you’re probably thinking I saved the day, right? Wrong! Are you kidding me? You should have seen this guy! Sharowdon was all like, “Boosh! Bwoom! I will deprive all who oppose me, muwhahaha!” And everypony was all like, “Run away!” No way in Tartarus would I have confronted him, let alone look at him for extended periods! Heck, even the Ents suggest I go into hiding with them! So that’s how it happened – me, the Ents, and some innocent nymphs all stuck in a cramped, confined cave… Wait. What? Oh hell, no! I know exactly what you're thinking... and it’s not like that... at least I don't think it was? Anyway! Back to the issue at hand. The inhabitants of the valley when into hiding for about 200 years. The blight of Sharowdon upon the land was unyielding. He turned the grand paradise into a forlorn wasteland. For me, it was back to eking it out. Suicide crossed my mind may times. I guess it was just primitive instinct to not let go, and keep on living. Gradually the Ents grew weaker away from the sun and many of the nymphs when into hibernation. It was at this critical time, the valley need saving. The luster of the valleys beauty had been drained. Trees and vegetation withered and shriveled, as the rivers ran foul - reeking of disease and pestilence. Thick, unctuous smog rose from the smoldering valley and billowed into the atmosphere, blotting out the Sun like a massive canopy of death. In the Final Sanctum, Father Tree, before he went into slumber, spoke to me. What he said is forever etched into my memory. One of the few people I've dared call a friend said, "There is no more light in the land, I fear. 'Tis a sad thing for it [life] to have ended here," and with that, the monolith of living wood drifted into a deep slumber. The whisper of phrase echoed in the dark, as his luminous eyes faded in brilliance, looking only then to last rest. The ent's powerful frame coalesced with the dank cavern hallow. His movements ceased, and he merged with time - frozen and immobile - he and his companions lay therein today, never to return to the living world. Go now to Sól, great Father Tree. You're life's burden is gone, it's time to move on... Normally creatures of few words, the Ents spoke only when necessary; despite that, I doubt there was much of anything to say. If Sharowdon was not killed, everything in the valley would perish. Even Sharowdon himself would fall victim to his own affliction - an awful irony - the Paradox of Tyrants, contradicting those whom blindly seek self annihilation. All hope seemed lost. It was then, I had an urge to join Father Tree in the Great Beyond; a slow, ravenous death was unappealing to me. I went out onto the valley overlook, near the caverns mouth. Peering over the cliff's edge, I looked into the space below with thoughts of suicide racing. My mind was clustered, and disheartened. Just as I made up my mind, when I had become resolute of killing myself, it happened. Fate intervened. There had been rumors of an army led by a strapping young warrior. Savage in appearance, yet gentle, and graceful to others, save all whom wish unwarranted harm upon the innocent; his army was said to march towards the Valley. On that spectacular day, just as the light of life began to fade from the Valley; when all hope seemed lost - from the North they came. The greatest heroes of all time, led by the one named Aelius. Offspring of the Wind Titans, he, much like his comrades, was a greater gryphon (as opposed to lesser, mortal gryphons). Aelius, the warrior of ages, wielded one of the seven magical swords - said to have been forged by fire giants and enchanted by goddess Sól. Massive in stature, Aelius was the largest and strongest of his kind. He was easily capable of shattering boulders, and bending rivers. As for his glorious weapon, the great sword gave off a golden aura produced by its embellished hilt. A most magnificent weapon, forged from adamant and furnished with marble taproot, the sword was an equal spectacle to behold; and it was with that hammer of woe which Aelius would confront his final adversary. Aelius led on, in front of six hundred dazzling gryphons (and a few blessed hippogryphs), flying to confront the evil horde and its master. Like a piercing beam in the dark, hope flooded in. A great cloud, soaring like lightning, the blades of the Righteous Army whirled through the air with a sound ten times louder than thunder's boom. The swarm of feathers descended upon the opposing masses, and cut deep into their ranks. Deeper, and deeper they drove. Inward, towards the fire the mad beasts flew. Steel rein, and forces clashed. I dare say there hasn't been a greater battle since. Into the Valley of Death, rode the six hundred. "Forward, the Brigade of Light!" screeched Aelius. No soldier replied to the command. No soldier knew why, all they knew was to do or die. Enemies to right of them, enemies to left of them, enemies in front of them. The noble army boldly rode and well, into the jaws of death. Into the mouth of hell, rode the six hundred. When did their glory fade? Oh, the wild charge they made! All the valley wondered. Honor the charge they made, Honor the Light Brigade, Noble six hundred. Fire shot from the Earth, killing friend and foe. Sharowdon’s rage split the ground in two. Aelius' sword fell enemies in droves, passing through-and-through, like wind in open air. Boulders charged down from the mountain tops and the peaks swayed against the rising Sun of morning. The commotion was so awesome, it awoke all whom slumbered in surrounding lands, miles and miles away. The swarm of bodies was immense and all encompassing. An awful Armageddon of aggression, there was no regression, only battle. No lull, or pause occurred. The entire conflict was a single motion of death that arduously dragged on. From my perch above the Valley of Death, I witness a battle to end all battles. Horrendous, like a mass of swarming ants and flies, the emulation played out in the valley below. Terrified, I found myself transfixed upon the carnage. Unable to look away, a sick fascination drove me to watch. The fighting lasted for several more days, during which period I barley slept - neglecting respite entirely. Little by little the opposing forces slowly dwindled. One-by-one each forces' dynamos, their best warriors, where succeeded by death's cold grasp. Finally, there were only two combatants left – retched Sharowdon and noble Aelius. Tarnished and worn, the opposing forces contested for two more days anon. On the final day of battle, Aelius was dealt a fatal blow by the accursed Dragon of Woe. There, our hero lay, bleeding on the rocks, his sword broken in two, and armor torn away; anticipating the coup de grace! Nearly biting my claws off in dread, I looked on as Sharowdon made his final approach. Strewn moribund upon the mountainside, the noble one stared into his demise with unmoved visage. The reaping dragon stood erect, his hind claws gripping the loser in disgrace. He tossed the gryphon round, teasing the warrior with quietus. You’ll never believe what I did then. Just as Sharowdon was about to deliver the final blow, he let out a vicious bellow of arrogant victory. It was then, it happened. Without warning, a massive slab of rock from the mountain, disturbed by Sharowdon’s overzealous war cry, toppled down and smothered him to death. A tsunami of stone with relentless power, its impact shook the entire valley. The evil beast had no time to react. He was crushed instantly, and that accursed inferno was doused from his evil eyes once and for all. It was then I did the unexpected. I really am the hero. Silence fell upon the valley. Despite the sweet smell of death, the dusk air was still, and crisp. Aelius lay dying, as his final Sun set over the ruined valley. I made my way down the mountain. Upon reaching his contorted form, I simply stared, and said nothing. His feathers, white as the driven snow, where stained red in blood. Burned, and cut deep, the majestic gryphon turned his head one last time to look at me. He laid like a painted beast, upon a painted mountain. I was to be the last living being Aelius saw with his deep, majestic blue eyes – a pure soul, just like Father Tree. As the gryphon’s immortal life drained from his expression, he spoke not a word. While his breaths grew few, and faint; we continued to gaze into each other's souls. For an eternity, it lasted. A trance like state - so unreal, yet vivid all the same. Finally, the creature's head slowly drooped back over the edge of his final perch. His eyes rolled back in the sockets, as they closed for the last time. I stood alone confounded by internal reflection, unbelieving of the sight before me. I’m ashamed to say, I felt no guilt. I actually thought, “Better him than me.” My own thoughts astounded the better portions of my consciousness. How could I think such a terrible thing? How could I produce that brutal and dark honestly when confronted by the terrible carnage of the good? It was after Aelius’ death I began to cry aloud. I never knew Aelius, greatest warrior of all time. I had little personal feeling for his death… my sorrows felt for something else entirely. Personally saddened; cognizant and ashamed that I hadn't the slightest sympathy for Aelius - let alone any of his fellow soldiers slain. Had I already convinced myself of his death? Was that the reason, or was it something else entirely? My question of sorrow went unanswered. Despite deep reflection, I could not stay in the Valley much longer. It was then and there I made my decision. On that rocky outcropping, I left the noble warrior's remains to rot - it would have been damning with faint praise to have buried one among thousands. Without saying goodbye to Father Tree, without a word to any soul, I migrated South towards the Kingdom of the Changelings. I don't know why I didn't give a farewell. Maybe I was too deep in sorrow, and couldn't stand it. Perhaps I was ashamed of my powerlessness? Whichever the case, goodbyes have always been difficult for me. I have forever paled to understand exactly what transpired. Regardless, from that point forward, I would shy from others. I would know not friendship, but isolation. Again, my personage slipped into despondency. I fell into a deep well, filled with chilling water. Dark, inky black waters - which I am far too accustomed to. Perhaps I could have saved the hero? Author's Note It's a work in progress. This portion of the story is a bit... stale, but I promise you it gets better. I will pursue writing the rest of the story none the less.
Discord, Lord of Riddles Discord, Lord of Riddles Now called the Badlands, the area to the far South of modern day Canterlot is drastically different now from how it was 16,000 years ago. As I knew it then, that land was a fertile garden of unimaginable natural wealth. Now, it's a sweltering desert, devoid of life except for the the remaining Changeling population. It was there that I immigrated to next. Prosperous and promising, tales of its grandeur attracted me to it. But before I reached my destination, I would encounter him. Discord, Lord of Chaos. Well there I was. Minding my own damn business, walking along a narrow dirt road that led south toward the ice-caped mountain ranges the boarded the Domain of Changelings. I was on my merry way when all of a sudden something caught my right, hind leg. Thinking at first it was a just a root or something that my claw had gotten caught on - I yanked hard, only to feel slight popping in my joints as the leg stretched. Looking back I could see my appendage was slowly sinking into the earth. Of all things! In the middle of no where, sinking sand? So, I did what any phooka would do and I changed forms in hopes of dislodging myself. To my surprise, no matter what form I took, my leg continued to sink ever slower. Suddenly, I heard a unctuous voice call out to me, "Well if it isn't the ugly ducking, turned away from the nest?" "Who the hell are you?" I asked, turning to eye the draconequus before me. I had heard stories of Discord from Father Tree, but I never imagined he'd be such a pompous ass face to face. By the gods! He was even uglier than me, and age sure hasn't treated him well. Of course, nowadays, I'm not afraid to say something like that to his face - I'd crush him - but back then, heck no. I would have rather have avoided a conflict with him back then. Especially considering that he had the drop on me, I was going to try my darnedest to be polite. "Why I'm Discord, the Lord of Chaos," he smirked. "How quaint, now if you could please help me? As you can clearly see, I'm kinda in a predicament here." "Only if you ask nicely, ugly ducking." "Please?" I asked, gritting my teeth; holding back my anger. "With a cherry on top?" "Yes, with - a - cherry - on - top!" "OK then," and with that, he summoned a magic wand, and cast some sort of cheesy spell on my leg. It didn't help me... what an utter surprise. Not only was my right leg sinking, my left leg was now going along with it; and I was sinking faster still. I could feel the circulation in my rear appendages slowly beginning to cut off. A tingling sensation came over my feet. I was growing desperate, but I couldn't advertise it. Not to that bastard's amusement. I hid my fear as best I could. "Aw come on! You have got to be kidding me?" I said in forced monotone. "Oops, sorry! You should have been more specific on what you meant by help," he laughed. I had enough. My youthful anger was getting to me. "Are you blind? What in Tartarus does it look like I need help with?" I asked, looking back at my knees which were almost wholly absorbed into the ground. Looking back at Discord, I saw he was now wearing pair of darkened glasses, and holing a white cane in his paw. "No need to raise your voice young one. I'm all ears," and with that, he smacked me on the head with the cane. That bastard annoys the hell out of me... I thought hard of what to say next. What could I possibly say that would manipulate him into letting me out? It didn't matter though. Discord had other plans, as I soon found out. "Tell you what ugly ducking, lets play a game?" suggested Discord. "What?" I asked, absolutely confounded. "I'll tell you a series of three riddles, and if you guess them all correctly I'll let you go. You have all the time you need to answer them." And with that he gave a little chuckle at his own jibe. "Well shit?" is mumbled. I guess playing along was my only hope for survival. "Are you ready?" "Yes, I'm ready." "Are you sure?" he asked in a dubious voice, pointing his cane in my face. "Absolutely, positively ready." I said, in annoyance. The draconequus leaned down, and met me eye to eye. After licking his lips and wiggling his brow, he asked the first riddle, "I have a heart of gold, and I smell when I'm old. What am I?" Unknown to the Lord of Chaos, I was (and still am) a master of riddles - it was one of the few pastimes the Ents enjoyed occupy their free time with - and trust me, they had a lot of free time. After being around them for 1000 years, the answers to just about ever riddle imaginable, no matter how obscure, came second nature to me. With a smirk, I answered, "The answer is, I'm an egg." "No fair!" pouted Discord. "Next!" I demanded impatiently. Time was most certainly of the essence. "What's black when you get it, red when you use it, and white when you're all through with it? Ha!" "Simple... charcoal," I replied defiantly, rolling my eyes. Discord huffed and puffed around; he thumped his tail angrily at my expedient answering of his used riddles. I could see a fury building in his eyes; even greater than Sharowdon. Suddenly, to my surprise, his fit of rage stopped. Like an arrow shot into sod - abruptly stopping - his intense anger quelled instantly. Little at first, soon a large, devious... dastardly grin came over his face. It had me worried, even if I wan't showing it. I couldn't see past that damned grin! Despite his display of extreme emotion, the smile was strangely... worryingly... disturbingly void of sentiment. It was as if his smile existed simply to be a smile, not alluding in the slightest to Discord's inner feelings... if he has any. "Ah! You'll never get this one!" smirked Discord, "Stopped like hardened sap, it sinks down, into an Earthly trap. In sight of journeys end, the adventure is extend. Black from head to toe, no one know when he come and go. White all over, one has little time to mull it over. Who am I? Ha - ha - ha!" It didn't take me long to discern the answer, or so I though. The answer seemed blatantly simple at first, "That's the oldest trick in the book Discord! The answer is me! I'm who the riddle is about." "Nope!" "What?!" "Good try! Guess again!" he said with a mask of malevolence. How could this be? How could 'I' not possible be the correct answer? By now the ground was up to my waist. It was becoming painful. My heart was racing, which didn't make it any better. The submersion was gaining speed! Circulation was cut off in my legs almost entirely, but I had to focus. My life depended on it! Mind racing, I thought back to every riddle I'd ever known. I thought deep, deep like lacerations forming on my brain because I was thinking so bucking hard! I kept on thinking, every possibility flew through my head. Vocally pained, I strained, "A fool! That's the answer, a fool!" Discord vocalized his reply in a mockingly unpresuming manner, "Not quite." The draconequus' smile remained emotionless as a porcelain doll. "Aww, come on!" "Guess again." he said, pressing his head against mine. I saw it; I really did. I could see the murderous intentions in his eyes. The Discord I knew then wasn't so benevolent. Questions of death paraded within my consciousness. Was this where I was going to die? Was this the end? Nope. It dawned on me. By the mercy of Sól, the answer to Discord's riddle struck me like the mountain crushed Sharowdon! I had figured out the cryptic riddle, and in the simplest of ways. I had realized the conundrum itself was a red herring. It misleads the thinker into believing the subject in question is a traveler, or actual individual, but in reality it was something that exhibits the riddle's clues. At the last possible second, I blurted out the answer. "Death! The answer is 'I am Death!'" "Right on the money, sonny!" squealed Discord, with delight. At that point, the bastard had obviously gotten enough out of my displeasure not to be pleased by my success. Already, at that exact moment, he was probably planning when to interlude me again on my journey. Instantly, my body was released form the Earth. At first I was so grateful, but then the pain started. Blood flooded back into my lower extremities, and my... my particulars. The pain was ungodly. I tried to scream, but all I could produce was a faint, "Ow." "We'll, I suppose I'll be going then," said Discord, just as he placed a hat on his head, and picked up some travel baggage from thin air. Right before that bastard got away, I called out to him, "Wait!" "Yes?" "Aren't you going to give me some sort of compensation? You've delayed me in my journey, I expect some sort of award for participating in your shenanigans!" I demanded. There was no way Discord was getting off scot-free from torturing me. "Well, well, well... well. What do we have here? A sore whiner? Boo hoo hoo!" "You bet," I said panting from my recent pain, "And as for yourself, you won't have such a smug look on your face when I awaken that drake resting on that hilltop over there," I added, pointing to an empty hill adjacent to the road. The fool tuned to look,"Where? I don't see any drake over there." "That's because I'm right here!" I bellowed, morphing into a behemoth First Drake. I had transfigured into an impression of Sharowdon, and a damn good one at that. Lunging forward like a cannon shot, I extended my immense fore claws and caught Discord in a deathly grip. Fury burned in my eyes, as I wailed, "You cur! You tried to kill me!" I forgot to mention I could do that. With the strength of a colossus, I grabbed Discord by his neck, and pinned him to the ground with full force. The ground trembled as I bared down. My claws bound my tormentor to the ground, immobilizing him like worm in a hungry bird's grasp. This time I wasn't going to be the victim. Heat of rage was imitating from my ridged stance, tension filled the air. Discord tried to use his powers to escape, but it didn't work. The grasp of a First Drake cannot be escaped so easily. "How do you like a taste of your own medicine?" I growled angrily, with a spice of revenge. "Hmm, it taste quite bitter." he curtly replied, smacking his lips sarcastically. He rolled his eyes with disdain. Again, the emotionless smile took to his visage. "I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation?" "Do you?" Before I could reply, my body began to feel extremely heavy. Discord suddenly disappeared from my steely grasp as his physical form disintegrated into dust. The last thing I remember was my body slumping onto the road. It felt like an extreme weight that was all over me; yet, I felt no pressure. I blacked out. Author's Note This chapter is a bit shorter than the previous one. Hope you enjoyed it none the less!
Epigraph : A Timeline Epigraph : A Timeline Before I delve any further along my life's story, I would like to explain something to the reader. I would like you to know, this journal entry is for clarification purposes only. Skipping it will not subtract from my life's' account. First off, I would like to iterate that I have lived for more than eighteen thousand years. In contrast, Celestia and her sister Luna have lived for a mere nine thousand or so. With that fact now firmly established, I now feel the need to summarize the relative direction this epic timeline is going to take. This trope will allow readers to wrap their mortal minds around just long my life really is. So far, I have segregated my life into precisely 18 sections. Each one is 1000 years in duration, and I will refer to each of them as Epochs; by the nomenclature of: 1st Epoch, 2nd Epoch, 3rd Epoch, 4th Epoch, etc. I have labeled each one with its own unique title, according to the events that transpired during it's duration. I will now list them; including sub divisions of time (estimated): 1st Epoch - The Kindling of New Fire Rise from the Fire (100 yrs) | Rise of the Younglings (300 yrs) | War of Fire (600 yrs) 2nd Epoch - The Age of Adolescence Rule of the Ents (800 yrs) | Rule of Sharowdon (200 yrs) 3rd Epoch - Rise of the Changeling Empire The Division (300 yrs) | The New Pact (400 yrs) | Wrath of Two Queens ( 300 yrs) 4th Epoch - The Majesty New Dominion (600 yrs) | Arrival of the Fays (400 yrs) 5th Epoch - Era of Grandiosity Beginning (325 yrs) | Middle (450 yrs) | End (225 yrs) 6th Epoch - Age of Warring Nations 7th Epoch - The Fall of Civilization Triumph (300 yrs) | Entry into the Last Song (700 yrs) 8th Epoch - The Last Song 9th Epoch - Age of Silence 10th Epoch - Age of New Beginning 11th Epoch ~ 18th Epoch Birth of the Two Sisters (2 Epoch) | Rule of Two (3 Epoch) | Foreboding (1 Epoch) | Rule of One (2 Epoch) 19th Epoch - Present Day Now, let us return to the story at hand. Now where was I?
Return to Darkness Return to Darkness I don’t remember anything after the blackness took me. The void I entered totally engulfed my consciousness. Anything that might have occurred for the duration was lost to amnesia. Even the smallest spark of thought was extinguished by sleep. Despite my respite, I was by no means rested. A bone chilling wind cut against my exposed skin. From head to back claw, my body ached all over. Finding myself no longer on the road where I had passed out, I awoke to discover myself strew upon a crag atop the mountain range. From my vantage point, I could spy the rolling hills of the steppe. It was then I came to a conclusion. I assumed that somehow, after having been knocked out by Discord, he had in fact given me the compensation I demanded. The draconequus had delivered me half way to my destination. Flying over the mountains would be impossible. Far too high, and cold; I had to make my way through the narrow gullies and passes of the Macintosh Mountains, a formidable range that separates what is now Appleoosa from the Badlands. In the time of my voyage, the Macintosh Mountains where called by another name, Imperil Massif. It, by far, would be the most dangerous stretch of the journey. Not only would the elements pose a formidable obstacle, the natives to that region where none the less hospitable. Among the many warring goblin clans and countless mountain giants was a greater threat. Gargoyles would prove the most difficult obstacle. The most ferocious of the stone skins, they are extremely territorial, and in those days usually would kill their victims without warning. From nowhere they stuck. Thousands of tales circulate the region. Stories of whole, hundred pony caravans completely massacred, and giants slaughtered in droves. All who entered the range ran the risk of a hostile encounter with the mountain savages, and I was no exception. Nearly devoid of life, the mountains where not a place I could afford to stay long. Behind every corner danger lurked. Rock slides, sudden chasms; and steep, slippery slopes into bottomless pits – a single step could kill you. As I went up and up, the snow drifts grew deeper. Snow reached heights of thirty feet. A sudden gush of wind, or shift in the unstable terrain, and I would have been buried alive in an avalanche. Fortunately, I was used to hardship. During The Kindling of New Fire, I experience far more grievous times. It was back into the darkness I went. Paradise was just over the mountain. I just had to keep going. … By far the greatest danger was monotony. I had spent five entire weeks climbing and climbing; and then climbing some more. The higher I went, the further away my objective seemed. No closer did I get to cresting, and after many days and nights without rest, I decided to take a break. Frustrated and exhausted, I took shelter in a cave, just off the narrow path. It was a damp, smelly little thing. Plastered in slime and mold, heat from hydrothermal vents spewed noxious gases into a large portion of the cavern. As such, I was forced to sleep near the mouth, almost completely exposed. I did so in fear of asphyxiation. The sleep I had was well deserved. My body was so numb from physical expenditure, I felt nothing. I couldn’t even scene the hard rock I laid on. It was as if my existence where reduced to but a throbbing head. Against the jagged stone, I laid to rest. Deeper and deeper I fell. Down and down into sleep I went. My eyes closed like castle portcullis, and my body became immobilized like a corps; I slid into a deep slumber. I faintly remember the dreams I had during that sleep. Mostly, I just remember it being the most soporific thing I’ve ever experienced. What I do remember is this. I felt as if I were being carried, like all the weight and pull of my body left me. I began to rise through the sky like a balloon. Despite my slight fear of heights, only peace and comfort was on my mind. Eventually, I was enveloped by a beautiful aurora. It was of an unprecedented beauty, of which only the mind can conceive. There, in the celestial ethereal, I came to rest. … My rested energy was quickly replaced by fear, as I awoke not knowing where I was. Bound and chained to the back wall of an unfamiliar cave, my heart sank. My carelessness, my procrastination, had gotten me captured. I struggled in my arrest, but to no avail. My bindings held firm. Enchanted with runic magic, the cuffs detained me with an anti-shapeshifing hex. Guess gargoyles aren’t savages after all. They are just shrewd business creatures, as I would come to learn. Although they fed me, they didn’t speak to me. When not attending to me, they didn’t even make eye contact, much less look my way. My captors paid no attention to my screams, pleas, and insults. An interesting bunch, their kind spoke very little, and on the rare occasion they did; it was very terse and concise. Moving very little during the day, the gargoyles subtle glances and gestures composed the majority of their interaction. I spent maybe fifty years chained to that back wall. They only let me out once of twice during that time. Such rare view of the outside was greatly enjoyed by me. Times seems to blur during this time. I have not real recollection of any particulars of that place, other than my arrival and departure. As for my departure, I soon found out why I was being kept for so long. I was to be used as a bargaining chip. Sold into slaver I was. When my new owners arrived, I had had my suspicion for some time. They where Changelings. The ones who bought me where Red Changelings. Paying in rare gems, and precious metals, of an unprecedented amount, they took custody of me. For what reason, at the time, was unknown to me. I joined several hundred other captors, whom I had no knowledge of, and together we were herded over the crest. Author's Note Hope you guy's enjoyed this section. I've decide to write my story in 1000 - 3000 word chapters, to be releases as individual installments. This is particularly due to my time constraints.
Going Even Deeper StillAnd so over the mountain we went. Slaves were chained in groups of ten to twenty. We faced forward, never looked back, never uttered a word, and didn't stop for any reason - for fear of death. On we toiled, heaving our rusted chains across the barren rocks. Away and away. The quiet breeze and the whistle of the wind upon the rocks, and the beating sun heated our iron restraints. My bindings were heavy, and uncomfortable. So heavy, many beasts collapsed after only a few hours - and where killed by the guards. The sentinels then tossed the bodies aside, or rolled them into ravines and gorges. The links bit my wrists and ankles. I still feel the sore calluses they made. The rusted iron painted red rings around where they cut, of flesh and flaking metal. To make it worst, mine were imbued with runic magic - it burned in the vicious wound like salt. Racked with pain, I had no choice but to continue, and soon the pain faded to a terrible itch. Being a phooka, I was selected as the lead slave. Ahead of all the rest I went. Accustomed to hardship, I never faltered in step, nor did I grow tired from exhaustion. Marching all night, my nocturnal vision aided the column's advance. Of course, as I was the lead, I had the benefit of no collar restraint. All those behind me wore wretched yokes, witch prodded them in their movement. If a slave's head lowered, the yoke spiked their chest; and if he turned his head, the yoke bit and clamped the neck. I truly felt sorry for them. Especially on steam gradients, when they had too look up. The yokes bit into their exposed backs. I thought I was alone in sorrow, but there on the mountain I leaned of Empathy. Suffering brought me tears of understanding. My heart was filled, despite the emptiness in my body. By the time our convoy neared the top, my linkage had lost over half of its original members. With me in front, there was a mountain troll behind me, and, to my surprise, a kelpie behind the troll. Devilish in nature, kelpies appear all white, with the exception of their sky blue eyes. Skin smooth as a seals, it's deathly cold to the touch. Of course, this kelpie was a shadow of his former self. The white skin was splotched and scarring, sullied with dirt and grime. The troll was no better of. His face was torn, almost beyond cognition. His back was lashed heavily, and callused from salt rubs. His fore teeth had been pulled by force, leaving his jaw permanently slanted. My disgruntled chain mates fortunately had no problem with me. We had a rhythm going. We were all in step. It helped pull the chain across the rocks. More importantly it kept the linkage from catching, if it did we would all fall over, and I feared not having the strength to get back up. Red in appearance, our changeling masters where quite an annoyance. Constantly prodding and hissing at us in their slimy tongue. If it hadn't been for the mystical restrains, I would have crushed their measly bodies into the mountainside, and ejected the remains into the chasm below. They looked like fire ants, spiked and armored in their crimson chitin. They carried spears and sabers crafted from a blued steel, and their armor was a scaly bronze plate mail. They hovered over the lines, watching those below, seeking out the weak. When a beast fell from exhaustion, the beast was slain. But it was not a mercy killing. It was a vicious beating to death, a reminder to those remaining, strong incentive to keep moving no matter what. Before the final climb, up and over the top, our group was show brief mercy. The remaining 97 slaves, I included, where allowed one nights rest. Well, it really was not a full night. We slept maybe for five to six hours, and then trudged on. When we awoke, the accursed collars where removed and discarded into the chasm below. Our linkage was magically extended - for what reason I was soon the learn. The climb before us was just that - a climb. Nearly strait up, the series narrow foot holds lead up a towering escarpment. We new then why the Changelings had given us rest, and relinquishment from grievance. We needed it. Climbing would have been impossible with the collars and short irons. Up an up we went. Like rancid buzzards, changeling guards hovered nearby, simple watching; never helping. Our struggle was our own. I certainly had no trouble tackling the climb. My claws gripped the rock face easily. As for my kelpie companion, he had a greater degree of difficulty. His oily body would caused slippage in his grip. I am certain the water horse would have fallen to a certain death, if not for the troll. Alone, it would have been impossible for me to have held the kelpie's weight. Fortunately, the troll's barbaric strength kept the kelpie alive. Normally trolls are quite ferocious, even when not provoked. For whatever reason, this one had no problem with his close proximity to us. He didn't mind catching the kelpie, and never muttered an utterance of complaint. In fact, the big guy even carried the kelpie half way to the top. Perhaps the troll was being nice under threat of death, or maybe he just didn't want dead weight on his hands. Whatever the reason, his question-less cooperation saved our hides. It was oddly comforting to know that at least somebeast was looking out for my hide. Come to think of it, without my good vision he wouldn't have survived. Perhaps he was just as confiding in me? I would never know. The question stays with me to this day, how I befriended that noble savage of the mountains. We didn't climb the whole way in one attempt. Rather, several would be taken. Using advantage of nearby outcroppings, we rested after a two hour climb. At night, without the heat of the sun, the mountain face was blasted by bone chilling gales. It was here, our little group worked silently to stay alive. Unlike the changelings whom wore fire amulets, the slaves had no protection from the elements. So we... we... cuddled. Don't take it like that! The troll faced the leeward side, resting his head on me like a living pillow. This allowed our champion to regain his strength lost to hauling our bodies, and it gave me a wind shield. The kelpie would sleep against the troll, protecting him form the wind. Kelpies have remarkable resistance for cold, so he didn't mind in the slightest. In fact, the kelpie had the most conformable position of all. Resting against the troll's fatty side, he had a drastically softer surface to rest on than the hard rock below me. Fortunately we slept full nights on the climb. For obvious reasons, the others could not blindly follow me at night. After three days of climbing we reached the top. Seeing the crest, my heart leapt for joy! It bounced between the ribs, and I could feel its pump in my side. Reaching the top, I thought it would burst. Before us was a flat plane which cut round the final bend to the other side. As we rounded a narrow passage, wind blasted through the gap. For several seconds I was blinded by the flow of air, but then! Oh sweet Sól! The land beyond was remarkable. Words cannot describe the beauty of the land beyond the mountains. Never was a place more fertile or lush. A garden of unimaginable beauty, my words fail me. Towering trees touched the heavens, and roaring river rapids irrigated the garden that was beyond. But the view was short lived. We now had to climb down the other side. In an effort to save time, I will skip describing our decent. I assure you, the climb down was just as arduous - if not more so. ... The lush green forest sprang up at the foot hills. We left the barren mountains with sullied bodies. I thanked Sól for my deliverance. My strength had long since left me, my mind was but a phantom adrift on a still ocean. The ghostly, emaciated bodies of the slaves drifted across the land like a nightmare out of madbeast's dream. As we loped our links through that spectacular wood, the clinking echoed in the beauty. It anguished in the trees, and disturbed sweet bird song. I felt ashamed to disturb the picturesque scene. We where enveloped by greenery. It was above, aside, and below. The low chains caught in the brush sometimes, so the going was slow. Escape, the idea had crossed my mind. Unfortunately I didn't have neither strength, nor will for it. My mates seemed even less inclined. Especially the kelpie. He began to slow and stumble. Our climb had worn him to the bone, he was thin as a rod. The poor beast slowed over a period of three days. His links fell out of sink, which was an annoyance, but still. I felt a deep sorrow plummeting within me. It left my head, and sunk down towards my stomach, where it felt like a stone. I wanted to cry out to the poor bastard, but I couldn't. When the water horse stumbled for the last time, I felt a sickening tension in the chain, dragging of the body. It dragged, and dragged, and dragged. Oh, how it pulled along! Thumping like a horror it rolled and slumped. My mouth too dry to scream, my stomach to empty to throw up. My eyes to dry to cry. My face was devoid of all expression. I had lost it long ago on the trail. My mind burned with anguish for my fallen comrade. Finally, I had enough. I could not allow my friend's honor to tarnish. Where was dignity?! With throat unslaked and with black lips baked, I could nor laugh nor wail. Through utter drought how dumb I stood! I bit my arm, I sucked the blood, and cried, "Cut him loose! Cut him loose already!" My anguish echoed through the woods like a scream from Tartarus. I was thrown to the ground. My head hit a stone and the world blurred. Swarming like vultures on a carcass, the changeling guards enveloped me and struck. Vicious was the pummeling. Half dead already, they where determined to expend what remained of me. I had lost all hope. I had seen it all before and it didn't turn out well. The bastards were laughing, like they'd been waiting for it the whole time. Laying there in the mud and filth, I just waited for eternal sleep to pass over me. A long rest after a sorrowful, pointless journey. I could see just beyond the gate of the dark forest that awaited me. I could see Sharowdon, Aelius, and Father Tree standing there hand in hand, as if to greet me there. Through the darkness, some thing was pulling me. I was dragged along, delivered from the beating. No more did the strikes meet my raw flesh. It was the troll! Laying on the ground defenseless, I stared up at him. The mountain troll, Lord of Hills and Gullies, pulled me towards him with furious vigor by my leg chain. I could see it in his eyes. His tortured orbs teared with a blazing fire, he was turning to blood rage. The anger had built, and built until it could build no more; and it was about to come toppling down on our foes. Ponies today have no respect for trolls, but I do. Despite outward appearances, and seemingly rude mannerisms, they are fiercely loyal friends. The troll pulled me, delivered me from certain death at the cruel hooves of the murderous. He broke his cuffs - the ones he had slowly filed down on the mountain rocks, and eroded with urine. I learned right there an then, an angry troll in contested ground is not to be bucked with. Despite their prodding of spears, and slashing of swords, the puny changeling blades could not pierce the madbeast's hide. Upon realizing the troll was invincible, the guards attempted to flee - only to die with their backs turned. After wrenching up portion of a fallen tree, he hurled the missile with all force. The immense red wood, ten times my size, bashed and bludgeoned the insidious mob. Bodies rag dolled with the dynamo's strike. The guards where strewn about, all dead; a shattered carnage in the mud. More came and more died. The guards could not stop, much less stagger the beastly King of Peaks and Chasms. In righteous rage, he seized each one by one and broke them. Cracking heads like eggs; and stomping bones like twigs, the troll gave a barbaric display. Pounding his chest with blood soaked hands, the troll laid waste to the onslaught. Slapping foes aside like mosquitoes, the beast's crushing blows bent bodies, and broke blades. Thundering away, the woods echoed his throws, and death blows. A smile came to my face as I passed out. I viewed shadows coming to the trolls aid. Again, a great sleep took me. Down, down, down I sank into rest. My body lay in the soothing warm mud, as the leafy green canopy faded to and emerald haze, and then to black. I had no dreams. I was living one. Author's Note Hope you guys enjoyed the latest chapter! Boy did that troll turn out to be something, or what? Thanks for reading!
PrologueThe Last Songs of Empire: Child of Shadows Recounted Tales of the Life and Times of Black Bramble Pax Equine Equestria is the greatest empire to date. It has lasted for more than two thousand years. Since the birth of the Great Sisters it has flourished vibrantly. Spanning entire continents, this grand state has become an indivisible kingdom of peace. Since its annexation of the Crystal Empire and the apotheosis of Twilight Sparkle – Equestria has become formidable. I have at last come to peace with an existence, and I have found confidence in Equestria’s monarchs… … This diary is the culmination of my life’s journey, an epic which spans a great length of time. My memory is vaster than most mortals have time for in their lives, so to benefit the ever-deathers I will abbreviate my life’s story the best I can. Of course, I will explain any major gaps, or jumps that my story might take; and will introduce key moments and highlights, well and bad, throughout my experience. My name is Black Bramble, but officially it's First Moonchild, or at least that is the closest translation of it. The title of First Moonchild was graciously bestowed upon me by the Titan Ents of the Beginning, over eighteen thousand years ago. Since then I have acquired many other names; each incurring its own chapter in my vast lifetime. I am a witness… bystander, to empire after empire. I am the one who heard the final songs of their populace - the fables and stories of their demise. My memory includes empires which have no remaining evidence upon the Earth, all history erased but the traces that remain within me. … There was a time before Equestria, long before the two sisters… long before even their progenitors. It was a time of spectacular empires and species. I am among the few remnants of these great times… not even Discord himself remembers them. I have noticed, over my life span, that Discord is prone to memory loss, and he has never been a confidant of mine. I probably should use a memory incantation on him one of these days… For the first time in my life, I will expose myself to the world at large. Previously, I shifted through existence like a granule through a grate - unnoticed, and barley touched. Hiding in the shadows, isolated, alone; adapting myself to the contemporary regime – blending in with the ‘native’ population that surrounded me. Here is my story.
