The Tale of the Weaver Brothers
A long time ago, long before the islands took their shape, long before the world knew of the colour of fire, there were two brothers. The brothers were born in a world fraught with monsters and struggled to develop. Everyday, the ponies would be under attack by these mighty creatures. They could not rebuild their homes, lacking the proper materials.
These brothers would be their saving and destruction.
The brothers were gifted by the gods with incredible magic, able to produce enchanted strings from only their hooves and mind. The first brother, the Weaver of Creation, made strings made from the strongest materials. His strings were indestructible, unmalleable, permanent. The other brother, the Weaver of Destruction, made strings made from the sharpest materials. And his strings were razor-sharp, honed, unyielding.
Together, the brothers brought great honour to their pony brethren with their gifts. The Weaver of Creation would raise buildings from the earth below, and the Weaver of Destruction would ward off the beasts that lingered. The Weaver of Creation would make clothing of the most elegant design, and the Weaver of Destruction would clear forests to make roads from. The Weaver of Creation would uphold peace, love, and spirituality, and The Weaver of Destruction would uphold justice, power, and mentality.
To those lost to the monsters, the brothers would help guide the souls of those who’ve had not yet departed, whose lives remained unfinished and without peace. Through spiritual ritual, the brothers would give those souls purpose and love, aiding them to the spirit realm. The land became peaceful and happy as the souls of those who have passed no longer mourned.
The brothers often traveled the world, helping those in need. To them, every pony was important. They couldn’t bear the thought of ponies being bullied by the beasts. The ponies they met loved them as they loved them back. The brothers learned lessons from their wiser elders. They learned about morality, sacrifice, and self-learning. They trained their gifts with these teachings, learning more and more what they can do.
As they learned more about themselves, the greater they became. They weaved muscles into their flesh and bone, making them stronger than the strongest Earth pony. They laced wings to their bodies, and they could fly greater than any pegasi. They placed horns upon their heads, and could perform magic unknown to even the wisest unicorn. The brothers were seen as gods among most ponies.
For the early years of their lives, the brothers were like one divine force, a master of all in two forms. They fought side by side, covering each other’s weaknesses. The Weaver of Creation aided his brother by providing defenses and reforming the land cleared away. The Weaver of Destruction aided him back by providing attacks and being the first to strike their foes.
However, as the brothers got older, and their magic more firmly grasped, their bond slowly withered. the Weaver of Destruction no longer saw his brother as strong as he was. Even when faced with a force of evil, his brother refused to kill, and only sought peace with the monsters. The appeal of aiding others fell from the Weaver of Destruction’s interests as well, seeing as they had become blind to the dangers of the world.
The Weaver of Creation kept to his ideals however. As he saw it, as long as he and his brother stayed to guide their pony brethren, there was no fear to be feared, no life to sacrifice, and no struggle to endure. Perhaps even the monsters that tormented the ponies long before could be reasoned with. The two brothers began to argue with one another. Which was of greater value, independence or trust, fear or love, justice or mercy?
Eventually, the Weaver of Destruction rebelled against his brother. For it was only he that could break his brother’s strings, the Weaver of Destruction destroyed the buildings his brother created. He made an example of the danger that awaited outside his aging brother’s wall, and struck fear into the ponies.
With that fear, the ponies became strong, and warded off the beasts with as much ease as the Weaver of Destruction. Technology began to advance, and the land became more efficient to its ponies. However, this came at a price. As weapons became common amongst the ponies, they became fearful of one another. Violence within soon followed after, something the Weaver of Destruction saw as only an unintended side-effect. The Weaver of Creation looked over what his brother had brought, and was disgusted.
One night, as the Great Sun set to its slumber in the horizon, The Weaver of Creation confronted his brother upon a mountain. On one side was the land the Weaver of Creation created, untouched. On the other side was the land that the Weaver of Destruction had usurped from his brother.
The Weaver of Creation told his brother, “Look upon your land. It has been inflected by the weeds of war and fear. Now tell me, is this right?”
The Weaver of Destruction coldly replied, “It has become a great and powerful society, Brother. Despite its faults, it is more suitable for these times approaching.”
His brother shook his head in disappointment. How could his brother have gone astray? What makes him think that tampering with a perfect land is correct?
The Weaver of Destruction motioned to the mountains beyond the walls of their land and said, “What are across those hills are monsters beyond what we faced as young. They can fly over your walls, they can travel under the earth, and they can kill without laying a claw onto their prey. Our ponies must be strong against the monsters when they come.”
The Weaver of Creation then asked, “And what happens after those monsters? Will your ponies be at peace, or shall they fight once more, not content with no matter how much blood you feed them? Blood has no value once removed from the heart that loves.”
The Weaver of Destruction didn’t reply. He flew away into the night, and returned to his half of the mountainside. He had disowned his brother, and proclaimed his land as separate to the Weaver of Creation’s. They had never looked into each other’s eyes before, and they vowed never to in the future.
Eventually, as the Weaver of Destruction fortold, the monsters did come.
While the Weaver of Creation’s wall stood firm, the beasts infiltrated his land through the other means his brother warned him about. Without adequate weapons, the ponies relied on their leader, the Weaver of Creation, to save them. However, he did not have such power without his brother. Instead, the Weaver of Creation tried to reason with the monsters that came. While some didn’t bother to hear him, some did. The Weaver of Creation befriended the monsters that listened. These monsters stopped attacking the ponies. They sacrificed themselves to save their pony friends by warding off the other monsters.
The Weaver of Creation’s land was safe, but at a significant risk and cost of life.
Without a sturdy wall, the monsters easily flooded into the Weaver of Destruction’s land. However, with military training rich in their blood and weapons greatly more powerful than that of their brothering state, the ponies fought off the monsters. In a fortnight, most of the monsters were defeated. In the end, only one beast, a heinous dragon, remained. The Weaver of Destruction took it upon himself to slay the beast and done so. As a trophy of their victory, the Weaver of Destruction tore off its head and wore it as a helmet.
The Weaver of Destruction's land was safe, but left behind a scorched earth littered with weapons.
After the invasion of monsters had ceased, the brothers looked over their land once more. On The Weaver of Creation’s side, many more lives were taken. Homes ponies were inside were swallowed whole, leaving behind craters of death. However, its citizens remained peaceful, knowing that the damage can be repaired. On The Weaver of Destruction’s side, barely any lives were taken, and the land celebrated over their victory. However, in only a night’s time, a faction declared war onto another, and blood had been shed once more.
The brothers met on the mountain once more. They argued how their side handled the monsters better than the other. The Weaver of Creation called his brother a failure. He had not ended the bloodshed on his land even after the vanquishing of the monsters. The Weaver of Destruction called his brother a coward. He tried to ally with the monsters that could’ve easily destroyed everything, only getting by by luck.
Over the next set of generations, great suffering remained, which one brother blamed the other for. The two sides of the mountain quarreled more and more with each other, separating families and friends. This had caused them more pain than any of the monsters before.
The ponies’ arguing turned to rage, and their rage turned to violence. Wanting to expand their land, the ponies of the Weaver of Destruction waged battle against their neighboring territory. One night, the ponies of the Weaver of Destruction invaded the Weaver of Creation’s land. With their mastery in technology, they snuck behind the Weaver of Creation’s walls and attacked.
For it was only he who could dull his brother’s strings, The Weaver of Creation put a stop to the invaders’ advances. He weakened his brother’s weapons to dullness and strengthened defenses to counter similar attacks, but not before the lives of many were taken.
That night, The Weaver of Creation confronted his brother in his brother’s palace, furious of what his brother’s followers have brought.
The Weaver of Creation asked him, “Why? Why do you allow this? Your ponies have invaded my land, and have taken the lives of many families, defenseless against them. It took me to intervene to stop this madness.”
The Weaver of Destruction had no idea such an invasion took place. He had always trusted to growing independence of his own ponies to manage themselves. To have it told to him now by his sworn enemy in his own palace shocked him.
Concerned, The Weaver of Destruction told his brother, “I had no idea that such an incident had occurred. I am greatly sorry for your loss.”
His brother replied, “If you were sorry, you would destroy the weapons that have brought this needless bloodshed. Ever since you left me, Brother, it seems there is more suffering in this world than ever before.”
In that instant, The Weaver of Destruction’s words turned from concern to anger.
He yelled, “Do not call me ‘Brother’! How dishonorable must you be, to blame your and your followers’ incompetence upon my ponies, upon these sacred grounds? My ponies are now strong, independent, free from the walls that you use to imprison your blind followers.”
The Weaver of Creation replied in an equally sharp tone, “I do so to protect them! How incompetent must you be to not know when innocent blood has been spilt by the hooves of your own?”
“Be gone, for what reason should I have to respect you anymore? I do not fear you,” said the Weaver of Destruction,
With that said, the Weaver of Destruction exited his throne and walked to his personal chambers. Disgraced, the Weaver of Creation flew back to his land. The flames of fury swept through his castle as he went to sleep. The seeds of wrath were sown, and would soon blossom the weeds of death and loss the next morning.
As the Great Sun rose and brought light to the land again, the Weaver of Creation looked out from his castle. He saw the towering buildings of metal and stone on the other side of the mountain. They were unnatural, intimidating. Behind their walls probably housed dozens of swords and bows. Soon, he predicted, soon those towers would devour the simple homes he had built, using their untied remains as foundation.
The Weaver of Destruction looked out from his palace and saw the pure white walls of silk string on the other side of the mountain, not stained with a single drop of blood. Soon, he predicted, soon his ponies would turn against one another, fighting to be the first to break down that perfect wall, and destroy themselves and his entire land.
They were scared. Desperate, they summoned a soothsayer to each of their homes and asked of them to tell them their future. The foreseers told the brothers the same thing.
They said, “Look into your brother’s eyes, and see what he sees. Come to understand one another, and bring honour back to your land. If not, then you shall die at the hooves of your brother, and death and sadness shall reign over the land. The souls that die will never move on to the afterlife, and those that survive will never walk the same way they used to.”
The Weaver of Creation was stunned. If we were to protect his ponies, and keep peace across the land, he would have to break his vows. However, he knew it was for the better, and prepared to meet his brother one more time. He put on his finest robes, prepared a gift of good fortune, and flew to the mountaintop.
The Weaver of Destruction became furious. He made a vow, and wouldn’t soil his honour and the glory of his ponies by breaking it. He believed what he must do. He had to slay his brother, and break the prophesy. He put on his strongest armour, armed himself with his most powerful blade, and flew to the mountaintop.
The two brothers met at the top and confronted each other one last time. The Weaver of Creation pleaded for mercy from his brother, trying to look into his eyes. But, the Weaver of Destruction’s eyes were obscured by the beast’s head he dawned. The Weaver of Destruction threatened to kill him, avoiding eye contact with him and focusing on his sword in hoof.
The Weaver of Creation pleaded one last time, “O’ Brother, please, there is no need for this fear, this violence. Accept my gift, and may we find balance and unity once more.”
The Weaver of Destructed simply replied, “O’ what a great fool you have become, for fear and violence is why I am so great. Die quickly, or I shall make the skies rain with your blood.”
Fear overtaken the Weaver of Creation, just as it had for his brother. And with the misstep of a hoof, the battle begun. The two brothers fought with their godly powers for days and nights. Their violent struggles crushed the earth beneath and silenced the winds above. Their fight became so brutal, that the sky and the Great Sun shattered above and reformed into the constellations, the Sun, and the Moon. The entire world shook and reformed from each time one of the brothers had smashed the other into the mountain.
Until finally, after countless days and nights of fighting, the Weaver of Creation struck down his brother with his own razor strings.
The Weaver of Creation was triumphant, but as time passed, the fear faded from his eyes and he saw what had come from his actions. The battle had destroyed the land on both sides of the mountain and the mountain itself was now a volcano. Hundreds of lives were lost in the conflict as their homes were destroyed by loose strings and fragments of the sky.
Without his brother, the Weaver of Creation had become lonely. He lost touch with his once great powers. Without his brother’s strings, there was no means of removing the excess strings he alone had created. The sea shrunk as the strings littered the water, the land became infertile as the strings choked the ground, and the sky became crowded with the constellations and quarreling daughters of the Great Sun.
Although peace had returned, it was only in the silence of the dead. Although there was no longer fear, it was only for a few innocent moments before the ravenous monsters returned to consume the fearless, the unaware. The monsters didn’t listen to the Weaver of Creation’s words of peace, finding no weight compared to their might. Without his brother, the Weaver of Creation no longer found purpose to his life, not in his followers, nor in his wife, nor his daughter.
A year after his victory over his brother, the Weaver of Creation walked up to the grave of his brother. There was scroll sitting atop of the grave mound. It was one of the few things his brother created. Its fabric was razor sharp, and its contents stuck anypony who read it with fear, but also great power. No pony was able to read it to the end though as anypony who tried were driven mad and had died from the cuts inflicted from the scroll.
After examining the scroll for some time, the Weaver of Creation decided to join alongside his fallen brother. He destroyed his body and reweaved it into a scroll. Its fabric was silky soft, and its contents gave whoever gazed upon it peace of mind at the cost of all physical power. No pony would be able to read it to the end though as anypony who tried simply gave up in humbleness and couldn’t find the strength to fully unravel the scroll’s heavy cloth.
Over time, the two scrolls, the last of the remnants of the Weaver Brothers become lost. No pony knew where they went, but some say that they’re still together, side by side. Over time, the Weaver Brothers were mostly forgotten by the world. The ponies moved on to form their own ideals and kingdoms. Over time, the land that was once the utopia the brothers created had formed into part of a larger nation, one of many that held both the ideals of the Weaver of Creation and the Weaver of Destruction.
Many years after the disappearance of the Weaver of Creation, his daughter, who was now a strong, beautiful mare, sought after conclusion to her father and uncle’s story. She found the two soothsayers, now old and dying, and asked of them what will now be of the two brothers.
In their dying words, they told her, “In one thousand, one hundred, and eleven years, the Weaver Brothers shall return to this world. They will look over what has become of their land, and finally see eye to eye. The land will be united once more. As for the two brothers, they will walk side by side once more.”
