"Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today, in remembrance of a mentor, pupil, sister, friend... and daughter."
It was a dark day, courtesy of the Pegasi. Heavy cumulus clouds rolled overhead, casting a grey shadow on the hill below them. A small but chilly and persistent wind whipped the mid Autumn leaves through the silent crowd, all dressed in black. The speaker on the hill paused, searching for words that wouldn't come.
"...She was kind, she was... persistent" a small murmur slid through the crowd. If one listened closely enough, they might've heard the ghosts of laughter. "She was... so curious. I remember... I remember how she would always come into the Municipal Building and ask if she could help me in some way. Processing the bills and checking in on landlords and tenants. Getting one of her friends to help her mail the Census. In any way, any way possible. I would always hear the little jingling of the door, and a "hello Missus Mayor!"
Her iconic 'grey' mane was spotted through with pink, as if she had neglected to continuously apply the dye. Here and there, spots of pink popped up through a mostly very, very light maroon mane. Deeply bruised half circles of plum purple skin hung around her eyes and the eyes themselves were red. It was no surprise, everypony there had been crying. News of her death had damn near shocked everyone. Ponies from Canterlot and abroad came in equal droves to pay their respects. For those who didn't know her, the unnatural crowd was a payday. Vendors, merchants, and peddlers hawked their wares to any, and indeed everybody there. For those who did know her, which included most of the town, it was a sad, sad day, especially to her closest friends who had spent nearly four days crying. Celestia was no different, although she had continued to lead the country, she hadn't attended any ceremonies or parties in the weeks and months after her pupil’s death. The Castle staff reported her losing a shade of her illustrious mane, and at times Luna had to step into affairs concerning the state, seeing as how Celestia would become "indisposed", locked away in her bedroom for days at a time.
In truth, there were many in that crowd who looked at that big, bleak casket carried on the backs of four strong stallions as a monument to their own fallibility. For some, it was contemplative looking upon their future not with dread but a certain sort of peace. They accepted that death was forever in the future of those not blessed with immortality, and they accepted that one day, that casket would house their bodies. Be that tomorrow or seventeen years from now.
An example for this would be Lyra Heartstrings. While in no way close to the currently deceased unicorn, Lyra held a curious affection for that box. She was a content mare. Her living was made by playing the Harpsichord. She was usually found with a crowd of onlookers at the base of the town's fountain, a great round waterspout with three cascading rings made of some sort of cement. She would sit there strumming for hours on end, earning as little as a single bit in a day, or as much as fifty in an hour. Her life varied from day to day, but she took it all in stride. Now, she sat looking at the coffin as it was slowly placed near the six foot rectangular hole, thinking to herself "herein lies she who ascended to godhood and fell like all the rest." If you were to ask Lyra in the following days about her thoughts, she would have given you a smile and said that it would happen sooner or later.
Of course, for all of those content with the hand dealt by fate, there were those who look upon the casket with a deep seeded dread. Unimaginable fear, ancient fear. Fear that took root in the basest part of their minds and dictated the actions of that stallion or mare for the rest of their lives. Filthy Rich, was of course one of these ponies. He looked upon the casket and fear seized him inside out. “She was twenty years my junior. Made immortal by the Princess herself “ his mind repeated to him throughout the Mayor's eulogy. His mind, working in circles, was like so many that day. Forced from the normal proceedings of the life and work it had created to encapsulate it from the stark reality that in the end, even a sea of gold turn to dust under a sea of time. His mortal mind, like Lyra's, was forced to comprehend the nebulous and monumental idea that was death. His mind whirred.Years of logic, of experience, of belief and reason had taught him and everypony else that day that there is no end to anything. You wake up after sleeping, take care of your children. The same children you saw the night before, and the night before that. You go to work and do your job, the same job you've had for a week, or for a year. You see the same friends you've had since you were born, or ones you've made in other cities, and you go to sleep again, expecting it all to repeat in the morning. Years upon years upon years of this thought process fundamentally changed their minds’ perspective from that of beginning to end to that of perpetual existence. In a single sentence, that belief would be “I can't die now, I still have too many things to do." Filthy Rich, with animal terror in his gut, began to make promises to himself. Promises to discipline and raise his child like a good father. Promises to give to those affected by a series of unfortunate events, and to work less and treat his wife with more respect.
He quivered and looked on as the casket was slowly lowered into the ground.The soft sobbing of the five friends followed their friend from that black cradle
The history of ponies dates back to the bickering three clans. The Noble, The Poor, and The Military. Their story, while well documented, houses the inklings of what will be the most brutal history.
It begins with argument, and the approach of an unnatural winter contrived from the hatred of the three subspecies. The downtrodden were sick of the mistreatment by the ruling class. The day-long, backbreaking work they endured, just for the fruits of their labor to be taken from them and given to cruel masters who would throw lavish parties, and beat and maim their subjects if the harvest hadn’t wielded enough. Often times, the Earth Ponies had to dig into their own stores of food just to keep their Lords appeased since they spent more and more throughout the ages on gathering of increasing splendor and debauchery. The children of the Earth Ponies, with only the dark brown and musty earth to look forward to, grew up with a defined acrimony of the unicorns on behalf of their weary and tired parents.
On the other hand, the unicorns spent every waking hour monitoring the minuscule changes of the sun as it glided across the sky. The reason Unicorns as a whole had to band together to raise the sun, was because of its monstrous, and monolithic nature. The Sun was a living, feeling entity. Its voracity was like that of a wolf. The Unicorns of that day and age threw themselves against its might, wrestling and forcing it to rise in their sky. Often times, it burned and scorched their psyches, leaving them catatonic or psychotic. The ruling families were also subject to this grim mockery, watching as their children raved and screamed and burned mentally as they joined their parents in the arduous task of keeping their world alive. The vast intellect bestowed upon them gave way to the monotony and horror of seeing thousands of their kin die every day. The end results were ponies who had kept their lives, but lost their sanity. Killing and maiming and raping their serfs with abandon, throwing lavish parties and orgies which lasted for weeks. The reason for this, was not because the constant struggle had turned them into monsters, but because of the deep sense of betrayal, shame, and helplessness they faced every day they sent their minds out to corral the beast, and returned with the knowledge that they were the lucky ones who lived, and who couldn’t save their sons or daughters or brothers or wives. Their hatred was directed towards the sun, and to their subjects. A hatred the Earth Ponies didn’t deserve.
While the two classes burned and cried internally, nursing different wounds, the Pegasi were a completely different abomination entirely. They were raised at a young age to believe that the world was their mortal enemy. The reason for this dated back two hundred years, when Equines were freely hunted and broken by the stronger predators around them.
Pegasi were graced with the most horrifying of the three subspecies, for they were considered a delicacy by most predatory animals on the continent. Throughout the years, they were hunted and bred by Griffin Royalty for the meat of their wings. Often times, they were raised from foalhood and fed nothing but oats and cow’s milk, shut in pens so that their wings didn’t develop or grow strong enough for flight. This had the dual purpose of causing the non-wing muscles, their hearts, lungs, and organs to experience a form of necrosis which led to short lifespans and the grotesque evolution of diseases which festered in the putrid mixture of excretion, sexual juices, blood from dead relatives, and pus from the infected to form a plague that nearly wiped out the Griffic Empire. It went by the name of The Devil’s Tears, for victims often experienced Jaundice and discoloration of the eyes, along with burst capillaries in the iris itself making them cry blood. Back then, it was considered the handiwork of a demon if a hatchling was born without skin (which happened rarely) or if an adult griffin was afraid of sunlight. Similarly, diseases amongst the griffin species were looked upon as a sign of weakness. If a king was infected with so much as the common cold, his ministers would call for his dismissal; therefore, when Dementoxia (The Devil’s Tears) spread from citizen to citizen, town to town, and coast to coast, the people began taking it as a sign of their leader’s dismissal.
Pegasi had single-hoofedly caused the fall of an empire that effectively stretched from the Crystal Lands to what is today Saddle Arabia. For this involuntary act of revolution, they were reviled and actively hunted for sport. Loathed by Griffins and those who had contracted the plague, they were hunted from continent to continent from the late rule of Prince Diamond (the great grandfather of King Gold) to the early rule of king Gold, when an enormous cloud was spotted moments before armored Pegasi barged their way into the castle of the king. They were very often secretive, and even today their history is full of holes. The results of those long centuries spent in captivity, however, have proved damaging to the modern pegasus. Without the proper environmental stimuli, they lagged behind their genetic brothers and sisters in the categories of memorization, attention and retention. This does not suggest that pegasi today are the animals they were before, as they are very prominent in the political and affluent spheres, it is simply stating that pegasi have the higher cases of ADD, ADHD, Short Term Memory Loss, and Alzheimer's than all of other three combined. Adding to this, are the one hundred and twenty odd years where Cloudsdale, home to Pegasi during the Migration of the Windigo, served not only as city, but military garrison for the winged race. From a young age, they were trained in the art of war. They trained and fought, taught to be mindless soldiers. This ideal instituted a hierarchy of strong ruling the weak while simultaneously planting a curious despondency amidst the grunts.
~~~
The history and behavior of Equestrians is brutal thing. The horror of the sun, the subjugation of Earth ponies, and the massacres and wanton killings of and by Pegasi have been covered in the sands of time. A species trying to bury its past in heroic stories and songs, hoping to reclaim an innocence it never truly possessed. Each Equestrian struggles under his or her own weight. Affecting, influencing, accusing, frightening, being frightened, and living. The insanity of existence, the fears and dreads of ghosts made all too real by the unknown powers of magic and witchcraft. A Nightmare, rotting beneath the surface, and the story of a journey conceived in the blackest of all nights.
This is the tale of Rainbow Dash, Bearer of Loyalty, who true to her namesake, took upon herself the quest of uncovering the death of her beloved friend, and the madness she found festering beneath.
