Prologue: The Steel of Stalliongrad
A quiet old place, Germaney was the centre of the old idyllic lifestyle that Equestria was often short of in the ever-moving pace of civilisation. There was a certain significance of the place; a novelty that intermingled with aspects of the modern which some might call the sweet spot of satisfaction. Lining the clean cobblestone pathways, houses were built to varying degrees of creativity, some built with the old archaic rooftops in mind or others flashing in the sun with the gleaming shimmer of newly lined steel panels and double-glazed windows.
There was much to see for any visitor, from the bouncing fountains of the city centre to the towering dome of the Reichstag capitol building, it held a special place in many ponies because of the profound culture. However, the closer the eye could see and there were things that could only be appreciated through time, and those were the little things that livened Germaney. More than anything, Marelin, the grand capitol of the state, exemplified that more than any other.
One could awe easily at the sight of majestic design, the towering marvels of Equine civilisation stood at tribute to the acceptance of the miniscule part we played in the grand scheme of the universe and our desire to become greater than what we achieved. Philosophers of Germaney’s past have always kept this notion at the back of their minds, which became popular to the outside world as Germaney’s cultural diversity and density. It was hard not to be blinded by all the brass, but one never had to travel far in the city to see the quality that it was truly worth, for all they had to do was listen, listen carefully for the sounds.
There was music in the air; the wafting aroma of the corner shop bakeries, the low drone of the jazz tunes and the lively melody of lone violinists were orchestrated by whoever listened, was it the symphony of livelihood or the ringing of a tranquil land? Ambiguity was second nature to the streets of Germaney and no doubt its attraction. All around, colours faded only to be painted once more as the silky haze drifting from the rooftops lazily drifted into the horizon, carried by the sounds of clinging glasses and the sounds of busy chatter.
That was why Porcelain loved it all, and why she visited a very particular shop every day. An elderly mare, she stood nearby and gazed at the window with a glimmer in her eyes, staring right into the polished windows of an antique store with the words ‘Quality Antiques’ written in bright, bold letters. Her smile was unlike any of her age, much like the youthful squeal of delight of a new born foal as she slowly made pace towards the door.
She was welcomed into the arms of a brightly lit room; small albeit but nonetheless homely as the bell on the door announced her presence, grabbing the attention of a stallion as elderly as she was standing behind the counter. Tall he was, with a dark brown mane that had lost its shine and wearing an old knitted scarf.
“Ah, Ms Porcelain it is gut to see you so early in the morning” he smiled, greeting his regular customer. Like every other day she smiled back at him warmly, the familiarities between them like wife and husband made the old shop owner delighted in his recent years of solitude.
“As to you Whistle,” she thanked. She eyed the back of the room once more; squinting with her failing eyesight to see if she had been deceived by the blur of the glass from the outside. At the end of her vision was that old bookshelf at the back of the room, the place where newly shipped antiques were placed before being taken down into the drawers.
Old Whistle had noticed Porcelain’s habit of antique collection ever since she first arrived here twenty years ago and noted that she had a good eye for old things, even much better than he did himself. His store was cluttered with all sorts of treasures, from the far ranging swords of the Griffon Empire to the finest incense jars of Saddle Arabia; all of Equestria abridged itself in his own shop. However, most customers often prided themselves on items that already had meaning. Items owned by great individuals, played a part in a major event were often the first to leave the shelf, leaving all others gathering dust while time ticked on. In contrast, Porcelain bought anything, from pennywhistles to old buckets there was nothing too odd for her liking, which suggested that she just liked collecting. Perhaps Whistle saw his own fascination of all antique items, no matter the origin or time, in Porcelain when she purchased items that looked like codswallop only to reply that she had found it special, and that was all that mattered.
“Any new items for me to have a look at?” she asked, still struggling to see if the items she saw yesterday had been rearranged. Yesterday’s choices did look wonderful but she refrained from bringing in the old shovel as it still reeked of whatever it dug into one hundred years ago. A darn shame, she thought to herself, and one that would need to be amended today.
Whistle came from behind the counter and carefully levitated the items in full display in front of her. The gleam in her eyes returned as she looked at all the new wonders, and better yet items that she sought more than anything else: old clocks. Porcelain loved variety, and the three in display were not short of that. The first was a rather small one encased in platinum, had a stylish exterior that seem to glow with its own light, and boasted intricate carvings of Celestia and Luna whom both stood with flared wings around it in a protective manner, a marvellous piece of art that embellished the modern method of construction. The second was far by the largest of the three and by far the oldest; a wooden variety with quite the varnished finish and archaic runes carved seamlessly into the exterior by a skilled unicorn- though she could only assume that. Inspecting the inside, the tiny hands within the clock all seemed to be carved into different shapes and patterns that reminded her of the gentle streams of a brilliant summer day.
“By Celestia, these are splendid.” She said in awe, running a hoof down the smooth wood.
She turned her attention towards the third clock, hoping that the best had been saved for last. What she saw was interesting, to say the least.
For in front of her was a rectangular slab of concrete.
She frowned; she’d never seen an antique clock such as this before, better yet, she’d never seen any clock made so appallingly. Being the smallest of the three, it certainly had nothing to show for it. She looked closely at this one, noticing that it was not made out of concrete but rather thin plates of crude steel. The preferred method had always been using screws to lock the pieces together, but the steel had instead been welded judging by the rough working and though it seemed very thorough, the concept of cleanliness and neatness didn’t exist in its design.
This certainly wasn’t a clock by any stretch of the imagination, primitive in design and simplistic in almost every aspect possible. She tapped the glass that protected the face of the device and instead of the clicks that she’d expected; it all came out as dull thuds. With all this in mind, an important question burned in her mind.
“What in Equestria is this thing?”
The old stallion chuckled. “I see you have an interest in this einmalig Uhr. Indeed, never have I witnessed such a clock as this one or anything quite as abrasive before, but believe me when I say there is beauty within it,” he assured.
He grasped the little thing with his magic and ever so slightly lifted it into the air until it stood floating in mid-air, roughly two meters from the wooden floorboards. Porcelain looked at the stallion confusedly, waiting for an explanation of some kind.
“Let me show you what I mean.”
It occurred to her that he meant to drop the clock, for what reason she had no clue but she knew quite well that Whistle took great care in the handling of all antiques and she had never seen him deliberately try to damage anything, being the kind soul he was. Though a part of her wanted to speak out against it, Whistle always knew what he was doing and she trusted him.
Then slowly, that enveloping orange hue that surrounded the clock began to dissipate and the metal object became at the mercy of gravity once more. Porcelain closed her eyes for some reason, not wanting to hear that terrible sound; the sound of steel, wrought unto this world through majestic fire, to be crushed and dismantled beyond its usefulness. That terrible ring of a unified machine, each component in perfect harmony to suddenly be torn apart, divided and scattered across the floor like spilled blood. Porcelain’s reality melted away into darkness, a nightmare that enveloped her as her heartbeat accelerated. Memories of chatter and sweets were blown away as the shrill of a steam whistle pierced the air, industrial cauldrons of crimson sliding from one place to another as it tipped the golden, glowing liquid like a piercing arrow into the void below. She saw sparks, colours unimaginable flying through the air and vents of smoke rising, and saw the silhouettes of thousands, one voice unlike the other in complete harmonic disarray. Where was this place? Where the hot touch of soft steel was rolled into the hardness of stone by sweat, where the shadow of the hammer was raised to strike…
THUD!
“There, without a single scratch it continues to tick.” A voice called.
She opened her eyes and at once her vision no longer eclipsed her world, sliding away into nothingness. She took deep breaths, trying to calm herself with what she had just witnessed. She shook herself trying to get it out of her head and stared agape at the clock that was now on the floor.
There it was, still whole without a single hint of damage. The steel still looked awfully welded and was still perceivable as being just a brick. She went closer and picked up the little thing, placing her ear closer to the glass. She could still hear it ticking, the heartbeat of the machine, as loud as it did before. She found it difficult to believe such a thing that barely looked like it held itself together could survive such an impact, nonetheless be able to still operate. She took a quick glance at the other clocks, their delicate frames no doubt be mutilated beyond repair if they had fallen. She even suspected it to be a product of magic, but magically enchanted items would be felt by any pony.
She turned the item over, inspecting the back side of the clock and sure enough her thoroughness was rewarded in the shape of a crude carving that had been imprinted onto the steel with little remorse or care, the word ‘STALLIONGRAD’.
“It’s a fine product from the city of steel.” Whistle commented, noticing the marks himself. “This particular one made, if I’m not mistaken, by the two sisters.”
Porcelain’s first guess irrational guess were Celestia and Luna but that was impossible, royalty came from Canterlot and not Stalliongrad. She knew little of that place, but some described it as a separate world to Equestria, but what means she didn’t have a clue. But if this little clock gave any hint to what it was like, she could only guess it was a harsh world, stubborn in its own liking and tough to the bitter end. She could see the beauty of it, a relic that represented much more than just an industrial idea but a representation of a will to survive, to show no remorse in construction and for an exterior as strong as cold steel.
“I know what I'll pick,” she smiled.
Later, as she left the shop, she walked with satisfaction on her face, carrying the metal brick within her purse as the sweet sun rose overhead.