Grief Stricken

by Kromulus Regulus

Rating: teen
Tags: Gore, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Alternate Universe, Sad
Length: 2365

A short story, mixed with journal entries, describing one ponies path to salvation.

This is the story of Grief Stricken, one of the greatest generals for the Kingdom of Farfoot. Together with some journal entries we discover that war has its costs and sometimes even the strongest choose to walk away.

This story is created for Timefather64. Hope you enjoy!

Published 2012-06-07 11:34:01 UTC
Last updated 2012-06-07 11:34:01 UTC

Grief Stricken (Full)

Grief Stricken

by

Drakomis N. Reign

Written For

Timefather64

A Fanfiction of

My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

For fifty years a silent war has been fought. I, Grief Stricken, have commanded this clandestine war. The Kingdoms of Equestria and Farfoot have struggled to test the mettle of our blood and fortune, yet even my own King Nemesis knows not why we continue. So I must, with his order, continue to send those younger of my brothers and sisters to their death. Knowing that whilst I sit atop Castle Reach, I shall see in the distance the light of Celestia's Royal Guards as they slay them. What shall follow shall be my testimony to the sad state of affairs with full knowledge that it shall never be found least I be beheaded by my Lord and King.

-General Stricken's Private Journal. Entry One.

There was a rustling of grass to Grief's fore as he adjusted himself proper. The target of the planned assassination might have been made known to the foul plot, thus the Earth Pony's increased heart rate. He tried his best to maintain his breathing, silently praying to the Farfoot Gods that he be not made known to his enemy. Carefully, ever so carefully, Grief stuck his head from behind the tree which provided his cover. His crimson eyes narrowing as he spotted his prey, Grief going still upon his hooves. His jaws tightened around the hilt of his sword, tongue tasting the wrapping that provided a grip. In just a few short seconds he would be ready to make his move.

“Halt! Who goes there?!” called out a rough voice.

The voice came from behind Grief, his eyes going wide as he noted it was a Royal Guard. He had been spotted! A quick glance back to his target revealed the Pegasus to be standing perfectly still. This was his only chance to do the evil deed. His hind legs dug into the ground, he bounded towards the Pegasus. The target barely had time to register what was transpiring before Grief sliced his sword upwards to decapitate the pony. His hind legs impacted the ground, his forelegs next as he made a move to his side to glance at the Royal Guard.

Blood spattered everywhere from the body of the now-headless Pegasus. The Royal Guard stood stiff, almost not comprehending what had transpired, before he galloped towards Grief. Yet by the time he made it from the tree line Grief was gone.

On the fifth month of Fall, in the third day and around nights eve I had slain the Pegasus that would start the war between my beloved land and Equestria's. The Stallions name was Flaming Quill, a famous diplomat and politician in the Kingdom of Equestria. For several months prior he had been pushing for a motion to blockade critical resource routes to the Kingdom of Farfoot. A simple matter enough, just send a diplomat from My Lords court to solve the matter.

Yet King Nemesis did not see it that way. To him, all talk of harm to Farfoot was harm to all Farfootians. Despite the obvious differences in citizenship and ideals from Flaming Quill, My Lord Nemesis chose me among an elite few to assassinate him. He gave me gold first, which in my youth I gladly accepted. At the time I could have never known what consequences would have been brought due to my lack of security and stealth in the matter. Had I known at the time what I know now, I would have also did my best to kill that Royal Guard.

For it was that lone Guard who spotted me who identified my land of origin. It is widely known that all ponies coming from Farfoot lack these so-called “cutie marks”. It was one of the reasons why Farfoot and Equestria had been hostile in the first place. Some trivial matter over why we lived a natural existence with the land over the Equestrian's conquest of it. Whatever transpired, we eventually lived a peaceful if not tense coexistence. That is, of course, until I killed Flaming Quill.

-General Stricken's Private Journal. Entry Fifteen.

The winter wind blew across the field with an intense chill. Three Equestrian Rogues, all donned in clothing of the night, had made their way carefully across the border of Equestria and Farfoot. Unbeknown to them, they were being watched. Far in the tree line Grief nodded to his companions. The Equestrians were attempting their fifth clandestine incursion into Farfoot. It would not happen should Grief had any say in it. He watched as his companions rose their bows and readied their arrows. With one flick of his hoof, Grief sealed the fate of the enemy rogues with the sound of arrows piercing the wind.

Or so he thought.

A magical field erupted around the three rogues, each one flinging the robes from their bodies to reveal golden armor of the Royal Guard. Grief cursed under his breath to his luck. This was the only advantage Equestria had over Farfoot. Magic-users were everywhere in Equestria, yet in a natural land such as Farfoot not even its own Unicorns possessed such an ability. They lived off the land, lived naturally, a testament to the will to survive at all costs. Grief unsheathed his sword, tightly biting down on it with his mouth. He motioned his hoof forward, galloping forward without cause as he rushed the three enemy unicorns.

Bolts of lightning, fireballs and ice shot from the horns of the three rogues. Within seconds, Griefs detachment of twenty well-trained and hardened assassins was decimated down to only two. His second in command Oracle by his side, Grief continued his charge as he parried the magical blasts with his sword. Oracle had followed his lead, the Pegasus pony doing her best to match Grief's outstanding ability with swords. When they neared the enemy, the rogues switch from magical-based combat to standard as they each unsheathed a dagger or sword of their own. Grief chose his target, sprinting as fast as his four legs could muster towards the lead rogue.

Grief looked directly into the enemy Unicorns eyes. They were green, with a hint of orange around the edges. The intensity and concentration in them burned into Grief's vision. His jaws clenched tighter around his sword as he leaped into the air, eyes maintaining their lock, watching the rogues widen in shock. Grief could make out the starting attempts of some spell from the rogue Unicorn's horn, but this was to be to no avail. Grief pointed his sword at his enemy, strong jaws keeping it in check as it impaled through the side of the rogues eye socket and sliced down into his neck. Without thinking, Grief motioned his own neck upward, sending his sword into an upward slice to finish the job. He then twirled to take his sword from the enemy corpse, glaring in anger at the next rogue.

It was not long after the skirmish at George's Pass that I had been sent before My Lord Nemesis. He had recognized my prowess, despite the near total loss of my detachment. Oracle, the Pegasus Mare I would come to love as my own, had vouched for my bravery and honor. Only through her had My Lord not seen fit to send me to the chopping block. I can still remember her eyes, her smile, her very voice as she always seemed to encourage me.

She left the service of My Lord Nemesis several months later, telling me then what I didn't know at the time was the truth. She wanted me to see, wanted a life for me. All I could muster was my own ignorance and loyalty to the Kingdom. Looking back now, I wish I had listened. For it was after he departure that this clandestine war turned very, very open.

-General Stricken's Private Journal. Entry Thirty-One.

Forty years in the service of Farfoot had taken its toll on Grief. He stood proudly on Rigid Hill as the Army of Farfoot marched below towards the border of Equestria. There, in the distance, he could make out vast formations of golden-clad soldiers and warriors of the Goddess Kingdom. He was not afraid, though. His warriors, having been hand-picked for this battle, were well trained and knowledgeable in the arts of combat. Many of them he had personally trained himself in the art of swordsmanship. With such training and such well kept stock of warriors, Farfoot had brought the Griffin and Minotaur Kingdoms to their knees in well under five years.

Now after his promotion to General, Grief would personally oversee the preliminary assault into Equestria. Should this assault succeed, all of Equestria would surely follow and Lord Nemesis would be well pleased. In the back of his mind, however, Grief had his doubts. He silently nodded to his Commanders at his side, they raising the Banner of Farfoot and sounding the signal. Down below, Grief watched as the carnage began.

The Battle of Rigid Hill was the first time I had failed in the service of My Lord Nemesis. The Equestrians were just too powerful, too commanding in their methods of magic and war. I watched as thousands of good warrior stock was diminished before my eyes. Stallions and Mares I knew for long days, many of whom I personally tutored, cut down in their prime. It was at Rigid Hill that the seed of doubt was firmly planted in my mind and my soul. A doubt that soon blossomed into full blown rebellion against Farfoot.

After Rigid Hill I was commanded by My Lord Nemesis to train a new generation of warriors. While reluctant, I did so. I had no choice.

-General Stricken's Private Journal. Entry Fifty-Two.

It was unlike anything he had ever seen. To his right, the youngest commander in his legion was being sliced open by a spear. Grief parried the swing from an enemy soldier, trying to maintain concentration on survival as he sliced off the soldiers left forehoof and impaled a strike to his chest. He panted harshly, lifting his gaze as the screams and battlecries echoed all around him. Equestria and Farfoot were once again in the midst of another battle, one that would likely never see the light of day. Thousands upon thousands of Farfootians were engaged several thousand Equestrians. All of whom seemed more ferocious than anything Grief had ever encountered.

He galloped to the rear after ordering another thrust against the enemy line, what was left of his commanders sounding the horn and shouting commands. He met up with the rear force, battered and bloodied, gazing at their youthful expressions and faces. That was when it hit him. The pointlessness of it all. Without a word Grief threw down his sword in the middle of the battle. He strode away, not willing to send another to his death by his own word, tired of the carnage behind him.

I had gained enough horrors in my life to last hundreds of lifetimes. Frost Reach was the field of battle where I could never finish. I had not the nerve nor will to send anymore to their death. Lord Nemesis was just a few days away with the rest of the army, yet despite this I knew it was hopeless. The Equestrians were too strong and their will too fortified. Why couldn't we just live in peace?

It was a concept I had struggled with since Oracle's departure. I never truly understood the purpose for the battles. Why did My Lord Nemesis need to conquer Equestria? What was the emotion that burned so brightly in that Lord to send so many to their dooms? I know not, nor do I wish to know, for now all I know is peace. I left the service of My Lord Nemesis on that day, forsaking my citizenship of Farfoot along with it.

Now I started to search for Oracle. It was the only purpose I had left.

-General Stricken's Private Journal. Entry Seventy-Nine.

In a town not so far inside the borders of Equestria, Grief made his way down the main street after many a days walk. He was tired, dirty and in desperate need of a good meal. The ponies that he crossed, however few, all gazed at him in mystified concern and horror. Finally he could take no more, collapsing on his knees on the street of dirt and mud. He breathed in the taste of earth and liquid as his lungs strained to take in enough air, burning from his long walk from the battle at Frost Reach. He heard the sound of hoof-falls beside him, gazing up.

“Grief, is that you?” asked a very soft and soothing feminine voice.

Grief swore he knew the name of that pony who held that voice. He blinked several times, his eyes adjusting as he tried to stand. It was then that he had a good look at the Pegasus before him. His legs gave out again, he falling flat. Slowly he nodded in the mud, a crowd of concerned ponies almost instantly coming to his aid. “Yes,” Grief said as he smiled towards the Pegasus. Then, without saying another word, his eyes closed. A final breath left his form as his chest seized all movement.

Grief Stricken was no more.

Through her tears Oracle hugged the body of Grief. She would later find a journal on his saddlebags. Then, slowly, over the course of several weeks, she read through all eighty pages of his journal.

I’m walking through these lands alone. I’ve been without water or food for three days now. I think I hear a stream up ahead. I feel so weak from writing. I don’t know what day it is anymore. All I can think about is her. All I want is her. I miss you Oracle. Please show me what it’s like without war. I’m so sorry for what I’ve done.

I need to keep moving. Writing is not helping anymore.

-General Strickens Private Journal. Entry Eighty.