Chapters “Beginnings”
The sky was on fire. The hellish valley filled with shouts, the clashing of steel against steel, and blood as the invaders stormed the keep of Hoofshire. Along the outskirts of the mortar-shelled walls stood the prince Zarril, shouting to his guards and shaking his hoof around, ordering them to the battlements. Uproarious and ear-splitting battle cries echoed all throughout. The prince found himself at a loss; the enemies were getting closer. This was not as he had planned, for his guard had far outnumbered his opponent. Not only that, but they were better equipped. How could this be happening...? he thought to himself as he stepped back, turning his head as he galloped across the parapet, ducking between swords and fire, the warring armies testing each others' mettle.
“Retreat! Retreat! Get the hell back to the castle towers, now!!” There was nothing else he could do without risking even more brave stallions for his kingdom. Zarril ducked inside the small doorway leading up to his chambers, shutting and barring it behind him to be sure he wasn't followed. Even with the door shut, the blood-thirsty cries of war and the metal-on-metal clanking noises could not be blocked out of the prince's mind as he began his ascent on the carpeted stone staircase.
The only sounds accompanying him on his way up were the idle jangling of his ornate plated armor, his heavy breathing, and the clatter of a wicked-looking red blade on his back. As he reached his room, he found the door knocked down, splintered and cracked. Dust from it was still kicked up in the air. Cautiously trotting in, he silently drew the blade of legend from his back, holding it in his teeth as he held the edge of the blade inches above the ground, ready to turn and strike at any moment. He eyed a moving shadow, dashing out from behind an opulent curtain. It had been rustled, leaving it waving in the stale and dirt-filled air that was once the prince's well-decorated bedroom. He turned swiftly to face it.
“Alright... Come on out...” Zarril crooned, keeping his composure in the dim light and thick tension of the room. He slowly turned in a circle, searching high and low with his brown, battle-hardened eyes, his grey coat appearing black in the orange-bathed lighting. The prince kept up his defensive stance, waiting for another sign that the intruder was still there. He turned for a moment to the window, hearing his guards rush past, the tinkering of their sundered armor accentuating their presence as they were chased by their shrouded foe.
This small opening of the prince's defenses gave the unknown intruder a window of opportunity in which to strike. He took it gladly and greedily, leaping out from the darkness silently. Turning his head back at the last second, the prince was barely caught off-guard before jumping to the side, barely dodging the unicorn's blue-sheathed levitating blade. The two were now within full view of each other, and the tension only grew in the otherwise silent room.
They lunged at one another, both blades connecting with their promised targets.
~~******~~
Six Months Earlier
Seventeenth of Soulfire, 2583 BC (Before Celestia)
The prince was enjoying a hot cup of tea, looking out from the parapet of the castle down into the lush, green valley of Terra. It was a beautiful sight, waterfalls cascading down the rocks into glistening crystal-clear pools of water for drinking, the forestry providing abundant fruit for the ponies of Hoofshire Keep and the city surrounding it. Taking another sip of tea, Zarril's father Rendara came up to him.
Rendara was not the kind of stallion that blended in easily; nor did he want to. He always showed everypony around him that they were in his presence, even before he'd established Hoofshire Keep. Nopony could tell whether it was just him being arrogant or insecure, but it had the effect of keeping even his colt in the dark on the matter. That was the problem with Rendara; he tended to keep secrets too close to his vest, as the saying goes, and it usually ended up with him getting into trouble. But now, with his young prince Zarril, he has gotten himself out of that habit. Somewhat, at least. There were always secrets he'd be unwilling to tell until his dying days, even to Zarril. His wife, Grandiosa, was a posh mare who, despite her snootiness, was quite soft-spoken compared to her husband. She attended parties, but never trailed off too far to speak to the other guests. Keeping to herself has, consequently, kept her out of trouble, unlike Rendara.
“Hello, my colt. How are things around the keep? Good, I assume?”
“Yes, father... Things are going well. Production has increased two-fold, and the ponies couldn't be more happy for it.”
The two shared a look down at Tera Valley once more, taking in its lush greenery from the breathtaking view on the high parapet walls. Nodding with approval, his father continued on in his overly-posh accent, “Mmmhm... I see you've been taking my advice, then, and paying the labor ponies more.”
“I have, yes, but that isn't really solving anything for our money problem. Haven't we been a bit on the low side on bits lately?”
Unlike both of his parents, Zarril didn't really care for the posh and snooty lifestyle of Hoofshire Keep. He'd much rather be out adventuring in the wilds of Terra Valley, slaying the monsters hiding deep within its darkest reaches. Bringing home something to hang over the mantle and contemplate whilst sipping some freshly-brewed hot cider with some good friends. Of course, his father didn't want this for him. Rendara would much rather have Zarril follow in his footsteps to become a wealthy, monocle-wearing piece of royalty worth being put into history books for his philanthropy.
“Oh, come now, Zarril, you know money is never a problem for us! Why, the last time we'd ever had to save money”-- He says this with a bit of a disgusted drawl-- “was before I built this fine keep!”
“Whatever you say, father... I'm just feeling anxious lately.”
“Really, my colt? What's on your mind?”
“Well, you see, I'd like to go to the armory, maybe get a sword, and go down into Terra Val-”
“Absolutely not”, Rendara states with an overly-harsh, matter-of-fact tone. He even stomps his hoof down for more effect, as if it were required.
Zarril simply sighs, trotting away towards his personal chamber entrance; the small door he'd used since he was a young foal to quickly gain access to his quarters without attracting attention in the castle. After ascending the long spiral staircase, Zarril threw off his royal blue cloak with gold trim. As it landed draped over the well-upholstered sofa nearby, he was already halfway to his private restroom to take a long shower. He entered the stall, butting the door shut with his forehead and using his hooves to turn on the water. Instantly, warm water cascaded down onto his coat, making him begin to feel better already. Later he'd have a serious talk with his father, perhaps persuade him to let him get a sword and go down into the ever-mysterious Terra Valley.
“Adrenaline”
Eighteenth of Soulfire, 2583 BC (Before Celestia)
It took a bit of negotiation, but Zarril managed to persuade his father to let him get a short sword from the armory, as well as some loose-fitting leather armor. He allowed the prince to go no farther than two fieldlengths into the forest, and even this negotiation did not come without a price. The prince was to stay on labor watch for twelve hours if he came back unscathed, and if Zarril were to become harmed, the injury and the required recovery time would be his way of holding up his “end” of the deal, if one could call it that.
Sharpened steel sword strapped to his back, his leather armor fastened around his young, taut coat, Zarril was prepared to trek out into the dangers of the wild Terra Valley Forest. The forest itself was approximately eight to ten fields long, spanning the entire width of the valley all the while. It was easy to get lost in, the unforgiving shadows seemingly too dark to navigate in. Too dark to be natural. Not even the brightest of sunlight reached more than five feet into the thick canopies of gnarled, grotesque trees. It looked as beautiful as any forest could from the parapet of Hoofshire Keep, but it was hard to keep the same image of it from up close. All sorts of oddities grew and lived inside the Terra Valley Forest; bio-luminescent fungi, wild manticores, and more. It wasn't a place that the faint of heart visited.
However, Zarril was not one who was faint of heart. He was a brave soul, even though his royal blood may suggest otherwise. The thrill of adventuring had piqued his interest when he was but a small colt, wandering about the palace before it had become a warm and familiar home to him. As he trotted down the pony-made path down the cliffside, he thought to himself about the old days...
****
“Oh, c'mon Zarril! That isn't fair!”
“Is too, Morning Star!”
“Nuh-uh!”
“Yah huh!”
“Nuh-uh!”
“Is too!”
“Nope!”
“Now, now, boys, what's the problem here?” Rendara trotted up, a gentle smile upon his slightly aged face as he approached.
The boys had been playing a harmless game of Guard, where the objective was for one of the boys to play as a royal guard while the other was trying to take his life. “Zarril jumped at me while I wasn't it! It's against the rules!” He hopped in the air for a bit of emphasis on the word “rules”. Zarril simply rolled his eyes at this, because obviously Morning Star's the liar here.
Up stumbled Dawning Light, Morning Star's fraternal twin brother. He had a pale orange coat, compared to Morning Star's deep blue. They had their differences, but they were still brothers through and through. The two of them helped each other out on many occasions. “Am I late, guys..?”
Dawning Light was wearing an oversized leather cap on his head, which accounted for the stumbling about. It was covering his eyes, not to mention how heavy it was. Being reinforced with bona fide Terran Steel makes even the lightest of armor quite heavy for a young colt like Dawning Light. Zarril grinned, and soon laughter ensued as Light actually fell over on his side, his head stuck inside the large cap. A few minutes later, things were sorted out for the most part, the laughs had been shared, and he'd been together with his friends.
For several years, the three colts were best friends. They would do everything together, from playing to eating to fighting. However, the prince's twin friends had to move due to increases in home taxes; another greedy act founded by his father. Despite everything in his power (which, although he was a prince, he was a small colt, so thusly he had very little power either way), he could not get his father to redact the tax increase. Another thing lost due to his father. The prince still remembers watching the two of them waving at him, as they were hauled away in carts waving back at him, tears in all three of the colts' eyes.
****
Shaking off the bittersweet memory, Zarril finished the trek down the steep cliffside after a few minutes. Taking a deep breath, he proceeded on, trotting toward the forest entrance. Around him, the sounds of the valley swirled like music. The shimmering waterfalls, the leaves rustling in the wind, the chirping of birds around him, and the buzzing of insects accompanied him on his short trek to the Forest, where things would turn bleak.
Even as he got near, things became quieter. It's as if the rest of the valley didn't want the forest hearing it, in fear of it devouring the beauty of the valley whole. The eerie quiet made Zarril feel uneasy, yet his journey had yet to begin. His heart raced as he grew near, the visibility just within the entrance being pitch-black. The prince inched his way into the forest, fore and rear legs shaking not from nervousness, but from adrenaline. He was used to this feeling, though in a much simpler, more pure form from when he was a colt, playing Guard with Morning Star and Dawning Light. He'd get this sort of shaking feeling when he was about to pounce at them, prepared to strike quickly and efficiently.
Zarril had received training as a young buck, learning to harness that adrenaline and use it to combat his foes, which were pony-shaped bundles of hay stacked together. He had a sharpened wooden sword for use during practice, and it did indeed see a lot of use. The prince trained with that sword for two years until its honed edge finally gave way, the entire sword snapping in two at the hilt. He was sad over his sword being broken, but it was a sword, of course, and was put to good use. It couldn't have gotten any better treatment.
Doing as he had been taught, Zarril closed his eyes, focusing on the adrenaline kicking in inside him. He pictured it as a sword, one he'd been trained in the use of. Picking up this sword in his teeth, he slowly opened his eyes to find that he'd quickly drawn his sword in less than a second. Still feeling strong in terms of his adrenaline, he closed his eyes again, and looked around, imagining the forest to be clear as day. The prince could see the glowing eyes of a manticore on the prowl nearby. Backing out of this “adrenavision”, he crept along in the near-darkness, stalking the manticore. He planned on bringing its pelt back to be made into a fine piece of reinforced leather armor.
Sliding behind a tree, he sensed the manticore nearby, though it hadn't caught wind of him yet. Slowly rounding the corner, he trotted up behind it until...
The forest went silent for several moments as the manticore yelled out in pain, as if sensing it was being hurt. Before the prince could pull the steel sword from the manticore's back, it reeled around and lunged at him with its massive, flesh-rending claws. Just barely ducking under them, Zarril sprung up, delivering a swift rear-leg buck to the creature's stomach. The manticore was sent flying backwards, yowling in pain. The prince took this opportunity by jumping onto the temporarily incapacitated beast and driving the sword home before it can react. It quickly stopped writhing around, but not without scratching Zarril a few times along the sides first. The steel blade had cut clean through several major arteries. As Zarril withdrew the blade from the deep wound, it allowed the pooled-up blood to flow freely from the gash, spurting in undetermined directions. Shaking off his sword, Zarril replaced the blade in its sheath on his back, pushing the dead manticore over by the entrance to be collected as he left.
“Not too bad for my first time in here”, he said quietly to himself in the dimness and gloom of the Terra Valley Forest. There was still quite a bit he had in mind to do here, but for now he decided to rest up after that intense run-in with a deadly beast.
“Memories”
Eighteenth of Soulfire, 2583 BC
After dragging the heavy, bloody manticore corpse back to the clearing near the Terra Valley Forest's entrance, Zarril wiped the sweat off his brow, planting his grey-coated hoof firmly into the sodden, swampy ground beneath him. He sighed deeply, muttering to himself “Now, on to the 'exploring' part.”
Trekking on, the prince found that he had turned himself in a circle, though it had seemed as if he were traveling straight the entire time. “What in the name of...” he looked around, confused at seeing the same manticore carcass he'd left there an hour ago. “What's going on here?” he asked the air around him.
As if answering, the trees seemed to groan at him, a sort of ghastly sound that made itself out to be the moans of the haunted. Daunted, but not backing down, Zarril winced, slowly trotting farther into the maze of trees and underbrush. The prince unsheathed his sword, still bloodstained from when he slew the manticore, biting down on it tightly with his teeth bared.. Dropping into a more defensive, lowered stance, he proceeded cautiously as the forest grew more and more ominous.
Zarril's ears perked up, hearing the sound of rustling behind him. Quickly flipping his body around, rotating on the sword's pointed tip, his eyes scanned the treeline and bushes. Nothing. His pulse quickened as he anticipated an attack of some sort. He spotted something moving in a bush, taking a few careful steps toward it. Lowering his head between his forelegs, he let the sword rest upon the ground. In this new pouncing stance, he could ambush the thing and slay it quickly and quietly. Then he'd drag it back out and put it over by the manticore carc--
The creature whom was fumbling around in the bush suddenly leapt out, pausing to look at Zarril. It was a small, naturally-armored reptile with oddly-unfocused purple-pink eyes. The prince mentally kicked himself over and over for getting so worked up about a small, harmless, and – upon further inspection – toothless alligator as he stood.
Something much bigger leapt out from the bushes opposite the path. Something covered in a tawny hide, with a lion's mane, bat's wings, and scorpion's tail. Landing upon the small reptile, the manticore began ripping it to shreds, biting and clawing the poor, defenseless thing right in front of Zarril. The aforementioned stallion was taken aback, his jaw slackening and accidentally dropping the sword from his mouth. As the sword hit the dirt, it caused the manticore to look in its direction. It noticed Zarril, its bloody maw opening to devour its next meal as it coolly turned to him. It pounced.
He was caught off-guard by the manticore's sudden jump, so much in fact that he was paralyzed in fear as the creature landed atop him. It roared, its yellowed eyes staring into the prince's very soul. Zarril looked over at his sword, at least ten hooves away from him. Grimacing, he gritted his teeth and tried throwing a few punches at the manticore. His attempt was futile, and ended up with his forelegs getting mangled and bloodied from contact with its razor-sharp claws. Now defenseless, the prince closed his eyes and waited to be eaten.
There was a soft “twhip”, and then nothing. A few seconds later, Zarril opened his eyes slowly, noting that the manticore had fallen, slain, atop him. How the hay could that have happened?
A shadowy figure approached from the underbrush, hobbling toward the pinned prince. As he neared, his face was caught in a few stray sunbeams. The figure was an old buck, his face worn and hardened from years of experience. From the look of his tattered, bloodstained clothing, Zarril speculated that the stallion had likely lived around the Terra Valley Forest for quite some time. His eyes were sunken into his head, heavy wrinkles spreading across his cheeks; his chin was dusted with powdery-white hairs, and he appeared to be otherwise bald. Another thing to notice, his mouth was biting some sort of bit, connected to a pipe that attached to the side of some wooden contraption on his back that featured a string and a rail that arrows could attach to. A makeshift crossbow likely built by its wielder.
“I do appreciate the help, kind stallion, but I could use a bit of help getting this thing off of me.”
The old buck spit out the mouthpiece and smiled. His mouth was missing a few of its teeth. He nodded, walking over to Zarril and assisted in getting the manticore off of him. “So who do I have the pleasure of meeting, friend?”
In a slightly raspy, but still strong, voice, the buck replied, “My name is Dusk.” He extends a steady hoof to the prince, who bumps it against his own, bloodied one. "Pleased to meet you, Dusk," he replies. "I'm Zarril, of Hoofshire. Why did you, er... help me?" The old buck tapped a hoof to his chin, looking up at some imaginary thought cloud or other as he checked off a few reasons.
"Well, there's the whole 'this pony is about to become Manticore meat, so I'd best save him', followed by, of course, the 'I need Manticore hides to repair these raggedy clothes of mine'. Oh, and the 'I'm sort of starving out here, and there are some quite tasty pieces of fruit out here in this part of the forest.'"
The prince simply blinked. "So you just saved me because it looked like I was in trouble?" At Dusk's 'does it look like I'm kidding?' face, he sighed. "I suppose you did. About that manticore hide, I've got a carcass over by the Southern exit to the forest. For your troubles, you could take it." Zarril took a gander at his surroundings noting that he was completely lost. He also took the chance to look himself over: covered in blood, about half of it his own, gashes oozing blood, the sides of his armor torn to shreds from the first manticore attack. "Though I don't know where that is from here. You see, I came here to explore. Find out what makes this place so mysterious." Dusk nods in understanding. "I reckon it's about 3 hours from here, if'n you go this direction." He swung a foreleg over Zarril's shoulders, pointing with the other in a direction perpendicular from the path he was on earlier. It was hidden by the brush, kept secret from trespassers. "Right over there."
Zarril nodded. Looking over at his unlikely savior, he asked, "So Dusk, do you happen to know what might cause this forest to act so... odd?" The old buck's face turned grave, a solid line across his face radiating somberness. He lets out a soft sigh, staring Zarril straight in the eye. "Only if you swear an oath not to tell anyone outside this forest. It's a well-guarded secret, and with good reason. We can't have ponies trotting around trying to find it." The prince nodded his head in understanding. "Very well. What be this oath?"
"You must swear upon the sun and moon that you will keep this confidential and to yourself." He placed his right hoof over his chest. "Repeat after me, young one." The prince also put a hoof over his chest, taking a vow of secrecy that he was not to reveal anything he was about to see. After saying the oath, the old buck stared at Zarril, sizing him up; judging the sincerity of his words. Minutes passed by, or so it felt, until Dusk was finally satisfied that he was truthful. "Now follow me."
The two trotted along the dirt path, which only became darker and darker as they trekked onward to this "mystery." After about an hour of silence, Dusk and Zarril finally approached what appeared to be a clearing. Two manticores circled the air, watching for prey. The prince froze in his tracks, but his companion continued on. "What are you doing?!" hissed Zarril. "They'll slaughter us!" Dusk stopped momentarily, looking back, before walking forward a few more hooves and... shimmering away? This was all very odd.
"Come on through. It's just a magical field of illusion, designed to shy away 'unwanted visitors'." Arching an eyebrow, Zarril took a few cautious steps forward, noticing that he was now looking at a large stone rotunda built into the side of a steep hill. Dusk looked back at Zarril, noticing the amazed expression on his face, and a small smile played across his hardened face. "This way," he said, before nodding his head in the direction of the archway and proceeding forward. Zarril followed behind, still in awe at how this amazing piece of work had remained hidden for so long.
Pushing open the heavy, dust-coated wooden door, Dusk stepped inside, beckoning Zarril in behind him before shutting it and pulling down the heavy iron lock bar to keep it sealed. "This is it. Inside this very building lies the secret to the evil inside the Terra Valley Forest." The old buck solemnly trotted ahead, prince Zarril following him cautiously, uneasy as to what he would find. They came to a large, circular chamber supported by a hexagon of pillars. In the center was a very large, opulent but faded design depicting a backward "S" with a diamond-shaped jewel embedded inside the bottom half-loop. Around it was an aura of dark magic, warding off the light on the outer rim of the dais.
The old buck stood, pulling off his tattered clothing and setting his crossbow contraption aside. Underneath, the old buck was actually quite fit. Too fit, in fact, to be an 'old buck'. Another thing caught the prince's eye: wings. The old earth pony stallion turned out to be a young pegasus. Flapping his wings, he ascended into the air, the dust on the floor kicking up into the air before hanging there like stale smoke. The rune on the middle of the dais lit up; the gem did, to be exact. The dark aura got even darker, the light paler. Dusk landed next to Zarril, his face looking much younger than he'd remembered. "Another illusion, I imagine?" He simply nodded, saying, "I'm the designated keeper of this temple. It is my duty to ward away those who would seek to steal the thing that keeps the Terra Valley Forest evil -- evil, but intact. Follow me, it is just through this door."
Before Zarril was able to ask, "What door?", the dais turned one hundred eighty degrees, a loud CLICK sounding throughout the chamber as a great stone door began to rise and grant them access into the next chamber. Dusk trotted over to it, the prince close behind. Coming to a stop, Zarril's jaw dropped to the floor as he saw exactly what was in front of him.
In the center of the next chamber, a wicked-looking sword drew in sunlight, the room darkening around it. The scarlet-on-black metal was definitely, in a word, intimidating. It was embedded in a pedestal in the floor, large cracks spreading from it, acrid-smelling smoke pluming softly from them.
"This... is Dawnbreaker."
“Swordkeeper”
Eighteenth of Soulfire, 2583 BC
Zarril and Dusk slowly encroached upon the sword, the former taking in the pure hatred seeping from the blade itself. It radiated like a fountain, a domineering force in the room. They stopped a few hooves away from Dawnbreaker, looking around the large chamber in which it was held. It was a grandiose room; circular, pillared walls stretching up what seemed like a fieldlength in height culminating in a large dome. With the only sunlight coming from the myriad stained-glass windows a few dozen hooves above the ground, the entire chamber had a glum, downcast look about it.
"This is the thing I've been warding for my entire life," said Dusk, his eyes wistfully eying the blade as they had countless times before. "I may not look it, but I am actually much older than I appear to be. Powerful stuff, these enchantments," he continued, his voice turning a touch sad. "While I don't like saying it, I am growing... old." Dusk's eyes dropped to the floor as Zarril looked on. The prince smiled sadly in sympathy. "I admire your resolve, friend. It is truly inspirational." The swordkeeper turned his head toward Zarril, the corner of his mouth turning up slightly in a mirthless smile. "And I admire you for trying to cheer me up, yet it is a lost cause. I will soon pass from Terra Valley, and the next guardian must take my place. It's up to me to find this guardian, and ensure that they are able to care for the sword as I have all these years."
"I suppose I am a possible choice for this, then..?" Zarril asked, a brown eyebrow raising in inquiry. "Yes, you are," came his reply, Dusk nodding in emphasis. "And you appear to be fit and able to think on your feet... not to mention you are the only pony brave enough to come venturing out here in quite some time." The swordkeeper slowly trotted back over to his belongings, stretching out his wings once more before putting the tattered cloak and the old crossbow contraption on his back. He fitted them both into place before continuing. "Now, we must leave. Staying near Dawnbreaker tends to have... negative effects... on those who stay near it for too long." Zarril glanced once more at the wicked blade before following behind Dusk out of the sword's chamber.
As they proceeded back to the courtyard, the prince could hear the mechanisms inside the temple rewinding themselves as they left, the defenses re-arming as the very walls sensed the fleeting presence of its guardian. "You should probably get going now, Zarril, before more evils catch you. Do not try to make contact with me; I will appear when you deem it absolutely necessary. Since you are going to be the new Guardian of the Dark Blade, I shall protect you as well until you assume guardianship." The prince simply nodded in agreement, said a goodbye, and trotted along warily towards the way he came from.
During his trip back, Zarril reflected upon what had just happened. He had not only found a sacred guardian of an evil blade, but also discovered said blade itself. On top of everything, he would get to be the next guardian of it! This wasn't an everyday occurrence, even for somepony such as a prince. This was the sort of news that brought much visitation to a city, especially one such as Hoofshire and its keep. Zarril definitely had to tell his father once he'd gotten back.
Exiting the dreariness that was the Terra Valley Forest, the prince shielded his eyes at the harsh sunlight, as it began to set along the horizon in front of him. Speeding up into a gallop, he made for the cliffside path that wound upward toward Hoofshire's outskirts. At his approach, guards on the wall began to take notice of him, and galloped off to tell his father that the prince was returning from his small 'adventure'. Zarril came close to the entrance, and as he did the ponies clad in silvery metal armor went to work on lowering the bridge, two of them cranking the wheels with their hooves.
****
Meanwhile, in the Keep proper, the king of Hoofshire was sitting upon his throne as a party raged around him. Smiles all around, food this way and that, and decorations everywhere, this particular party was extravagant. King Rendara spoke with his subjects as though he were part of the common folk, mingling with the chattier guests and sharing toasts with the ones who were simply there for the spirits. Rendara was definitely the life of the party; then again, wearing a posh, decorative cloak and an overly-fancy crown made a pony stand out.
The large wooden double-doors opened as Zarril stepped in, flanked by two royal guards. Rendara smiled brightly, excused himself from the small group he was talking with, and trotted over towards his colt. "Zarril! How nice to see you again! Might I ask how your little journey went?" He threw a hoof around Zarril's shoulders and grinned all the while. "Greetings, father," replied Zarril, a small smile playing across his face as well. "It went well."
"You smell like death, my colt. Are you wounded?"
"No, no, it's quite alright. Just a..." his smile faded, "..manticore attack."
Shock exploded onto Rendara's features. "A WHAT ?! My colt, that is not something to joke about!"
"Father, I don't jest. I fought two of them in the forest. I am perfectly fine, save for some minor scratches."
"Well, we need to get you down to the apothecary's immediately. Get you treated for those 'minor' scratches."
"I don't think that's necessary, fath-"
"Yes, it is. Now go. I'll stay here and, eh... mingle, for you, of course." He nervously chuckled, pushing the prince along in the direction of the large staircase on the west end of the hall.
Zarril made his way down the dark staircase, the only thing lighting it up being torches placed every dozen hooves or so along the wall. It spiraled gently down, heading into the deeper chambers of the castle where the Apothecary made his residence. As he neared the bottom, Zarril noticed a strange tune hanging in the air; he could faintly hear whistling as the Apothecary did his research around some primitive powders and herbs. Since the Apothecary was so old, he had forgotten even his own name, and as such everypony referred to him as just 'The Apothecary'. The Apothecary was, to be frank, likely insane. He never left his chambers, and the only company he ever truly had was his old hound, a black-coated Labrador that followed him around the halls. The prince reached the end of the staircase, taking in the musty, large room that was the Apothecarium. Cobwebs clung to old, rotting wooden support beams as stale smoke covered the ceiling. It looked like a haunted house.
The prince spotted the Apothecary behind some shelves, humming to himself as he searched for the ingredients to some potion or elixir, mumbling every now and then about unintelligible things. His blue eyes had long since faded to a decidedly grey color, one eye completely overcome by cataracts. The old earth pony saw Zarril standing there, and eventually stood upright to speak to him. The Apothecary's voice sounded like rattling rusty nails in an old tin can, but at least he could still speak. "Ah... hello, Prince. Come to speak to an old..." he coughed, hacking ravenously, "insane stallion make some things that probably.. will never work?"
"Actually, no," the prince replied, "I'm in need of some medical treatment myself, I suppose." The Apothecary slowly nodded, his eyes closed, "I see, then... Lemme take a look at your wounds." Zarril obliged, removing his armor and setting the blood-covered steel sword next to it. He looked at himself; he was definitely more injured than he'd thought. Several lacerations showed themselves along his legs and on his sides, where the manticores' claws were simply too sharp for the armor to protect against, and a few were still trickling blood.
"My, my. You look like you got roughed up pretty well," the Apothecary said, a look of intrigue crossing his face. "I can get those healed right-quick. Just give me a moment while I... gather the components." The weathered stallion trotted off in a wobbly manner before Zarril could interject, so the latter simply leaned on one of the shelves as he felt the fatigue of the day set in. After what felt like half an hour, the Apothecary returned with a scroll of paper in his mouth and a large saddlebag on his side. At Zarril's request to let him help, the old stallion raised a hoof. "Now just hold on a second, I need to prepare it for ya." And that he did.
Over the next several minutes, several jars were set out, the paper was rolled out flat on a table, and several powders were mixed on top of it. Next, the Apothecary mixed some of the fluids in these jars to create a sickening lime-esque green color. He made a small O-shaped hole in the middle of the powder mixture, and poured a small amount of the foul elixir into it. Taking a small stirring rod, the Apothecary carefully mixed the ingredients with as steady of a mouth as a patient artisan.
The result was a deep green paste, with a viscosity akin to glue. The Apothecary scooped up this paste and placed it in a small bowl. He held this bowl in two hooves, extending it out and offering it to Zarril. "Here... put this on those wounds. They will fix right up." Zarril raised an eyebrow, then enveloped the bowl in the golden color that was his magic, and levitated it toward himself and did as he was told. The prince took small gobs of the paste and smeared them across each laceration. It felt surprisingly refreshing and rejuvenating. "I thank you kindly, old buck. You definitely deserve your title." This brightened up the Apothecary's mood noticeably, and he grinned a homely, nigh-toothless grin.
****
Upon returning from the darkness of the Apothecary's Chambers, the now-armed-and-armored Zarril could tell that the party was beginning to wind down. The only guests that weren't at the tables were either talking with Rendara or the drunkards whom were unconscious on the floor, shattered glasses and spilled bottles next to them. Rendara himself was helping himself to what appeared to be a ten-drink-too-many glass of red spirits, toasting again with his subjects. Zarril sighed, smiled beside himself, and shook his head before slowly trotting his way up to his bedchambers, where he slept after the long and eventful day.
*NO NAME AS OF YET*
Nineteenth of Soulfire, 2583 BC
Prince Zarril woke the next day feeling every bit of the fatigue that began to take hold the night before, only in full force this time. He stood up, shook his mane and tail out of their bedraggled state and went to his washroom to take a shower before starting his 'community service,' as his father had put it. This time, Zarril turned on the water using his magic. Hoofshire was a town of Unicorns, as it always was, and their technology definitely showed their vast intelligence.
He bathed in silence, letting the water soak into his coat as he rubbed off the dirt, grime, and blood from his body. Zarril also noticed that the Apothecary's paste had worked; his wounds were sealed and left naught but small scars. They would easily heal over the next day or two. The only words running through the prince's head were 'Swordkeeper,' 'Dawnbreaker,' and 'Guardian.' He could only imagine the type of mystic power that Dawnbreaker held, with its overbearing and lethal presence that was reflected in the area around it. It was hard to wrap his head around the fact that he would become the next guardian of this very blade, the blade that ostensibly bound the Terra Valley together.
Sighing, Zarril shut off the water, shaking himself dry once again and adopting a simple hat and cloak; practical, but still showing his royal heritage. He proceeded down the halls and out the front gates of the keep, walking out into Hoofshire proper. Many denizens waved a hoof and smiled at him, and he did so back. Just because he was royalty did not mean he couldn't associate with the common rabble from time to time. Zarril drifted from shop stall to shop stall, looking for something to purchase. He carried on him a bitpurse full to the brim with bits, and was intent on getting something nice, for himself or somepony else.
After around half an hour of shopping in the market, Zarril had acquired two loaves of artisan bread, a vine of grapes, and a heart expertly hewn from a Deep Ruby. The trip cost him roughly a third of his bits, but was altogether inexpensive for somepony such as the prince. He headed back to the Keep, where he sat in his chambers and calmly ate half a loaf of bread and the grapes. Before he could finish, however, there was an urgent knock on the door. He stood up and trotted over to it, slowly opening the door with his magic as he blinked in confusion. "What is it?" The pony behind the door was a guard stallion, still clad in full metal armour but missing his helmet. "My lord, you must come see this! It's the Terra Valley.. it's... smoking!" Zarril raised an eyebrow, but cast aside the rest of his leisure food and grabbed his gear, strapping it to himself quickly and galloping out the door after the guard.
Zarril followed the guard to the outer balcony, which looked out over the Terra Valley. A gasp and a pupil shrinkage later, the prince looked on with awe as the guard's description, although not very eloquent, was correct. Smoke, purple and ominous, plumed up lazily from the middle of the Terra Valley Forest. Zarril finally came back to his wits, and after a short while, turned to the guard and told him hastily, "Go tell the rest of your watch to keep a wall of soldiers along the western side of the Forest. Make haste!" The guard nodded quickly and about-faced, rearing up and galloping away with great speed. It appeared as if Zarril's community service would have to wait.
He took one last look down at the malevolent smoke before hurrying after the guard. The prince's sword clattered against his side as he galloped down the cliff's path. Zarril noticed that several large groups of citizens were getting a bit too curious; the guards made a bulwark against them for their own good. Nopony knew what was inside the forest, save for Zarril. The prince reached the bottom, coming to a stop in front of the guards, who slid aside briefly to allow him to trot past.
"Be careful in there, my prince."
"As always, guardsman. Stay here. If I do not return within the next hour, send a search party to find me."
"I will do as you ask, my lord."
At that, Zarril nodded and continued into the forest, magically drawing his sword out and holding it in front of him. Instantly after going into the forest, a loud crackling filled the air behind him. Turning around, the prince saw an impenetrable field of shadow magic. "What is this sorcery...?" he asked the air around him, as if expecting an answer. Surprisingly to him, he got one. A voice, dark and raspy, called to him.
"You will fall, Guardian... just like Dusk before you."
It took time for Zarril to process what the voice meant: Dusk was slain. The Swordkeeper of the Valley was dead. This threw the prince for a loop, setting his mouth agape. "That cannot be... It just can't!"
"Oh, but it is, Guardian..." the voice whispered in his ear, as if standing next to him.
Zarril knew he had to get to the Sword, and fast. He dashed away, farther into the forest, following the route Dusk had shown him. All the while, he heard the disembodied and unidentified voice taunting him. After some time, he reached the shrine's location, except the shadowy field of magic was here as well, blocking his path.
"You fight for a lost cause... Guardian. Your predecessor is dead, and now you expect to outmatch my power? Ha.
It's worth a try... thought Zarril, before rearing up and charging straight into the field.
Instantly, Zarril felt white-hot pain explode throughout his body, which forced him to grit his teeth as he sprinted through the shadow. Eyes clenched shut, he pressed on before finally emerging. At once, he doubled over, the pain too much to take. He was all but unconscious. Zarril tried to pick himself up, but felt a hoof press down on him, prohibiting him from moving. Opening one eye, the prince looked up to see who had done this. He saw Dusk looking down at him, except... his eyes were glowing purple, the same shade as the fields of shadow magic.