Greetings, all you readers. Welcome to my first ever fanfic. Yes, indeed. Being transformed into a brony finally jumpstarted the creative juices enough for me to actually post stuff. So without further ado, let's begin...

THE TALE(S) OF DEACON DECAY!

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One thing they never tell you about rituals and ceremonies: kneeling down can be havoc on your legs, if it goes on long enough.

I would've found the insight entertaining, if I wasn't experiencing it first hoof. Argh. He'd been partially kneeling in front of his teacher for the last twenty minutes already, waiting for him to finish his speech. Who-ever wrote the words just loved to go around in circles, it seems.

" …Gathered here to ask for the blessings of….. " And on and on. I gave myself a mental admonishment for this internal disrespect. This was an important ritual, after all. His teacher would give him the blessings of our patron, so that we may succeed tomorrow.

We were going to need it, frankly. Recovering powerful artifacts from a spellhidden stronghold, in the middle of an supposedly haunted forest? Not exactly your average magical exam. The objects were sure to be heavily guarded, not to mention the likelihood of powerful spell wards they'd either have to fool or overpower. But it would be worth all the risks, if our efforts managed to liberate them, the Artifacts of Da'Agnor.

As the story goes, Da'Agnor was one of the first students of our founder. Supposedly, he created a quarter of the spells in our textbooks. But even that achievement wasn't enough for the exemplar student. Pouring his power into three objects, he was sure they'd outlive him, aiding the Order in their task.

He was half-correct. The artifacts outlived him, sure enough. Creating them killed him. Too much strain on his heart. But using them never came to pass. Soon after their creation, there was a raid, and the artifacts were part of the prize. Since then, they've been locked away by the enemy. So not much aid there. But me and my band of fellow students would change that soon enough. Just thinking about the possibilities these artifacts would open to the Order….It was enough to make me grin a little bit.

I quickly corrected myself though, showing the world ( or this room, anyway) an impassive, stony expression once again. Showing anything but –that- was a breach of protocol. Did our teacher notice?

"…And let it be known that all are…." Apparently not. Phew. Merick was a stickler for 'ritual etiquette'. I could still recall that time when Silverweight snickered loudly during a silent moment in a passionate, if somewhat silly speech from our teacher. I don't think his flank ever fully recovered from the beating. After all, we heard him yowling during it, through three floors.

It's somewhat harsh, but I'll grant Merick this much, though: It's an effective scare-tactic. Very few ponies ever dare to disturb the rituals when he's around.

From what I could tell, he was almost finished, anyway. Once this part was through, I'd simply had to accept the blessing in a deadpan tone (Or as Merick puts it : an solid voice!) , using the traditional words. Again, protocol. Letting out another mental sigh, I tried not to tune his voice out. Which was harder than expected. Argh. I was starting to fear that my knee might merge with the stone. Why was this taking so long?

Not that I thought the ritual was stupid. We really could use all the help we could get with this mission. Not to mention the flair involved with it all. A large, circle-shaped stone room, the only sources of light being a couple of golden candle stands, richly decorated with emerald orbs? Nifty. Dozens of ponies, dressed in dark blue cloaks, standing around you in a circle, while your teacher asks the patron to bless your actions? Certainly good for the ego.

But the altar in the center? Awe-inspiring. Better known as the Altar of Reckoning, it's ebony design has been the centerpiece for many great achievements in our order, and the legends surrounding it are endless. Some say that our patron resides within, looking with benevolence at his subjects. Others say it will someday select an avatar, to teach everypony of our glorious magics.

"…And let it be known that our kin-in-charms smile…." These stories are likely just fairy-tales, though. But it's still an incredible piece of history within the order, and it certainly sets the mood right for this. If only I wasn't constantly tuning Merick's voice out. Why was my mind wandering? Nerves, probably. Or excitement? Not sure which one it was, to be honest. Maybe both?

Just as I was about to speculate on the matter, I noticed that Merick was finishing up his monologue. Finally, my turn! "…..Brother Deacon. Will you accept the Blessings, so that you may return in victory?" Keeping my face impassive as I rose from the uncomfortable position, standing upright in front of my teacher. Now, normally, I'd had to get in front of the altar, ascending the few steps. But I decided against it. Otherwise, Merick would be looking at my chest, which doesn't exactly inspire as much reverence as eye-contact does. I was fairly sure that Merick wouldn't mind this tiny little deviation…Right?

Hoping that he understood my reasoning, I spoke the words required of me." I accept the Blessings, all in the name of our Order. So that one day, we shall bring salvation to all. Hail the mighty Patron!" I had to keep his tone steady. It had to be a veritable symbol of stone-cold resolve to all.

I sure didn't feel it quite that strongly. I mean…. Sure. I was confident I could pull off my part. I had put weeks of preparation and practice into it. I'm sure the others had done the same, as well. But did we account for everything? What if they had more guards? Or what if there was a spellward we hadn't accounted for? It made me a little jittery, to say the least. Not that you could tell from the sound of my voice. It helped that I had a pretty deep one to begin with. It certainly sounded confident as my words echoed across the silent room.

Merick did briefly narrow his eyes at me, however. Oops. Guess he wasn't too pleased at the deviation, but the scowl on his face quickly vanished, so I was fairly sure he'd let it drop. I was in the clear. Phew. I'd rather not engage in possibly lethal shenanigans with a pained flank.

Then again, he might wait until after the mission. Horsefeathers.

Not that anyone noticed this little tense moment. It was covered by all those gathered, as they stomped their fore-hooves , yelling out their hails, a deafening chaotic mélange of sounds and grunts. A new initiate would've likely been quite startled by it, but this wasn't my first ritual, and likely not the last. Still, it was a tad intimidating, even for me.

Merick raised his head high, his grey horn glowing with tapped magics. The room grew silent once more. " Brother Deacon has been blessed! " he bellowed out in his usual fashion. That is, in a rather commanding tone. Even that little sentence sounded like he's daring anyone to say otherwise. " Now let us depart from these hallowed halls, for our evening reflections! " Everypony started to move towards the only exit, having been dismissed by their leader. I followed suit not seeing any reasons to stick around with a possibly irate Merick , slowly making my way to my chambers. I just wanted to rest, maybe review the plans a little bit beforehand, maybe practice my spells. Nothing strenuous. On the way, I was approached by my 'partners-in-crime', Silverweight and Smoulder.

Silverweight was an grey-colored , average-sized unicorn with a penchant for being in the right place at the right time. And doing the wrong thing. In other words, he's prone to screw-ups. Sneezing during a ritual? Mistaking a shiny rock for a diamond? Setting his bed on fire while he was testing an new way of cleaning? He's done it, and more.

Still, you have to give him credit: he always works hard at correcting any mistakes he makes, and I've never heard him utter anything negative about anyone, save for some idle comments now and again.

Silverweight still does most of the cooking in our section too. Not because he's being bullied into it, but because he wants everyone to have good food while they work and study within the order. Outright volunteered for the task, to the collective appreciation of us all. I have to say that I'm quite fond of him. He's one of the few ponies who just interacts with me like I'm normal...

Smoulder, on the other hoof? He was an almost complete opposite sort of pony. Blue-green fur, coupled with a somewhat diminutive build. One could easily mistake him for a colt, from a distance. Though the notion would quickly be destroyed when you exchange a few words with him. Amongst the students, he's certainly the most mature of the bunch. Perhaps too mature. Always planning, always creating schedules. It could get maddening, at times.

Speaking of maddening, he can certainly work on a pony's nerves. Smoulder was 'gifted' with a razorsharp wit, and a will to use it on anypony that deserves it. And considering his high standards, that's….fairly often. It has not made him a popular pony. Ayup. It's not uncommon for me to intervene when one of his comments lands him into trouble with the other ponies in our section, to save my sharp-tongued buddy.

Ponies sometimes ask why I hang with Smoulder. I can see why they ask, but…..Honestly, they just have to get to know him better. He's just blunt about everything. Including himself. Like the fabled Tinker Tentacle spell incident.

An early creation of Smoulder, the spell was supposed to give the user an extra appendage, strong and flexible. Ideal for experiments and stuff. In a way, it worked. The tentacle certainly got….experimental. I'm STILL not sure why a tentacle would be so drawn to that particular place of our anatomy….Regardless, Smoulder was quick to denounce himself an utter moronic waste of space…in the public dining area. While apologizing profusely to those afflicted by it. Remembering that period of time still causes the occasional . Smoulder might be blunter then the average hammer, but his heart's in the right place.

And then there's me. Deacon Decay. Not exactly the name I'd have picked for himself. Sadly, I didn't get a vote in the matter. Students are accepted into the order when they're babies ( usually orphans), and given a name with some historical significance. For example, Deacon was the creator of the erosion spell, which he used to devastating effect in combat. And I believe Smoulder was some sort of ancient genius with fire spells? Eh. At any rate, I didn't get to pick the name. I mean. Deacon. The name just smells of dust.

Still. I suppose the name could be considered somewhat apt. I certainly look sickly with my fur pattern: A dark, almost pure black color, intermixed with dark green blotches. With an almost equally green mane to match. Sometimes, I wonder how that's even possible. Pure (bad) luck? Genetics? Magic? At any rate, it wasn't a pretty sight. It didn't help that I was a big stallion. Not enormously so, but most folks had to look up to meet my eyes. Or goggles, as the case usually is. I almost always wore dark green goggles, for…erh..personal reasons. It only added to the somewhat imposing sight that I was. Add my deep voice, and you got yourself a rather scary-looking pony. Or so I hope. It would be rather embarrassing if it was my body odor that made people cringe when I got near.

It made companionship a bit difficult to acquire, however. Most other students gave me a wide berth. And those that didn't either tried to use me for their own gain or they wanted to be friends for the wrong reasons. After all, anypony with a devious mind could find a use for a big scary stallion. Bah. So yeah, Silverweight and Smoulder are pretty much the only ponies who I interact with on a friendly basis. We've grown up together after all, studying the sacred magics of the Order. They'd never take advantage of me like that.

Well. Not intentionally.

There were others from our time, but most of them had already gone to serve other sections or they simply avoided my presence. Hrm. I used to try to talk to newcomers, but they quickly get informed by their friends, and boom. Another one considers me a semi-pariah.

Thankfully, there isn't any bullying or whispering behind my back. At least, none that I'm aware off. They simply leave me alone to my own devices. Most of the time, I don't mind it overly much. I enjoy furthering my studies here anyway, learning more about our sacred arts without any annoying interruptions. Like the spell I have in store for the guards tomorrow. Heh. That should be entertaining to watch.

And when I do crave some social companionship? There's always Silverweight and Smoulder, ready to talk my ears off about whatever they'd been bickering about recently. From mishaps to crushes. I adore them, to be frank. They're all the friends a pony could ever need, in my honest opinion.

And truth be told, I probably don't help my reputation any when I help them out. Silverweight's issues usually involve some sort of mess that needs cleaning up or a fixing. Nothing overly bad, aside from the occasional lynch mob, out to beat his flank for some accident. But Smoulder?

Smoulder usually has somepony ticked off at him, as I mentioned. Coming in and protecting my friend from pissed-off ponies usually makes me look like the bad guy. After all, I'm usually the bigger, creepy-looking one, eh?

The things you do for friends.

Silverweight was the first to speak up as he came up on my right, giving his trademark goofy grin. He always looked like he was about to go to a party to me. " Man….I'm so psyched for tomorrow! Those Artifacts are as good as ours!"

Smoulder rolled his eyes at the remark, as usual, putting in his two bits. " Please. Even you know that this will be a difficult endeavor. Even if we all follow the plan." The snort accompanying his remark made it clear that Smoulder wasn't betting on that happening. So he had his doubts as well, huh? It made me feel a bit relieved. Not the only one with jitters, after all. However, I could guess at who the comment was directed to, however. Silverweight, the pony in question, simply chuckled. Clueless.

" Yeah, sure. But hey! We got the blessings from Merick himself. Not to mention that Deeks'll be causing a ruckus when we're looting the place!" Heh. Silverweight only called me Deacon when he had to. Otherwise, it was always Deeks. Or Deekster. Or Deekie. You get the idea. Don't mind it one bit. It's better than Deacon. No disrespect to the pony it belonged to. He was a badflank, if half the stories surrounding him were true.

Smoulder frowned a bit, as if he didn't want to agree, but had little choice in the matter. Which may as well be true. Smoulder certainly believed more fervently in the power of the ritual than Silverweight.

" Well…That's true. Deacon will be quite noticeable, I'm sure." Coming from him, that's some note-worthy praise. I smiled as he looked up at my ugly-looking muzzle, to show him I appreciated the confidence he had in me. Smoulder simply nodded in confirmation, and continued. Totally best buddies forever. " What are your thoughts on it, Deacon?" Silverweight eagerly chipped in as well, in his own way. " Yeah, Deeks. Whatya think? Easy as Hay or Nay?"

I pondered the question as we neared my sleeping quarters. The Artifacts of Da'Agnor were locked inside a mountain. And I don't mean inside one that's hollowed out. I mean a big, solid mountain. We're still not sure why or how they did it. But that's the gist of it. The only room is one chamber, which contains the artifacts, with no hallways leading inwards from the outside. The obvious way in is to blast open the mountain. But that's not a feasible action, considering the heavy-duty spells protecting the whole area. Even an alicorn would have difficulties breaking those. Not to mention alerting half of Equestria in the process. Thankfully, there IS another way in.

See, the room is connected with a teleportation crystal. It's the only way anypony can get in without causing severe property damage, in fact. Makes sense, really. Even if they were locking the things away, they'd still need to check up on them from time to time.

Where is this crystal located, I hear you asking, brain? Why, in an supposed haunted forest, of course! Where else?

Sarcasm aside, it's actually a good hiding spot, if you think about it. No pony who heard of the stories would even consider stepping a hoof in the place. And anypony who did would find out that quite a few of those stories are all too real.

It generally doesn't end well for the ponies involved.

And if that fails? Well, there's always the guards who're posted in the crypt. I haven't actually seen the place, but I've studied the blueprints provided by our shadow-users. Apparently, the crypt is built in a fairly simple way : The entrance, a fairly inconspicuous hole in the ground, leads to a big hall, with two chambers east and west of it. The guards not on duty are usually there. Probably their living quarters, for when they're not posted. I could see why. I wouldn't want to explore a lethal forest just for the sake of fun either.

If you follow the hallway, though, you'd get to the main chamber: We're not sure what it looks like, but reports show it's the place where the teleportation crystal is set up. Naturally, the guards are stationed there. And if that wasn't enough, there's like a half-dozen different warding spells surrounding the chamber.

But not the hallway.

Our plan is pretty straightforward: One pony ( me) will cause a major disturbance at the entrance, drawing the attention of the guards. Then, after a few minutes, a strike force ( Smoulder and Silverweight will be on that one. Lucky.) will be teleported in the hallway by Merick. If all goes well, they'll be able to breach the spellwards and overpower whatever guards are in there during the chaos. Success will be largely depending on my expertise in causing a magical mess.

No pressure or anything.

Smoulder and Silverweight were still expecting an answer from me, however. Should I tell them the truth? That I'm not a hundred percent sure of this?

No. No need in causing them to worry as well. " I think we're going to nail this, colts." I said, putting on a confident smile. " After all, we're badflanks, aren't we?!" I rose my right hoof towards them, awaiting their response. Sure enough, my response made Silverweight grin like mad. Even Smoulder had a little smirk on his face, as he rolled his eyes. The both of them tapped my hoof with theirs, confidence oozing out of them. I chuckled, nodding. " Good to see we got that cleared up. But erh…" I rubbed my mane a bit. " I still got to review my spellwork a bit, so…" I hoped they got the hint, as I waved at the entrance of my sleeping quarters.

Smoulder nodded, bless his bluntness. " Same here, Deacon." Ugh. If only he'd stop using my full name. Oh well. Can't have it all, I suppose. " Huh?" Silerweight blinked, before recognition seemed to dawn in his eyes. " Oh! Sure, Deeks. Guess I'll turn in early, then….See you!" he grinned, as he made his way down the hall, to his own bed. But before directing a comment towards Smoulder, however. " Who knows? I might actually wake up before mister Perfecto tommorow!" Did I mention that Silverweight also had a habit of making up nicknames? Because he does. Three guesses who Mister Perfecto is.

Smoulder frowned, following Silverweight. " Highly unlikely. Unless you meant that your snoring will keep me from sleeping at all."

Silverweight raised an eyebrow. " Hey! I don't snore!"

" Oh? " Well. I could see where this was going. " Were you trying to wake the dead with that noise, then? Good job."

" Wha..? Yeah right!" Silverweight snorted at his blue-green companion. I shook my head slightly at the sight of those two bickering like an old married couple, entering my room with a mental chuckle.

As far as rooms went, mine was modest. The Order disapproved of material possessions. It's all about the immaterial, aka magic arts. And the materials which aid in that. I have a one-pony bed, a bookshelf filled with literature pertaining the magical arts, and a small writing desk. The stone walls are a dull grey. The only source of illumination is the candleholder on the desk.

It's not much. But it's home, most of the time.

I took off my cloak, depositing it on the bed. My horn glowed a dark green, as did my spellbook, which floated towards me, the book opening on the page that I wanted to review. Gotta love telekinesis!

As I started to review my spells, my mind wandered. The Artifacts. We're not sure what they look like. That information got lost in the blaze of the raid. But we do know the powers slumbering within each one. I myself didn't much care for the powers contained in them, surprisingly. It just seemed a lot like cheating. I much preferred to enhance my own power, and hone my techniques. After all, the past has shown that external sources of power CAN be stolen.

Still, they'll greatly aid the Order's goals. Who knows? We might be able to overthrow the Tyrant Princess with their powers.

Wouldn't that be grand?