Title: I am become Feel, foreveralone of worlds. - /mlp/ Author: Hippogriff Pastebin link: http://pastebin.com/BnkwM8PD First Edit: Tuesday 13th of May 2014 05:14:04 PM CDT Last Edit: Tuesday 13th of May 2014 05:14:04 PM CDT Quick note, the first paragraph was what kicked off this crazy idea, didn't write that one bit. Okay, got that out the way. Read on!   >Anon never returns >Years and years go by with myths and legends of a strange creature roaming equestria and righting wrongs around the globe >Diamond dog slave camps completely destroyed >Gryphon king is severely humbled >Legends of this being last for thousands of years >brave stallions don their own armor and go on crusades of justice to keep the legends alive.   Even after all this time, there is one legend yet repeated. In the ruined castle of the Sisters, deep in the Everfree: the two thrones have been roughly, maybe brutally shoved together. And upon it, is a strange suit of armor. If you listen closely, you can hear its breath. They say if the time is great, it will rise to slay tyrants, cast down empires and break great workings of magic.   But then they say a lot of things. Like it was once an alien. That it can no longer truly die. That the only thing that can slay the being is love...   -------   Can you see it? The shadowy great hall under a crumbled ceiling and verdant canopy. The last rays of dusk shining through the leaves to create a shimmering light of gold and green. And beneath the colours of light and the grey of shadowed stone.. The ramshackle dual throne, crumbling under millennia of neglect, and on it a suit of tattered and broken armour. Arrowheads still visible wedged in the breastplate. Rusted in for decades. Large holes from front to back, a spearhead can be seen cracking the aged stone behind the figure. Inside the helmet a fragile piece of bone remains. It looks fragile enough to turn to dust at a touch. But if the legends are true.. It is stronger than your shielded power suit, the sword made of memories, forged in regrets and sheathed in battlelust far more destructive than your little smartlink rifle.   A tiny bell, the handle long since rotten away and the clapper dropped out sit on the armrest. Maybe... Maybe you'll NOT touch that. And actually leave this place. You made this little pilgrimage to the First Hero. You wanted to honour that which inspired you to take up the mantle. But now? You feel small. Not like a hero. The whole place feels like.. Sadness. And the air is hard to breathe. Dreams of tears keep floating in your mind. Its time to go. It might wake up. Of course.. That's a ridiculous notion. But still, it is time to be off. Face something you can comprehend in battle, or help something you can understand.   Whatever lives here has endured for far too long.   -------   The spark of life gone, the music creaks into agonised life once more in the Hall. A slow dance, with no dancers. Just the Hero on his throne. Awaiting a partner to dance with, for a single song. A last waltz, if you will.   The first human. The last human. The only human. And the loneliest being in this realm. Sits upon his throne. Waiting. Sometimes Sister Sun comes. She talks. Offloads her mind to the ages. She's your senior, technically. You feel older. Sometimes Sister Moon comes. She doesn't talk. Just watches. You think she wept, the last time. Haven't seen her in a century or two. Forget.   They come and go, your fellow immortals. Sometimes you slay one. Sometimes they don't come back. Mostly they do. None of them have heard the music.   So you sit on your throne, waiting for a dance partner. Hoping and dreading for the bell to toll and you to be required again. To stride the world is a wonderful thing. And the sharpest blade in your heart. To see what you were never able to share. You slayed Princess Love once. Corrupted, possibly. At a wedding. You might have cried then. You can't tell. It was raining that day. She came back. That time. Maybe that was the final nail in your coffin. Ah, for the cold embrace of a coffin. But for now, you sit. You wait. You listen.     You remember the last time you awoke. A young piece of life, a tiny ember that burnt bright in the darkness of your Court. Music silenced, you awaited your guest.     For a time, you wondered if she had merely come to see what of the old tales were true.     Did they still know the tale, you wonder?     They did then, at least. She knew. When need is great, when a Hero is needed. He awaits.     She rang the bell, the little piece of life.       Ah, and then the winds blew. The subtle breeze, softer even than the ghost of your breath, blowing towards your corpse. Then again, a shade stronger. Again, before the previous wind had quite stopped blowing.     Faster, stronger and stronger the winds at the gates of death and life blew until it seemed like the castle would finally fall before you stood once more.     And they fell silent at your presence. The ancient bones ridden by a weary spirit who was never meant to hold so much time within itself.     And before you that tiny spark. Seen from this world she couldn't have been more than a child.     But she knew why she called you, and had true need. Kidnappers, pirates, slavers.. You didn't really care what they were. As with all things, darkness would follow light, and you walked the line 'twixt the two.     Someone had taken her family, and she had run desperate to an old story. A story of all things.       Of course you had set out, gathering the ghost of your sword before you left. The iron had long since rusted, the gold faded and the magic depleted.     But it stood by you even now. One of few things that did.     That time was the first you saw guns in Equestria. It may have only been a scant couple of decades you spent in your own world but even now those memories burned bright.     The crude sticks of iron and fire a memory of history long lost. Perhaps they would become similar to once you once knew. Perhaps this world would destroy itself with it's new power. Not even the dead can see the future. Just warn you of the past.     It took a time to chase your targets. They flew, you walked. But they couldn't carry their cargo far, and had to rest. So did you, but sleep had been forbidden to you with the loss of your flesh.     Their bullets tore your armour, shattered your penultimate rib. But what did you care? They were bones.     Eventually your blade found its mark. The memory of steel, wielded by regret passing through a night watchman as if it were cold metals once more. And so the Hero butchered once more. Cutting the join between spirit and flesh, letting one flee and offering the other rest.     Next came the fear in your target's eyes. The cold fire of that which would not die nor live burning a face into the reality between their vision and your bones,     But then your words came, and for a time you were the Hero once more. Not butcher, not sleeper, nor even man. A father and mother, reunited with daughter.     The universe laughs at the fate of us, you are sure. The ties of love before you forming and reforming strong and bright, you had to almost shield your eyes.     You knew better, it would shine no matter where you looked. Glorious and piercing.     And with that, you were done. You trudged back through the miles. Your part in the tale done and gone.       Stories would tell of a Ghost that tore through the ranks of villains, rescuing the downtrodden. Maybe that the Hero walks again, if not knowing you for the First,     But no matter what, you were done, and willing to throw yourself into the oblivion of slumber and death to deaden the light of love you saw once more.     Climbing into your throne to die again.       Although, there was one more verse to that tale. A time later, life walked into your Court once more, a familiar flame. A little spark that had grown from the dead wood you had cleaved to be a gentle flame. Slowly thawing your ice as she stood.     You think she thanked you, but you found it hard to remember the words.     What you remember is the bell, a home-wrought piece of gold, wood and love. To replace one long broken.     A gift to a Hero is not an uncommon occurrence. But to you it was. And so you started the music once more, now with a flame of Life to hear it.     She would not dance with you, you could see the brilliant strands of love coming off her, dense as cloth. Woven together in something new. Something.. Magic.     But even those who will not dance can still hear the music, you knew that better than most.       It has been three hundred years since.