The First Reaperby SquiggelSquirrelChaptersThe BeginningMeadowbloomThe Prince's FallPreludeThe BeginningThe Beginning was chaos. Raw, pure, untamed. If there was a “before”, no pony could remember it, or trust the memories they had. It lasted for one eternal moment, unconstrained by mere time. Nightmares preyed on the living who were yet not truly alive, for how can anypony be alive in a time where neither life nor death holds any meaning. Logic was a lie; Sanity was suffering. Everything existed, yet nothing was real. Yet into this time before time, from everywhere or nowhere or perhaps even beyond, there entered She Who Was Named First. ("Wait — you mean she was the first one with a name, or her name was literally 'First'?” “Well, there is some debate on that matter.” “Okay, nevermind.”) And First, Her Law, on the world, she wrote And First, by Her Word, the Chaos she smote That dark would ever be sundered from light That day would ever be followed by night That death would ever give meaning to life That joy would ever take trueness from strife (“Is this whole thing gonna be a poem?” … “Sorry.”) And from the chaos, First drew Her Guardians, to carry her law. Whether She lacked the strength, or feared the tyranny of absolute rule, none can say, but First left the world, and the guardians watched over in Her stead. They took many forms, and wielded many magics. Guardians of balance — day and night, life and death, each carried a law. Yet born of chaos, each carried within them a paradox. Among the guardians, perhaps none was more revered or more feared than one named Prince Eternus. His law was life; His paradox was death. For what is life without change, yet what is change but a death in itself? Eternus, it is said, was an alicorn stallion of great stature. (*Snerk* “Did something amuse you, Miss Plates?” “No boss, please carry on.”) His coat was white as fresh driven snow, his mane as black as fresh broken coal, h- (*Sigh* “Yes, Miss Plates?” “Did he have a carrot for a nose?” … “Sorry, Boss.”) …His eyes were red as fresh-drawn blood. His cutie-mark, the symbols of yin and yang. Twice the height of any other pony, his feathered wings were larger than carts, his mighty horn tall and curved… (“Oh really now, Miss Plates, don't think I'm so naïve as to not know what you are thinking. Honestly, I am quite certain you have an entirely dirty mind.” … … “Are you quite finished? Yes? Then I shall continue.”) Eternus carried on himself the duty of balancing life and death. For centuries, he kept his law to perfection, never swaying, never faltering. He placed his duty before all else, avoiding friends and lovers for fear that they would influence him. (“Wait, you're saying he never got any, for centuries? That can't be healthy.”) He considered himself above the other Guardians, who wasted their time on friends and fun. Though the guardians were long-lived, all who lived would someday die, and Eternus himself would be the last, when all other life ended, his duty finally complete. And so it was, for centuries, that Eternus grew more cold and distant. Fearing that others would corrupt his heart, he let none in to nurture it. Ponies worshipped him, seeking his favour, offering him riches, status, a grand castle and servants. Most, he refused. Some gifts, he accepted, reasoning that they would only enable him to better enact his duties. Believing himself above all others, he was surrounded by ponies who only echoed this belief. Yet nothing lasts for ever, and on one fateful evening, the Prince's world would begin to change completely. MeadowbloomEternus patrolled the world, watchful for agents of chaos who would seek to disturb his order, when on this evening, a sound caught his ears. He followed it to its source, and the more he heard, the more he wished to hear. The sound was a song; A young mare stood in the valley, gathering wildflowers. The Prince saw her, and wished to approach. He took the form of a young unicorn, so as to not startle her, and crossed the field to ask her name. Her name, she said, was Meadowbloom. The Prince wished to hear more of her voice, to see more of her face, to know more of her… ("Really Miss Plates?" “Oh c'mon, Boss. You're telling me her face was all he was interested in?”) In any case, the two talked at some length, and agreed to meet again the next evening. One night after another, they walked alone together… (“Sure, 'walked'.”) …and the with each night, the Prince grew more certain that he loved her. After only a week, he asked for her hoof in marriage. He revealed his true identity. He offered her wealth beyond anypony else's. For her, he would be a king, and she his queen. She would have servants, power, everything she could want for, and above all, that which no other being in the world could offer, that nopony else possessed. If she would but be his, he would grant her youth eternal, forever strong, healthy, and beautiful, by his side. For her, and her alone, he would cast aside his duties, and First's law. For her, he would do anything. She refused. He begged, pleaded. She laughed, and turned away. He gripped her shoulder, stopping her from leaving. She turned in alarm, and struck him. Just once — a single blow struck by relex. The prince's heart was weak; Never had he known desire such as this. Never had he been denied. Never had he felt such pain. Some say a chaos spirit took advantage of the momentary weakness in his heart, corrupting his mind against him. Myself, I suspect that the failing was all his own. His pride, his arrogance, his anger. He struck her, in return. A single blow, struck in anger. Yet in that moment, he cast aside all that he was. He forgot his dignity, his morality, his feelings for her. Consumed by rage, he forgot completely himself, and his duty. (“Ugh. Really, Boss? She's the one just had this creep smack her, shouldn't you talk about her feelings a bit more?” “Miss Plates…”) …in that moment, he forgot everything. All that had been entrusted to him. Duty, power, the might of an alicorn. He forgot his own strength, and the terrible frailty of the very lives that he had been entrusted with. (“You mean…”) He struck her a single blow, in anger. With that blow, he clean broke her neck, stealing the life from her young body, before it hit the ground. The Prince's FallIn a moment of blind rage and jealousy, Prince Eternus killed the mare he had professed to love. Though I do not mean to diminish his crime, had it ended there the world would perhaps be largely unchanged by it. But his fall was not yet complete. The sun was low in the sky when Prince Eternus faced the results of his actions. Meadowbloom, dead, at his hooves. Some say he was overcome with remorse, and wished to atone. Others say he was driven mad with power, and sought more. Some believe he feared punishment, and sought to erase his crime. We will likely never know, but for my part I believe that the foolish prince simply still had not learned how to take “no” for an answer, not from anypony, not from First, not even from himself. On that evening, the world would be broken. Prince Eternus not only abandoned his duty, but turned directly against it. With all his power, and all his will, he created a new magic. A magic that was never meant to be. A magic that would tear down First's law and shatter the very foundations of reality. A magic, to bring her back. The Primus Resurrection. The Great Necromancy. The Death Prince's Final Work. To the reapers, it is best known as “Eternus' Folly”. Countless ponies since that day have attempted to re-create the spell. It is an act of the most utter foolishness. Never mind the consequences should they succeed, or the risk they incur, they all seem to forget: Eternus was high among the most powerful beings to have ever walked this world. His power rivalled that of First herself. His talent, his experience, his very being, was devoted utterly to the mastery of life and death. Yet even for him, with all his power and all his talent, to achieve what he was attempting, to pierce the veil and bring a departed soul back from beyond, simply could not be done… …without paying a terrible price. When the first sigils of the spell began to form, the magic stole the strength from his limbs, and he fell, kneeling, to the ground before her. When this did not stop him, the spell stole the air from his lungs, leaving him gasping. When this did not stop him, the spell stole the warmth from his flesh, leaving him shivering. When this did not stop him, the world began to shake, and the spell stole the sight from his eyes, leaving him blinded. And when this did not stop him, the spell stole the very beat from his heart, the life from his chest, killing him utterly. (“Oh come on! Don't stop to sip your tea, dickhorn is dead, what happened next?”) The spell killed him, yet this, too, did not stop the Prince's will. The fabric of the world began to unravel. Destiny fractured, the veil split. In the heart of this magical storm, the spell tore into the Prince's spirit, even as it clung to this world. It tore the memory from his mind, fractured his psyche, scattered his very self. Yet even this did not stop the Prince's will. When naught but magic and will remained, themselves transmuted into to the spell itself, as if in one final vengeance, the spell tore the flesh from his bones, leaving naught but polished bone. Prince Eternus, first of the guardians, keeper of life and death, was gone. The sun's last rays were swallowed by the horizon, and the world was still once more. In the twilight, Meadowbloom awoke, to find the Prince's skeleton, still held together with the last remains of his magic, kneeling before her. Meadowbloom awoke, but not only her… Author's Note End of pt 1. PreludeSomewhere between reality and everything else, is a place that cannot be described. There are things that live there, but they aren't like the things that live here. Not like anything that lives here. When something crosses from that place to ours, we call it magic. When it's something alive, we call it a spirit, or a dæmon. Few ponies ever cross from here to there. Fewer return. Fewer still were alive when they left, and even fewer than that are alive when they return. It is the œþer. The æther. The Other. Yet, in a place where you can build a fortress of words and intentions, or swim in a lake of memories, where rock and water come and go like the ideas and feelings of this world, there is a house. A mansion*. One made of actual bricks and mortar. There are gardens outside, with trees and grass. *Well, about three-quarters of one actually, but we are assured that what remains of it is structurally sound. It's probably magic. Time is rather artificial there, but on one occasion we shall call an “evening”, in one room of many, cosily sat by the fire and sipping tea, were two mares. One, an earth pony named "Pearly Plates". She is hired by The Meadowbloom Trust to cook, clean, and generally look after the house and its sole other inhabitant. Said inhabitant is a young alicorn, known as “Morts”. Morts is a reaper, a scythe-wielding death-mage who, along with others from The Trust, works to maintain the balance of the world, particularly the aspects of that balance relating to life, death, unlife, undeath, death magic (be it “reaper magic” or necromancy), time, destiny, and pretty much all other “stuff like that”. On this occasion, when this story starts, Morts softly clears her throat to speak: “There are many versions,” she says, “of this story. Most historians agree that they all originate in truth, but the details have blurred with time. What I shall tell you is mostly the version told to me by my former teacher, Master Grimm.” With this proclamation, she sips her tea. “This is the story of how the reapers, and for that matter the necromancers, came to be. “Our story,” here she pauses for effect, “starts at the beginning.” Pearly snorts, then burst out in giggles. Her laughter is hearty and warm. “Uh, Boss? Um, no offense, but don't most stories start at the beginning? That's kinda traditional, y'know?” Morts smiles, perhaps a little smugly, and waits for Pearly's laughter to die down. “No, Miss Plates,” she replies softly, “The Beginning…”
The BeginningThe Beginning was chaos. Raw, pure, untamed. If there was a “before”, no pony could remember it, or trust the memories they had. It lasted for one eternal moment, unconstrained by mere time. Nightmares preyed on the living who were yet not truly alive, for how can anypony be alive in a time where neither life nor death holds any meaning. Logic was a lie; Sanity was suffering. Everything existed, yet nothing was real. Yet into this time before time, from everywhere or nowhere or perhaps even beyond, there entered She Who Was Named First. ("Wait — you mean she was the first one with a name, or her name was literally 'First'?” “Well, there is some debate on that matter.” “Okay, nevermind.”) And First, Her Law, on the world, she wrote And First, by Her Word, the Chaos she smote That dark would ever be sundered from light That day would ever be followed by night That death would ever give meaning to life That joy would ever take trueness from strife (“Is this whole thing gonna be a poem?” … “Sorry.”) And from the chaos, First drew Her Guardians, to carry her law. Whether She lacked the strength, or feared the tyranny of absolute rule, none can say, but First left the world, and the guardians watched over in Her stead. They took many forms, and wielded many magics. Guardians of balance — day and night, life and death, each carried a law. Yet born of chaos, each carried within them a paradox. Among the guardians, perhaps none was more revered or more feared than one named Prince Eternus. His law was life; His paradox was death. For what is life without change, yet what is change but a death in itself? Eternus, it is said, was an alicorn stallion of great stature. (*Snerk* “Did something amuse you, Miss Plates?” “No boss, please carry on.”) His coat was white as fresh driven snow, his mane as black as fresh broken coal, h- (*Sigh* “Yes, Miss Plates?” “Did he have a carrot for a nose?” … “Sorry, Boss.”) …His eyes were red as fresh-drawn blood. His cutie-mark, the symbols of yin and yang. Twice the height of any other pony, his feathered wings were larger than carts, his mighty horn tall and curved… (“Oh really now, Miss Plates, don't think I'm so naïve as to not know what you are thinking. Honestly, I am quite certain you have an entirely dirty mind.” … … “Are you quite finished? Yes? Then I shall continue.”) Eternus carried on himself the duty of balancing life and death. For centuries, he kept his law to perfection, never swaying, never faltering. He placed his duty before all else, avoiding friends and lovers for fear that they would influence him. (“Wait, you're saying he never got any, for centuries? That can't be healthy.”) He considered himself above the other Guardians, who wasted their time on friends and fun. Though the guardians were long-lived, all who lived would someday die, and Eternus himself would be the last, when all other life ended, his duty finally complete. And so it was, for centuries, that Eternus grew more cold and distant. Fearing that others would corrupt his heart, he let none in to nurture it. Ponies worshipped him, seeking his favour, offering him riches, status, a grand castle and servants. Most, he refused. Some gifts, he accepted, reasoning that they would only enable him to better enact his duties. Believing himself above all others, he was surrounded by ponies who only echoed this belief. Yet nothing lasts for ever, and on one fateful evening, the Prince's world would begin to change completely.
MeadowbloomEternus patrolled the world, watchful for agents of chaos who would seek to disturb his order, when on this evening, a sound caught his ears. He followed it to its source, and the more he heard, the more he wished to hear. The sound was a song; A young mare stood in the valley, gathering wildflowers. The Prince saw her, and wished to approach. He took the form of a young unicorn, so as to not startle her, and crossed the field to ask her name. Her name, she said, was Meadowbloom. The Prince wished to hear more of her voice, to see more of her face, to know more of her… ("Really Miss Plates?" “Oh c'mon, Boss. You're telling me her face was all he was interested in?”) In any case, the two talked at some length, and agreed to meet again the next evening. One night after another, they walked alone together… (“Sure, 'walked'.”) …and the with each night, the Prince grew more certain that he loved her. After only a week, he asked for her hoof in marriage. He revealed his true identity. He offered her wealth beyond anypony else's. For her, he would be a king, and she his queen. She would have servants, power, everything she could want for, and above all, that which no other being in the world could offer, that nopony else possessed. If she would but be his, he would grant her youth eternal, forever strong, healthy, and beautiful, by his side. For her, and her alone, he would cast aside his duties, and First's law. For her, he would do anything. She refused. He begged, pleaded. She laughed, and turned away. He gripped her shoulder, stopping her from leaving. She turned in alarm, and struck him. Just once — a single blow struck by relex. The prince's heart was weak; Never had he known desire such as this. Never had he been denied. Never had he felt such pain. Some say a chaos spirit took advantage of the momentary weakness in his heart, corrupting his mind against him. Myself, I suspect that the failing was all his own. His pride, his arrogance, his anger. He struck her, in return. A single blow, struck in anger. Yet in that moment, he cast aside all that he was. He forgot his dignity, his morality, his feelings for her. Consumed by rage, he forgot completely himself, and his duty. (“Ugh. Really, Boss? She's the one just had this creep smack her, shouldn't you talk about her feelings a bit more?” “Miss Plates…”) …in that moment, he forgot everything. All that had been entrusted to him. Duty, power, the might of an alicorn. He forgot his own strength, and the terrible frailty of the very lives that he had been entrusted with. (“You mean…”) He struck her a single blow, in anger. With that blow, he clean broke her neck, stealing the life from her young body, before it hit the ground.
The Prince's FallIn a moment of blind rage and jealousy, Prince Eternus killed the mare he had professed to love. Though I do not mean to diminish his crime, had it ended there the world would perhaps be largely unchanged by it. But his fall was not yet complete. The sun was low in the sky when Prince Eternus faced the results of his actions. Meadowbloom, dead, at his hooves. Some say he was overcome with remorse, and wished to atone. Others say he was driven mad with power, and sought more. Some believe he feared punishment, and sought to erase his crime. We will likely never know, but for my part I believe that the foolish prince simply still had not learned how to take “no” for an answer, not from anypony, not from First, not even from himself. On that evening, the world would be broken. Prince Eternus not only abandoned his duty, but turned directly against it. With all his power, and all his will, he created a new magic. A magic that was never meant to be. A magic that would tear down First's law and shatter the very foundations of reality. A magic, to bring her back. The Primus Resurrection. The Great Necromancy. The Death Prince's Final Work. To the reapers, it is best known as “Eternus' Folly”. Countless ponies since that day have attempted to re-create the spell. It is an act of the most utter foolishness. Never mind the consequences should they succeed, or the risk they incur, they all seem to forget: Eternus was high among the most powerful beings to have ever walked this world. His power rivalled that of First herself. His talent, his experience, his very being, was devoted utterly to the mastery of life and death. Yet even for him, with all his power and all his talent, to achieve what he was attempting, to pierce the veil and bring a departed soul back from beyond, simply could not be done… …without paying a terrible price. When the first sigils of the spell began to form, the magic stole the strength from his limbs, and he fell, kneeling, to the ground before her. When this did not stop him, the spell stole the air from his lungs, leaving him gasping. When this did not stop him, the spell stole the warmth from his flesh, leaving him shivering. When this did not stop him, the world began to shake, and the spell stole the sight from his eyes, leaving him blinded. And when this did not stop him, the spell stole the very beat from his heart, the life from his chest, killing him utterly. (“Oh come on! Don't stop to sip your tea, dickhorn is dead, what happened next?”) The spell killed him, yet this, too, did not stop the Prince's will. The fabric of the world began to unravel. Destiny fractured, the veil split. In the heart of this magical storm, the spell tore into the Prince's spirit, even as it clung to this world. It tore the memory from his mind, fractured his psyche, scattered his very self. Yet even this did not stop the Prince's will. When naught but magic and will remained, themselves transmuted into to the spell itself, as if in one final vengeance, the spell tore the flesh from his bones, leaving naught but polished bone. Prince Eternus, first of the guardians, keeper of life and death, was gone. The sun's last rays were swallowed by the horizon, and the world was still once more. In the twilight, Meadowbloom awoke, to find the Prince's skeleton, still held together with the last remains of his magic, kneeling before her. Meadowbloom awoke, but not only her… Author's Note End of pt 1.
PreludeSomewhere between reality and everything else, is a place that cannot be described. There are things that live there, but they aren't like the things that live here. Not like anything that lives here. When something crosses from that place to ours, we call it magic. When it's something alive, we call it a spirit, or a dæmon. Few ponies ever cross from here to there. Fewer return. Fewer still were alive when they left, and even fewer than that are alive when they return. It is the œþer. The æther. The Other. Yet, in a place where you can build a fortress of words and intentions, or swim in a lake of memories, where rock and water come and go like the ideas and feelings of this world, there is a house. A mansion*. One made of actual bricks and mortar. There are gardens outside, with trees and grass. *Well, about three-quarters of one actually, but we are assured that what remains of it is structurally sound. It's probably magic. Time is rather artificial there, but on one occasion we shall call an “evening”, in one room of many, cosily sat by the fire and sipping tea, were two mares. One, an earth pony named "Pearly Plates". She is hired by The Meadowbloom Trust to cook, clean, and generally look after the house and its sole other inhabitant. Said inhabitant is a young alicorn, known as “Morts”. Morts is a reaper, a scythe-wielding death-mage who, along with others from The Trust, works to maintain the balance of the world, particularly the aspects of that balance relating to life, death, unlife, undeath, death magic (be it “reaper magic” or necromancy), time, destiny, and pretty much all other “stuff like that”. On this occasion, when this story starts, Morts softly clears her throat to speak: “There are many versions,” she says, “of this story. Most historians agree that they all originate in truth, but the details have blurred with time. What I shall tell you is mostly the version told to me by my former teacher, Master Grimm.” With this proclamation, she sips her tea. “This is the story of how the reapers, and for that matter the necromancers, came to be. “Our story,” here she pauses for effect, “starts at the beginning.” Pearly snorts, then burst out in giggles. Her laughter is hearty and warm. “Uh, Boss? Um, no offense, but don't most stories start at the beginning? That's kinda traditional, y'know?” Morts smiles, perhaps a little smugly, and waits for Pearly's laughter to die down. “No, Miss Plates,” she replies softly, “The Beginning…”
