The smiths guide to Equestria

by Theblacksmithbrony

Rating: teen
Tags: Main 6, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Changelings, Original Character, Cutie Mark Crusaders, Big Macintosh, Adventure
Length: 2928

Bright Steel got rejected by society once. He is willing to give it another go

Bright Steel. Born and raised in the Everfree forest by his changeling father. Learns to cope with with the crazy ponies that make up Equestria.
The trade of the blacksmith is a trade that had pretty much died out when unicorns could figure out how to control metals with their magic. Bright Steel refuses to let tradition down and intends to keep the manual side of blacksmithing manual.
With bad experiences in the past with ponies can Bright learn to forgive and forget or forever hold a grudge.

this would't have been possible with out my editor BubuJones who has been the best :)
on a side note this is my first fimfic and probably won't be able to update as quick as most others can

Published 2013-05-12 09:30:01 UTC
Last updated 2013-05-12 09:30:01 UTC

Awoken

Awoken

Night had fallen upon the Everfree Forest. The forge was lit in the pale moonlight, dull glowing embers were left from the day’s work. Behind it, the cooling metal was strung up and tied to the side of the small thatched cottage that bordered the forge. The gravel surrounding the cottage crunched under heavy footfalls of a large animal. Its pointed, bat-like ears swiveled to pick up even the faintest movements. Flicking its large scorpion tail, it approached the cottage. A steady breeze rustling its rich, orange coat.

Peering in through the slightly ajar door, the manticore found the dinner he was so desperate for. Behind the work table and anvil was a large, orange stallion. He worked on a piece of metal upon a smaller anvil, but oblivious to the world, he hadn't noticed the unexpected guest.

Unbeknownst to the manticore, another creature was inside. There sat an ever-watchful elderly changeling, rocking quietly on an aged rocking chair. Looking towards the doorway, his eyes filling with a deadly glare as he noticed the ominous shadow.

The changeling readied himself. His body tensing and mind clearing, he reached behind his rocking chair and pulled out his heavy work hammer, waiting for the prime moment to strike.

The manticore had his prey locked in his sight. He creeped in through the door, lowering himself to pounce upon the unsuspecting stallion.

The changeling, in one fluid movement, raised his hammer and launched himself from the chair. The manticore’s ears caught onto the sound just as the hammer was brought down with a sickening crack upon its skull.

Now alerted of the fight, the orange stallion turned with wide eyes, just in time to see the manticore react with a swipe of its tail toward the old changeling. Its tail successfully swiped his hooves out from under him. The bug fell and was helpless to the giant paw the manticore had brought down on his rib cage.

With a crunching sound, the changeling’s rib cage cracked. The handle of the hammer, which was caught upright from the blow, wedged itself between the floor and the paw of the manticore. The handle snapped and drove its sharp end in and through the creature’s paw. The manticore roared in pain and pulled his injured limb close to his body. With his hind leg he delivered the changeling a solid kick to the head.

The stallion watched in horror as his teacher and father figure was knocked out. He reacted quickly by rushing over to buck the unsuspecting manticore in the face. With the manticore left dazed from the hammer blow, he was left unsuspecting to the powerful hoof smashing into its muzzle. He fell, growling in pain as he held his head with his uninjured paw.

The stallion took the chance to get around the beast to reach the unconscious changeling. Scooping him up with his head and shifting him onto his back. With the changeling secured, he bolted for the doorway and towards the safety of the dark woods.

He ran... and ran. He didn't stop until the sound of padded paws running behind him ceased. Still, he ran. Ducking and weaving through the trees and undergrowth. looking back he noticed something, in the distance above the treetops rose columns of smoke and the glow of fire. The stallion acknowledged the fact there was nothing left for him there.

Reaching a cave surrounded by thick bushes, the stallion picked his way through the shrubbery. He headed a small distance into the cave, the stallion laid the changeling down gently.

The changeling had sustained a lot. His face was bruised and bloodied. His chest looked as if it was dented. The covering chitin was cracked and missing in places. He was going to need some medical attention.

The stallion stayed awake till his companion stirred from his unconscious state. It was hours till the changeling arose. The stallion, still winded from his panicked run from the manticore, said the only thing he could muster from his tired state.

“Father...don’t die.”

The changeling smiled painfully.

“I won’t, son... not now, at least.”

****

“Don’t die, please don’t.”

I heard a voice, but it didn't sound like mine. I could feel my vocal cords straining from the effort. It didn't feel right producing a sound they seem to have forgotten due to the lack of use. I have forgotten my own voice. From years of solitude and keeping quiet to hide from predators, trying preserve my life, I forgot my voice. Spending my days and months looking for the place I am now. Home.

There was the cold sweat on my brow to remind me that it was just a dream. Well, a dream from a memory. It hurt. Not my throat but my heart. I haven’t thought of him for months but my brain decided it’s time to bring it up again.

Going through the normal morning ritual was what I needed now. Brooding over the past didn't help, neither did staring at the leafy canopy through the gaping hole in the roof. Getting up, I stretched with an exhausted groan, working out the kinks that sleeping on the floor had inflicted on my back. Standing and looking through the broken excuse of a doorway just gave me a sense to leave and start working.

Dragging myself out the doorway and past the forge, I kept going until I got to the coal supplies. Turning around, I looked towards the cottage.

The site that greeted me was a sad one. After that tragically fateful night, I decided against leaving the cottage. True, it needed fixing up from the fire, but it was still home. No matter if the roof was only made up of empty support beams that provided no shelter from the outside world. And even though the fact that the bed and rocking chair have long since rotted away. It was still better than the harshness of the Everfree forest. The place where I have lost so much and gained nothing but loneliness.

Walking towards the little lake that bordered the miserable excuse for a cottage, I proceeded to look at my reflection staring back at me.

The site that greeted me was one of an orange earth pony with a bald head. Looking carefully, I could see I needed a wash, taking note of my brown tail needing a brush run through it. Bloody bushes loved snagging it anytime they could. Getting this over and done with as soon as I could, I jumped into the icy water.

I went through the motions of rinsing my coat and tail as quick as I could to escape the clutches of the cold water. Finishing in record time, I jumping out of the water and proceeded to the forge, hoping to coax it back to life in time to heat me up.

Upon entering, I collected the last piece of metal that could be spared. Today I’m making my new defender and companion. My sword.

“There we go, Bright, just remember the techniques I showed you,” said a voice sounding just like my dad’s, reverberated throughout my mind.

“Dad!?” I stated in confusion “Dad? Please don’t leave...”

Just as quick as his voice came, it went. Leaving me alone to remember his oddly buzzing tone. Trying to relish the now recent hold onto his memory, I sit down and tried to remember my first day out of the woods.

****

"Dad, we're almost there. They can give us help," the stallion reassured the changeling on his back.

"Bright steel. Be calm. You must remember that I'm considered a monster," he wheezed, the damaged rib cage causing him more pain.

Bright Steel nodded. Looking down the well worn path towards the colorful village, he noticed a sign.

Welcome to Ponyville

Before him lay an expansion of bright colorful houses of every shape and size, there were ponies lining the streets, significantly brightening them up with their vibrant colored coats and multicolored manes.

But Bright Steel had only one task on mind, and he was going to complete it. He cantered on, ignoring the rustic colored buildings and cold stares. Bright Steel kept on his steady trot, trying to find help, but instead, he would only be received by dagger like stares, scrutinizing his every move.

"Father, I thought you said ponies are meant to be friendly.”

“Remember that I'm the one scaring them.” He winced as he strained himself to speak.

Bright Steel walked on and found a somewhat friendlier face staring at him. A purple pony with a horn on its head similar to that of my father’s but lacking in jagged sharpness. With more than just one color of purple in her mane and inquisitive eyes, she stood out more than the other ponies. Remembering what his father said about ponies, he guessed this one was a unicorn.

“Okay, Dad. Lets see if that purple unicorn can help us.”

Bright steel nervously approached the purple pony and began to notice that it had softer features and a smaller physique when compared to his own. She was a mare. Bright Steel suddenly became more nervous with each closing step.

“Hello... miss?” Bright Steel realized she wasn't staring at him but held her full concentration on the form of the enfeebled changeling.

Bright Steel raised a hoof and waved it in front of her face trying to get her attention, but failed.

Eventually giving up Bright Steel noticed it was a lost cause and began to walk away.

“That’s a changeling.”

Turning, Bright Steel noticed she wasn't staring at his father any more. She was looking at him with a quizzical expression on her face.

“Why did you bring one here?” she stated harshly.

“My father needs help. Can you show me the way to the hospital, please?” he said pleadingly.

She returned a perplexed expression. With obvious malice that was shared amongst the ponies here.

“Did he abduct your father?” The mare said, looking more intently at the beaten changeling.

“No. He is my father and he needs help!” If the street weren't silent earlier, they sure were now. “Can somepony show me the way to a hospital!?”he pleaded the small crowd that had formed. Getting impatient, he looked around. He was surrounded by ponies just staring at his father.

“Please, somepony help us... anypony?” He looked back at the purple pony with a defeated look on his face. “Please...”

“I’m sorry, but we don’t allow changelings into hospitals. To tell you the truth, we don’t even allow changelings into Equestria.” She couldn't look him in the eye. “Please, you have to leave Ponyville.”

“But my father... he needs help!” The crowd started to disperse. “Can somepony help us? Anypony!”

The ponies only responded with silence, leaving without a second thought. Bright Steel looked from pony to pony. All he got in response was a cold shoulder. The purple pony was the last he looked at.

“Please,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry...” She turned and left the distraught Bright Steel In her wake.

As he watched her go, he could only wonder if all of Equestria was like this. Heartless and unwelcoming.

Picking at whatever energy he had left, he began to walk towards the now welcoming embrace of the Everfree forest.

“I’m sorry, father. I promise I will find help.” Bright Steel turned to look at his father lying on his back. His chest was misshapen and his chitin missing in the areas surrounding. His tired eyes meet Bright Steel’s.

“It’s ok, son. I’ll be fine.” He closed his eyes and fell asleep.

“I promise, dad, I promise.” Their figures blended in with the forest.

****

Going through the movements of lighting the forge had become second nature to me. Only the snapping of dry kindling reminded me of what I was doing, bringing me back from my memories.

After adding some extra kindling, I went to find the scrap metal I saw earlier. I walked around and put my fore-hoof on the bellows, giving a few puffs of air to the burning wood. Smiling in content as the radiating heat warmed my bones.

Glancing down at my hooves, I could see my work shoes needed shaping. I had grown over the months I spent in the woods, and my hooves had increased in size, along with the muscles across my body. My neck, chest and fore shoulders have always been large. Since my training with father started at such a tender age, he began with the focus on building up strength. A year later, I was close to twice his size, and according to him, this was quite abnormal. I never thought it odd.

My back and rear legs had toned up immensely due to constant running, and, for some reason, I was a head taller than what I used to be. That was what I found odd.

Focusing on the task at hoof, I went in search of my small shaping anvil. Stepping through the weather warped door into the cottage, I examined my work shoes.

They seemed to have avoided the rust that had taken hold of many of my tools. I guess the tungsten steel my father used to make them helped. They weren't shaped like normal shoes and there was only a set for the front hooves. To clip them on, the owner had to fasten the thin leather straps that ran past the fetlock. The bottom was covered with a thick removable sheet of aluminium, keeping it light but strong enough to protect the frog and any sharp metal pushing through and scraping my pedal bone.

To other ponies, they had the resemblance of I steel dinner plate with some strips of leather protruding out of it. To me, these were like my second hooves.

Picking them by the straps I walked over to my shaping anvil. The floor plan to the cottage was simple enough. As you walked in the door, to your left was a mat for shoes and above it was a shelf for worn out tools. Straight ahead, in the centre of the floor, stood a sturdy oak work table with a vice and drawers to keep the good tools in. Behind the table was where my bed used to be, and on the right of the door, tucked into the corner, was where my fathers rocking chair used to be.

The shaping anvil occupied that space now. A tripod anvil weighing at twenty kilograms with one end rounded for shaping and a small worktop for the smaller delicate metals to be worked on. The platform I’m going to use to shape my work shoes.

Compared to its brother, the ninety kilo work anvil, which resided outside next to the forge, it made this one look like a dwarf.

Placing my shoes next to the shaping anvil, I trotted back to the work table to find the hammer.

Opening the drawers, I picked out the tools I needed. Selecting the tongs and forge hammer, I laid them aside for later, picking out a smaller hammer. I closed the drawer and went back to the anvil

After taking out the aluminium plate from the two shoes, I placed one on the anvil and proceeded to beat it into shape with the hammer in my mouth. I did the same to the other till the both fit snugly in place.

With the work shoes fitted, I began to look for the scrap metal. Walking to the very back of the of the cottage lay the broken and waste pieces of metal. Picking up a large chipped steel ingot in my mouth, I walked to the the door, only to be stopped by a voice. His voice.

"Under the mat." His voice reverberated and echoed through my head.

"Dad?" I mumbled past the ingot in my mouth. This is the second time this morning i was talking to him. Am I going insane? "Dad, where are you? What about the mat?"

"Look under the mat."

My throat was too sore to continue, not being used this much in so long was straining my voice box. Dropping the ingot, I lifted the mat. Underneath there was a small ring of metal. Gripping it with my teeth, I pulled.

A piece of the floor lifted, dragging the section of concrete flooring to the middle of the room. What was underneath the floor shocked me greatly.

In a square steel box was a metal I thought I'd never see. Lunar steel.

Lunar steel was the metal that only the princess of the night could make. Taking a hundred year to make a single ingot meant it was the rarest of all metals and was only used once during her reign of Nightmare Moon.

The steel was used to create the master of all swords, the night bringer. A sword used by nightmare moon herself in battle. The stories my father used to describe the metal were not exaggerated. Solid block of black metal seemed to radiate darkness. There was no shine to it. It made me feel as if I was looking into a starless night. Dark and never ending.

Why did my father have it? How did he get it? How did he speak into my mind?

So many questions and no answers, but only one thing stood out to me.

I needed a weapon, and the tools and materials were here in front of me.

I am the blacksmith to take on the task.