The Coachpony.

Hey there guys, another story. Thought I would try something new due to a writers block. Constructive criticism welcome.

Prologue.

                It’s a strange story to say the least: Farauk the coachpony has lost his voice. If it hadn’t of happened before my very eyes, I never would have believed it. Every thing started in the year 1859, in August, in the old quarter of Canterlot. Even if I wanted to make up such an incredible story, Canterlot would still be the best place to set it. Nowhere but Canterlot could such a tale take place.

                In those days, many strange people lived in Canterlot. But what’s so strange about that? They say when a city has been lived in continuously for over a thousand years; its citizens inherit the accumulated eccentricities of ages past. And Canterlot can look back several thousand years. So you can just imagine the kinds of unusual ponies running up and down its cooked streets and alleys. Old Farauk the coachpony was the most unusual of them all. He was short and slight, but his deep, warm voice easily made him seem a large pony with broad shoulders, and he was a legend in his own lifetime, which doesn’t mean that much in a city where legends and pastries are but two of a thousand and one delights. With simple light gray coat, and  black-gray mane, he was unmissable

                What with all the coups during the fifties and sixties, it was not unheard of for residents of the old quarter to confuse the names of celebrities, running royal guards, and others of those sort. But no one ever made any mistake about Farauk the coachpony, who lived in a booming city and who could tell stories that clung on to the older times, as would have his listeners laughing, or weeping, or both.

                Among the unusual and usual ponies running up and down the city, there were many who had a suitable saying for any occasion. Yet there was only pony in Canterlot who could produce a story for everything. Whether you had cut your hoof, caught cold, or fallen tragically in love. But how is it that this coachpony Farauk became the most famous storyteller in all of Equestria? The answer to this question involves, as you may have guessed, another story.

                In the 1830s, Farauk worked as a coachpony, driving between Canterlot and Ponyville. Back then the journey took many long  hours. And they were dangerous hours as well, the road wound through the rugged Great Horn Gorge, which was crawling with brigands who earned their daily pay waylaying travelers.

                The coach cars themselves differed little in appearance. They were constructed of iron, wood, and cloth and carried four passengers. The competition for business was merciless; often it was the hardest hoof that decided who would drive.

                When an economical depression came to Equestria, fewer and fewer ponies could afford to travel (other than pegasi, of course), and good Farauk had to devise some way to provide for his family- he had a wife, a daughter, and a son to feed. What’s more, robberies were on the rise, since many impoverished farmers and tradeponies were fleeing to the mountains to earn their bread as highway-ponies. Farauk would quietly promise his guests: “If you ride with me, you’ll make it through without a scratch, and so will all your money and bags.” His good relationship with the robbers enabled Farauk to make such promises. Again and again he would drive from Canterlot to Ponyville and back unmolested. Whenever he entered a bandit’s domain, he would leave a little wine by the side of the road, or else some tobacco- but secretly so the passengers wouldn’t notice- and the robbers would give him a friendly wave. He was never attacked. But after awhile, the secret of his success trickled out, and all the other coachponies began to imitate him. They, too, left gifts by the roadside and were allowed to pass in peace. As Farauk said, it got so that the brigands turned into fat, lazy collectors, utterly incapable of inspiring fear.

                Thus his guarantee of a journey safe from robbers soon lost its unique appeal and Farauk wondered desperately what to do. Then one day an old lady-pony from Ponyville came to his rescue. During the ride, he had recounted in great detail the adventures of a robber who had fallen in love with none other than Richard’s daughter- Farauk was personally acquainted with the pony. When the coach reached Canterlot, the old mare is said to have shouted, “May Celestia bless your tongue, young sir. Time flew much too quickly in your company.” Farauk called this mare his “good fairy” and from then on he promised his clients he would regale them with stories the whole way from Canterlot to Ponyville (or Ponyville to Canterlot) so that they wouldn’t even notice the hardships of the journey. This was Farauk’s salvation, for no other coachpony could tell tales as well as he.

                But how did the old pony-who could neither read nor write-always come up with a fresh story? Quite simple! After his passengers had heard him tell a tale or two, he would ask them casually, “Now perhaps one of you would like to treat us to a story?” There was always somepony, a mare or colt, who would answer, “I have a story that’s absolutely unbelievable, but I swear to Celestia is really happened.” Or else: “Well, I’m not very good at telling stories, but a traveler once told me one, and if you promise not to laugh at me I’ll be glad to give it a try.” Naturally Farauk encouraged all his passengers to tell their stories. Then he would spice them up and pass them on to the next travelers. In this way he always had a fresh and inexhaustible supply.

                Now the story of how the old story teller Farauk was mysteriously struck dumb is a story for a different place, and a different time. Now, we have to learn about the seven friends.