A note from the author: It's literally been a couple years since I have posted any stories on this site, or anywhere for that matter. Hope I'm not too rusty...anywho, this is the beginning of an epic that began 7 months ago, when I penned my first mlp fanfiction on notebook paper and called it good. Turns out, it was indeed a good story, and I couldn't stop. That story eventually became the third in a series, and you'll see it in good time. For now, I submit to you the first in the set. This story, and those that come after, center around Drake, an OC of my own creation. Now, if you're looking for a story in which an OC is a powerful alicorn prince missing for centuries, or an OC who is imbues with any magical powers or world-changing abilities, then *imitating Obi Wan* this isn't the fic you are looking for. Move along.

About the OC: Drake is a normal Earth pony, as you will see. Sure, he finds himself in the right place at the right time...sometimes in the wrong place at the wrong time, and he has his moments. But Drake, I'm afraid, is a rather boring, uninteresting pony, leading a fairly normal life in the background of so many other mares and stallions. I dare say that if you were to go to Equestria and see for yourself, you may not even notice such a pony. But he has his own little life, with all its joys, sorrows, trials and all the million and one petty little things that go into making one's life what it is. He does good things, and he does bad things. He's quite skillful at some things, and makes a ton of mistakes. If you want to hear his life story, then read on...you will not be disappointed. Or maybe you will, hell I dunno. But I did vow that I would tell Drake's story, from his own pony-point-of-view. Here it is. Enjoy

CHAPTER 1

Everypony knows their birthday. It's a stupid, cliched kind of thing, yes, but I guess we all have that personal holiday to celebrate the day we came into the world. It's a strange way to start an autobiography, to say that I never knew my birthday, but it's maybe pertinent to the life story of a pony who sort of blew around like a tumbleweed for the first half of his life to mention. Maybe it puts it all into perspective in a way. Of course somepony who nihilistically rolled with the punches and went with the flow his whole life wouldn't know when, how or where he was born, right? Well, I guess that's me. Dragoon Sabre wasn't born. He was found.

According to my adopted dad, he found me one night outside of his front door. Simple as that. A sergeant of the royal guard in Canterlot was in bed, sleeping before his next shift, heard a knock at the door to his small lodging, opened the door, and there was a small foal in a basket, swaddled in a blanket. Pinned to the blanket was a note, asking the finder very politely to take care of this child, and apologizing for any inconveinience. The stork who left the newborn foal had even been so polite as to give its name, though this was probably more of a suggestion, as they probably had no intention of ever coming back to check on whether or not the stranger in the house had kept the foal's name or not. At least they had been nice enough to include a care package consisting of a velvet bag filled with gold and silver, enough to at least help care for the abandoned youngster, and help pay for a decent education. He took the foal...me, in, and raised me as his own.

I would like to spend some time talking about my first few impressionable years, except like most ponies, I don't remember them. I'm pretty sure that at some point, I learned how to walk, and somewhere along the line, I didn't need a diaper anymore. I'm told I was generally a well behaved foal, and the only times I ever caused a ruckus was only when I gave in to my desire to explore and wander around, which I guess never left me. No, my real memories start when I entered school.

In case whoever is reading this has lived under a rock in the Badlands, or spent their entire life in a cave in the Land of Dragons, and is not knowledgable about Canterlot, let me fill you in. Most of the ponies there have money. Lots of money. And ponies with lots of money tend to beget foals who have lots of money by birthright, who all seem to know they have money, and act like it. You probably don't have a ton of bits and a penthouse in Manehattan, and from your school days, you probably remember that one pony who did. Everypony else in your class was at or near your social level, and that one wealthy colt or filly stuck out because they made sure everypony knew they were better than them, right? Well, reverse this entire stupid class war, and you have my predicament. I was in class with at least a dozen other foals who each had more money than I would ever see in my life. The only other foals who were on my social level were the other children of royal guards, gardeners, butlers and shopkeeps. They were few and far between, and were treated no better than me by their peers.

My days were filled by lessons though, and the only time I had to deal with not being on equal social footing with my classmates was at lunch and recess, times I usually spent reading. I read classic literature, even at a young age. I read some poetry, science books, mysteries, and most of all, I read about the one subject I was always fascinated with; military history. Lost in my literary world during my lunch breaks, I couldn't have cared less that Fancy Pants was eating imported caviar on fresh vegetable crackers his personal nanny had made, or that Lace Collar had brought her butler to school to serve her lunch today. I had a daisy sandwich and a copy of Julius Cheezer's Campaigns in Germaneia.

I realized by the time I was 12 that I had a knack for swordplay, and began taking fencing as a class, an elective usually reserved for royalty and the extremely wealthy and bored. My dad approved of my pursuit, and between his training, fencing classes and my own latent skill, I quickly became one of the best students in class. Now some advice about swordfighting: not all swords are the same, and techniques and practical usage differ from type to type. Once I had trained to the level in which I could specialize in a particular sword, I had realized that the double-edged broadswords used by most of the Equestrian military as well as the royal guards was fine and dandy, but had all the grace and precision of a glorified battle axe. I was better off using one-handed swords, and lighter, better balanced ones at that. So naturally, I became well adept in the use of the standard cavalry arm, the light sabre.

Not many thirteen year old young colts bother to stop and wax poetic about anything, especially a sword. Me being me, I did, and here I shall. A 28 inch amalgamation of forged steel, brass, wood and leather, the standard light dragoon sabre is as much artwork as it is deadly. A perfectly upswept blade design allows for graceful drawing cuts performed in an arc, instead of brutal and powerful hacking blows like the straight-bladed sword. the thinner, narrow blade is lighter, and therefore, more quick and maneuverable, not to mention that a narrower blade is easier to thrust into an object (or enemy) than a thick, wide blade. The light dragoon sabre is a work of martial art, and grace incarnate. I had found something I was good at. And apparently, it was the skill I was born into, as it was about this time that I noticed something new about myself.

I woke up one morning, the morning after I had won a fencing tournament, to be exact. It was the fist time we had used live blades of our choosing in an exhibition of our skills. I had, of course, used a sabre, and had defeated five opponents using double-edged swords, two using shortswords, and one using a spear to come in first place. As I awoke the next morning, still sore from the exertions of the night before, I shambled into the bathroom to wash up. As soon as I closed the bathroom door, I noticed something odd in the full-length mirror. I had a marking on my flank I didn't have the day before. It took a moment for realization to set in, but when it did, it hit me like a boulder. I had gotten my cutie mark! There they were, emblazoned onto my flanks in all their glory; crossed cavalry sabres in the style of the symbol of Equestrian cavalry forces. I lit out of the bathroom, and galloped up to my dad, who was curious as to what the hay had gotten into me until he saw my flanks.

"Well, I guess we know your talent now." He said. "And it looks like you'd fit in with the cavalry. That's not really a cutie mark for a royal guard now, is it?" I thought about that for a moment. I was always good with swords, and military history was my strong subject. I'd never really questioned it. I just assumed that I would end up being a royal guard too. Was he disappointed? I looked up to see him grinning. "Come on son, did you think I was gonna force you into guard duty or something?"

"I...I dunno...I just figured that since you were a guard, and there's not much more I'm good at than military stuff..."

"Join the military then." He said as if it were that simple and obvious. "Heck, sometimes I wish I had joined the regular army. Hasn't been a war in Equestria in forever, but at least you get to travel a little. It's better than being cooped up in a city full of rich ponies you don't get along with."

"So you think I should join the military?" I asked.

"Why are you asking my opinion?" He asked back. "It's not really up to me. All I know is you're good at it. You'd make a great soldier. Whether you do it or not is up to you." I thought for a moment. He was right. I was good at military matters. Could I ever be happy doing anything else? Dragoon Sabre the butler...Dragoon Sabre the traveling musician...Dragoon Sabre the florist. Then, I asked my dad one of the most asinine questions a son has ever asked his career soldier dad.

"What branch you think I should join?"

"Hmmm...he mused sarcastically, a smirk betraying his ruse. "A unicorn regiment maybe? What about the Wonderbolts?"

"Good one..." I sighed. "So cavalry? I don't want to join the volunteer guard. I wanna actually do something." He didn't answer, just nodded. "I could do cavalry. Troopers usually get stationed in pretty far away places on the border and stuff."

"Pay's pretty lousy for a trooper." He grumbled. "And you're way too smart to be a private." What was my dad getting at? "Ya know, I have some money saved up for your future, and if you want, I can get you into academy."

"Academy?" I repeated. "Like...officer school? Really?" Even at 13, I knew a pony could go to military academy and become an officer, but from what I understood, it wasn't just hard to get into, it was expensive.

"Well, yeah. You're a natural at soldiering. You're smart. You get pretty good marks in school...except for language arts, which I don't understand. You speak better than I do." He laughed. "I think you'd make a good leader. And all armies need good officers."

"Well...I guess..." I thought out loud.

"Ehhh...no need to make life-changing decisions right now. You're only 13. Give it a few years to decide, huh?"

"Heheheh...yeah." I agreed.

"Well, I tell you what." He said. "Seeing as you just got your cutie marks, and you have alot to think about...how about you take the day off from school? I don't have guard duty for four hours, so whaddya say we go get some breakfast? Big stack of flapjacks...and I guess you're old enough now to discover the most magical potion in Equestria."

"Um...what?" I asked in a low voice full of wonder and questioning.

"Coffee, my boy, coffee!" He laughed. "A soldier's best friend! Now go on and get ready, and we'll get us some chow."

Well everypony, there it is, the first chapter. What did you think? Bear in mind, this particular volume is only a narrative of Drake's early life. Later stories will have action, romance, horror, tragedy, comedy, drama, and more, depending on which little chapter of his life they are about. I welcome any and all feedback, positive or negative, as long as it's constructive. Stay tuned for the next chapter!