The Consigned...
Written by SuperChicken
An MLP:FIM fan fiction
There’s a tale, of a time long ago, when the gods Orion and Galaxias had created the world, and with it, the Sun and Moon. From their love, two daughters were born, and from them, life sprouted from their warmth and care. The daughters each had unique powers towards the two colossal bodies, the Sun and Moon, and were named Celestia and Luna, and they gave the world Day and Night. Upon that world, and with the powers of creation, The Ethereal Circle made Ponykind in their image. Among the ponies, were three distinct races. Unicorns, who possessed powerful horns that could channel powerful magic; Pegasi, ponies with grand wings, and ambrosial feathers, and a race of ponies that bore neither traits, but attained physical prowess beyond the afore told.
The Gods also created a Being they called Gaia, a spirit that would govern the great forests and fill them with the warmth that they did the world. The spirit took three grand trees, and breathed life into them, and they bent and shaped into three beings. One was a Dauntless Griffon, another the Nebulous Pony, later named the Zebra, and the last, a Mighty Dragon.
Ponykind and the three earthly beings took in hoof and claw and built a lofty castle atop a grand ancient monolith. This fortress, a grand white walled aegis with purples and pinks, fit for the gods Daughters, was named Canterlot…
And from Canterlot, came the first age, the age of Crags. Each race took to skies their own, and sprouted like vines across the world. Ponies took to the south, in the valley beneath Canterlot forming a kingdom ruled by Canterlot as the capitol. The Griffons took to the northern mountains and lived high above the sky in their holds, each ruling itself. The zebras, took to the east, where they made the deserts and the islands their homes, homes ruled by an emperor chosen by their wisest. And the dragons… took to the Crags of legend, a massive ungodly barren land with spires of stone overlooking the crevices cutting deep into the unknown, the furthest from any civilization to be conceived…
Each race grew and grew as their culture flourished, and became empires of the land. The land Celestia and Luna took to calling it…
Equestria…
The two sisters lived in harmony with all the empires, and granted each a powerful spirit. The Ponies were granted the spirit called Justice, as a symbol of their fairness and justice against those who wrong the weak.
The Griffons were granted the spirit of Valor, for their bravery, strength, and honor.
And the Dragons were gifted the spirit of stone, as a symbol of their everlasting qualities and the indomitable characteristics of their race.
All the races were overjoyed and celebrated these gifts, all except for one…
The Dragons…
They were furious of their gift, viewed as petty and insulting, outraged by their highest ethos. "Were Dragons not so mighty a being to be granted a worthy boon?" said the youngest of their court. The others attempted to calm the beast, but the inferno spread uncontrolled. The dragon did the singular thing the races were never meant to do, absorbing the powers of the spirits directly into the soul.
The Arch-Dragon was born…
A Colossal Wyrm of stone scales similar to the crags, and empty sunken eyes with spines that glistened in the deep. The creature breathed dust and the span of time embodied the creature. Immense power fueled the rage of the youth, thus the wrath of dust. The Arch-Dragon called a fog upon the valley, and mustered the dragons to take the power they deserved.
The first to call up arms were the legions of Ponykind armies. The earth ponies guarded the country side from the Wyrms devastating breath; the Pegasi protected the sky realms, surrounding Canterlot; and the unicorns rained Balefire upon the dragons.
The armies were no match for such forces, ponies falling and succumbing to the Dragon onslaught. So the holders of the Valor spirit roared forth like a rain of spears glistening in the dim shrouded day. The Griffons had little in the ways of success, as the dragons plowed through the countryside.
Knowing there was no other choice, the sisters with the will of the gods, adorned their glistening armor and levied their spears of Dawn and Dusk, the chosen weapons of the sisters and each imbued with powerful magic like no other.
Upon their coming to the battlefield, their hearts plummeted gasping upon the hewn carcasses of the mortals, ponies, griffons, and dragons alike. Enraged by the blood sewn ground the sisters flew into battle like colors of a rainbow and slashed their way through the dragons ranks, killing them like dogs, eventually making their way to the enthralled elder council members and the Arch-Dragon himself. A battle burst with green and orange pyres and rays of magic light, burning and tearing through the scales of their wyrm foes, and struck down the Arch-Dragon to submission. The Arch-Dragon fought with every breath and pounded the ground with fury unlike any dragon before, and the sisters used their inconceivable magical powers to seal the dragon under a mountain of giant iron chains and stone. Forever to be forgotten.
The realms celebrated their victory, and mourned the dead, many of the mortal races were slaughtered in the grand battle, and years of burials and pyres would await, and the dragons retreated to the Crags, with their remaining powers sealed away so nothing would come to harm from their vengeful claws...
Many years have passed since the war of Crags, history became legend, and legend became myth, and the mortal races forgot the evil buried in the earth. The wound left by the dragons were forgotten, and the dead long turned to dust. Centuries later, in an age in embers… the flames of old dim…
And so…
Our tale begins…
Chapter 1: Darkness Falls
Now, ancient wars are dust, little more than legends and myths. The land has changes greatly, and Empires and Kingdoms wax and wane. The land has become vague, fogged and obscured but partly, and the Sun peers through the veil, allowing the land but a sip of sunlight. Colors recede, and the halls of mortals grow cold, and the air motionless except for the dust in the occasional sun rays.
A winter comes upon the land, an appropriate time of the year, but slightly soon, and colder than ever before. The commoners within Sunmers keep grip tight their blankets and coats, savoring every warm sensation like their last. With the winter came a sheet of snow and ice, thick as stone the snow fell upon the plains and beyond, into the lofty mountain of Canterlot, which can be seen from the keeps marketplace. From within, the gaurdsponies sentineled the keep and looked about the now eerie castle, viewing as fillies and foals play in the snow, and as the commoners marketed and trotted about. “Quite the cold day for the beginning of winter…” said one guard to another “makes me wish I brought my fur coat my cousin gave me…” He said this as he shivered and rubbed a fore hoof upon in face, sniffing as he did. “Well one thing’s for sure, crops aren’t going to be good this winter. As cold as it is I would be surprised to get any bread, let alone enough for my family” Said the other kicking over a small rock and looking up into the veiled sky, hoping for at least one ray of light to warm him for but a few seconds. Alas, it never came, and the guard looked downwards to his sword strapped to his side. Suddenly a cry of what seemed like fear shot out from the crowd of commoners, and the guards all looked up and readied their weapons for the worst. After pushing his way through the crowd, one guard made his way upon the disturbance. A mere raggedly robed stallion with an abundance of filth sat on his haunches before the guardspony. Looking up to him, his face spelled terror, and the absence of hope. “What’s the matter citizen? What is the reason for this?”
The ragged stallion looked as if he was mangled and battered, a pitiful sight to behold, and they watched as he gasped as to speak. “HE COMES, HE! THE DUST COMES!!!” exclaimed the stallion, and the market jumped at the shouting, and the guards merely looked in startled faces. “What are you talking about!? Speak! Who are you talking of!?” demanded the guard. “DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND!? ALL OF YOU!? HE COMES! HE COMES! THE DUST OF FOREVER COMES!”
The guard, looking into the eyes of the stallion raised a hoof and grabbed him by his robes, pulling him closer to quiet him. “What do you speak of you fool!?”
The stallion began to laugh a maniacal laugh, and he looked up in tears. “Don’t you understand…? It’s over… it’s all over… he will come, and will cover the world in dust…! I have seen him, I have seen him!!!” the guard impatiently shook the stallion “Seen who!? Tell me!” the stallion began to mope, dropping his head to the ground and a sob came pouring out of him. He scooped a hoof full of snow as he said “it’s of his making, OF HIS MAKING!!!”
Now with a disgusted face the guard ripped the ragged stallion from the ground and dragged him to the keeps castle. “Who is that you’re just dragging around? A new prisoner?” snickered a guard of the castle, “I require an audience with the king, a subject he needs to see!” proclaimed the guard striking a dominant pose, and so the Castle guard opened the doors and proceeding ahead, with the stallion in tow, came the guard to the kings audience chamber, mighty and embellished as it were with banners and heraldry. “My lord!” the guard spoke, kneeling as he did. The king, a stallion of great strength, turned his mane long and sparse and a beard grayed and scruffy. His robes, a slight dark blue lined with white furs, swayed as he turned. The seeming giant came forth, in a slow trot, and came close to the guard. He looked up, and with his hooves removed his helmet. “My lord, we have an… ‘Issue’, if you would like to name it.” The king raised a brow, and peered to the guard’s side upon the pitiful ragged stallion before him. “Who is this?” the king asked in his deep voice. “A commoner with a loud tongue, he saw it fit to gather half to the market to hear his doom saying” looking down to the stallion as he said it.
The king looked to the stallion and bent down to see his face under his ragged hood. "Your name?" the stallion quirked, and sank deeper onto the carpeted floor, gasping as he did. "Be calm; be calm..." drawing closer and holding out a hoof to the pitiful thing.”Your safe here... now tell me what it is you’re so afraid of"
The stallion looked up, with a grim smile smeared across his face, "him..." muttered under his breath. “He the ancient, the creature the divine call…” Squinting his eyes to focus, the king tilted his head so his ears could better hear the stallion.
“The divine call him what?”
“Bahuumat…”
The plains of the north, its snowy field and the white trimmed leafless twigs sprout amongst the land, all while bearing the eerie breeze of the winter wind and its bone shivering air. The sky, tinted a dull grey by the winters clouds and the wide snowflakes that fall idly from them form a sparse fog blanketing the reach. In the far sights from the balcony lie the mountain ranges, the outset of the Griffins realm and their steep peaks. Lying in the center nearest to Sunmers walls was Canterlot, seated upon the face of the grand mountain called “The Summit”, its glorious colors faded by the falling snow.
“This winter has been harsh, more this year than the last, and now… Now talk of this character named in legends and fables.” The King Proclaimed as a fore hoof rested upon the balustrade of the balcony, and his other rubbing along his beard. “My lord, this commoner of yours must have been in shock, and justly so speak his accusations. A thing like this Bahuumat hasn’t been named in millenniums, a monster of the First Empire if you believe these stories your library serves.” Spoke one of his advisers, a stature bound war stallion with a short brown mane and tan coat, wearing blue robes lined with silver embroidery, and eyes a deep dark indigo.
“And by what reason do we not trust them, these ‘stories’ weren’t written out of lethargy as you may think. Besides, in these trifling times when even the cathedrals grow more and more quiet by the day, what could obscure the voice of the Gods if not an ancient evil like Bahuumat?” Contested Inferna, the Kings second hand and lover, a Unicorn Mare of graceful proportions, with a radiant red mane and bright amber coat adorned in burgundy robes, with multiple images depicting heraldry and history, whose eyes glisten with bright fiery cerulean shade of blue.
“I would sooner doubt your priests before assuming a tale is responsible.” His retort meant as a ridicule, and returning his eyes to the King he lifted a fore hoof, “We cannot just invest in something we are not absolutely sure of, the surrounding nations would express their concerns should they arrive, and all winters past nothing is worthy of these claims.”
“I have been King for many years now, for all my time I have ruled many heroes have passed and many more monsters have been slain. Things out of legends, as they were, abominations and majestic creatures alike.” He said, looking outwards to the mountains. Taking his hooves off the balustrade and turning to see his knight. “Petrosius my friend, legends are what I breathed in my youth; Beasts such as manticores, timberwolves, even hydras have been slain by me or my knights. You should know being you fought Changelings in the last war of the Dominion. Even you believe in creatures such as Chrysalis, why not something like this Bahuumat?”
“Milord, with all due respect, Chrysalis has actually been seen before, fought before and we were there to perceive it, and this Bahuumat is something entirely new, foreign to us. Never have I fought or seen this creature, and I can say that for everyone here; at least I hope so. The tales themselves describe it as a mighty beast, one I would not wish on our world.” stated Petrosius, stout and chest forward as always, Firm in his standing. The King lifted a brow to his words, walking towards him, with a hoof out to his shoulder, “Neither do I, but wars never ask for permission, do they?” Petrosius’ eyes sank to his hooves, facing a grim truth of reality.
“It matters not… “Murmured the King “Perhaps this will merely be another passing rumor on the wind, like so many others we’ve heard in passing.” He turned back toward the grey land before the balcony picking up a goblet containing a rich burgundy wine, and drew a sip from it. “Well then, back to my duties my liege. Fair day, to you”
Petrosius reared his hind legs giving a short bow, then turning towards the grand hall in a stride to the raised portcullis, adorning his fur lined cloak to compensate for the numbing breeze. “Damn these hard times, they will be the end of our sanity, if not our lives...” Scoffing as he muttered the words, looking off into the pale sky and drawing in the bleak air.
Ch. 1 Part 2
Far to the northwest along a beaten path in the mountains, the country of the Griffins, there is a looming fog covering the whole of the mountains. Along with a few leagues down the scattered mountains and lingering down into the valley below, the fog emanated with a chill that was native to the peaks. The trees and grass grew in sparse thickets, revealing steep cliffs and even small fields filled with flowers of white and blue hues. Snow fell idly from the sky, for the mountain wind was still, and the whole of the snow created a haze in the air in which a sunray or two escaped and illuminated the ranges. Occasionally, one may find a small cave or the mouth of a grand cavern spanning the length of a kingdom burrowed into the earth, filled with vast darkness’s and untold secrets.
In one such grotto, there lay a small camp, with a Browned cotton tent alongside a cooking spit and a small pile of kindling twigs. The centerpiece of the camp was an ember ridden campfire, emitting but the smallest heat the embers could muster. The mouth of the cave conceded Sun rays that pierced the gray clouds, gleaming upon the campsite and illuminating a fair way inside, revealing the scattered rocks and what little grass could grow there.
Then for a moment, the camp stirred. An exhale was heard from within the tent, and a clawed arm emerged from the entrance, pushing aside the flaps. The tall and hearty Griffin that emerged surveyed the campsite, glancing over the setting and off to the sun rays. His beige feathers on his head slightly gleamed in the light, and this leather clad chest took in the morning air. His iron pauldrons riveted to his cuirass shimmered through the slight tarnish they bore, and no light shimmered from his timeworn leather long coat beneath his armor, which was frayed in several spots. His fore legs bore worn leather vambraces with talonless gloves, and his hind legs fluted iron greaves. His tail, which was a russet tone, waved about in a stretching motion, and his body followed. As every stiff morning muscle in his body extended, respiring and ending with a yawn holding a talon over his scarred beak.
As the Griffin turned towards the campfire, his tail reached into his tent, and emerged with a sword belt in tow, and on it hung a steel blue scabbard with a broadsword within it. Working his tail and a talon, he fastened the belt upon his side and moved his talon to the kindling pile, tossing but a claw full into the dying flame. After some stoking, the twigs and bark caught fire, and the small flame warmed the cave. The Griffin turned his gaze to his bags on his left, his tail extended to bring the bag closer and he sifted through its contents.
“Where did I leave that boar meat again…” the Griffin muttered, “Aha! There you are.”
He pulled an ivory colored rag, stained slightly with a carmine red hue in some spots. Unfolding back the flaps revealed a slab of meat, colored crimson due to age. He placed the meat upon the cooking spit, and with a clean dagger chopped a fair portion off the slab. Putting the rest back into the rag and into the bag, he withdrew a small thick glass bottle and removed the cork, smelling its multicolored contents. His face drew a smirk, “What good is meat without a little seasoning…” sprinkling some upon the sizzling meal.
Outside the cave laid a small field of sparse tall swaying grass and flowers sprouting from the blanket of snow, surrounding the grotto was a thicket of trees waving ever slightly in the wind. The colors dimmed by the mountain fog, and the sky’s gray haze, with but a few sun rays occasionally showing a few rich colors of what had such colors left. Out from the cave strode the Griffin, observing nature and its dulled pleasantries.
“This winter, naught but a few weeks and the world seems lifeless.” Staring into the sky with a gloomy expression, he adjusted his traveling bags as to sit more comfortably on his sides, and swept his feathers back down his neck with a talon. Setting a walking pace down the field to join the dirt road that was cut into the mountain side by travelers, he began an eastward journey along the mountain range. The snowy haze and the fog made the road ahead all but obscured; silhouettes of trees and other plant life that sprouted from the blanket of snow appeared at a distance. The only smell he could distinguish was that of the cold bracing air, and the only feelings were that of the wind in his face and upon his paws and talons. These feelings continued for a span of time, and as time progressed so did the winters grip. The wind began to hasten, and the snowy haze became a violent flurry that veiled the distant earthly forms of mountains and valleys. His pace quickened, as to find some form of shelter in the storm.
“It’s my luck to be caught in this gale!” he exclaimed keeping his eyes to the road “Where in Tararus is a shelter of some sort! There must be something along this road!” every step he took quickened and his breath drew faster, until his eyes caught a shape in the distance. As his pace closed distance with the figure, it clarified and became a massive fortress, and its grey ashlar face standing fast against the beating wind and snow, and all signs of occupation were nonexistent.
“Abandoned? Better than no castle at all. Seems like the gate is flung open at that, my luck indeed…” proceeding into the barren fortress, he glanced about in the darkness, making out the shapes of broken chairs and half rotten tables from garrisons long since passed. Several unlit sconces lined the walls, and as he approached the nearest one he withdrew what appeared to be a small silver pendant linked to an old leather lace. Holding the small trinket to the torch, a small flame began to manifest itself within his palm, and the torch lit ablaze with a brilliant flame. Looking down to the silver circle, with a doleful expression and a short deep breath as he stared into it as he stuffed the small pendant under his armor and his talon dislodged the torch from the sconce. The now present flame illuminated the dark of what now could be called a grand hall with the tall ceiling arches and torn colorless banners lining the wall high above the floor. Small tables and timeworn rugs were scattered about the chamber and large roots protruded from the floor as a sign that nature was reclaiming this husk of a fortress.
“If anyone lived here, they did a century ago. Perhaps an old clan made their roost here…” he whispered as he pointed the torch about to study his surroundings. The hall had several corridors leading off into blackness and the ceiling suspended old rusty chandeliers high above. Looking into one of the corridors, he strode inside holding the torch out avoiding the roots and hanging branches that filled the passage. Finding the end of the corridor shown a spiral staircase leading upwards, his eyes catching but the smallest fraction of light from above. Beginning to ascend the stairs, his torch began to wave about and he felt a cold chill upon his face as wind poured down the steps. As he made his way, the cold became more and more intense, and snow accumulated on the steps, and at the very top the stairway revealed a rooftop of a sorts, with a view held high above the mountains. Looking about he could see the shapes of mountains and the great valley on the border of the Griffin country.
“Finally, the great Kingdom of Ponies…” He breathed with a smile “after all these years… and but a few leagues away…” He stared on for what was a content eternity, and eventually looking downwards to the ground to reestablish himself with his environment. Peering upwards gave sight to a massive grandiose keep in the storm, and a great overpass with cascading arches alongside the path, lofty in its setting atop the castle and stretched across a chasm cut into the mountain.
