Spirit Waker

A blanket of cool air hangs over the sleepy village. Despite the high rise of the moon, several figures could be seen milling about the dimly lit huts and tree porches. While most would find such a sight bewildering, the ones that live here simply address it as another Tuesday night. While Pony is in shape, they would refuse to be called anything less than what they are.

These Thestrials are creature kin to the Pony race and yet uniquely their own. Unlike many of the Pony subclasses that fall under them such as Earth Ponies, Pegasi, Unicorns, Kirin, and so forth, Thestrials are coming considered Ponylike yet not Ponies at all. Genetically they are vastly different than your average Pony. This is why they are considered a Class of their own with some, very few, under them. This would include the elusive Bat Ponies and Nightlings.

Thestrials and their kin are nocturnal and generally keep to themselves regarding wars and political struggles. Next, one would need to consider their omnivore diet. While Batponies eat more bugs than actual meat, Thestrials find themselves craving the unique taste that only cooked or raw meat could give. While most of their kind avoid raw meat, it isn't shunned. Lastly, while the Thestrials can fly like Pegasi, they mainly use their wings for more dexterity-based actions that Pegasi, whose bodies seem to have been built with speed in mind, could never accomplish.

But as great as they sound, they do have their downfalls. To begin with, they have poor vision during the day and are very sensitive to noise. Due to this unfortunate feature, you won't be seeing many of them out during the day or in anything less than a rural environment. Yet, even when it turns dark their vision isn't all too great. So they rely heavily on other senses.

Secondly, Thestrials are not commonly social. They rarely speak to those outside of their clans for the large majority of their lives. If communication is held outside of the clan, it's usually through only one representative or is within a dire situation. Otherwise, this could be seen as a breach of etiquette and can be harshly punished depending on the clan one resides in. This proves very difficult to learn about them as they hold their silence very well.

Lastly, Thestrials, as dangerous as they seem, are much more vicious than they let on. Both verbally and physically. Many from the warrior clan learn how to verbally abuse their enemies and implement mental warfare with the utmost efficiency. Some say the tongue cuts sharper than any sword if used correctly. This rule applies to almost every other clan as they can often be found competing against one another in various violent sports with the favorite of them all being, blood ball.

Blood ball is a violent sport of three rounds in which two teams compete to score the most goals. The two sides have a team of eight, four forwards, three guards, and one controller. The four forwards are put into teams of two known as defenders and attackers. The defenders' jobs are, as understandable, to protect the ball controller so they may make it to the goal and score past the guards. Secondly, they much do everything within their power to heal and ensure that the attackers are not able to make a pass at the controller. The attackers are the ones that make their way past the guards and take down the ball controller to get the ball back. If their team is already in control of the ball, they may try to take down the guards to allow the controller to score. Guards are heavily outfitted defenders on either side of the playing field in which they protect a large rectangular net that the controller has to throw the ball into. While simple in thought, defenders come equipped with not only armor but a steel club to fight attackers and the controller off. The ball in question is usually made from a collection of material taken from an enemy's bases or simply the skull of a former enemy general or leader. The game is either held every Friday and Sunday or is held after an important event in which a new ball is used.

Yet, under the blanketed skies of this wonderous and rare Thestrial village, all is far from well. It has been known for quite a while, but none of them dared to believe in rumors and anything that would hinder their day-to-day work lives. Buch much like their lesser cousin, every bat can fall pray to the whispers of deceit spread out amongst themselves. It keeps the majority of them on edge while others treat it as just another happenstance as many of the extra precautions against said rumor could just be over-the-top unnecessary worrying. It just depends on who you ask, when you ask, and the way you ask it.

The rumor in question is... unclear. Some speak of a conspiracy that could decimate their entire way of life as well as wipe out every clan in a single night. Horrifying sure, but impossible. It has to be. After all, there was nothing around so strong as to end their unnatural lives. The latest and most damning rumor is that a rogue Nightling was uniting the clans as the head of a super army to return them into the ranks of just not bat ponies, but every Pony possible. An ambitious goal and foolhardy as some would put it. Despite the truth being masked, all were certain that change was on its way to every creature in this world once more.

The first to note this within the pairings were the warrior clans. They had gone from battling day in and day out for the war to simply living the best they could without it. They became mercenaries at first, then peace negotiators, and finally living relics of the past. They would tell stories and poems of the days that have gone by. The days of war and fighting for unlike any born to their clan had ever seen. Because of the peace found, they began to grow restless in the aftermath.

The warrior clan is madly primarily of not just the best fighters, but the best in general. Spies, assassins, poets, storytellers, and generals. They all brushed shoulders as brothers and sisters. They all learned from experiencing what they earned themselves and share it with those that will listen. Or show it to those that do not.

So it came as no surprise that the first rumors passed through the warrior clans. They interwove lies and truths into their stories to allow those that know the key phrases to gleam into what they know and those that do not are none the wiser.

Despite little truth being within these stories, it was enough to spark intrigue and parties to rally to seek out the Nightling in question. The great search as it had grown to be called eventually. Many would hunt but none would bring back anything useful. Even now a party forms along the edge of the village center.

A Thestral of raspberry fur and dark purple mane and tail finds herself accompanied by two ocean blue Nightlings. The Nightlings wear no disguise as none is necessary amongst friends and allies. The two Nightlings seem to be siblings with the larger of the two being the older sister. The younger brother seems to hear a scar across his lower chitin abdomen section. Despite its faded nature, it seems permanent in possibly magical ways.

“So you heard it, right? The mid-morning whistling?” The older Nightling speaks looking between the two others.

“Yes! This could be exactly what we need! No creature else has spoken about something like this! So we might be on the right case for sure!” The raspberry speaks out next hopping from side to side.

“Or this could be what a predator would want. After all, it’s not like the mountainside is any less dangerous at night than during the day.” The youngest speaks shifting his haunches every so often.

“Yes. But at least we can see at Night better than day. Or are you looking to be picked off already? Little brother.”

The stern tone in her voice was enough to keep him quiet. Something seems to play on his tongue, but he keeps it to himself. All the while the Thestral makes her way closer to the village’s edge. Anticipation is written in every part of her body as she waits for the other two to catch on. With a lack of enthusiasm, the two follow.

“You think the debt will be paid after this?” The younger asks.

“Knowing her, no.”

The nocturnal bugs play their nightly orchestra as the party waits out their hunt. While not the normal prey for a Thestral, she takes great pleasure in it nonetheless. As a Pony from the warrior clan Chasseurs, the hunt was everything. The thrill of the chase, the planning, and finally the killing. Except for this pray would not be killed. Much to her disappointment. The client was particular about keeping it alive for questioning. Especially since it may lead them one step closer to learning the truth.

She glances at the horizon noticing the first glints of sunlight. The comforting purple and blue darkness yielded to the harsh orange of the first-day break. Her ears perk listening for her target while moving quickly to awaken the two Nightlings. The whistling would be the key to their success. Despite not napping as her compatriots had, due to her built-up anxious energy, she felt more awake than ever before. Others would have given up as far as she has gone to succeed. But with the taste of success already on her tongue, there was no other option.

The wait for a sign felt like ages. And then, it came. A faint whistle that could easily be mistaken for a common early morning bird’s song. But the distinction between Nightling and Bird is almost inseparable if not for those trained in the styling. A certain flair on the high notes. The almost unnoticeable quickness to the change of beat.

And the rare song that only a few know.

The raspberry smiles before mouthing, “I’ve. Found. You.”

The three cover their campsite and make their way quickly through the sparsely grown foliage. While not quite under the night, they move as agile as any other nocturnal predator. With the grace and ease of a snake hunting through the underbrush, they search for their songbird. For the nest they guard holds all of the golden nectar they seek.

Time slips by as the song play further and closer to them. The most stressful game of hot and cold. No matter how close they seemed, it was always just a bit out of earshot. Even when they seemed to be on top of the noise, it would just grow. Quieter and seem to be somewhere else. Perhaps magic was in play? How could they find something that didn’t want to be found? The answer was simple and came to the raspberry all too easily. If it didn’t wish to be seen or for it to be found, you must instead not look. If it is found by chance, then so be it.

And thus, the songbird was found unaware by a hug from behind. Fear filled the yellow-coated Earth Pony’s heart as a whisper entered its ear.

“Tag~”