Legend of the Rainboom

by WritersBlock

Rating: everyone
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Rainbow Dash, Original Character, Slice of Life
Length: 2779

Once upon a time, Rainbow Dash read a book. She loved it so much, she read some more. She read and read and read, until one day she came across a story that seemed different to her. Something she could relate to. And so, she decided to write a book.

Once upon a time, Rainbow Dash read a book. She loved it so much, she read some more. She read and read and read, until one day she came across a story that seemed different to her. Something she could relate to. But it was incomplete, imperfect, fragmented; it was more fiction than fact.
Deciding that more ponies needed to hear this tale, Rainbow Dash decided to do something she'd never even considered before.
She was going to write a book.
But she knew it would be hard. And her past attempts at writing were... imperfect. So, of course, she enlisted the help of Ponyville's resident author.
And he's going to help her, whether he likes it or not.

If anybody knows of an image I could use as a cover, please let me know. I feel all exposed and nasty without one.

Published 2014-01-22 02:00:10 UTC
Last updated 2014-01-22 02:00:10 UTC

Reading Rainbow

High in the sky, there is a grand city that all of Equestria knows of, yet only about a third of the population has ever seen: Cloudsdale. It is an old city, built at the same time as the (now ruined) city of Everfree and Manehatten, and was (and is) the central hub for all of Equestria’s Pegasi. It has floated above the country since it’s founding, and likely will till it’s fall.

It is also home to one of the largest libraries in all of Equestria, second only to the great Canterlot archives. Behind the pillars of the Cloudsdale Library can be found books older than even the Princesses, and many a historian has lamented the fact that it is impossible for anypony but those with wings to access such a rich compendium of knowledge.

For Pegasi, however, it can be a fascinating source of information. There are books and stories of every genre, from every time period, containing facts as old as time. Many a bored Pegasus has entered into the library, picked a random book from the shelves, and been engrossed for days by a story that oftentimes, due to the library’s size, hadn’t been read for years.

It is in this grand building that the self-proclaimed greatest flyer in Equestria now found herself one Thursday morning. She was a little nervous. Even though she was born and raised in Cloudsdale, she had never even thought to enter the dusty old library, as she had previously always dismissed books as an “egghead” pursuit. After being proved wrong, and subsequently reading through as many works of fiction in her local library as she could, she was at a loss for what to read next. A friend of her’s had suggested the Canterlot Archives, but she had no wish to jump through the hoops required to access it. Then she had realized that, as a Pegasus, she had access to the second greatest library known to Pony-kind. And so, she had found the largest library bag she had, and set off to the place of learning.

She was now trotting nervously through the tall, dusty shelves, astounded and struck speechless at the sheer amount of books. She had no idea where to start.

An idea struck her and she headed for the History section. Her favorite book series, Daring Do, was constantly making references to Equestrian mythology, and her friend was always trying to convince her to study up on her history so that she had a better idea of what Daring Do was going through in her titular novels.

She scanned the shelves. There were books of every size, shape, and color, many with Equestrian lettering on the spine, some with a foreign or ancient language giving an incomprehensible title, and a small number with no wording whatsoever. It was one of the latter that caught the mare’s eye.

In many ways, it looked no different than every other book, aside from the lack of title. However it had two things that set it apart. One was the color. Every other book was singularly colored in tone, many of them a dark brown. This one, however, was a collision of a multitude of bright colors, creating a sight that would normally only be visible on the most beautiful of rainbows. Another thing that set it apart was it’s age. As she took it down off the shelf, large amounts of dust fell from it’s apparently permanent place, and she felt obliged to blow the remainder from the cover.

Below the layers of dust was the title of the book in golden letters: A History of Rainbow Falls. She almost replaced the book then and there. Still, something stayed her hoof. Sure, the title sounded boring, but surely with such a colorful cover…

The mare made up her mind. She would read a little bit, and if it hooked her she’d finish it. She decided to use one of the libraries reading tables, as she figured that she would probably not be there long before leaving. It was 10:45 AM.

At 11:56 AM, the following day, she turned to the last page of the book with eyes wide open, and her head filled with things that had long been forgotten by most.

And perhaps it should have stayed that way.

**********

Writer’s Block was having a wonderful Saturday. He generally did, as it was widely agreed that Saturdays were “do-nothing” days, unlike weekdays (for obvious reasons) and Sundays, the latter of which he thought of as a “get-ready-for-the-weekdays” day. Even better, he had managed to make it all the way to the afternoon without anypony even glancing at his front door. He hated having company on Saturdays. Or any other day, for that matter.

And so, if you were to walk out out of the streets of Ponyville and down the paths that surrounded it, and peeked at the lawns of the pleasant cottages that some ponies chose as their abode, you would have seen the unicorn reclining on a lawn chair, sipping a lemonade and reading a book, with soft jazz playing just loud enough to be faintly heard from the front gate, as though to say, “go away, I’m busy”. That was, of course, exactly the point of it.

Were you to attempt to make conversation with him (which is ill-advised on a Saturday), the author would have politely greeted you at the gate. The first thing you would notice was his height. He was of a distinctly Canterlotian build, and stood a few inches above most ponies. After that would be his mane. A dark hazel in color, it was large and poofed and curled to an extent that would rival even the mane of Pinkie Pie. However, if you were the observant (and fashion sensitive) type, you would notice that his mane was not as chaotic as may be assumed. Instead, it was carefully designed to give exactly the image of an absent minded author, with his horn proudly displayed among a sea of locks. Upon his fur, which was a shade similar to coffee with cream, was a cutie mark that depicted a pot of ink and a quill on the cover of a book, a clear representation of his vocation. Finally, around his neck was always seen a scarf made of silver thread, the the letters WB artistically embroidered in gold at the end. He was never seen without it.

And so there he was, reading the afternoon away. He had decided to read his favorite novel, The Hoofhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, for what was probably the fifteenth time, and was enjoying it immensely. He was distracted, however, when his favorite song came on the radio. He smiled and closed his eyes as he used his magic to turn up the music a bit, his hoof tapping out the beat on the chair. He then began levitating his glass of lemonade towards his lips, feeling thirsty from the heat of Celestia’s sun, when suddenly…

“HEY WRITER’S BLOCK!”

His eyes snapped open as his concentration was broken mid-sip. Time slowed down as his glass flew through the air toward the ground, it’s contents spilling all over him. Fortunately, he was able to save his book, and the lemonade could easily be cleaned with magic, but he knew he’d smell lemony fresh for quite some time. I suppose, he thought to himself with a grimace, it could be worse.

He cleaned up the mess and replaced the glass on the table, before looking up to see who had shouted, hoping desperately that it wasn’t the pony he thought it was. It was. “Good afternoon, Rainbow Dash,” he said politely to the Pegasus hovering just above his front gate. “What brings you to my home on this fine summer day?”

He had hoped that the cyan-colored mare with rainbow-colored hair would take the hint and leave. She didn’t. “Hey Block, how’s it going?” She asked as she landed on his lawn and began walking toward him.

She had said this in a casual tone, but Writer’s Block knew how to read ponies, and Rainbow Dash was an open book. She was anxious. Very anxious. Guilty looking, even. That’s not a good sign, he thought, anxiety beginning to rise. Not good at all.

He looked her sharp in the eye. “Oh, I’m fine. You still haven’t answered my question though, and I hate not knowing the answer to a question.” Unlike most Canterlot-born ponies, Writer’s Block hated small-talk, and preferred that ponies cut to the chase. It was part of the reason he had moved.

Rainbow looked around nervously as her hoof scraped a small hole in the grass. “Listen, I need a favor.”

That got a raised eyebrow. “You want me to do you a favor?”

Rainbow Dash laughed nervously. “Look, just hear me out, okay?”

Writer’s Block sighed and waved a hoof, signalling the mare to continue. She drew her thoughts together and began.

“Alright, as you know, I’ve been trying to read more and more kinds of books, like romances, sci-fi,” She looked him in the eye and grinned. “Mysteries…”

Writer’s Block winced a little. This was something he knew all too well. Just a few months ago, the Pegasus had gotten started on the Clop Tracy series, in an effort to get into genres other than Adventure novels. Of course, after reading the entire series twice, she had to have more. Then, once she had learned that the author lived in Ponyville, she was unstoppable. It had taken Writer’s Block two weeks to get her to leave him alone, and only after autographing dozens of memorabilia. He had, however, drawn the line at signing her cutie mark.

“So anyways,” Dash continued, “I decided to try my hoof at history books.” She noticed Writer’s Block looking at her with incredulity. “Hey, don’t look at me like that! I figured that since Daring Do is always looking for mythical objects and fighting legendary monsters, I should do some research!”

“Alright, alright.” He waved a hoof to calm her down. “What do I have to do with this? I’m no expert on mythology.”

Dash’s tone grew conspiratorial. “Do you know how rainbows are made?”

“Of course.” Writer’s Block may not have been an expert on mythology, but he knew a fair bit of science. “Rainbows are made from a mixture of various plants and minerals, some of which can only be grown in very specific conditions, which is why artificial rainbows are almost as rare as natural ones. Why?”

“Exactly.” Her tone was serious. “Do you know how we invented artificial rainbows?”

That stopped him in his tracks. Now that he thought about it, he didn’t. He thought through all of his Pegasus Industry classes in High School and kept drawing blanks. Odd, he thought. I’d think that would be something that would be covered…

“You don’t, do you?” Writer’s Block just shook his head. “That’s because nopony does. They don’t teach it in schools. I didn’t even know until recently.”

“I still don’t see where I come-”

“I want to write a book.” Writer’s Block was struck speechless. He had seen Dash’s previous attempts at writing (she had made him read her Daring Do fanfics a few weeks before) and had not been impressed. But this seemed different.

“And you want me to help?” He asked quizzically. He was afraid of where this conversation was headed.

“I want you to proofread.” He just blinked at her as she did her best puppy dog impression. “It would really mean a lot to me.”

Just say no. Say no and she’ll go away. Writer’s Block considered following his own advice. To his despair, his intellectual curiosity took over. “I assume your book would be about the origins of the artificial rainbow; and yet you said that nopony knows how it was invented. How do you intend to-”

She cut him off again. “Well, I was in the Cloudsdale Library looking for something to read, and I found an old book. It had the whole story inside.”

To his increasing dismay, Writer’s Block could feel his muse rising up inside him. This was something that he knew he had to work on. You’ll be uncovering a lost chapter of history! Won’t it be exciting? You know you love this sort of thing. His muse made an excellent point. But still he resisted. “And so, what,” He asked. “You’re just going to plagiarize an old book?”

“Of course not!” She protested. “I’m going to retell it, make it more… book-like.” She looked a little embarrassed. “The original was kind of heavy handed in it’s storytelling, since it was just supposed to be a history book.” She looked at him with an intense enthusiasm. “But it’s a story that needs to be told! I just need your help to adapt it.”

His enthusiasm was about to overflow. He was about to accept her offer, when a final thought struck him. “Wait a moment. Why don’t you just go to Twilight Sparkle? I’m sure she’d be happy to help. And plus, she’s one of your best friends.”

Rainbow Dash looked around sheepishly. “Yeah, that’s true. But…” She laughed nervously. “Have you seen her try to write creatively? Trust me when I say that she should stick solely to research paper.”

Writer’s Block laughed. Dash’s question had been metaphorical, but he had, in fact, seen some of Twilight’s work. Not that she’d ever admit to her greatest embarrassment of all time. He smiled the first genuine smile he’d made since the Pegasus had intruded on his privacy. “You know what, Rainbow Dash? I think we have a deal.”

She punched a hoof in the air. “Awesome!” She quickly lowered herself back to the ground, cheeks red. “I mean, thank you soooooo much! You have no idea how much this means to me!”

He chuckled. “Alright, just drop off the first draft whenever you finish it, and I’ll-”

“I can do you one better!” She reached her mouth into her saddlebags and drew out a bundle of papers. “Here’s the first chapter!” she said as Writer’s Block levitated them away from her.

He briefly scanned the first page. To his surprise, it didn't seem to be too bad. Much better than her last attempt. Yeah, I can work with this. He looked back up at the hopeful Pegasus. “Alright, I’ll give this a read and mark anything that needs to be changed. Why don’t you come back tomorrow and we’ll go over it?”

“Awesome!” Dash beamed. “I’ll get right to work on the second chapter!”

“Actually, that really isn’t…” she was gone before he could finish his sentence. “...necessary.” He sighed. “I’ll have to go over the term “pacing yourself” with her tomorrow.” He mumbled to himself as he settled down on his chair.

He was actually looking forward to this. From what he could see, the pages before him didn't seem to bad, and a little enthusiasm goes a long way when you write a book. And Dash had plenty of that. He chuckled at the thought as he drew an enchanted quill out from his mess of a mane, and began to read...

Prologue

Foreword

The Pegasi are an old race, with a long and storied history. Their annals speak of great heroes such as Herculeaves, the first pony to ever face the dreaded Hydra and escape unscathed; and of the great warrior Achilles Heel, who infiltrated the invincible city of Trojan’s defences using a giant wooden statue of a monkey. Truly one of the greatest military maneuvers of all time.

Yet, as time went on, the history became legend, and legend became myth. The feats performed by the great Commander Hurricane, for instance, became naught but a fairy tale to be told on a cold Hearth’s Warming Eve to the little ones. The great history of the Pegasi, of which I admit I am no expert, is lost as myth. Perhaps it is best left that way, for when the truth is stranger than fiction, we sometimes like to pretend otherwise.

What you know hold in your hooves, dear reader, is perhaps the truth, as fantastic as it may seem. If it is, it will shock and astound you, for the truth can be hard to handle. However, if it is but a mere fairy tale, a figment of our imagination, I pray you will recall one very important truth. Legends often have basis in history; and those who forget the past, as they say, are doomed to repeat it.

With regards,
Writers Block