The Last of the Crocfolk

The Crocfolk. They have been in the swamplands for as long as they could remember. The species had many of the same attributes as crocodiles, including head shape except for their enlarged brain case, scales, teeth, claws, shorter snouts than normal crocodiles, and rudder-like tails to aid in swimming. They were divided into several clans, each with their own territory.

Each clan was led by both a leader and a shaman. The leader provided governance for the entire clan while the shaman provided support from the gods the Crocfolk worshipped.

War between the clans was rare, but when they did happen, they were fierce. Crocfolk warriors were vicious on the battlefield, but they would often use their knowledge of their territory to their advantage. Weapons of stone, wood, and bone were always used.

Like crocodiles, Crocfolk laid eggs. Males would usually judge females by the thickness of their tails. Thicker tails meant that they were healthy enough to watch over a nest for a long period of time. Females would judge males based on physical prowess and temperament to see if they could defend their mates and their eggs.

When young Crocfolk reached the age of thirteen, they were taken before the shaman to perform a rite of passage that involved jaw-wrestling. They would only use their jaws to grapple opponents and attempt to throw them to the ground. Both the winner and the loser would then receive a tattoo that worked as identification for what clan they were from.

Leatherfoot was born to the Whitetail Clan. He was considered to be special among his clan because he was born as an albino. His snow-white scales and prominent red eyes placed him as a potential "Speaker". Speakers were the prophets of the gods. Those that were born as albinos were considered to be the best candidates to be speakers as the result of how they were born. But Leatherfoot had no desire to be a Speaker. He wanted to be a warrior to protect his clan. Leatherfoot had reached the age of five, and was quite excited to partake in the rite of passage when he turned thirteen in just nine years' time.

The young Croc-kin, which was singular for individual members of the species, walked down the path in his hidden village to the village center to listen to the shaman relay to them the stories of their ancestors. The other members of his village were gathered along with their own hatchlings. He himself was still considered a hatchling by the adults, but that would change once he passed the rite of passage. The shaman stood in the center of the village and stood before a huge fire.

The shaman was dressed in a cloak lined with what he said were the teeth of enemies he had slain. A headdress of bright bird feathers adorned the top of his head and he held an ornate staff in his left hand. He was waving around the right one to get the crowd's attention.

"Everyone, gather around while I tell you the stories of our ancestors!" he yelled to gain their attention. Once everyone got quiet, he began.

"Long ago, our people had built a great kingdom within the Mother Swamp. The gods deemed us worthy of their amazing green garden to cultivate and protect. It was an age of paradise. But little did we know of the horrors the outside world would bring to our corner of the world." the shaman said. He definitely had everyone's ears now.

"The outside world was ruled by a race of strange, four-legged beings called 'Ponies'", the shaman continued. "Some had horns, and some had wings like a bird. Others did not have horns or wings at all. The ones with horns could perform strange magic. They had journeyed into our Mother Swamp to explore it when they stumbled upon our kind. At first, we approached them with curiosity and wonder. But they had rejected us upon our first meeting. They called us 'monsters', 'abominations', and 'freaks'. They had begun sending hunters into our swamp to eradicate us. They butchered our people, sold some of us to be slaves, cut down our trees, drain our swamp to expand their own towns, and force us to hide within the darkest parts of what remains of the Mother Swamp. So beware the blight of the Ponies, young hatchlings. Lest they kill you, too."

This story had the adults and hatchlings alike livid with anger. Leatherfoot raised his hand. "Why didn't our warriors fight back the Pony invaders?", he asked the shaman.

"That's a great question." he replied. "We tried to fight them back, but our warriors were no match for their weapons and magic. Because off these conflicts, we now number in the few when we used to number in the many."

Leatherfoot raised his hand again. "Do you think that the evil Ponies will find us?". That made everyone gathered there look to the shaman for an answer. He simply smiled in reassurance.

"Do not worry, young Leatherfoot. Those vile creatures will never ever find our hidden village."

Suddenly, a bright ball of fire shot up into the air a ways behind the shaman's back. It then exploded into lots of tiny little balls of fire. Then, the screaming began.

The village was being attacked! Leatherfoot didn't know by whom, but the village was being attacked regardless. The young Croc-kin didn't know what to do except for run like mad down the road in his village. Fires had started to appear on the roofs of his fellow Crocfolk. They were all running in the chaos. The warriors had gathered their weapons and prepared to kill these unseen opponents.

As Leatherfoot kept running, he thought he saw something fly past him in the air. It looked like a mammal with bird's wings. The flying creature seemed to spot Leatherfoot as it landed down in front of him. This creature had a short muzzle, bright green eyes, brown fur, stood on four legs, and had bird wings on his back. It was a pony. His village was being attacked by ponies! The flying pony stepped towards Leatherfoot with a sadistic smile on his face. It spoke to him in a language he didn't understand.

"Why are you doing this?!", he demanded of the creature in front of him. "What have we ever done to you?!"

The pony's only response was something in its strange language before he lunged at Leatherfoot. The young Croc-kin dodged the pony's attempt at capturing him and ran down the street.

He had to get to his house and fetch his knife. He would protect his three mothers from the evil ponies! He rounded the corner and finally reached his family's house.

However, when he arrived at the house, the floors were stained with blood. The air was thick with the smell of blood. In the center of the main room, a male honed pony stood over the mutilated remains of both his father and his mothers! Both of them showed signs of having their teeth ripped out before he killed them with the machete he was holding with his magic.

The male horned pony had gray fur, a white mane and tail, wore a black hunting jacket, and had a scar over his left eye leaving it milky white. The wretched figure turned to him and spoke in its vile language. Leatherfoot didn't know what it was saying nor did he care. He only cared about one thing: avenging his family!

Leatherfoot ran at the horned pony and tried his best to attack him, but the damned pony simply teleported away from him. Leatherfoot looked around to search for him, but he was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly, something hard hit him in the back of the head.

He collapsed to the ground and felt himself slipping into unconsciousness. Before he fell completely, he reached out to the remains of his family before everything went black.

Slasher had a most happy day. They had a successful hunt, got some new trophies, and he easily defended Equestria from those horrible crocodile creatures. He had worked diligently to rid the swamp of these vile creatures. Their presence in the swamp posed a threat to the good ponies of the land he swore to protect. How? By hunting those who would bring harm upon his people.

Slasher walked through the village and viewed the bodies of the Crocfolk he and his Hunters had slain. Their primitive weapons were no match against Unicorn magic, Pegasus flight, and Earth Pony ingenuity. One of his Hunters trotted up to him.

"Report." he ordered in a flat, monotone voice. His subordinate looked eager.

"Sir, you'll be happy to hear that there were no survivors in this attack. There were a few runners, but the guys finished them off easily enough."

"There is one survivor." Slasher said.

"What?" the lackey asked.

Slasher used his magic to levitate the unconscious young male Croc-kin over to show his subordinate. The creature was an albino, with snow-white scales unmarked by any spots.

Slasher grinned at his thug. "We're going to sell this one. A rare creature like a Croc-kin, especially an albino, will fetch a high price at the underground market."

The thug smiled. "It might fetch a really high price considering that this was the very last Crocfolk village we've found. I think we've done it, boss. I think they've been driven to extinction!"

Slasher pursed his lips and looked at the still-sleeping Croc-kin. "When you die, your kind will be officially extinct. Well... good riddance." The leader of the Hunters turned to his minion.

"Put a muzzle and some restraints on him. Lock him up in a cage. We're taking him to Klugetown Market in two days.", he ordered.

The thug looked at his superior. "Sir, are those new teeth to add to your trophy collection?"

"Yes, these teeth will look wonderful on a necklace, don't you think?", he responded.

Leatherfoot woke up with a headache. He felt something weird around his snout and felt something cold and metal around his wrists and ankles. He tried to open his mouth only to find that something was slipped around his mouth to prevent him from opening it.

He looked down to see metal cuffs around his wrists and ankles with chains connecting them to restrict his movements. He saw that he was in some weird box with metal bars that intended to keep him trapped within. He could feel himself moving which must have meant that the cage was on a cart of some kind.

Leatherfoot looked around to see what remained of his once peaceful village. He then remembered the attack from last night. He remembered that his people were being slaughtered by evil ponies from the shaman's stories. He remembered that his father and mothers were horribly murdered by a wretched horned pony with a black coat and a scarred eye.

The young Croc-kin heard a strange sound followed by a flash of light. He turned to the source of the phenomena to see several ponies holding weapons and smiling standing behind a pile of his fellow villagers' bodies. Males, females, and even hatchlings alike were in that pile. Among them were the toothless and defiled bodies of his father and mothers.

Upon seeing how the bodies of his kin were being treated, he felt himself become consumed by rage. He flung himself at the bars of his cage and began roaring and trying to yank off the bars. The ponies all turned to him and looked at him with surprised eyes.

The cage-cart came to a complete stop. The ponies were all talking to each other in their evil language before one of them spoke up above the others. They all parted for the apparent leader of this attack. Leatherfoot could hardly believe his red-colored eyes.

The leader of these murderers was that horned pony who murdered his family. He looked at Leatherfoot with a look of apathy and indifference with that one sky-blue eye of his. Leatherfoot glared at him with all the rage and hatred he could muster. Then, the killer pony gave him a small smile and had the driver of the cage-cart move it again. Leatherfoot watched after his family's killer until he disappeared from view completely. He slumped in his cold cage with nothing to occupy him but his thoughts.

"I will avenge you. Father, mothers, my friends, my village, my people. I will avenge you all. The ones who took you from me will know pain and death." he vowed.

He vowed to get revenge on those who took his family away from him. Especially that horrid horned pony.