Zecora's Big Book of Zebra Legends

Chapters

Agra: The First Zebra
The Cloud Lords
Light Thief
The Greedy Guests
Chief Agra
The Dragon and the Mouse
Sea and Sky and Green and Blue
A Story Told
The Tale of Chorah Mugdha
Mahatma: The Great Dragon Matriarch
Mother’s Mistake
Cold Little Mare
Agra's Return
World of Music
Nothing

Agra: The First Zebra

Back before the ages, races, places that we know.
Back when even the eldest trees had just begun to grow
There was the chieftain Agra, praise his name, his soul, his mind!
The crafter and the weaver, very first of zebrakind!
The master of the earth, under the sky he craft the land!
The mountains rose, the seas were filled, accord to his demand!
He weaved the grass, the trees, the beasts, though not under the sun!
But underneath the moon he toiled more than anyone!
But, praise his ways, the lonely father of so much we know
There was one thing he never found a way to make or grow
Throughout the ages he would spin many a won-drous bride!
But never could he make one last forever by his side!
Great Agra, in his mourning, he would take the wives he'd lost
His tears, like flowing diamonds, would recount his great love's cost
And so the equine goddess, Luna, came to know our chief
For in his sadness the land ran brilliant white in his grief
And so the land and moon became as one in heaven's grace
And so the world was born in darkness, all within its place
But great Agra's heart had split too many times before
And his life, which once was ageless, could one day take no more
Luna, at his passing, wept her dark tears on the earth
For without love, how can the night be made so bright in mirth?
But then she looked around at all her love had made 'pon land
Es-pec-ia-lly those who his love had made so bright and grand
So Luna, in her glory, raised great Agra's wives up high
So that they might look down and love his land from her sky
And so the stars that watch us still, their children, one and all...
And remind us, still, that we're loved for our hearts, both GRAND!

...and small.

The Cloud Lords

A storm can be quite scary, that's certainly the norm. And so you should be wary lest you're swept up like a worm.
But let me tell a secret about their squalling ways, it is because of Agra that they cry through all these days.
For once the clouds were mighty, proud and strong and grim, they lorded over zebra, enslaved us to their whim.
For even just a spec of rain or sun, there was a price. So zebra toiled day and night in endless sacrifice.

But Agra, he was clever, and knew just what to do, so our father called upon them, and gave them all they're due.
He spoke words of such horror 'bout their kin, their ways, their home. Words so clever and profane none could say but him alone.
The clouds tried to be mighty, to be proud and strong and grim, and lord over this zebra and enslave him to their whim
But Agra would not quiet, his offenses would not cease, and their proud faces would darken and then tremble as they creased.
Screaming that he quiet, one cried and threw a spear, but through all of its bawling, not a single one land near.
And Agra, he was laughing as the rest through tear-struck fits, and made off to his people as they cried themselves to bits.

No more did zebra sacrifice to get the sun or rain. Instead the clouds gave everything, those words still causing pain.
Now Agra may have left us but the clouds never forgot. Even now they still recall him, even now still get distraught
So when you see them rumble, when they scream and throw their spears, know that they cry for Agra, the mouth of all their fears!

Light Thief

Now I've told that Agra was quite wise, I know that for a fact
But when he was still in his youth wisdom was what he lacked
The fire burning in his heart, his passion for all things
It didn't sit well in the heat which the sun always brings

And so Agra, he schemed his schemes and planned the heat's undoing
Deep inside the earth at night he found ways of intruding
And when the sun goddess would look upon her many ponies
He'd nip up through the clouds and sky and swap her rays with phonies!

The sun goddess, for all her smarts, could not tell what was wrong
The heat that fell down from her orb, it wouldn't last as long
The cloud lords shivered in the cold and snow came falling down
And as the ice was building up such laughing filled the ground

But Mahatma was clever, too, and saw the ploy at play
She saw him jump to sky at night, she saw him laugh in day
And so before things froze too long, she blew and warmed the earth
And from each spot a ray broke free, bright flowers would then birth

And so the game would play each year, with Agra stealing rays
Then when the cold had hit its worst, Mahatma bringing days
The sun and moon goddesses liked the change so very much
They've kept the tradition since then, each adding their own touch

And so while you might feel you hate the heat or cold above
We're given both so everyone has a season to love!

The Greedy Guests

In the dark of night she waited, in the winter cold she stayed
For her will could not be baited and her focus; not be swayed
As she sat up there, so lonely way up on her mountain, matron fair
May she hear our prayer

As the fire burned inside her, taken from the goddess flame
Like a living, loving pyre, neither wild nor so tame
She would warm her clutch, aglow with the power of which she took her share
For all of our care

It was then they came unbidden, pegasi in from the cold
Greedy eyes spot the warmth hidden, greedy hearts strove to be bold
They would come to her, smiling, and tell that she must grant some of her heat
Like it just some feat

Taking pity on the ponies, though they were nothing but rude
She gave all the heat they could please, told they leave her to her brood
They would leave at once, and she thought that maybe they would just go away
Least if she had say

But they came back in the morning, then they came back at the noon
Always demanding more warming 'till she thought she'd be out soon
She told them such, and again with those smiles, each would say "That is fine
I'll just take what's mine."

And they looked upon her offspring and she nearly gave to rage
They thought she was just some wellspring? That her nest would be her cage?
In the cold she still would refuse to leave her eggs to fight off their stand
But she had a plan

Granting her heat to one last guest she set down and bore a claw
She stated she had none more left and, as a threat, snapped her maw
The ponies shivered, then looked to the one of them that now had all the flame
And they thought the same

Leaving, they fought each for the heat 'till the flame had long since died
Still their battle was not complete, striving to steal the warmth inside
'till they'd wrestled out every last bit of warmth they ever could have had
Leaving naught but bad

The story is old, and darker than most, but has the simplest of moral you'll find
Never take advantage of a good host, especially a host of dragonkind.

Chief Agra

We sometimes call Agra our chief... that isn't quite exact
Hopefully this tale I tell will illustrate that fact
Pony and zebra first crossed paths with not a little envy
The ponies, led by goddesses, the zebra, by family!
Agra, known to our kind of course, a god in his own right
...was a hermit who would always ensure to shun the spotlight
We pleaded with him day and night, banging upon his door
We wanted our own god-king and, with each day, want it more
When Agra finally relented there was rev'ry indeed
...but he quickly silenced our cheering, imparting upon us a need
A great people needed a keep worthy of a great god-king
And so, from far and wide, such a great, grand hoard we'd bring.
Rare gifts, treasures and prizes, alchemy and sorcery too.
We brought or craft for Agra everything a god-king due.
Finally, at the very end, we craft a monstrous door
Something to keep safe inside the treasures we'd adore
Agra's cave, furnished and gorgeous, made the god-king smile about
He then thanked us for our helpfulness... and promptly locked us out.

The Dragon and the Mouse

Once there was a dragon. What was his name? Nobody knows.
That name is lost, forgotten! At least that's how the story goes.
As dragons grow as their hoards swell he was quite a large beast
What's more he was a greedy thing... his thieving never ceased!
A mighty, crafty dragon, who stole a wondrous prize
A gem from Celestia's very crown, just above her eyes!
Dragon put it top his golden hoard to show his clever arts
...then wished to gloat a bit and that's where this story starts.

Kitava was a tiny mouse, no bigger than a hoof
A clever little thief, herself, though there was rarely any proof
The dragon bade her visit his cave, inviting her inside
And when her eyes landed on the gem they grew very, very wide
"Amazing! So incredible! How did you accomplish this feat?
No, don't say, I am unworthy. Such cleverness could not be beat!"
The dragon smiled at those words, though wary of his guest
He knew her for a thief just as he knew he was the best
"Please, oh mighty dragon, let me bring tribute for your hoard...
I need to show everyone how much you should be adored!"
With a smile and a nod the dragon readily agreed
And so the mouse went off while he reveled in his greed

The first day Kitava brought sparkling bits of glass and tin and steel
Brought up from her very nest, her children at her heel
Some were carried in by crows and a few magpies
For everyone knows such sparkling things they truly, deeply prize
He watched carefully as each approached to see if they would steal
So each cowered before his mighty gaze, unwilling to be a meal
The dragon basked as his hoard grew, many praises sent his way
Both he and his pile had doubled in size by the end of day.

The next day brought him treasure still, this time from the shore
Now frogs and snakes and lizards were the ones to bring him more
Shimmering, smooth stones, scales, even bones carved elaborately
Tribute mounted in piles as the dragon grinned triumphantly
Still, the dragon was every wary, watching each visitor in turn
For he knew, for his real treasures, such as they were apt to yearn
And Kitava brought many beings more to visit by day's end
So it should come as no surprise dragon and hoard doubled again

The third day brought many treats like honey, pastry and bread
They came in such a quantity they still mounted as he fed
Kitava brought all from before to bring the tasty hoard
All the while insisting it was all the least they could afford
The final tribute of the day was a mirror of giant size
The dragon gazed upon it and even he was surprised
He'd grown to be as gigantic as the hoard on which he stood
And as he took in his visage he decided it was good

Without turning to his minion mouse he asked what she'd bring next
She, in turn had said "First there's something I need to confess."
"The tribute, today, was given to console you for your loss..."
"What?! I am such a mighty dragon, who would dare to see me cross?!"
The dragon sneered at the idea and asked if the mouse was thick
That he could lose something he prized? It had to be a trick
The mouse smiled wryly and donned a great gem as a hat
Then she bowed low before the dragon, saying "And a good one at that."
Bellows and flames burst from the cave as Kitava made away
The dragon screaming after her that she was going to pay
Getting stuck in his cave's very mouth he cursed her thieving ways
And how his gold was stolen while his visage held his gaze

There are many lessons in the tale, though one triumphs all by far
Pride will be the downfall of one's strength, no matter who you are.

Sea and Sky and Green and Blue

I have a tale to tell that Agra wishes I not say.
For he thought himself a prankster but he met his match one day.
Celestia'd heard of his antics from her sis, who called him the best
...so Celestia sought to see how he'd be as subject of the jest

Sneaking in his cave while he slept throughout her day
Celestia took divine brush to his stripes in play
Imagine the surprise of the zebra chief and god
When he woke to find greens and blues covering his bod!

Wiping at the patters some of the greens slicked away
And they pattern still the caves he dwelled in to this very day
But the prank was resilient and stuck to him despite
And so he jumped into the sea to wash off the blight

Shore to shore the oceans filled with greens and blues in waves
And, again, you'll find these waters still bearing the stains
Even THIS was not enough to rid his coat of color
For a simple prank, goodness, wasn't this one a bother!
Jumping onto land Agra bucked the greens and blues
His effort and intensity outright scaring off hues!

The lines of color fled to the poles to escape his fury
And it's said, to this day, there the stripes in the sky still scurry
Huffing and puffing, he turned his gaze on his solar goddess
Then he laughed, deep and long, and in so doing passed her odd test
The very land shook as if to join the gods in their mirth
And from that silly prank one of the greatest friendships ever was birthed

A Story Told

Akasha was a storyteller, a master of word and lore
Whose tales let us see other lives, and showed what living's for
But as tales have beginnings, so they each must have an end
A final fact of stories Agra himself could not bend
Kifo, death, was coming, with no love for stories told!
For they told what he did not, could not, and would never hold
He began to stalk Akasha in all the places that she'd go

But the power that she held was one he could never know
She'd tell stories of her adventures and spread them far and wide
And he would chase down every one, his rage building inside
Her stories had such power that they'd convince all who'd hear...
"...that Akasha had, most certainly, passed by just near here."

But Kifo would begin to close, less and less easily fooled
And then he stood before her as his rage, around him, pooled
What was this defiant zebra with nothing special that he could see?
But before he could close on her she spoke to Agra one last plea

She wished her stories could remain after she did no longer
And with that wish came power that grew stronger and stronger
Suddenly, her glyph began to flow 'cross wall and floor!
Linens, plates, tables, chairs... more, and more, and more!

Every story she had ever told and all she was, inscribed
Until there was not a thing left that hadn't been so dyed
And Kifo cursed, for the mare he stalked now was no more
She had become the stories that, out from her, had pour
So Akasha, and future zebra, would thwart Kifo time and again
And live on in their stories... though most less literally, in the end...

The Tale of Chorah Mugdha

Before the time of writing, within the time of song, back when many of you here would call days dull and long.
There was a famous fruitbat... well, infamous is more true; the crafty Chorah Mugdha, the greedy bat of blue
Chorah so loved fruit, for nothing else she craved. She’d only feast and theft them; she never slept nor bathed.
But others caught onto her game and would see and swat her ‘way, but Chorah was a smart one and so stopped stealing by day.
Her fur turned gray and pale so far from the sun’s light, but there were still some creatures that also preferred the night
She couldn’t steal fruit fast- enough and bit and gnashed her teeth; they broke sharper and she realized she could drink quicker than eat
Chorah so delighted but couldn’t steal if she grew fat, so she’d take the juice back to her cave to spit into a vat
She thought herself so clever as her harvest grew and grew but she didn’t know just what a vat like that was apt to brew
And so one day while searching and lamenting all their loss, guess what the many creatures just happened to come across?
Chorah, drunk and silly, singing to the stars above and she offered them her cave, happy and full of love
The creatures tried the drink she offered, wary of being tricked, but soon they, too, found happiness as liquor got them licked!
And so they all did celebrate as Chorah learned to share and the brew taught all that sometimes one must throw cares ‘way to care.

Mahatma: The Great Dragon Matriarch

All dragonkin are scaly friend of zebra near and far
Because, you see, through destiny, we made each what we are
No paltry tale of stripe or scale could tell all where we've been
But still I know of one tale, though, that first made us two kin

So full of fright was the first night, before stars took their place
When moon was new, or darker hue, and light graced not its face
The zebra shivered in the cold that often took them, young and old.
And monsters nigh, on ground or sky, would rarely ever let them lie.

Mahatma was a dragon. The first one ever born
She towered over mountains, her wings created storm

She looked upon the zebra, how they suffered in the black
And for her kind and glor-ous heart she would give what they lack
The sun would bake the land back then, the dry and heat was shrill
And so Mahatma rose her neck and bit of it her fill

The fire burned within her mouth, it raged across her tongue
Then, reaching down, dropped some to ground, and shared with everyone

The fire never fully left; burns in her children still
Nor did the fire she dropped snuff, kept as traditions will
Again, there's many more tales left, of dragons and zebra
So praise her still, may one and all, our matron Mahatma!

Mother’s Mistake

Once the dragon matriarch knocked the door to Agra's cave
Her belly wide, her pride inside, her continence quite grave
"Agra, I fear my treasured kin may not all be so tough
That when they release fire their scales won't be thick enough!"
So Agra, the creator, worked his alchemy and power
Such that no more would dragons find fire a reason to cower

Though days went past peace wouldn't last, Mahatma at his door
Her belly wire, her pride inside, once more set to implore
"Oh Agra, there is danger is this world too vast to fight
I beg you give my children a grand share of your own might!”
So Agra gave them magic and grew them quite large indeed
So that, when facing foes, of more power they'd have no need.

Mahatma came to Agra once more not too long past then
Her belly wide, her pride inside, requesting him again.
"Agra, though my children have no fear of fight or flame
I worry that, upon them, time itself may still lay claim"
So Agra made the dragons lives greatest that you could find
And Mahatma thanked Agra once more for being so kind

Mahatma bore her kin and watched them grow, now safe at last
Then watched as they turned on each other once that peace had passed
Her dragons had none to fear save each other, anymore
So Mahatma went to Agra to ask for one wish more
The dragons were then scattered, remade a reclusive kind
And she cried and watched them go, knowing some she’d never find

This tale warns that one's loves must sometimes face dangers their own.
Else children unknown to danger endanger themselves when grown.

Cold Little Mare

I recall one brilliant fall when sands ran cold and deep
She’d tight her shawl so cold would stall but still the wind would reap

But what she’d find in sand so fine beyond her small town’s wall?
Within a bind of earthen kind an egg so bright and small
She’d hold it fast to help it last and take it with her there
But what it held beyond warmth felt she never was aware

The mare was cold and lonesome, her village empty, poor
They’d sometimes give her scraps in summer but of those were no more
Her hunger pained with nothing gained though warmth helped her some way
The egg held close to help her most but hunger filled her day

Looking on the little egg she wondered if it’d fill
A cherished little life form, to leave it... had she will?
She fret and cried, felt dead inside, to think to do it bad
Finely decide, let it reside, last choice to make her glad

Her fading choice of mercy as starving soul would flee
It would be met with glorious bird which then, in turn, held she
Beyond the pale it’d carry, frail, the mare who’d passed away
Beyond the realms of darkness and into heaven’s day

Mercy can have prices, and horrible they might be
But what is right is worth it, of that you just must see
Though innocent might heaven sent by sticking such a creed
It’s resplendent and always meant unforgotten each good deed.

Agra's Return

Agra was a lonely soul, a distant god, a being whole
He was eternity and more, so what did he need others for?
He would create, as was his due, he saw the world, his project, though
A solitary being he, forever to be one, not we
What then becomes a distant god? Who, on his planet, never trod?
Who never saw beauty he made? Who'd never hear its accolade?

"Not even god should be this way." A single zebra came to say
Journeying through earth and stone this zebra took the path alone
Bags stuffed full of works and art, so much it more befit a cart
So many things all to show the surface world Agra could know
All sense would fail beneath the ground except, of course, the constant sound
The beating, carving, grinding wake the mighty craftsman ever'd make
The zebra found his cave at last, the god still at his mighty task
Sightless, his power still was felt, and so the zebra stopped and knelt

What came then were meager pleas uttered all while still on knees
Agra would not scorn nor laugh these reasons to see what he'd craft
In sightless dark, the art was left, for there its beauty was bereft
Desperate, the zebra told of home while god kept at his work, alone.
Story of love, of struggle, dread, all of the path the zebra'd led.
The zebra stopped, god listened not, and so left, all presence forgot

The zebra come home in defeat with naught to show but aching feet
So things continued for a time before the ground gave rumbling whine
The earth part and then Agra rose and then, behind, it once more closed
Before him stood a gorgeous mare, beyond any he'd been aware
He spoke words of great force and will, "I'd hear end of your story, still."
The zebra went with his demand, but all the while, she formed a plan.
She knew he could not stay too long, lest he allow his work go wrong
So she'd weave one tale to the next; the practice left the old god vexed.
Truly, he did leave after while, leaving the mare with a coy smile
She turned and ran as he retreat, confident they'd again meet

And so they did, again, again, Agra and, perhaps, his friend
He'd follow her each place she'd go and to beauty she'd have him know
And as time passed he'd move his cave. Before long, view of sky, it gave
Faster running over land, now travel gave views far more grand
All while, love for his people grew, and for his herald, more than he knew

And so there would then come a day when that brave zebra had her way
She took god's promise to always stay and take part in the beauty that, all places, lay
More, with no more fear he'd hide, she assented to stay by his side
So we recall her name with pride, Akasha, Agra's first bride

World of Music

When gods are bored they're apt to play... such was the case for night and day
In early times they'd less to do and so they'd sing the time on through
Yes, singing songs made up because none were about, nor ever was
They set the tone, those two alone, and made the music fill their home
Before they were, Agra was still. A trickster, yes, but less of thrill

A busy colt not prone to bolt, he'd craft and work as if in yolk
It was sweet Luna drew him out, she pulled the seas, tossed him about
He could not hide, least not inside, his mountain flushed, much like his pride
So soggy zebra chased the two around this land of green and blue

He could not catch, less give, them due. Far, far too quick, those sisters two.
They SANG the time away in chase, with wings allowing lightning pace!
Agra couldn't tell but he, as well, before long fell under their spell
At first he skipped, and then, he danced. He spun and twist as if entranced

And still, he chased them all along as sisters watched and shared their song
And so it spread where 'ere they lead and every ear and eye was fed
Like horns it blared and filled the land, music, dancing, big and grand!
At long, long last they stopped the chase. They’d land and stand and about-faced
Agra was on them instantly... a quicker colt you'd never see.
Without word, he tossed them into sea, where they splashed and played quite gleefully
Agra would huff but, soon enough, he joined the two and lost his gruff.

And so the gods would grace us all not of benevolence, but whimsy's call
A joy made real in a resonate feel, delivered on a mere prank's heel
And music and dance became our own as, deep in our hearts, each made its home
Because, you see, not everything needs grandiose cause to take to wing
Sometimes the best comes 'bout in jest and is that not ALSO a wondrous thing?

Nothing

Nothing has no name, Nothing has no form
Nothing's simply nothing as from Nothing it is born
Nothing might seem harmless, but please let me be clear
Agra, god of creation, has Nothing to fear

When the world was created and Agra formed each beast
Nothing watched from far away, the lesser of the least
Each creation a masterpiece, each unique in some way
And Nothing but Nothing could have kept Nothing at bay

Nothing wanted everything; it had nothing to give
And so it stole from everything, all so that it could live
Body of a zebra, eyes of a cockatrice
Horn, wings, and hooves of ponies, and the power they produce
Claws and tail of griffin, a dragon's teeth and lung
From the lesser of the least, how mighty Nothing would become!

Then there was but one thing left to be complete
A shadow of his own to spread beneath his feet
He'd steal many a shadow, but they would never stay
When sun went down and dark took ground they'd always get away
And so he's search for ages and his body would grow old
And no one could have known how things would then unfold

For, eventually, Kifo, Death, would catch up to Nothing
Life's shadow itself yearned to take the wicked being
For Death was a just creature and preyed on the cruel
Those who harmed life would lose it; that was Kifo's rule

Nothing was prepared, though, and attacked Kifo in rage
He beat Kifo into ground and made the earth his cage.
In the struggle, at Kifo's touch, flesh rotted away
And, of all he'd taken, only his bones would stay

And so Kifo took up a shadow, a purpose, and a name
And since that time, since that crime, death was never the same
No longer would he prey on just those who squandered life
No, this new death was greedy and was not bothered by strife
And so Kifo became known for something else after his fall
That, no matter what you've done, greedy Kifo comes for all