The below is just a collection of the stories told by Akasha in PRPG2 and notes her player had for additional stories not-yet-written. Some of it is not canon. Akasha may not have believed every story here, the ones she told in the actual name are the only ones that she definitely did. Etc. etc., again, not canon.
Not Canon
NOT CANON
DON'T GIVE ME CRAP ABOUT THIS, I ALREADY REGRET IT AND I HAVEN'T EVEN PUSHED THE "SAVE CHANGES" BUTTON
...unless you have something nice to say. Just no grief!
You can throw me out when you're hungry and I can help you bring in a ton, but you'll take me in before fed because there's still so much to be done. Though only useful touching ground some like me just to hang around. We prefer to keep the pace so bite us if we're out of place I weigh you down but help you work so you don't choke with every jerk. Through all the sweat that you can earn I'll keep jerks from choking you in turn. Eat my blades if you have need; I will never make you bleed. What did Akasha figure out? Not much, really. She had gotten ahead of herself, her own image of herself and the element. She decided, looking at the stars, maybe to take things a little more seriously. I could just spin a legend about how the first zebra used to fashion stars of each of his mortal brides until he fell in love with Luna, who was the only one he ever gave all his mighty heart to and, in honor of his eventual passing, she took to sheparding the many he loved so that they might watch over their many children, all zebra, for all eternity. Or the origin of alcohol in Zebrica, being from a greedy fruit bat that would steal the juice of every fruit she would see, taking it back to keep in her cave. She took so much she couldn't drink it all and it fermented and she was finally caught all drunk and silly and singing of her own exploits very loudly and very badly. Or... I dunno, rain. Might take some time to think of something. Probably something silly, though, like early zebra was lorded over by the clouds. They were proud and terrible and would only give water and food if they were bribed enough with husbands, wives and sacrifices. The first zebra, though, came up with an idea. He would call them names. Names so terrible Akasha dare not repeat them. At first they stood tall, but shortly, they began to cry and scream out for him to shut up and hurl their spears. Even now that the first zebra is gone they sometimes remember what he said and cry and lash out, and thus the great first zebra continues to bless his children even long after his death. ************************************************************************************************************************ /me Slowly nodding her head back upward, she sucks in a deep breath through her pipe, the coals in it blazing brightly before she opened her mouth wide and smoke flew out of it like a wave, twisting and gliding through the air, taking the form of a jungle full of trees and vines and, at the center, a tiny bat, flapping slowly in the air. Before the time of writing, within the time of song, back when many of you here would call days dull and long. There was a famous fruitbat... well, infamous is more true; the crafty Chorah Mugdha, the greedy bat of blue /me The smoke bat above her began flying amongst the branches and vines of the forest above as the trees grew fat round fruits, other bats and creatures forming near the food. The bat would swoop among them, flying through the smoke-fruit and dissolving them. Chorah so loved fruit, for nothing else she craved. She’d only feast and theft them; she never slept nor bathed. But others caught onto her game and would see and swat her ‘way, but Chorah was a smart one and so stopped stealing by day. /me The bat grew ragged and many of the creatures and bats amongst the trees dissolved, replace by owls and rodents. Her fur turned gray and pale so far from the sun’s light, but there were still some creatures that also preferred the night She couldn’t steal fruit fast- enough and bit and gnashed her teeth; they broke sharper and she realized she could drink quicker than eat /me The bat grew even more scruffy with longer, sharper teeth. It moved faster now and reformed as shriveled husks of the fruit it once was. Chorah so delighted but couldn’t steal if she grew fat, so she’d take the juice back to her cave to spit into a vat She thought herself so clever as her harvest grew and grew but she didn’t know just what a vat like that was apt to brew /me The bat grew a little larger as it flew away from the forest now, a portion of the backdrop dissolving to be replaced with what looked to just be a large barrel. And so one day while searching and lamenting all their loss, guess what the many creatures just happened to come across? Chorah, drunk and silly, singing to the stars above and she offered them her cave, happy and full of love The creatures tried the drink she offered, wary of being tricked, but soon they, too, found happiness as liquor got them licked! And so they all did celebrate as Chorah learned to share and the brew taught all that sometimes one must throw cares ‘way to care. /me The fruit bat was joined by the other creatures, jumping and flying and dancing throughout the branches and vines before, finally, the smoke forms dissolved away and Akasha, grinning, took a bow. *Akasha settled down, turning her head upward and releasing one, two, three expanding rings of smoke before smacking her hooves on the ground* Ba-rum pa pa, ba-rum pa pa, ba-rum pa pa, pa pa! Back before the ages, races, places that we know. Back when even the eldest trees had just begun to grow There was the chieftain Agra, praise his name, his soul, his mind! The crafter and the weaver, very first of zebrakind! [a great zebra stallion appears out of the smoke, birds and trees and all manner of living things surrounding him] The master of the earth, under the sky he craft the land! The mountains rose, the seas were filled, accord to his demand! He weaved the grass, the trees, the beasts, though not under the sun! But underneath the moon he toiled more than anyone! But, praise his ways, the lonely father of so much we know There was one thing he never found a way to make or grow Throughout the ages he would spin many a won-drous bride! But never could he make one last forever by his side! Great Agra, in his mourning, he would take the wives he'd lost His tears, like flowing diamonds, would recount his great love's cost And so the equine goddess, Luna, came to know our chief For in his sadness the land ran brilliant white in his grief And so the land and moon became as one in heaven's grace And so the world was born in darkness, all within its place But great Agra's heart had split too many times before And his life, which once was ageless, could one day take no more Luna, at his passing, wept her dark tears on the earth For without love, how can the night be made so bright in mirth? But then she looked around at all her love had made 'pon land Es-pec-ia-lly those who his love had made so bright and grand So Luna, in her glory, raised great Agra's wives up high So that they might look down and love his land from her sky And so the stars that watch us still, their children, one and all... Akasha stopped beating her hooves, stopped breathing, and it was as if the world had gone silent for a moment, too, before slowly whispering: And remind us, still, that we're loved for our hearts, both GRAND! *throws her hooves out to the side, yelling that last word, then back down to a whisper* ...and small. *claps her hooves together, then bows* Early zebra was lorded over by the clouds. They were proud and terrible and would only give water and food if they were bribed enough with husbands, wives and sacrifices. Agra, though, came up with an idea. He would call them names. Names so terrible Akasha dare not repeat them. At first they stood tall, but shortly, they began to cry and scream out for him to shut up and hurl their spears. Even now that the Agra is gone they sometimes remember what he said and cry and lash out, and thus the great Agra continues to bless his children even long after his death. Akasha sucks in her breath before opening her mouth and breathing out a massive cloud of smoke. She spends a moment smiling up at it as it fills up space and tendrils of it rise from its top, taking the shape of tall, bipedal creatures. A storm can be quite scary, that's certainly the norm. And so you should be wary lest you're swept up like a worm. But let me tell a secret about their squalling ways, it is because of Agra that they cry through all these days. For once the clouds were mighty, proud and strong and grim, they lorded over zebra, enslaved us to their whim. For even just a spec of rain or sun, there was a price. So zebra toiled day and night in endless sacrifice. But Agra, he was clever, and knew just what to do, so our father called upon them, and gave them all they're due. He spoke words of such horror 'bout their kin, their ways, their home. Words so clever and profane none could say but him alone. The clouds tried to be mighty, to be proud and strong and grim, and lord over this zebra and enslave him to their whim But Agra would not quiet, his offenses would not cease, and their proud faces would darken and then tremble as they creased. Screaming that he quiet, one cried and threw a spear, but through all of its bawling, not a single one land near. And Agra, he was laughing as the rest through tear-struck fits, and made off to his people as they cried themselves to bits. No more did zebra sacrifice to get the sun or rain. Instead the clouds gave everything, those words still causing pain. Now Agra may have left us but the clouds never forgot. Even now they still recall him, even now still get distraught So when you see them rumble, when they scream and throw their spears, know that they cry for Agra, the mouth of all their fears! The world is full of danger, the wicked and disgraced But once the world was stranger with a far more vicious face Throughout the cold and lonely nights all zebra gnashed and wept The world littered with endless fights with not a friendship kept But you and I both know that we would rise up from that root There'd come a time of family was more than one more brute The zebra named as Fro and Tu met in a snow-shroud plane Fighting, as they were apt to do, over food, or hate, or fame But the ursa that fell upon them cared not where their petty lied It cared only for how its meal fared, not if it won or tied Each stallion weighed it carefully, this fight of colt and beast Half a chance to simply flee and half to be a feast Each weighed themselves the better meal and so they turned to fight Turning delight Every pony used to fight for themselves and no other. That changed when they found something to fight for. Something greater than themselves. This thing was freedom, but eventually became friendship. Born not of lust, but comfort, the twins Tu and Fro would wake They were the first of many who would make this world their stake. Their parents, of the older breed, could not stay their hooves They had left barely a winny Origin of soldiers and windigo Zecora's Book of Tall Tales Zebra folklore A legend about puppets. Maybe how the first zebra were made, binding light in shadow and shadow in light. The first parasprite and poison joke. Brothers. A story about when Agra was stuck in a desert. Why he only works under the moon, now. Wood-eating demon The first fire Why we dream Why there are so many languages Agra meets a dragon. Tricks him out of his dinner and fortune. The reason for the seasons. Someone that steals the light, the sunbeams, for the winter and brings them back for the summer? Mitram – friend (neutral gender) Mahatma – great soul Mahatma was the name of the dragon that brought the zebra fire. She flew up to the sun and carried it down in her mouth. It is why dragons breathe fire and why zebra and dragons will always be friends. (((((This is a nursery rhyme and why one of Akasha's stuffed animals as a child was a dragon... or, at least, a winged lizard.))))) In the dark the pale moon shined, when the sun had gone to hide, zebra would hold up inside, fearful of the dark outside. Though we all had Luna's grace, though we cherished her bright face, still the dark gave monsters chase, what a dark and scary place. *shivers* Mahatma was a dragon, kind and strong and wise As gentle as a ___, despite her giant size Mahatma was the name of the dragon that brought the zebra fire. She flew up to the sun and carried it down in her mouth. It is why dragons breathe fire and why zebra and dragons will always be friends. Gets out a small stuffed dragon and hugs it before showing it to the other children, smoke curling above her slowly until it comes together in an oddly much more lifelike replica of the stuffed creature All dragonkin are scaly friend of zebra near and far Because, you see, through destiny, we made each what we are No paltry tale of stripe or scale could tell all where we've been But still I know of one tale, though, that first made us two kin Raising her head up, Akasha releases a burst of smoke, suddenly much, much darker than before. It expandes quickly, a shadow falling across her audience. So full of fright was the first night, before stars took their place When moon was new, or darker hue, and light graced not its face The zebra shivered in the cold that often took them, young and old. And monsters nigh, on ground or sky, would rarely ever let them lie. The cover of smoke grew thicker and thicker, light only peaking through to highlight shapes, monstrous in form, swimming through it, licking lips, teeth cutting through the fog, claws grasping downward Akasha shivers and takes a moment to compose herself before continuing. Mahatma was a dragon. The first one ever born She towered over mountains, her wings created storm Akasha looks up and the dark clouds of smoke part to reveal a towering dragon of incredible size having come into existence above it. Upon closer inspection some might notice the use of forced perspective to make it seem that much bigger than it really is, but Akasha continues quickly after the reveal. She looked upon the zebra, how they suffered in the black And for her kind and glor-ous heart she would give what they lack The sun would bake the land back then, the dry and heat was shrill And so Mahatma rose her neck and bit of it her fill An orb of particularly whisp-y smoke appeared above the massive dragon and the dragon seems to take a bite of it. The fire burned within her mouth, it raged across her tongue Then, reaching down, dropped some to ground, and shared with everyone The dragon reached down with its neck before dropping a ball of smoke from its mouth. It fell, as quickly as smoke can fall, and when it hit the ground the dark cloud of smoke dissipated. The fire never fully left; burns in her children still Nor did the fire she dropped snuff, kept as traditions will Again, there's many more tales left, of dragons and zebra So praise her still, may one and all, our matron Mahatma! Holds up both her small stuffed dragon, smiling up at them as her smoke display dissipates and she then goes down into a bow. Agra stole the sunlight to create the winter, Mahatma used her fire to create new ones. Now I've told that Agra was quite wise, I know that for a fact But when he was still in his youth wisdom was what he lacked The fire burning in his heart, his passion for all things It didn't sit well in the heat which the sun always brings And so Agra, he schemed his schemes and planned the heat's undoing Deep inside the earth at night he found ways of intruding And when the sun goddess would look upon her many ponies He'd nip up through the clouds and sky and swap her rays with phonies! The sky goddess, for all her smarts, could not tell what was wrong The heat that fell down from her orb, it wouldn't last as long The cloud lords shivered in the cold and snow came falling down And as the ice was building up such laughing filled the ground But Mahatma was clever, too, and saw the ploy at play She saw him jump to sky at night, she saw him laugh in day And so before things froze too long, she blew and warmed the earth And from each spot a ray broke free, bright flowers would then birth And so the game would play each year, with Agra stealing rays Then when the cold had hit its worst, Mahatma bringing days The sun and moon goddesses liked the change so very much They've kept the tradition since then, each adding their own touch And so while you might feel you hate the heat or cold above We're given both so everyone has a season to love! Slaps hooves together above her, the impact letting off a sharp crack and flash of light. The Beginning In the very beginning, there was just black and white. The to-and-fro, stallion and mare, the wisdom and the might. In the endless boundary, they formed this place we stand And they would name this place Prithvi, the great and mighty land But at once there came a struggle over who'd rule what they'd made Dashing at each other, the crossed paths in a glade That boundary set by nature, where trees and planes break ground Above the grass, below the clouds, they met with such resound The white clashed with the blackness, the black streaked through the white Unwilling or unable to allow each win the fight Slowly their struggles weakened and they collapsed upon the land Long since they'd passed the point they knew where each end or began They could not untangle all their form and so they slept in place The creature they'd given way to, Agra, then raised up his face ******************************* The Origin of Ponies The goddesses are glorious, they gave the moon and sun And they shared their grace and radiance with each and everyone But they did not rise up from this place, they came here from afar And they did not care for what they found, they changed it to what they are The goddesses are order, set the cycles by the clock And they banished from their lands all wild to further fuel their flock And the ponies that they cultivate were made with destiny A brand was placed on every soul; that was no charity At their call bests took cues of when to sleep or rise At their call clouds gave their due or banished from their skies At their call came light or dark, all cycles that we know At their call 'fore even grew, their flock needed them so All earth ponies and pegasi, all unicorns were made They split off from the goddesses, but destined for the fade They were allowed to grow apart, to see just how they'd fair And they quarreled with each other, were unbalanced and unfair It was a blessing and a curse the day they found a way to peace For soon after there came the time when first lowered the fleece The goddesses were good, of course, don't think I don't say so But they were also deeply flawed in ways they'd never know So when I look on the magic that resounds in each of you I can see only the goddesses in every brilliant hue Your power stems from divinity, so you should feel grand And so, like Agra long before, I welcome you to this land Dragons rose from the blood shed by black and white alike They are the lifeblood of the gods, their wisdom and their might The greatest creatures they could make still separate from them two But yes, unlike great Agra, Mahatma was all new She was the first Agra would find when he first raised his head She was the first to view him, too, contorted and half-dead It's said that ages came and went as they each slowly rose But what they thought, then, of each other? No one really knows. Eventually each turned and went their own separate way And of that tale of creation... I have no more to say. Look up marry poppins, I think? There's a nursery rhyme there. This is just about the land between. The realm of dream. It's not a creation myth, as this place has always existed and never existed. Luna is its queen, and she resides there still. At least, some presence of Luna. The Umbermare. The dark one. The mother black. The dreaming maiden. Only, very occasionally, the nightmare. Twinkle twinkle with flats. That eerie sound. It's a warm song, nothing scary about it, but it's slightly off-putting as it speaks of a realm we cannot see, often can't even remember, but it's there. It's not a zebra song. It's a pony one. Something Luna used to sing. ...no, Luna's followers. Cult of Luna. It's from one of Akasha's collected pamphlets. Midnight blue paper with silver lettering that gleams, not glows, in the dark. Maybe more of a prayer to watch over someone who sleeps. From the pamphlet of the cult: The Children of the Night Trust thee child to her care; love, adore the nighttime mare She who watches in thy sleep, holding closely in the deep Happy, warm in calm or storm, she holds her people, tends the worn The umbermare, the dark one fair, the mother black, the demonscare She who holds the sword and shield, grand defender never yield Princess, goddess of the dreamed, she who harmony redeemed Riddles Though only useful touching ground some like me just to hang around. -horseshoe Eat my blades if you have need; I will never make you bleed. -grass Ever-shrinking as I age, treasured so by the well-read sage. -candle Dreams or nightmares I could contain but without a scratch I'll stay plain. -paper I shave and shave while there's light yet STILL have hair by the time it's night. (I don’t remember) Destiny's a funny word you'll hear the ponies say It's branded on their flanks as it ruled their night and day It's so, where er' they go, that they might claim to know their way But hear, dear lass, don't take their sass, and if they say go, you stay We are not like the ponyfolk, our flanks show where we've been Because to those with pastel nose it's more where they begin They set their ways 'till end of days to live up to their mark You've many more stories in store my clever little lark --- Harmony's a tree and I know how it began Like so much it started long ago when Agra ruled the land When he passed there was a mighty storm as he broke into two What came out was not of black and white, no, it was red and blue The red, it flew so high, the storm erupted in its wake The blue, it dig into the ground as it crushed down in a quake The red, chaos personified, of love and lust and sin The blue, harmony amplified, quiet, passive, resplendid Within the green grew mighty stones... Glyphmarks are a curious thing, they can mean next to anything They are not where our future's shown but where, in past, we have called home Akasha's Glyph Story I love my glyph mark dearly; it shows what I chose to do I remember it so clearly when it first appeared all new *smoke curls from her pipe, forming a small simple room in the air, an older zebra stallion talking to a much smaller zebra filly* I was sitting in my bedroom while my father told a tale But when the end began to loom my sister gave a wail! Ran off to see Avatara thinking I might calm her down Turns out that she got out her crib and then fell to the ground *the smaller zebra mare runs from the room and the room shifts to become a similarly simple room, but this one with a crib, an even tinier, crying zebra filly, and a much older zebra mare* The baby had a booboo on her noggin, it was big! My momma told me I should shoo, that coddling was her gig I jumped up and went blabbing on, giving her a fright! *the older zebra filly ignores the older zebra mare shushing her and jumps up on her hind lends to begin to babble at the baby zebra* But mom’s shoulders went to sagging when she saw that I was right! My baby sister was so amazed as I gave her storytime Every story that my dad had said, and all of it in rhyme! *the zebra baby almost immediately stops crying and begins laughing as she watches the older filly* Happy, she laughed and forgot her bump, then mamma sighed The tale that I told about the moon had appeared at my side *a small crescent moon appears on the zebra filly’s flank as the older stallion enters the room* She told me I would do great things, I try so to this day Living as great heroes do, and telling all the hero’s way. *all the zebra in the room bow to the audience and the smoke form dissipates* What are glyph marks, exactly? They show the path a zebra has traveled, but also who they are as a zebra. They have nothing to do with talents. Zecora had a bond with Celestia as a mentor, bringer of light and kindness. What does Akasha's show, exactly? It represents the maiden of the moon. A bride of Agra, to be sure, but new. It might develop to encompass the mother or the crone, next. Or go in a different direction. Akasha has a connection to Luna. Not a devotion, she isn't a worshipper. Well, she is, but more... sisterly? Like Luna is her saint. She might eventually want a stuffed animal of Luna. Akasha is an outlier. She loves the night, she likes to prank. She lacks Luna's aggressiveness, though. Her assertiveness. It's more why she is a maiden. A cutie mark shows a talent. A nitch. A roll the pony can play within the world. It's not always clear what the mark represents as it's up to the pony to interpret it but, in the end, it is a functional purpose. One they will abide by until the day they die. For zebra, a glyph shows who they are. The connection they have with the world. It's never, ever something they can monetize. Even a zebra with a glyph of apples would not be really good at growing apples. At cooking with apples. Such a glyph would be rare, but it would more likely mean something along the lines of their being somehow like an apple. Sweet, friendly if a bit tart, a favorite color of red, maybe a sort of preference for apples as a food but that would likely be due to having the glyph, not the other way around. Oddly-enough, Rarity's mark might work well as a glyph, were it to not mean she's good at finding gems. If it just meant she was to be a rarity, to be sparkling and unique, to be capable of being rigid and sharp, that would be a glyph. Fluttershy's might, as well, being someone shy but pretty. Flighty. Hers means she's good with animals, though. Unless ponies don't know what their own cutie marks are for. Rainbow Dash's might work in that she is aggressive and dangerous. A zebra's first impression, basically, wouldn't be very flattering. Twilight's would throw them a bit. She's less an explosion (a star burst) and more one waiting to happen. Applejack's again, would be a bit confusing. When the goddesses first appeared they both felt very lonely So they decided to create the very first of the pony From themselves they craft the races minus their divinity Then released them to the world just to see how they would be The ponies, at first, were unfocused. They did what they chose to do And those feelings, they would change when they decided something new The goddesses did not quite get this choice to change one's way So they assaulted their freedom and brought destiny to stay Cutiemarks came first as far as anybody knows Glyphmarks were based on those, is how legend goes It was when Agra had his bride Story of the Glyphmark The story of the glyphmark... there isn't much to tell. It shows our bond with ponies but it doesn't show it well. It makes you think we are the same, symbols defining skill. But that just isn't their purpose, only yours defines your will. Back when Luna first took up her brush to paint each pony's soul, so that they might have their cutiemarks and feel that much more whole So would Agra look upon her work and decide it was fine, so he would turn to his zebra and give glyphs to his kind So he gave glyphs to his people, gave each their own brush inside, so as they each would grow so to would the glyphs on each hide When he'd finished, zebra prospered, and he thought their works were grand, but Luna questioned, thought them strange, and did not understand Glyphs do not show our skill and they do not show our way. They grant us no wealth nor show how we should spend each day. They are carved by each zebra to show what we feel inside, and it is we who so define them so we have nothing to hide The power and the magic that shows each pony in what they’re great? The purpose of the cutie mark: to expose your fate? My glyph mark gives me none of that; its power is less honed. It tells all what my soul would sing were it able to intone. What are the Brides of Agra? I am the waxing moon. I've yet to reach my peak I've stories yet to live and then tales yet to speak I am... passive, I am pretty. I mean, that's what others have said. And though I'd say I'm careful there's little that I dread I am a Bride of Agra; I was chosen to be so We are mares that wander as we will to help and save and grow We are leaders, we are healers, but are nomads above all Never can we settle, living for only our Agra's call ...unless, of course, adventure is best found in just one place It's more about the stories and the danger that we face It's not a call to chastity or sexuality, in truth We're free to find others to love in old age or in youth But we are meant to be the stuff of legends, saviors of a kind Adventurers, really, the "best" zebra you can find ...and part of that is rhyming in everything we say. We sound more like legends to be speaking that way ...to be honest, sometimes it's easy to forget all the time and such So I sometimes use a potion to force it... it's kind of a crutch... The call of Agra is to die, so we explore until we lie. Why do Zebra have Glyphs? Way back at the ponies' dawn, when they'd not been wandering long, Celestia and Luna, too, saw their work with them not through Ponies were then were oh so free; anything they wished to be Directionless, they loved to play and wasted every night and day So their goddesses aligned and said "Our ponies need a sign!" "Something to show them how to be, to put simply, destiny!" Taking brushes from the fade, they went to each pony they'd made They painted on their souls a sign that'd follow them for all their time As each pony was getting marked, guess who it was that had harked? Agra came up from the ground and loved the paintings that he found Taking a brush up as well, he went to where the zebra dwell He painted there upon each soul, so each zebra would be whole But it wasn't destiny, no; the future was something he could not see He knew not how they would grow, so there was no purpose he could know Instead, in each mark for stallions or mares, he showed their desires, their hopes and cares Paint to make us less the same, not defined my mark or name It's said when Luna came to stay she asked why he'd painted this way She said he must have done it wrong, that these marks would not make us strong He disagreed, and I do, too... our marks are grand and never through I know one day mine'll change again and look forward to who I will be then! The Greedy Guests /me puffs on her pipe a little more the light gray smoke leaking from her mouth slowly turning black. After a few moments she spins in a circle on her rear hooves, spewing smoke in every direction, darkening the room dramatically. /me 's voice almost echos out of the smokescreen she's created, whispering out in hushed, melodic tones. In the dark of night she waited, in the winter cold she stayed For her will could not be baited and her focus; not be swayed As she sat up there, so lonely way up on her mountain, matron fair May she hear my prayer /me the smokescreen parts around everyone listening. Akasha has moved to where the window is and a hole opens up behind her to let some light stream in, hitting the pale white smokeform of a dragon curled up upon a mountain. Tiny, intricate scales cover the curves of powerful muscles as her wings ruffle before pulling tighter around her. As the fire burned inside her, taken from the goddess flame Like a living, loving pyre, neither wild nor so tame She would warm her clutch, aglow with the power of which she took her share For all of our care /me the dragon's head raises and a gout of smokey fire shoots into the air, clearing more of the smokescreen and brightening the scene a little more as a small group of tiny pegasi form and approach the dragon. It was then they came unbidden, pegasi in from the cold Greedy eyes spot the warmth hidden, greedy hearts strove to be bold They would come to her, smiling, and tell that she must grant some of her heat Like it just some feat /me the ponies' mouths grow almost impossibly wide with eerie grins Taking pity on the ponies, though they were nothing but rude She gave all the heat they could please, told they leave her to her brood They would leave at once, and she thought that maybe they would just go away Least if she had say /me the dragon bows to the pegasi slightly, then blows a wave of smoke across them like a mist. Nodding to themselves, the pegasi seem to start to leave, but almost immediately turn back around and return to the dragon. But they came back in the morning, then they came back at the noon Always demanding more warming 'till she thought she'd be out soon She told them such, and again with those smiles, each would say "That is fine I'll just take what's mine." /me the pegasi repeat the action of leaving and returning as the dragon repeats blowing on them before shaking her head. The ponies seemed to shrug at that, the grins never leaving their faces. And they looked upon her offspring and she nearly gave to rage They thought she was just some wellspring? That her nest would be her cage? In the cold she still would refuse to leave her eggs to fight off their stand But she had a plan Granting her heat to one last guest she set down and bore a claw She stated she had none more left and, as a threat, snapped her maw The ponies shivered, then looked to the one of them that now had all the flame And they thought the same /me the dragon blows a wave of smoke strictly at one of the pegasi, then hunkers down into a fighting stance. The ponies look between her and each other before they all turn to the one that had gotten hit by the last bit of smoke and attack him. Leaving, they fought each for the heat 'till the flame had long since died Still their battle was not complete, striving to steal the warmth inside 'till they'd wrestled out every last bit of warmth they ever could have had Leaving naught but bad /me as the ponies fight, they change. They grow larger, slimmer, with empty eyes and lacking their grins. The dragon disappears as the smokescreen drops, the ponies expanding to become larger and larger before suddenly turning on their audience and flying out at them angrily... but dissolving before they hit. For those that could recognize them, in the end, the ponies looked exactly like Windigos. /me when the smoke completely clears, Akasha is still by the windowsill, smiling amicably. With a shrug, she continues. The story is old, and darker than most, but has the simplest of moral you'll find Never take advantage of a good host, especially a host of dragonkind. Of necromantic magic, there is no greater crime No story quite as tragic, no curse quite so unkind When the prophets lie in dormancy and the future is unseen That's when the tales of moans and wails become our waking dream A pony of old order, she got it in her head that it wasn't a torture to seek love amongst the dead She called upon a spirit of a love she did not know, the corpse would rise and she'd despise, for it refused to grow Deep within her studies she searched for answers near and far; it wasn't dead that haunt her head but how to call and bar She wished, she wanted for the shell to all but living be and that, my friends, would set her ends, for she'd succeed on three. At one, she barred the sun, set formless shadow in its skin For two, filled it anew, fresh blood embalming all within For three, the travesty, she willed that it should be fer-tile This it forgot, for it could not, and so learned to defile The vampire... it rose to sire, just as she had bid But to her surprise, with hungry eyes, would give her no kid It bit and tear, awake, aware, but full of feral thirst The mare went fast, she could not last, and left her creature cursed Awareness returned to the corpse... the pony... old but new. A kinder colt would have quickly bolt and run his body through. ...but the mage, the mare, she was not aware of who she'd come to pick Who she chose was fetching and would not cause retching, but his mind was simply sick One for murder, one for schemes, one to prey on lurid dreams, he was a terrible thing He now instinctively knew all he could do, all the suffering he could bring He laughed aloud and all who heard were cowed as he took into the night ...and that's the end. No more comes, then. Which is why we've cause for fright. She merely selected an attractive body She rose a ghoul, from smart to fool, and her creature gave her scorn The story goes that vampires were created when a skilled necromancer decided he wanted to raise a wife for himself after a young mare he had long longed for passed away from pneumonia. Paying off the priest to miss-perform her dedication into the earth (and thus denying her a proper burial, opening the way for her to be raised again), he dug up her body the night following the funeral and got to work. The mare's soul having left, he filled the imprint of magical energy it had left with raw shadow magic, its formless nature filling in and replacing the missing spirit not unlike filling a mold. The unfortunate side-effect of this being the saturation of the corpse with very light-sensitive magic. To make the corpse warm and almost indistinguishable from being alive, he then filled it with fresh blood, harvested both from himself and from drifters he'd already taken to harvesting when possible since he was, you know, a necromancer. His desire lead to the creature's need, making the vampire crave blood constantly to keep itself warm and whole. Finally, he did the most unforgivable thing of the all. He bid the creature be fertile. To reproduce. What is a wife without the potential future offspring, after all? This, the creature could not do. So it did "the next best thing" and its curse became transferable. He then pumped a truly absurd amount of necromantic magic into the corpse so that it would rise again stronger than ever, resilient and powerful, with the ability to heal and perform necromantic magic of its own. He wanted the perfect partner and gave her everything he could. In response, the first thing she did upon rising was rip out his throat. With the amount of regenerative necromantic magic saturating a vampire and the fluid nature of the shadow magic soul it possesses, all that a vampire needs to rise again after being thoroughly maimed through mundane means is enough fresh blood. It's really that simple. That said, the ashes of a vampire are a very powerful and illegal dark magic substance since the amount of magic stored in just one vampire, coupled with the necromantic aptitude engendered into it, means even the most unskilled necromancer could raise over a hundred ghouls. Alternatively, one could mix the ashes of several vampires and consume them in order to become a vampire themselves. The dark, necromantic magic is inherently extremely poisonous to life, the person's body's already full of fresh blood, and the "cast" the consumer's soul will leave upon fleeing its body will be fresh and strong-enough to force the residual shadow souls to conform to it. Using the ash from just one vampire, however, courts the possibility of shadow soul and "cast" being so incompatible as to break each-other, leaving behind nothing but a very, very powerful ghoul. Celestia plays a prank on Agra, the stallion courting her sister, painting him in stripes of bright greens and blues. First he tried to wipe it off, painting his caves with thick, slick greens, but it was not enough. Then he dove into the ocean, bathing himself in its waters, and though the blues and greens rushed out to fill it, it was still not enough. Stamping onto the shore, he shook violently and bucked the thick stripes of color off of himself, the living stripes of color fleeing to the poles to escape his fury, where they continue to fly and writhe about in their haste. Huffing and puffing, he then turned his gaze on Celestia... and laughed, deep and long. And the land shook as if to join the gods in their mirth. I have a secret tale to tell... he told me not to say! Agra thought himself a prankster but he met his match one day. Celestia heard of the clever zebra from her sis ...and so she set to test the zebra's cleverness and wits Bared cared fared warred cord bored moored lorded hoarded poured paired wears fairs cares lairs Cold old bold told gold fold lulled balled skulled walled fell fled wed dread fed bet get let set regret indebt Too true you knew who lieu grew flew boo! Music and dancing. Luna sang the first song, Agra performing the first dance to accompany her, and the world was forever better for their love. A story about Mahatma and Celestia. Story of a zebra who wished to leave and create her own tribe and the three impossible tasks her mother gave her to discourage her from moving away for good. Plot twist: the friendships the zebra makes on the journey form into her own tribe. 1. The moon's shadow. 2. The sun's fire. 3. The earth's voice. ? Ideas: Luna pushes the sea to tease Agra • To get him to bathe? • To visit the hollow mountain (Agra's home)? • To get him to come out of the hollow mountain? • Does it get salty after Agra has passed on? Maybe it notices Luna misses him and just becomes tears . • ...or the sea just wants to be near her. Celestia meets Agra to measure his character? • Rainbows? o Celestia tries to paint Agra to be multicolored, like her ponies, and Agra rubs off the paint on the sky? • Why zebra have glyphs? Origin of Mahatma (or demons), who tricked the earth (or Agra) into her own existence • A stray thought, asking if it/he was lonely, which tried to consume all, keeping power to itself. • Mahatma stole its tongue, which is why the earth cannot speak anymore. • Volcanoes and earthquakes Agra was warm, even at night, and blew to make the winds. • This also created the breezies when his breath hit flowers. Nah, breezies are closer to ponies than zebra, and tend to flowers and tiny things... making them have similar roles to that of ponies. The first real demons, shadows that wanted to be real. • Agra's shadow was the first? Music. One of Agra's wives came up with it? So Agra spread it around the world. • Or maybe Luna made it, and Agra created dance, giving sentient beings the urge to dance to music. The mouse and the dragon. • The first lie? • Acting! • Dragon hoard. • Greed makes them large. Origin of changelings: Ponies that rid themselves of the goddess’ effect on them. Of their cutie marks, their destiny, their harmony, and even their individuality. All this leaving them warped and with holes in them. Agra - Shaper of all living things, creator of the species of the world. • Agra was not a leader. He was a crafter. Once his zebra tried to take them as his king. Maybe he had Celestia wear stripes? • He had them build his workshop, along with a great door. They thought it was meant to hold treasures and would bring them great prosperity. In the end, though, he closed the door in their faces and they could not get him to leave again. So one must choose one’s leader’s carefully and avoid picking one only concerned with himself. Mahatma loved her children. She would do anything to protect them. For fear they would burn themselves she made (IE she had Agra do this stuff since Agra was the shaper of the living) them fireproof. For fear they would be preyed on she made them large and gave them magic. For fear she would lose them she gave them long lives. ...but this made them arrogant, and they would fight. The only threat left to them was each other. So she had to ask Agra to make them isolationist so they wouldn’t be a threat to each other. Because even being too protective can do harm. - Later on gives them the ability to send letters to each other. This will be a separate myth, though. Harken the moon, ever comes soon, see how it looms, with all its dunes Pretty and white, light of the night, bringer of fright, and of delight Happy and great, never prostrate, ever unsate, waning in wait, waxing in full, softer than wool, feel for its pull, what a proud bull Sisters, two, the sun and moon When one was gone the other'd loom They'd sing and play through night and day Because it was their way When gods are bored they're apt to play... such was the case for night and day In early times they'd less to do and so they'd sing the time on through Yes, singing songs made up because none were about, nor ever was They set the tone, those two alone, and made the music fill their home Before they were, Agra was still. A trickster, yes, but less of thrill A lazy colt not prone to bolt, he'd craft and work as if in yolk It was sweet Luna drew him out, she pulled the seas, tossed him about He could not hide, least not inside, his mountain flushed, much like his pride So soggy zebra chased the two around this land of green and blue He could not catch, less give, them due. Far, far too quick, those sisters two. They SANG the time away in chase, with wings allowing lightning pace! Agra couldn't tell but he, as well, before long fell under their spell At first he skipped, and then, he danced. He spun and twist as if entranced And still, he chased them all along as sisters watched and shared their song And so it spread where 'ere they lead and every ear and eye was fed Like horns it blared and filled the land, music, dancing, big and grand! At long, long last they stopped the chase. They’d land and stand and about-faced Agra was on them instantly... a quicker colt you'd never see. Without word, he pushed them into sea, where they splashed and played quite gleefully Agra would huff but, soon enough, he joined the two and lost his gruff. And so the gods would grace us all not of benevolence, but whimsy's call A joy made real in a resonate feel, delivered on a mere prank's heel Because, you see, not everything needs grandiose cause to take to wing Sometimes the best comes 'bout in jest and is that not ALSO a wondrous thing? Music came about because Celestia and Luna were bored. They sang to each other and decided to prank Agra, drawing him into a chase. Dancing came about from the music resonating with Agra. Music and dance then both came to fill the world NOT due to any intentional action by any of those three, but as a result of a game. Like trumpets it blared and filled the land, music magic, big and grand! The celestial sisters liked to sing together in the beginning as they played. One day they wanted to include Agra in their games, but he insisted in staying in his mountain. So Luna yanked on the sea and soaked him, as she would do repeatedly in the future to force him to leave his mountain. He came out and chased them, but they were too fast to catch. Still, he persevered. They sang along the way and, catching the song himself, he began to dance as he ran. This made them sing more, and then for him to dance more. As they went across the world they spread the two, music and dance, everywhere. Agra eventually caught them, if only because they allowed him to, and soaked them back, shoving them into the ocean. Still it became a game, one played across millennia, and always happily. Celestia's a prankish mare and trickery's her daily fair In devilry she has much flare when you are 'round her best beware! Agra did not judge her so... and why would he? He couldn't know. The mouse and the dragon. • The first lie? • Acting! • Dragon hoard. • Greed makes them large. This tale's about a mouse, a sneaky little louse. How it could stay and bloat its prey much bigger than a house A clever, wagging tongue, not odd for one so young Not odd, I say, but ways away from how much his had stung Sour grapes? A mouse steals a dragon's hoard. He has a single gold coin and comments on how much and how big it is to him, stating he feels sorry for the dragon because the dragon's hoard is so much smaller compared to its size. Perhaps he even uses a curse to make the dragon grow as it collected, preventing it from ever having enough. ...or, more likely, Mahatma ends up placing the curse, so that dragons can never have more than they "need"? Or the story could involve the mouse then getting the dragon to eat something or throw a rock. Then to drink from a pool or potion that causes sleep. The dragon then falls asleep and the mouse gets to steal the hoard. Maybe with many of its number. The mouse's name is Kitava, for rogue, cheat, swindler, gamester, fraudster, dishonest person, etc. Make it a she again; you need more females in these stories. Moral: don't be greedy Maybe the mouse sees a jewel, a king's jewel, in the hoard. It expresses amazement at the dragon and begs to be allowed to give and collect tribute to it. Every day it would bring the dragon shiny things, bits of silver or tin, glass and corals, telling the dragon stories about the people that had heard of the dragon and its greatness. And the dragon grew and grew at the praise, pride swelling in its chest until it had become massive. Then, one day, the mouse brought the biggest and shiniest thing yet, a large mirror, carried in with his fellows. So that the dragon may see its own glory. With sorrow, he states this last tribute was given to console the dragon on its terrible loss at being robbed. The dragon states no one could have robbed him, he is so great and mighty that none would dare. That this had to be some trick. The mouse agrees and, placing the gem on his head and giving the dragon a great bow, runs out of the cave with his fellows all carrying prizes of their own. The dragon bellows and tries to follow, but is too large to get past the entrance. And so, if you are clever, you need not fear those who are mightier than you, but always be wary of those smaller still. The Dragon and the Mouse Once there was a dragon. What was his name? Nobody knows. That name is lost, forgotten! At least that's how the story goes. As dragons grow as their hoards swell he was quite a large beast What's more he was a greedy thing... his thieving never ceased! A mighty, crafty dragon, who stole a wondrous prize A gem from Celestia's very crown, just above her eyes! Dragon put it top his golden hoard to show his clever arts ...then wished to gloat a bit and that's where this story starts. Kitava was a tiny mouse, no bigger than a hoof A clever little thief, herself, though there was rarely any proof The dragon bade her visit his cave, inviting her inside And when her eyes landed on the gem they grew very, very wide "Amazing! So incredible! How did you accomplish this feat? No, don't say, I am unworthy. Such cleverness could not be beat!" The dragon smiled at those words, though wary of his guest He knew her for the thief just as he knew he was the best "Please, oh mighty dragon, let me bring tribute for your hoard... I need to show everyone how much you should be adored!" With a smile and a nod the dragon readily agreed And so the mouse went off while he reveled in his greed The first day Kitava brought sparkling bits of glass and tin and steel Brought up from her very nest, her children at her heel Some were carried in by crows and a few magpies For everyone knows such sparkling things they truly, deeply prize He watched carefully as each approached to see if they would steal So each cowered before his mighty gaze, unwilling to be a meal The dragon basked as his hoard grew, many praises sent his way Both he and his pile had doubled in size by the end of day. The next day brought him treasure still, this time from the shore Now frogs and snakes and lizards were the ones to bring him more Shimmering, smooth stones, scales, even bones carved elaborately Tribute mounted in piles as the dragon grinned triumphantly Still, the dragon was every wary, watching each visitor in turn For he knew, for his REAL treasures, such as they were apt to yearn And Kitava brought many beings more to visit by day's end So it should come as no surprise dragon and hoard doubled again The third day brought many treats like honey, pastry and bread They came in such a quantity they still mounted as he fed Kitava brought all from before to bring the tasty hoard All the while insisting it was all the least they could afford The final tribute of the day was a mirror of giant size The dragon gazed upon it and even he was surprised He'd grown to be as gigantic as the hoard on which he stood And as he took in his visage he decided it was good Without turning to his minion mouse he asked what she'd bring next She, in turn had said "First there's something I need to confess." "The tribute, today, was given to console you for your loss..." "What?! I am such a mighty dragon, who would dare to see me cross?!" The dragon sneered at the idea and asked if the mouse was thick That he could lose something he prized? It had to be a trick The mouse smiled wryly and donned a great gem as a hat Then she bowed low before the dragon, saying "And a good one at that." Bellows and flames burst from the cave as Kitava made away The dragon screaming after her that she was going to pay Getting stuck in his cave's very mouth he cursed her thieving ways And how his gold was stolen while his visage held his gaze There are many lessons in the tale, though one triumphs all by far Pride will be the downfall of one's strength, no matter who you are. Agra - Shaper of all living things, creator of the species of the world. • Agra was not a leader. He was a crafter. Once his zebra tried to take them as his king. Maybe he had Celestia wear stripes? • He had them build his workshop, along with a great door. They thought it was meant to hold treasures and would bring them great prosperity. In the end, though, he closed the door in their faces and they could not get him to leave again. So one must choose one’s leader’s carefully and avoid picking one only concerned with himself. Mahatma loved her children. She would do anything to protect them. For fear they would burn themselves she made (IE she had Agra do this stuff since Agra was the shaper of the living) them fireproof. For fear they would be preyed on she made them large and gave them magic. For fear she would lose them she gave them long lives. ...but this made them arrogant, and they would fight. The only threat left to them was each other. So she had to ask Agra to make them isolationist so they wouldn’t be a threat to each other. Because even being too protective can do harm. - Later on gives them the ability to send letters to each other. This will be a separate myth, though. One spring Mahatma came to Agra's door, banging on it fast For a very troublesome winter had only recently passed Speaking to him, she related her fears for her brood The world was a scary place Mother’s Mistake Once the dragon matriarch knocked the door to Agra's cave Her belly wide, her pride inside, her continence quite grave "Agra, I fear my treasured kin may not all be so tough That when they release fire their scales won't be thick enough!" So Agra, the creator, worked his alchemy and power Such that no more would dragons find fire a reason to cower Though days went past peace wouldn't last, Mahatma at his door Her belly wire, her pride inside, once more set to implore "Oh Agra, there is danger is this world too vast to fight I beg you give my children a grand share of your own might!” So Agra gave them magic and grew them quite large indeed So that, when facing foes, of more power they'd have no need. Mahatma came to Agra once more not too long past then Her belly wide, her pride inside, requesting him again. "Agra, though my children have no fear of fight or flame I worry that, upon them, time itself may still lay claim" So Agra made the dragons lives greatest that you could find And Mahatma thanked Agra once more for being so kind Mahatma watched her children grow, happy and safe at last Then watched as they turned on each other once that peace had passed Her dragons had none to fear save each other, anymore So Mahatma went to Agra to ask for just one wish more The dragons were then scattered, remade a reclusive kind And she cried and watched them go, knowing some she’d never find This tale warns that one's loves must sometimes face dangers their own. Else children unknown to danger endanger THEMSELVES when grown. Chief Agra We sometimes call Agra our chief... that isn't quite exact Hopefully this tale I tell will illustrate that fact Pony and zebra first crossed paths with not a little envy The ponies, led by GODDESSES, the zebra, by family! Agra, known to our kind of course, a god in his own right ...was a hermit who would always ensure to shun the spotlight We pleaded with him day and night, banging upon his door We wanted our OWN god king and, with each day, want it MORE When Agra finally relented there was rev'ry indeed ...but he quickly silenced our cheering, imparting upon us a need A great people needed a keep worthy of a great god-king And so, from far and wide, many a treasure we would bring. Rare gifts, treasures and prizes, alchemy and sorcery too. We brought or craft for Agra everything a god-king due. Finally, at the very end, we craft a monstrous door Something to keep safe inside the treasures we'd adore Agra's cave, furnished and gorgeous, made the god-king smile about He then thanked us for our helpfulness... and promptly locked us out. Have not used: Mother's Mistake Three little mares, they follow me Three little mares named one, two, three Three little mares off to get bread Then three little mares to home and bed Days on the dunes, bellies to fill Nights on the dunes, all cold and shrill Grow, little mares, ‘till mothers due ‘till three little mares follow you too Starwing, glory, I’ve a story, one to make you sleep Not so boring, but you’ll be snoring, in this nest you keep I recall one brilliant fall when sands ran cold and deep She’d tight her shawl so cold would stall but still the wind would reap /me smoke cascades up, creating dunes with a mare struggling to walk across them But what she’d find in sand so fine beyond her small town’s wall? Within a bind of earthen kind an egg so bright and small She’d hold it fast to help it last and take it with her there But what it held beyond warmth felt she never was aware /me the mare acts as if she found something, then carries it past a wall into a small village with only a couple houses in it. The mare was cold and lonesome, her village empty, poor They’d sometimes give her scraps in summer but of those were no more Her hunger pained with nothing gained though warmth helped her some way The egg held close to help her most but hunger filled her day /me the mare grows large, dominating the image as she looks down at a small egg in her hooves, sadly Looking on the little egg she wondered if it’d fill A cherished little life form, to leave it... had she will? She fret and cried, felt dead inside, to think to do it bad Finely decide, let it reside, last choice to make her glad /me the mare cries over the egg, then crumples and falls Her fading choice of mercy as starving soul would flee It would be met with glorious bird which then, in turn, held she Beyond the pale it’d carry, frail, the mare who’d passed away Beyond the realms of darkness and into heaven’s day /me a great bird like a phoenix bursts from the egg, growing far beyond the mare and wrapping her in its wings before drifting upward toward the top of the cabin and disappearing into wisps Mercy can have prices, and horrible they might be But what is right is worth it, of that you just must see Though innocent might heaven sent by sticking such a creed It’s resplendent and always meant unforgotten all good deed. /me the smoke dispels and Akasha caresses Starwing’s head, then cuddles and rocks him back to sleep Long ago and far away the moon and sun would always play 'till envy vs. ego locked one 'way then skip a thousand from that day The summer solstice soon would see the moon's return to cruelty The fiercest foe, goddess' woe, to dark the world and lay it low Quick reiteration of the role of harmony in the world. Defeat and redemption of Nightmare Moon Defeat of chaos Or… no, how about the first adventure, in which Nightmare Moon was redeamed? No! A new story about them beating some other foe. A jackalope. With a whiskey problem. Each element tries to catch him and fail. No… One story about maintaining hope. Hello! Hello there! I'm Akasha, if you weren't aware I have come here, as you see So you all can hear many a story I tell them with smoke as much as with word Stories of every sort, adventure to absurd And now, without further ado, I hope it’s alright If I end my introduction here, so stories can fill up this night! USE A SPECIAL POWDER, THROWN INTO THE SMOKE, TO MAKE SCARLET (AND JUST SCARLET) RED Once a time not long ago a vampire like stories know attacked a tower upon midday intent to take some souls away It broke the door and went inside and 'though all ponies knew to hide it frothed and swore, consuming gore as, 'pon the living, it made WAR The SCARLET BEAST, it had a FEAST ‘pon great and least it ‘ttacked un-ceased As blood would spill, it strove to kill, but, worser STILL, there was its WILL! Heroes were staying in those walls, sworn to uphold the tower laws, they tried to fight, it took their light, their minds filling with naught but fright The beast would take those minds away, the heroes falling under sway, but not for one, they'd be undone, as they all fell away from sun Up the stairs one hero flew to wake the only hero true that wouldn't sway, far as she knew, who'd do what heroes have to do Relating all, it would appall, no time to stall, they'd all but fall To underground, the cellar found, fell heroes 'round, evil abound The Scarlet Beast, so full, now slept, fell heroes, now, its safety kept They slaughtered guards with no regards, all wicked, their good now in shards. The hero so quick to retreat would very nearly maker meet. The fell heroes put her down fast, the last knowing she would not last She quickly made her way to find the monster here, the mastermind. The fell hid it 'for turned to crime so it could sleep now that it’d dined The hero could not find the way to show the wicked thing the day, and so she brought the fire down, and flames would fill that underground. Fell heroes fought, but she fought back although, their strength, she dearly lacked. The smoke, though, bade her call to rise, and fire consumed beast she despised *pause, breath deeply, calm down* …in time, the fire'd be put out, as many people helped about The tower saved, a few guards lived, and un-fell heroes were forgived The beast remains were dragged to light and burned away in hero's sight At last, that vamp no more a blight, raging, killing in the night My friends, that story is quite new. What’s more, all of it is true. The hero’s me, t’was destiny that day I grant evil its due. *smiles* If you could take from this one thing... just one, above everything. Don't compromise, don't fall to lies, when you know what's right, FIGHT what you despise There's always a way to see a new day and, with faith, things WILL turn out okay. *smiles* Kifo had no name. He took from death both a shadow and a name. Became Kifo, Death. A zebra whose writings came alive? No... the origin of the written word. Zebra glyphs. Equestrians used to use hieroglyphs, basically cutiemark-like depictions. Equestrians rarely had to pass down knowledge... cutie marks grant a sort of instinct that allows ponies to just know the base of their given craft and be able to safety experiment to figure out more. Dragons, long-lived and having little need (or desire, being hoarders) to pass along knowledge, eventually borrowed language from ancient zebra, who invented the written word to help pass down stories, alchemy, engineering, mathematics, etc. This is the origin of writing and written stories, so she cannot be a writer already. She commits herself to paper and opens the door for others to live on beyond Kifo in paper as well. She was a storyteller. She is AKASHA! Akasha, first wife of Agra, was a great storyteller. Her stories drew Agra from the ground. Agra is powerful, but could not stop death, for Agra's power was that of creation, and all that has a beginning has an end. Kifo had no love of stories. They only told him of what he did not, or could not, have, so when he began to stalk Akasha in her old age, there was no deterring him. Only delaying. She craft stories of her adventures in far off lands, spreading them to people, so when Kifo asked people where she was, they would always say "Oh, haven't you heard?" and would send him across the world over a rumor. Akasha grew older, however, and Kifo began to close in on her, no longer as easily fooled. It wasn't long before he stood before her, seething with rage at all the effort he had to expend for one zebra, first wife of Agra or no. Before she could be taken, however, she wished to Agra that her stories might remain, for him and for others. It was then, as she leaned against her house for support, than her glyph poured off of her. More than her glyph, and entire sea of them, covering the walls of the house, inside and out. They covered linens, plates, tables, chairs... everywhere they could. All inscribing the story of her life, and the stories of the lives she'd told. More and more did glyphs pour from her, all the way until there was nothing left. To which Kifo cursed. And so Akasha, and many future zebra, would thwart Kifo and live on in their glyphs... though most less literally than Akasha. Celestia's first pupil made sunflowers. Kifo, a powerful zebra shaman. Born weak and frail and with nothing, he was given the name of Death, because he was not expected to live. But Stole wings and horn. Stole a dragon's lungs and a cockatrice's eyes. Stole a buffalo's strength. Stole a diamond dog's teeth. Kifo, a being of nothing with no purpose, that stole everything. Body of a zebra, wings and horn and hooves of ponies, lungs and teeth and tongue of dragon, eyes and tail of cockatrice, claws and ears of diamond dog. The one thing he still lacked after that was a shadow. He had stolen many, but they'd fade with light and would not remain. He searched the land for ages until Death, his very namesake, found him. Kifo turned on the reaper and embraced him, however, grasping him with teeth and claws. He wrestled the reaper as his flesh rotted and fell off of him. He refused to give up, however, as nothing could escape once he wanted it. Finally, he crushed him into the ground, and so the grim shade became Kifo's, the shaman finally having a shadow... and a purpose. To take and take, until there is nothing left to. Before Kifo, death came only to those who earned it through evil. But Kifo came for everyone. Because Kifo is not fair. The Beginning In the very beginning, there was just black and white. The to-and-fro, stallion and mare, the wisdom and the might. In the endless boundary, they formed this place we stand And they would name this place Prithvi, the great and mighty land But at once there came a struggle over who'd rule what they'd made Dashing at each other, the crossed paths in a glade That boundary set by nature, where trees and planes break ground Above the grass, below the clouds, they met with such resound The white clashed with the blackness, the black streaked through the white Unwilling or unable to allow each win the fight Slowly their struggles weakened and they collapsed upon the land Long since they'd passed the point they knew where each end or began They could not untangle all their form and so they slept in place The creature they'd given way to, Agra, then raised up his face Nothing Nothing has no name, Nothing has no form Nothing's simply nothing as from Nothing it is born Nothing might seem harmless, but please let me be clear Agra, god of creation, has Nothing to fear *blows smoke directly up, it forming a globe, and then wicked eyes opening behind it gazing at the orb with undisguised desire* When the world was created and Agra formed each beast Nothing watched from far away, the lesser of the least Each creation a masterpiece, each unique in some way And Nothing but Nothing could have kept Nothing at bay *the orb dissolves into a wide variety of animals swirling about each other, though the eyes remain the same* Nothing wanted everything; it had nothing to give And so it stole from everything, all so that it could live *certain animals get pulled away by wispy claws toward the eyes, then begin combining into some new creature* Body of a zebra, eyes of a cockatrice Horn, wings, and hooves of ponies, and the power they produce Claws and tail of griffin, a dragon's teeth and lung From the lesser of the least, how mighty Nothing would become! *the figure grows to take over the scene as the eyes and other animals dissolve* Then there was but one thing left to be complete A shadow of his own to spread beneath his feet He'd steal many a shadow, but they would never stay When sun went down and dark took ground they'd always get away And so he's search for ages and his body would grow old And no one could have known how things would then unfold *the figure roams aimlessly, increasing aggravation being relayed by its every movement* For, eventually, Kifo, Death, would catch up to Nothing Life's shadow himself yearned to take the wicked being For Death was a just creature and preyed on the cruel Those who harmed life would lose it; that was Kifo's rule *a draw shadow creeps up behind the creature but, just before touching it, the creature spins and attacks* Nothing was prepared, though, and attacked Kifo in rage He beat Kifo into ground and made the earth his cage. In the struggle, at Kifo's touch, flesh rotted away And, of all he'd taken, only his bones would stay *as the story goes the creature becomes a lich-like creature not much different from an alicorn, but with pointed teeth and opposable claws, all while the shadow is crushed beneath it until it is no more* And so Kifo took up a shadow, a purpose, and a name And since that time, since that crime, death was never the same No longer would he prey on just those who squandered life No, this new death was greedy and was not bothered by strife And so Kifo became known for something else after his fall That, no matter what you've done, greedy Kifo comes for all *Kifo looks up at the audience and grins, a cloak growing up from the ground to cover him as he become large and monstrous... before bursting into wisps* Akasha, first wife of Agra, was a great storyteller. Her stories drew Agra from the ground. Agra is powerful, but could not stop death, for Agra's power was that of creation, and all that has a beginning has an end. Kifo had no love of stories. They only told him of what he did not, or could not, have, so when he began to stalk Akasha in her old age, there was no deterring him. Only delaying. She craft stories of her adventures in far off lands, spreading them to people, so when Kifo asked people where she was, they would always say "Oh, haven't you heard?" and would send him across the world over a rumor. Akasha grew older, however, and Kifo began to close in on her, no longer as easily fooled. It wasn't long before he stood before her, seething with rage at all the effort he had to expend for one zebra, first wife of Agra or no. Before she could be taken, however, she wished to Agra that her stories might remain, for him and for others. It was then, as she leaned against her house for support, than her glyph poured off of her. More than her glyph, and entire sea of them, covering the walls of the house, inside and out. They covered linens, plates, tables, chairs... everywhere they could. All inscribing the story of her life, and the stories of the lives she'd told. More and more did glyphs pour from her, all the way until there was nothing left. To which Kifo cursed. And so Akasha, and many future zebra, would thwart Kifo and live on in their glyphs... though most less literally than Akasha. There was, once, a zebra Akasha, with whom I share a name *flies about the theater for a while, filling the air with smoke and playing with it, spelling out her name in stars and fishes and birds and dragons* *Lands after a while and performs several stories, regardless of if she has an audience or not. The first is a story about Agra baiting Mahatma into unknowingly playing a role in a play performed to entertain Luna back when he was courting her* *moves into a short tale about a fish who repeatedly jumped in and out of a pond, never being able to decide where he belonged, until he became a frog… and never could stop hopping after that* *Tells a story about Kifo, the demon of death, hunting a pony that loved the sun and all but wasted away watching her. When Kifo finally found him, Celestia asked Agra to do something for her admirer. And so, with the pony’s consent, Agra turned him into sunflowers, cheating Kifo so that the pony could continue to watch the sun as it drifted across the sky* *wraps up with a story about a flying cat made by a kindly apprentice but whose master was terrible, about a daring escape by the clever feline and, despite having to leave her master behind, about the cat finding a new master, and stealing its way into the master rogue’s heart* *bows several times at the end and even throws a few potions into the air, each going off in showers of rainbow sparks, as she concludes her performance*