https://docs.google.com/document/d/1-hfagWUm3I-JkyCCOMbWOJOvvSxzFS4Ehx11K4YmQc0/edit?hl=en_US

Dirt shook as the rumbling approached. Overcast skies cast shadows across the land. Surrounded by treacherous, grassy foothills, a smattering of hovels and farmhouses sat in an unnamed valley. Far above, the roving bandits came to a halt. The rumbling ceased. Standing on a rocky outcropping they looked down upon their quarry.

“We will take this place next!”

An enormous black stallion, suited in thick plate armor and sporting a vicious scar through his neck, turned to his fellow ponies as he barked the words.

“It was plundered last autumn. They won’t have anything for us to take. We shall wait until later, captain.”

The second stallion, shorter but much stockier than the former and dressed in similar attire, spat the last words with clear disdain, signifying his ultimate authority. The black pony bowed his head in the direction of the dominant steed.

“My apologies, sir.” He offered through gritted teeth.

“This village shall be our primary target come the barley harvest. Until then we wait.” With that, the brown coated chieftain galloped back into the hills. The captain followed after, and with him the rest of the forty brigands. As quickly as they had arrived, they departed. The cool mid-morning sun was beginning to cut through the silver clouds.

Soon after, a bush just below the vantage point stirred. A pony, with a twisted face of absolute shock and fear, emerged from the underbrush surrounding the stone bluff. The farmer stumbled his way back down to the village, a large bundle of kindling on his back.

* * *

The villagers gathered in the central plaza. News had a tendency to spread quickly, and this was no exception. An impromptu public meeting was organized to determine what they could do.

Said organization did not last long.

“…Taxes, forced labor, war, drought – and now the bandits!” one mare screamed in tears.

“We should kill them. Kill them all!” an older farmer shouted, “They wouldn’t mess with us again after that!”

“Do you really think a rabble like us could stand up to their steel armor and muskets? You’re out of your mind! What we really need to do…”

Near the edges of the mass of ponies, a young stallion sat quietly. A decoration of two crossed pieces of bamboo adorned his flanks. The black and white pony, Pan Bare, was lost in thought. Or at least, he made a desperate attempt to be. The shouting was not in any way helping.

Pan had always been a thinker. A problem solver. He never thought himself to be particularly adept at farm work or even simple social matters, but for what he lacked in brawn and charm he made up for in clever thinking and immaculate diplomacy. At least, that’s what he liked to believe. Regardless of his constant inner insecurity, he believed he had reached yet another solution. Now came the hard part: making himself heard.

“The elder…” he murmured. It was less of a murmur and more a hopeless bleat, and he found himself cringing at the sound of his own frail voice. Still, it must have been loud enough to catch the attention of the some nearby ponies, because they started to stare at him. Pan blushed, the red shining through his coat.

He stood up and started walking off. It wasn’t until he was halfway to the bridge that the first ponies to hear him finally comprehended what he said. They rose as well and took off after him. From there the rest of the ponies, seeing where so many of their friends were going, hung their heads and followed.

* * *

The village proper was a collection of twenty or so buildings flanked by a stream on two sides, a dense forest on another and open dirt road on the last. The elder lived in a large structure outside of the village center, along the banks of the stream. Pan Bare crossed a bridge over the silent snake of water and walked down a path to the elders abode.

Inside, the farmers filed in and sat down. It was a tight squeeze. The elder sat on a reed mat near a fireplace, a respectable amount of distance between him and the field workers trickling in.

The elder opened his weathered eyes and drank the sight in front of him. “What do you want?” he said, quite pointedly. His raspy voice grated against everyponies ears. The farmer who had seen the bandits explained the situation to him.

A look of consideration emerged on the elders face as he closed his eyes. The room was quiet for some time. He then reopened his eyes and spoke:

“Warriors. Seek out warriors.”

Confusion swelled in the minds of the farmers. Who, where and how were the three words that stuck out the most. The obvious implication of the elders advice was to hire mercenaries, but that was no simple task.

Where were they to get warriors? The provincial governor would only loan out his private army to those with the resources to pay. Local mercenaries had a reputation for murdering and pillaging those they were hired by, especially if the were weak. The only ones who they could even hope to get assistance from would be the samarei, the legendary female warrior aristocrats, but they were all but extinct. What few were left tended to act as personal bodyguards for those of noble descent.

Then, of course, came payment. Pieces of silver were a sight rarely beheld by the farmers, and what little they had would not be nearly enough to finance a full-blown military contingent. If they were to find outside help, it would need to be from a different source. A source more compassionate towards their plight.

The elder, as if reading their thoughts, coughed out some more words. “Head north, to the land of the Sun and the Moon. Go to the city of pearly streets, and you will find what you need.”

The ponies were silent, processing his words. Though he wasn’t aware of the fact, Pan Bare was the only one out of the villagers who knew what the elder was referring to, and the knowledge chilled him to the bones. The land of the Sun and Moon. The land of the Princesses. Equestria.