Journeyman's Journalby JourneymanChaptersThe Bell Never Tolls [Original] [Bittersweet] [Cadance] [OC] [Implied Torture]SCP-1824-J – "The Miner" [At the End]The Greatest Show on Earth [Original] [OC] [Celestia] The Greatest Show on Earth: Deleted Scene [Original] [OC] [Celestia] MLM: AtE Alternate Scene: Down in the DepthsMLM: AtE Deleted Scene: Brimstone's GambitMLM: AtE Alternate Scene: Barricade vs. BrimstoneMLM: AtE Alternate Scene: Better Make Way When the Crafter ComesThe Baron's Stage [Original] [OC] [Atmospheric]Fluttershy's Dream 2 [Grey Hat] [OC] [Fluttershy] [Psychological]Blacklist [Shining Armor] [Twilight Sparkle] [Mystery] [Dark] [Badass Shining Armor]Wasteland Wonderland - [GORE] [Rarity] [Lone Wanderer] [Fallout 3] [Crossover] [Implied Violence]Wondershy [Original Unedited Draft]Fluttershy's Dream 1 [Grey Hat] [OC] [Fluttershy] [Gore]The Bell Never Tolls [Original] [Bittersweet] [Cadance] [OC] [Implied Torture]Author's Note Never has there been a tale of woe quite like Doctor Destiny. Those that know me know of my three original characters: Reon Adler, warrior hero and the progenitor of much of my drive. The Journeyman, the bard whose name I bear and whose tale I have yet to tell. Finally, Doctor Edmund Sirus. I really liked the doctor when I made him. For one, who went against my traditional types. When I was a kid, I had three little notebooks where I drew my crummy monsters and story ideas. The heroes always won no matter what. There's nothing inherently wrong with that, but it lacked any sort of originality on my part. Doctor Sirus was the first who was neither a "good guy" or one who strove to change that. All he really cared about was what was right in front of him. His tale was always meant to be told in media res. The horrors of the past were always right over his shoulder, as was his silent companion, the voice that never left his his side. Over time, Edmund's past was revealed through flashbacks, remembrance, and quiet contemplation. I always wanted to transfer his story to an MLP equivalent, but there were several things that never quite fit. I tried a couple times, and glimpses of the character can be seen through SCP-976 — Doctor Destiny, Hippocratic Oath, and Along Came a Spider. Never the full story, however, and never touching the heart of the tragedy. I can't get in too deep just yet, at least not before this chapter has been told. Maybe one day I will write the dear doctor's story in full, but that day is not today. Without further ado, here is the closest I have ever gotten to transcribing the story. Enjoy The Bell Never Tolls. The Bell Never Tolls [Original] [Bittersweet] [Cadance] [OC] [Implied Torture] The Bell Never Tolls There was a purity in darkness. The raw, crystalline minerals projecting every which way cast many shadows, and the incredible depth at which they resided meant that none of the sun’s holy radiance never touched the cavernous deep. Darkness greeted, enveloped, and even entombed whatever construct of blood, steel and stone that resided in the underground. It never judged, and shrouded everything equally. Cave spiders, lichens, moss, blind creatures long languishing in the darkness, and the insurmountable power of the earth. Even above ground in the sun-soaked forests and plains, there was darkness at the end of every light. The caves were slashed by a blinding blue light. Blind centipedes and amphibians scurrying around for food fled in pain as unwelcome light cut through their precious darkness. Just as quickly as it appeared, the light was lost and the darkness resumed its omnipresence. It is time to begin. Twin beams of orange light, a far cry from the sudden burst of power moments ago, illuminated azure and violet crystal formations. Walls, stalactites, and even the very ground seemed composed of nothing but the same crystalline minerals. Light refracted off them and illuminated all directions as it cut through the dark. It created a dim glow that illuminated the source of the light. A stallion fiddled with the metal ring around his throat and the dual flashlights attached to it. He was devoid of wings or a horn, and yet still managed to keep an almost regal bearing about him. His dull brown saddlebags were immaculately cleaned, his dappled light brown coat had seen better days but was still combed and groomed, and devoid of grime and tarnish was his stark white doctor’s jacket. Appearances were deceiving. The stallion’s demeanor conflicted greatly with his mien. Dark circles hung under his ice-blue eyes and what professional interest one would expect from a doctor was replaced by a look of blank apathy. What was a doctor doing underground? The stallion stepped forward, looking left and right carefully. The twin lights followed his every movement. The glittering lights were a gorgeous sight to behold, but rather than stop and admire the once in a lifetime opportunity, he kept walking. Spiders, worms, and amphibians shied away from his thumping hoofsteps and light. Ponies dominated the lands above ground, even the mountain the caverns currently lay beneath. The underground was not the domain of ponies, and the creatures of the dark knew it. The stallion soon approached a junction that split into five separate paths. Taking a moment, he shined his lights down each respective tunnel, searching for a means to progress. The second from the left. The stallion, tugged by some unknown impulse, did as the voice commanded. Issuing a soft winny, he stepped down the indicated tunnel and progressed deeper into the earth. He looked behind, knickered an unspoken thought, and kept moving. The tunnel did not split any further, but the stallion kept looking behind, searching for something the darkness struggled to hide. The tunnel soon leveled out into a narrow but tall gully. Face still empty of emotion, he tasted the air and coughed. It was terribly dry. Caverns were usually moist, especially those with mineral deposits, but everything was as dry as a bone. After a brief coughing fit, the stallion composed himself. Twin swords of light stabbed at the dark. He looked up, but the ceiling was so impossibly high it was swallowed by the shadows. Without wings or magic, and the walls far too steep to afford any purchase, it would be impossible to climb regardless. Proceed down the first left. Mechanically, the stallion began searching the leftmost wall. Left to right, up and down. Back and forth he searched as the sound of his steps bounced off the narrow walls and was swallowed by the depths. The path the voice indicated was almost hidden by a shattered piece of crystal that had fallen from a higher point in the gully’s distant past. The stallion knickered and bucked. The crystal shard only twitched, refusing to budge. For once, an emotion crossed his face. Inhaling, he planted himself as firmly as he could and bucked with all his might. The crystal was heavy, and although it slid a little more, it was still not enough space to slide his own slender form inside. Grunting, he prepared for one more buck. The heavy crystal slid a little further across the dusty, dry ground. he gave it a disdainful look before his face returned to its artful smoothness. Had such a large piece of crystal landed on him as he traversed the gully, it would have killed him instantly. Crouching, the stallion squeezed into the narrow gap. The crystal’s dagger-like protrusions cut into his flanks, but did not pierce flesh. Low he hunched, ears listening for any signs of displaced rock or angry earthen tremors. Too easily can a cave become a tomb. He lifted his jacket over his muzzle to protect his sensitive nose and lungs from the accumulated dust and stale air. Fret not, doctor; she is close. The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, but did not resound off the enclosed walls. The doctor did not pay the voice the slightest heed or acknowledgement. Progress was much slower than normal now that cramped quarters replaced rotund passages and niches. Light kept reflecting back into his eyes, causing him to snort in irritation. Minutes passed in silence, yet the doctor trudged onward without complaint or question. Never did any vestige of care or warmth touch the corners of his smile or eyes. The doctor hadn’t even bothered to keep track of time when the glow of his lights grew brighter and closer; he was nearing the end. Rather than the shattered remains of a crystal, the entire wall had collapsed in a solid chunk, blocking his advance. Light leaked through the side, highlighting several dark, immobile shapes. Cut through. Wordless, the doctor contorted himself until he could unbuckle his packs. It was still a tight fit. He fished a small tubular device that fed back into his packs. Holding it in his teeth, he placed it against the wall and clicked a switch on the device with his tongue. Jets of ultra high pressure water sliced through the crystal with ease. Focusing the stream on the farthest edges that he could reach, several minutes passed before he finally managed to cut through enough crystal. He placed the device on the hard ground before placing his head against the cut crystal and shoving. It took several long, grueling seconds before splintering crystals fell at his hooves. The collapses crystal groaned in protest, and as much as he dreaded the sound, he knew that no harm could or would come to him. Not with the voice guiding him. The crystal chunk began to develop spiderwebbed cracks under the strain. Something cracked and the chunk shot forward. The doctor fell on his face, sprawling out over the hard ground. But he was out. Tiny crystalline residue and shards dug into his barrel and chin. Dribbles of sweat and possible blood from their dagger-like teeth hung off his sunken jawline. Brining a hoof to his face, he wiped away the liquid. It came away clear. Good. No blood. Getting to his hooves, he surveyed his new surroundings. It was an enclosed chamber that fed into an even smaller chamber to his left. His ears stood erect. More than just groaning stone came to his attention. He heard the soft sounds of another living creature. Go to her. Picking up the cutting device and saddlebags, he carefully walked deeper into the cave. The air was distinctly more fresh. SLightly so, but enough that he could taste cleaner air. His current cave had been trafficked recently. The small, bubble-like cavern narrowed after a good dozen meters, causing him to crouch low in order to progress. Lying on the floor in the midst of several hard crystal formations was a pony covered in sweat and grime. Moving his head back and forth. Her bubblegum-pink coat, once likely as immaculately kept as his own, was disheveled and messy. Her mane was equally unkempt and plastered against her face. She was shivering, and asleep. That was never a good sign in dungeons deep. You know what to do. The doctor walked towards the mare, examining her from a distance. If she was properly groomed, she’d be quite pretty. Golden slippers, once holding gemstones of great cut and luster, were void of their decoration and cracked. A fastener was placed around her throat, but whatever it held was long gone. The doctor sat on his haunches next to her, carefully moving his hooves down her body as carefully and gently as he could. She was still breathing and her pulse was far too thready for his liking. He frowned. Her ribs were sticking out from her barrel. Dreadfully malnourished. He removed his jacket and set it aside momentarily. Moving behind her back, he felt down her spine. Nothing felt damaged or broken; at least her abuse stemmed only from neglect. What he spotted next made him hesitate. Wings. A pair of wings, several feathers missing and strewn across the floor, projected from her back.. He looked up. Yes, a horn was still atop her head. A hybrid? He felt along the underside of her wings, making sure he did not disturb the sleeping mare. Nothing was broken or dislodged there. Irrelevant. The voice jolted him out of his examination. Yes, he was not there to question her presence, only do his job. Picking up his jacket, he placed it carefully over the mare. She still shivered quietly as he walked to his saddlebags and dragged them over. The mare fidgeted in her sleep. The doctor removed a bag full of clear fluids with a long, serpentine plastic tube stemming from one end. Hanging it from a nearby crystal, he removed a needle and medicinal supplies. All the while, his eyes were on her face. Whatever nightmares haunted her in the waking hours never left while she slumbered. Her eyes twitched behind their lids endlessly. With as much gentleness as he could, he removed a sterile cloth and padded the sweat off her face. Carefully moving a lock of hair that seemed to be bothering her and tucking it behind her ear, her woes diminished. Her lids twitched less and her shivering slowed. You can only help so much, doctor. She cannot wake up now, but she must later. Nightmares come for us all. The worst happen to be real. Slowly he pulled away and began his work. He had cleaned and swabbed her throat soon after. As slowly and easily as he could, he felt across her throat. Dehydration had made her veins retract inwards, making them difficult to see. After several more minutes of careful fiddling, he believed he had located the necessary vein. Holding one hoof steady, he placed the tip of a sealed needle in his mouth and tore off the hygienic covering. Leaning in close, he placed it against her skin and fed it deeper with his other hoof. The mare twitched. Holding absolutely still, his eyes were locked on his patient’s. As slowly as he could, he fed the needle deeper with his other hoof. He missed the vein. Eye twitching in irritation, he removed the needle. He tried again, and failed. The third time, however, he felt the difference. He was through. It was a simple matter of hooking up the bag to the needle for a simple fluid drip laced with painkillers. It was a far cry from proper medical attention, a good meal, and a night’s rest, but it was a start. Turning down the intensity of his lights, he crouched prone near her face. Brushing her bedraggled bangs out of her eyes, he opened one eyelid and then the other. Seeing both pupils react normally to light, he finally cracked a small smile; no neurological damage. Do not grow attached, doctor. You know what must be done. You know why you are here. The smile disappeared. He stepped away from the mare and returned to her flanks, not wanting to look at her face again. Taking only a moment’s hesitation, he lifted her tail and shined a light over her hindquarters. No signs of forced penetration. All in all, despite being abandoned in the dark, she was in fairly good condition. Luck has nothing to do with her pain, doctor. You know this. The doctor greeted the voice with silence. He progressed down her legs, cleaning cuts and sealing wounds with a cold cream. In seconds, little more remained of her more severe wounds than angry red scars. Questions you may have for her, and she for you as her benefactor. You for me as well. Know that she must never find out the truth. That is our purpose here. Removing her broken slippers, the doctor examined her hooves for infection or buildup. Finding none, he returned to cleaning her cuts. How does it feel to save a life? To be able to help others in such a capacity? You have just altered the future by being here. If she had expired in the dark, none but her tormentor would have known. She would rot, unsung, unremembered, and completely forgotten. The doctor’s face froze. The mare continued to sleep, unaware of the one-sided conversation before her. You have changed that path. She will live. How does it feel to save a life doctor? He replaced the banana bag with another fresh pack, this one with a slight red tinge to the contents. He stored the partially depleted bag into his pack and resumed cleaning and disinfecting her wounds. A particularly angry red ascese on her stomach was leaking puss. Infection that needed to be removed. I don’t quite understand these feelings. Saving a life is thrilling to me. How will she change the future that no longer will come to pass with her continued life? Will she strike down her tormentor? Will she become just as wicked in revenge? Perhaps she will become an avatar of light and justice for all to admire? Back and forth, the doctor moved. His ears were perked, and his eyes focused. Dedicated to his duty as he was, he was listening. What if she comes to murder those under her rule? Their blood is on us. The doctor froze. You need not worry, doctor. I will permit you one question. Ask, and you shall receive. The doctor halted, contemplating thoughts known only to himself. Seconds ticked by. The mare groaned and shivered, and the doctor mechanically rubbed her back and withers to calm whatever demons haunted her mind and ailing body. “Why don’t you just kill me?” The doctor’s voice was harsh, ill used to speech, not one used for company or pleasant conversation. His scratchy tenor made the mare fidget once more, but she did not awaken from her noisy slumber. Two reasons. The first is right in front of you, doctor. The doctor looked down at the mare. She was indeed still pretty, even if malnutrition, cold, and time had carved recompense from her body. Look at how easy it is to fall from grace. Before you was once a proud individual, now laid bare and helpless. Class does not matter, Birth does not matter. You do not matter. They do not matter. It would be simplistic to end her suffering. Without a pause, the doctor raised his left forehoof and placed it against the mare’s throat. The slightest hint of panic crossed his face before it was once again artfully blank and smooth. The doctor increased the pressure of his hoof. His eye twitched, but he did not remove the offending limb. Just the slightest pressure would be enough to end her life. Blood to the brain, blade to the bone. Flesh is what binds the weak and the strong, and separates them from gods. There was a pregnant pause as he contemplated the voice’s words. He felt the throbbing of the jugular vein under his hoof, the minute pressure as her life-giving blood was being denied access to her brain. It would take less than a minute for a clot to cause permanent damage. You are killing her. The doctor removed his hoof as soon as the voice’s words ceased. All four hooves were planted firmly in the ground, far away from the sleeping mare. Without another word, he tore his eyes away form her and returned to his own meager gear and medical supplies. Bit by bit, he began packing them away into their proper places with surgical precision and practiced ease. The voice did not stop its monologue. It is so simple to die, doctor. Why do you place so much importance on life? Why are we here together saving one right now? The doctor’s mouth opened to answer, but snapped shut. The following silence was telling only to the voice and the doctor. Turning back into the shadows, the doctor turned on his light and walked into the caverns. What makes living so special? Why live just to prolong living? What intrinsic value is held for such an effortless task? Say I extract the neurons for creativity and emotion from your own brain. It seems contemptible to you, yes, but you would still be alive, and still as miserable. The steady clip-clopping of hooves were the doctor’s comrade once again, in addition to the omnipresent voice in his head. The mare’s soft snores grew dim enough to be swallowed by the darkness. Memories of friends, the pain of loss. A lifetime of emotional triggers and chemicals decide what is good, pleasurable, and just. The ideal mate, the guilty pleasure, the noble sacrifice, the heroic accomplishment. Lives are forged in love and pain to achieve arbitrary accomplishments. That is the beauty, however. That is the perfection of its simplicity, its intrinsic marvel that solves the unsolvable equation. As an engineer of sorts myself, I cannot help but admire and understand, even if I disagree, the mechanics of a simple design. It is the mark of an inferior architect to make an overly complex mechanism to achieve a single goal. Yes, dying is easy and living is convoluted and complex, but that difficulty is what makes it desirable. The pain makes it worth the price. Dying is easy, doctor. Living is hard. The doctor said nothing as he retreated further and further into the caves. As for the other reason, I hate you far too much to let you go so easily. SCP-1824-J – "The Miner" [At the End]Author's Note In another one of my stories, I went on an SCP Foundation binge before finishing up one of the chapters and had the bright idea of creating an SCP entry for The Player from Minecraft. It wasn't very good, but I had fun making it. It was the progenitor of two other SCP stories of mine, SCP-██ and Site-16. I don't intend to upload it to the official SCP Foundation archive, because for one, it focuses on a pony-controlled Foundation. The other main reason is that the Foundation members and editors are some of the pickiest bastards on the Internet. I mean that as a form of very high praise. If you think editors and staff from Fimfiction are finicky, that is nothing compared to the Foundation members. I have seen tales and dossiers get completely destroyed through critique. Another aspect of the Foundation rating system concerning dossiers: If your dossier goes into negative ratings, meaning more downvotes than upvotes, the staff hold a poll. If they unanimously agree, you are given a time-limit to improve your article, otherwise it is removed from the archive. Enough fanboying. I love that site, despite some of the staff being robots from the future. This is just something made for fun, but it made sense. With all of the horrible things going around in Equestria, as well as it's great capability for Fridge Horror and Crapsaccharine nature, I wouldn't be surprised if they did have some form of Foundation control. Credit must still be give to Trachyon for a brief bought of editing. Way back when, I contemplated posting this as a Joke article on Fimfiction, but decided against it. It doesn't have the humor or flare for such a thing. Seriously; their joke articles are awesome. Without further ado, here is a report on The Player, if he had somehow stumbled into Equestria's SCP Foundation. SCP-1824-J – "The Miner" [At the End] Item #: SCP-1824-J Object Class: ~~Keter~~ Euclid Special Containment Procedures: As no known material or magic can indefinitely restrain SCP-1824-J, Research Facility 11 was specially constructed to house it. Should any non-site personnel come into close proximity of Research Facility 11 or [DATA EXPUNGED], they are to be detained for questioning and given a Class-A Mnemonic Enchantment to clear their memories. Should they prove sufficiently hostile enough for safe detainment to be too high of a liability, termination is authorized. SCP-1824-J’s containment cell is a 5x5x5 meter room with walls composed of tungsten or other material with a density rating of 15,000 or greater. If materials of higher density and sufficient quantities are procured, a separate cell of said materials is to be constructed immediately. Negotiations are in place for securing iridium stockpiles. The walls must have a minimal thickness of three (3) meters in all directions. Should there be any discovered wear in the metal, or if SCP-1824-J uses it’s inherent abilities on its containment cell, researchers should immediately summon no less than twenty (20) security personnel, two (2) Magi with clearance level three (3) or higher, and Site Commander Captain ████████. All are to observe and restain SCP-1824-J until repairs to its cell are complete. Restraining SCP-1824-J through use of binding magic or [DATA EXPUNGED] is allowed until repairs are complete. SCP-1824-J’s cowardice leaves its hostility and escape attempts at a minimum and relatively cooperative with Foundation staff, but such docility may be a luring tactic. Extreme caution is advised. Under no circumstances are any weapons, magical regents, or artifacts allowed near SCP-1824-J’s cell. SCP-1824-J is to be released from its cell for research purposes only, and must always be accompanied by guards trained in containing Level-3 security threats. Description: SCP-1824-J is a bipedal creature approximately two (2) meters tall with peach skin, brown hair, and unremarkable cotton pants and shirt. It’s skin is heavily scarred from unknown past conflicts. SCP-1824-J’s biology does not coincide with any documented creature on record, even in historical lore of all known cultures. Physiology suggests primate ancestry, but no concrete evidence has been procured. Despite possessing what appears to be a functional pair of vocal chords, SCP-1824-J refuses to speak. Note that it [DATA EXPUNGED]. Silhouette of SCP-1824-J SCP-1824-J has the ability to regenerate from any wound through the consumption of organic matter as long as such a wound does not cause subject termination. Tested matter safe for consumption includes: ► Carbohydrates ► Vegetables ► Fruits ► Sugars ► Synthetic sugars ► Meat - Note that SCP-1824-J has a preference for cooked meat, but will eat fresh meat. Tested flesh includes: . ► Griffon . ► Pony . ► Draconic . ► [DATA EXPUNGED] Wounds SCP-1824-J is capable of recovering from are as followed: ► Stab wounds ► Bludgeoning ► Slashes ► Limb removal ► Shattered skeletal structure ► Internal hemorrhaging ► Cranial trauma ► Evisceration ► Organ failure ► [DATA EXPUNGED] SCP-1824-J displays a remarkable ability to conjure ~~any known substance at will~~ any item which it has “absorbed.” The maximum absorption and conjuring range is unknown, but is suspected to not exceed five (5) meters. Absorbed materials can remain stored for an indefinitely long period of time. No known limit for SCP-1824-J’s storage capacity exists. Just as it can absorb items at will, items can be conjured at will. No known or theorized forms of magic are capable of duplicating SCP-1824-J’s abilities. SCP-1824-J also has the capability to combine items into new objects. Despite having two or more separate regent items, SCP-1824-J’s “product” may not carry the total mass of the regent items. How it manages to break Starswirl’s Law of Interchange and Distribution of Matter and Magic is unknown. All recorded substances, save for [DATA EXPUNGED] are [DATA EXPUNGED]. Addendum S-1: ~~As evidence suggests SCP-1824-J is prone to hostility, capable of conjuring any known material with ease - including undocumented artifacts, and is capable of transfiguring any material on a subatomic level, SCP-1824-J has been classified as Keter.~~ Designation rescinded on 06/██/████. Addendum S-2: Below is a complete listing of conjured items to date that SCP-1824-J is capable of producing. This list will be updated accordingly. ► Dirt - Note that recovered samples are [DATA EXPUNGED] ► Cobblestone ► Wood ► Sticks ► Torches - [DATA EXPUNGED] ► Shovels ► Pickaxes ► Swords - [DATA EXPUNGED] ► A helmet composed of diamond fit for SCP-1824-J ► A chestplate composed of diamond fit for SCP-1824-J ► A pair of leggings composed of diamond fit for SCP-1824-J ► A pair of boots composed of diamond fit for SCP-1824-J ► Bow and arrows ► A wooden workbench ► Wooden Signs ► Stone Furnace - [DATA EXPUNGED] ► Coal - [DATA EXPUNGED] ► Wooden Chests - [DATA EXPUNGED] ► Flask containing liquid similar to [DATA EXPUNGED] ► [DATA EXPUNGED] ► [DATA EXPUNGED] Addendum S-3 06/██/████: Due to the subject’s benign attitude under observation, the capture log by Captain ████████, and assurances by O5-██, SCP-1824-J has been reclassified as Euclid until further notice. Addendum S-4: Text of a missive by Doctor ████████ To all Research Facility 11 personnel, I firmly understand the affection all staff and soldiers have for SCP-1824-J, whether due to its congeniality, novelty, or fair spirits. However, you must remember the danger it still poses to the general populous should it ever escape. This is not a petting zoo, but it is not a tavern, either. SCP-1824-J is, first and foremost, contained for safety. Despite your affections, it is unprofessional to treat him as anything more than a captive. Secondly, it is also unprofessional to address any SCP in official reports by any designation other than their SCP item number. If I see any more reports naming SCP-1824-J as “Radical Steve”, the perpetrator will be severely reprimanded. Repeated failure to comply with this order will involve demotion and assignment to D-class duty. Doctor ████████ Addendum S-5: Field Agent ███████ ██████ reported on 06/██/████ that SCP-1824-J and SCP-████ both [DATA EXPUNGED]. This suggests an entity deliberately released both SCPs onto the populous. Further research to confirm the existence of said entity is ongoing. Addendum S-6: Whose bright idea was it to give the thing that can absorb anything fire brandy? Was it to see if SCP-1824-J could heal from ingesting liquids? I hope the resulting containment breach was enough to satisfy your curiosity about a drunk demigod. I will find you and, you will be terminated. Painfully. ~Site Commander Captain ████████ SCP Foundation Homesite Silhouette is a still image from the Youtube series Minecraft: Prophecy Editors: Trachyon The Greatest Show on Earth [Original] [OC] [Celestia] Author's Note I really wanted to finish this, but I couldn't muster any enthusiasm to do so. For October 2013, I performed an ambitious task: develop 13 stories for 13 days of Halloween. I couldn't do it: it was something that I was underprepared to accomplish, and still needed more time than I had allotted. There was a running metaplot to the thirteen tales, even if I only managed to finish eight of them. There was always a character in the background plucking the strings of those involved.. That character would later become known as the Baron, the mastermind behind much, and not much was easily distinguished as reality or fantasy. The Baron spun his stories, but what he was truly planning would have been something for later installments. I had several ideas, but I had burned myself out and the responses I got for the stories I did complete weren't what I was expecting. Don't get me wrong: I love reading comments and seeing fans enjoy my work. It just felt that the responses I got weren't worth the effort I put in. Sorry. The 2013 stories would have culminated in this one, where we finally get to see the storyteller and his relation to the Nightmare Night tales. This story is, however, unfinished. I don't know if that fact will ever change. Maybe someday. Someday I might come back to the Baron. Special thanks goes to Softy for his wonderful work, and his helpful motivations. You've pulled me out of more than one dark place, friend. The Greatest Show on Earth [Original] [OC] [Celestia] The Greatest Show on Earth The ruddy tavern was poorly lit, dusty, and bare of the usual pleasantries or cleanliness one would associate with normal Equestrian watering holes. The bar was cracked, several pictures on the wall were stained with who knows what while others were cut to ribbons over the course of the tavern’s life. Several hooks in the ceiling provided room for a trio of chandeliers to illuminate the establishment, but the cracked ceiling had brought down two of them, leaving only a single, half fractured wood chandelier to do the job of three. An odd stench hung in the air. Not unpleasant, but a stagnant and musty odor that had accumulated over a long time. The barkeep, a shifty, skinny stallion with a bottlebrush mustache and grey-azure coat, stared at two remaining occupants seated at the bar. Indeed, others did sit in booths, chatting animatedly, but none of them concerned him, despite their shiftiness. A red headed unicorn with a dull brown coat spoke with a sludge-green earth pony in hushed whispers in a corner booth. The earth pony brought a small bag out from the confines of his coat and sat the content on the table, which clinked softly in the low light. A waitress, a disheveled mess of a mare who looked ready to stab somepony with the produce knife she had tucked in her uniform, eyed the four customers with open contempt. The two ponies hanging onto the bar contrasted with the remaining occupants like night and day. The first was a very well dressed charcoal-gray stallion in a fine, form-fitting white suit. Bright red stitching across his lapels, the base of his white top hat, outside collar, and coattails contrasted with the white and only made him stick out even more inside the dilapidated bar. His crimson eyes brimmed with friendliness, mirth, and a hint of playfulness as he looked at his companion. She was very young, only just blooming into maturity. A violet and gold evening dress clung to her body, also tailored to fit perfectly around her wings. Her coat was utterly immaculate and only served to accentuate her youthful radiance. Her fur was such a light shade of rose that it almost appeared as white as the stallion’s suit. Bubblegum pink hair framed her perfect face and the sunhat over her head was tucked over her brow in a playful shyness. The lord and lady, each had no place in such an unpalatable establishment, and both had their cutiemarks hidden under their garb. “Why sir, thou hast such a clever tongue and a magical way with words. Surely thou jest with the proclamation thou hast not graced a school with thine presence?” Her tongue was calm and concise, if antiquated. That did not stop two shady ponies in back from turning their heads upon hearing her cherubic voice. The lord laughed a rich tenor, his voice resounding across the small room. “Oh my dear, I am afraid I cannot. In the past I have indulged in such scholarly pursuits, but I am naught but a wandering storyteller now.” “Surely not!” she protested. “I merely gave thee the vain request of a few tales and thou providest me with entertainment to last weeks to come! Thy speech surely hinted at past intellectual exploits, as thou hast just expounded, but thy verboseness is masterful work and tho dost honor this silly filly with a momentary indulgence. Thou wouldst bring pride to any school. Such a waste, being a vagrant.” The lord chuckled softly and nursed his amber drink, the exact name of the liquid forgotten over his past tales. Now that the storytelling was over, the barkeep and the waitress were hoping the pair would leave so that they could close up, but the filly’s exuberance and enthusiasm toward her companion's craft left them lingering a little longer. The lord saw the seeds of irritation begin to bloom into anger and professed, “I assure you our time is almost expunged. Even if the lady wishes to stay, I must be leaving shortly.” He turned to his companion, who seemed miffed that they would soon part company and that he felt forced to leave due to the inclining unwelcomeness. “Fear not, youngling. You have me for a few more minutes. It has been quite the pleasure telling stories, even if they are nothing more than my dark musings. And to clarify, I have gone to a respectable school, although I left when I discovered that the path of a scholar was ill-suited to a pony such as I. I prefer more elegant company than those that bury their snouts in books, even more so when they listen to my tales of horror.” “I must say I expected more cheer from such an enlightened stallion, as those tales were absolutely ghastly.” “I hope I did not frighten you, My Lady,” the lord returned with a smile. The lady knickered in retort. “I am young, but not a child.” Her cheeks and chest puffed in a pout, which did nothing but make the lord snicker. “Dost thou make sport of me?” “I wouldn’t dream of it, My Lady,” he replied between chuckles. Her cheeks were tinged red with irritation and soon the lord was openly chortling. The lady glared at the lord, but the laughter was contagious and soon she was openly laughing. The two shifty individuals exchanged the bag of bits for an enclosed envelope, but once again turned their attention to her as the peal of her voice rang out. Her voice sounded like an angel, his was a hearty but dry rasp. “What... tales did you wish to hear?” he said as he brought his voice under control. “I admit the drab mood may have led me towards dour tales.” “Why, my heart is set on the more uplifting tales.” Her hooves tapped against the bar, causing the barkeep to growl at her. She paid him no mind. “Tales of courage and heroes overcoming woe. Princes and princesses overcoming monsters and uniting nations.” “Ahhhhhh,” the lord hummed sagely. “More innocent tales, fraught with naivety and childish wonder.” “Now thou truly dost make sport of me.” “No deliberate attack on your character was performed, I assure you of this.” The lord tapped his glass to get the bartender’s attention and pushed a small pile of bits across the bar. The lady did the same, but her payment pile was far less voluminous than than his. The barkeep scooped up both piles, filled their drinks and muttered, “Last call.” “Prithee, enlighten me.” “You are blossoming into adulthood, quite finely I might add.” Her cheeks bloomed crimson. He smiled, and seeing that he paid her the salacious compliment only to provoke a reaction, playfully nudged his shoulder. “But I feel that such childhood dreams cannot be fulfilled in the real world. As sweet and pleasant as such hopes and aspirations may be, they cannot match the hardships and pleasures of life.” “I remind thee, naught but stories. No such harm be done by speaking of whimsical tales.” “True. I suppose it is only a matter of taste. My apologies.” “Despite my preference, dost thou not wish for utopia?” “Always.” “What harm be incurred from such tales? They may not reflect truth, but what couldeth be better than a high hope on a plinth? An aspiration to achieve?” “I fear such high hopes may be beyond the reach of such ponies.” The lord downed half of his glass and sighed. Despite his heavier intoxication, he appeared not the least bit tipsy. “Why shoot for the stars when the mountains are closer?” “We divide on ideals.” “No, only the theory of pony nature when pressed against conflict. I do not wish to be a pessimist, but a rule utilitarian. I have yet to see holding such lofty goals in such high esteem as a beneficial act.” The lady ‘hmmmed’ and sipped her own drink. She winced slightly as the burning alcohol coursed down her throat, but did not shy away from taking another brief nip. “Lofty expectations drive ponies to do great deeds in my experience.” The lord raised his glass to her. “I very much wish to meet such ponies,” and he finished his glass. The barkeep did not appear to take his it. The lord stretched as far as his limbs would reach. Snaps and pops crossed his body and as his head tilted back, his hat hung precariously on his head before falling back. It stopped, stuck on an obstruction; he had a horn. The lady huffed in irritation once again. “Thou hast led me to believe you were naught but a clever earth pony! Forked tongue! Thou dost make sport of me!” “You didn’t ask...” he replied simply. Crimson still crossed her face, but after a few more sips, she calmed down. The red blossoming her cheeks faded only slightly but hung due to her marginal inebriation. She grumbled under breath, but said something akin to, “True...” “Do you recall the story of the stallion with the monster in his head?” he asked. She nodded. “The tragic tale of the healer turned killer, the doctor who could not fight the urge to kill.” “Indeed. Part of my response is instrumental to the tale. The doctor dealt death as well as life. As cruel as his circumstances were, it gave him perspective on life’s fragility. If a pony sees nothing but the joys and wonders in life, then he or she can never learn the painful lessons and will forever be trapped in the quagmire of utopia. If one knows only pain then it becomes impossible to elevate one’s existence.” “What of a balance of joy and pain?” “Well, my dear...” he whispered. His crimson eyes stared deep into her own magenta depths. “I do not know.” “The loremaster has become tongue-tied,” she joked. “Not even I know everything,” he said with a sigh. “Do I see regret on thine lips?” In the space of a single moment, age compounded on his eyes with the weight of the entire world. Even though eye contact between the pair had not been broken, he had ceased seeing her physical presence. She was barely out of her teens, and he was into his middle years, but some memory brought the knowledge and experience of an entire civilization down upon him. “Indeed... naught but a regret, My Lady.” “I shan't believe thy talk of spirits and stories hath brought thineself grief. His company hath been most enjoyable.” Although the compliment only meant to cheer up the lord’s momentary diminished demeanor, something about the way he stared off into the aether caught her eye. Something about their conversation truly bothered him. “Like the doctor, I am merely reminded of an inescapable fact of my existence.” He shook off the stupor and let mirth and warmth return to his aged features. “Let such talks be set upon the four winds for now. Tonight is a night for stories.” “Spooky stories at that. Though thou hast not bespoken of thy cause for such frightfulness,” she commented. What scary stories she had been told before dusk had died had been at the forefront of her mind. It was strange that they were all tales designed to frighten. Why? Surely the stallion knew more tales than that. “I believed a few frights were in order. Most do not wish to tell tales of horror. I find it a taxing but immensely rewarding experience,” he replied. The lady finally finished her own drink and pushed it towards the other end of the bar to be picked up by the waitress or barkeep. Neither appeared to take it, and the lord’s glass still lay untouched on the counter. “Do tell.” “Certainly. I love the idea of horror, the concept that we may reach something that makes us reach deep down into ourselves. When faced with impossible opposition, it becomes possible to see what kind of mettle a pony is truly made of. Stories let us bask in our own vulnerabilities, the things that frighten us most. We can laugh or cry at what makes us weak, feed on dregs that hinder us.” “Thou makest it seem so ghastly.” The lord removed himself from the chair. The lady did the same. “I have told many tales this evening. Little did you know, I had every intention of telling you another. Tell me, do you know why thirteen is often considered an unlucky number among ponies?” She shook her head. “I shall enlighten thee. I am a student of history as well as stories, after all, despite my lack of consolidated learning in the arts. Very well. In ages long past, there were the three pony tribes. You are familiar with the Great Freeze that destroyed the ponies’ ancestral homes?” She nodded again. “Good. Very good. What most do not know was the subterfuge and hate that dwelt long before tensions grew so bad and the snows fell in unending blankets. The warrior pegasi, commanded by Commander Hurricane, staged a cloak and dagger infiltration of the unicorn royal palace... on October the thirteenth.” The lady’s eyes widened with the historical influx. Details from such a time were sparse due to the swaths of destruction wendigos had carved. thousands of years of history, millions of lives all lost. How did such a stallion get a hold of such information. Was it false? Or did he have in his possession texts authenticating his claim? “Although the commander authorized the break in, she did not lead the charge. That duty was assigned to her immediate subordinate, Corporal Corona.” Interrupting was not ladylike, but his companion could not help herself. “What of Private Pansy? Was she not the focus of Hearth’s Warming Eve?” “Aye, but few know that Private Pansy replaced her predecessor after she disappeared without a trace, or so everypony thought. The records were sealed or destroyed, all but Commander Hurricane’s private records. Corporal Corona led twelve other brave pegasi through the unguarded sewage runoff vent. An insignificantly small hole in the unicorn’s defense, but a hole nevertheless.” The lady’s nose wrinkled in disgust. He continued without a second thought, “The goal was to steal texts from the grand library. Commander Hurricane’s advisors believed that pegasi weather magic could be properly modified to manipulate the heavens. Under normal circumstances, there may have been valid credence to such thinking. Sadly, whatever evidence they may have had was lost to time and the cold. “Despite being under the cover of darkness and knowing the layout of the castle, they never stood a chance. All it took was a single monk to raise an alarm and a robbery quickly turned into the fight of their lives. It was a slaughter and by the time dawn came, thirteen dead lay on sovereign unicorn grounds. The unicorns demanded reparations for the hostilities, while Commander Hurricane demanded the same for the loss of thirteen of her best and brightest. She claimed that even if they were trespassing on foreign soil on her orders, they had the firepower to confine them easily enough as prisoners of war. The deaths were an act of spite, she claimed, not of necessity.” The lord let his tale sink in. The lady’s face was utterly smooth, not betraying even the slightest hint of what was occurring behind her perfect face. “A sad tale, but not frightening.” “‘Twas not meant to be. The point of the tale was to outline that everything tends to get worse before it gets better.” “‘Tis the nature of things in many respects.” “Indeed, My Lady.” The lord’s hooves thundered against the floorboards. Dust, grime, and miscellaneous filth kicked up in a small cloud as he approached the door and held it open for the lady. “Chivalry hath not been vanquished,” she said with a smile. The lord only smiled a crooked grin. “Merely a result of proper upbringing.” The pair removed themselves from the empty bar. Their glasses had yet to be removed. The night was heavily overcast, but specks of moonlight leaked through the thinner layers. The could taste moisture on their lips even if it did not come from the rolling cloudbanks that hung heavy in the air. Torches and lanterns hung from stout ironwork hangers, even if most were tarnished green or rusted red after long exposure to the elements. The companions followed the lit but cracked cobblestone pathway into a forest. The trees were old. Astonishingly old. Gnarled bark as hard as iron armored the trees, a sign of their immense age and girth. The smell of earth and loam was heavy, but not an unpleasant scent. Sounds from local wildlife, both the tall and the small, skittered away from the light. Great monsters hunted the forest, but there was larger and more worthy pray to be had. “I fail to understand, the sad story of Corporal Corona was your final tale? I had hoped for a complete set whence your intent to tell horror became clear to my eyes,” the lady said. “I am afraid and pleased that my final tale has yet to be told.” The lord walked closer to her. The light-lined path, however discernable in the night, only provided so much illumination and it was best to be close to friends with so little room to maneuver in safe light. Leaves and dry grass crunched beneath their hooves as they walked through the autumn air. “Prithee, My Lord. I received not just thy previous tales, but another and a wonderful lesson on history.” “I am afraid my final tale must wait until a few more minutes have passed. This final tale will be one I know will haunt you for many millennia to come.” “I quake with anticipation, My Lord,” she said happily. She began humming a merry tune into the night. The lord only looked at her, worry and pity gracing his features. Light flashed and hid the ancient trees, playing a game of hide and seek as they walked together. Lights were up ahead, but the pair were still deep enough in the forest that the source was hidden from sight. The lady began to shiver slightly. Even though she was covered in a fine layer of fur, it was late in the year and the night was unkind. A slight wind ruffled the leaves, blowing those on the ground and scattering those that remained on trees. Faint glimmers of gold and red rained down upon them. Continuing with the behavior of a proper gentlecolt, the lord removed his coat and draped it around her. She nodded in thanks, and took a quick peek at his flanks. Although attractive enough to warrant a few moments stare, she had done so in an effort to discover his cutiemark. It still lay hidden underneath his undershirts. “I will show you mine, if you show me yours, my dear.” He wiggled his hips as he walked. Crimson blossomed across her face once more in the light and he bellowed a laugh. “If a comment stemmed from a stallion of lesser integrity, I would have him thrown into irons for insulting mine honor.” “Your honor is preserved. I am afraid this time I do make sport of you. Your face glows a lovely radiant shade when flustered. Forgive this old pony for a little indulgence.” Her face scrunched up into disapproval, but she said little else. The road widened into a much larger path as the trees thinned. The lights from before grew and grew into a massive web of torches spiraling out from a central courtyard. The pair walked down the wide stone pathway, which in turn lead to a large castle nestled on top of a steep cliff face. Stout stone walls covered the entire breadth of the castle and were intermittently cut with battlements and looming towers. Rather than have conventional glass windows, most panes were composed of fanciful stained glass or colored with luminescent dyes. At a slow walk, it would take a good half hour just to circle the structure. Even though not a single sign of life resonated through the grounds or the many windows, they continued through the front gate and passed the retracted portcullis. “My Lord, I must admit my curiosity runs deep.” “Fret not; your tale will come soon. There is something that must be done.” The lord was glancing around, looking for something that was not present. His face fell little by little as his search seemed more and more fruitless until his small smile dropped into a frown. Stealing a glance at his companion, his face filled with sadness before becoming stonily blank. The pair stalked through empty corridors with only the light of lit oil basins and the occasional torch and hearth to guide them. The walls, ceilings, and floor were surprisingly blank of flair or furniture for such a large structure, yet the lady did not seem to mind. A soft tune hummed behind her angelic features. While her mood only increased with every step, the lord’s demeanor only seemed to drop. A great oak door opened with a deafening bang. The lady jumped in surprise, her wings flaring slightly to balance herself. A mare with a rich light-blue coat walked from a large bedchamber and stopped once she realized she was not alone. The lord did not seem surprised or even startled by the sudden interruption despite the mare – taller but maybe a few years younger than his companion – possessing not only wings but a horn. The smooth features, slender form, and air of royal dignity strongly hinted at family a resemblance. “It is you.” Three simple words was all it took to convey a canvas of emotion. The frosty voice, narrowed eyes, and slight grit to her teeth would have been enough to make the earlier barflies quake in their hides. The lady seemed resigned, almost irritated as she spoke. The lord seemed... sad. “Pray tell, why dost thou stalk the halls at so late an hour?” “Mine lips speak the same, dear sister,” she replied haughtily. The sister harumphed, giving the distinct impression there was much she wished to say but was forcing herself to not. “I merely wished to quench my thirst. Have a good night, Tia.” “Likewise, Lulu. I beseech thee to not slam the doors. It is most unladylike.” Lulu said nothing as she stalked past Tia. For the first time since their short meeting, Lulu only now seemed to notice the lord and the fact that Tia wore his coat. Their eyes met and a web of emotions crossed her face: anger, surprise, embarrassment, curiosity, and finally contemplation. The lord only looked at her with those same sad eyes. She looked like she was about to stop, but her eyes darted back to her sister and filled with suppressed anger and annoyance once again. With a resigned sigh, she turned her head forward and walked out of sight. “I do beg for forgiveness for my sister’s rude behavior... My Lord?” The lord shook off his lamentation and forced a smile for his companion. “It is nothing, My Lady. I merely recall what my final tale must be.” “I await with bated breath, fine sir!” All concern over her sister was gone. The two walked together once more. Moonlight streamed through the clouds and provided a little more illumination. Although illuminated fairly well for such a large castle, there were still vast swathes of darkness in most corners. “Long ago,” he began. A smile lit Tia’s face like hearth fire. “there were two brothers who languished in oblivion. There was no light, no sound, no time, no life, just an endless nothingness where nothing lived, and nothing died. The brother of light, wishing an end to his eternal torment, created a flame to light his way. The brother of shadow, not capable of seeing in such brilliance, created shadows in which to hide. “But there was nothing to cast a shadow in such a forsaken place. He crafted the earth to give himself a place to hide from the light. He did not despise his brother for indulging in little pursuits for comfort, so he did not mind that the sun hurt his eyes. However, the seeds of pride had been planted in the light brother’s heart. “The shadow brother had crafted two pieces of work, while the sun brother had crafted only one. Not wishing to be outdone, the sun brother stole his kin’s power.” “Why would he do such a thing?” Tia asked. She was hanging on his every word, using only her peripheral vision to see where she was going as she watched the lord. He adjusted his hat, seemingly distracted once again. “Because the brother wished for a balance. Not only did he want to have creations equal each other, he wished to show how much they could accomplish if their powers were combined, the wonders they could create. Living in emptiness since time immemorial had created an unknown thirst for creation and wonder in his heart. “The sun brother stole his kin’s powers not for selfish reasons, but to provide them both with everything they needed. The shadow brother could only see in the dark, so the light brother created the heavens themselves. Rather than having a single place to hide from the flame, the light brother gave the shadow brother thousands of places to hide. It was the greatest gift he could offer him, he thought. Even though he loved his brother dearly, he understood that he could not see in the light. If the brother did not wish to stay in one place, he had many to choose from.” “What a nice gift,” Tia said happily. “The shadow brother thought otherwise,” the lord countered. Tia tilted her head to the side in confusion. “Rather than thank his brother, he grew angry. Wrathful that his brother would steal what did not belong to him, he accused him of prideful selfishness, that the only reason he crafted the heavens was to inflate his sense of self, not help the one who needed it. In a fit of rage, the shadow brother began destroying all light.” “What could compel him to commit such sin?” “Sin? It wasn’t such a thing in his eyes.” The two entered and exited shadows as they walked. It gave the impression that his tale was coming from some long forgotten-archive. “It was a sin most foul, a betrayal of trust. Rather than face the destruction of existence itself, the light brother forced the shadow brother into the first flame. There he was trapped forever, unable to see, unable to find his way out.” “While I do admit that such a choice is extreme, my pity runs shallow. It was an honorable gift, needlessly squandered.” Tia sniffed reproachfully. “I cannot help but feel an unending well of sadness for the brother. I understand all too well what it feels like to be rendered inconsequential, to feel not just overshadowed, but worthless.” Tis walked forward a little faster in order to get a better angle of his face. He tipped his hat forward, hiding his eyes from view. “The brother’s anger would have done much damage, loremaster.” “Of this I am certain. That does not mean I can’t pity the villain. I have seen nations tear themselves to pieces with unjust and misguided hatred. I have seen two sisters impale themselves on each other’s sword.” Tia could not help but take a step back at these words. Rather than the smoky, inviting tone he had used to tell his story, some abrasive, hard edge infiltrated his voice. It was one thing to be entertaining, it was another to be personally invested in a story. “I dug graves as reality was ripped asunder under a dark and tyrannical god. I comforted the broken and shattered families who prayed for the return of their fathers and sons under a sky as dark as black as the most unforgiving night. I stood by as the sun committed the greatest act of treachery the world has ever known.” “My Lord...?” For the first time, the lord had raised his voice in her presence. He did not seem to notice. “That is the curse I must endure, to sit and watch as the ground freezes and thaws with the passing ages. You are young; it takes age and experience to understand the depth of true pain. It is not the loss to evil that cuts the deepest, it is the loss to a friend.” Only now did the lord meet Tia’s eyes with his own. His sad, sad eyes. “‘Tis the price that must be paid. I will learn when the time comes.” The lord’s eyes narrowed again. He looked around the halls once more. They were still devoid of life. “There are three truths I hoped you will learn before my time in your presence is over, My Lady. The price of hubris is not one, but something crucial you must learn in life.” “Oh?” She questioned. Something about his tone affronted her. The gentleness and warmth she had associated with his presence had transformed into a slight frost. “Explain.” The fact she did not request him to do so with the usual pleasantries was not lost. She detected a shift in the mood, but only the lord knew how far it had gone. “You are asleep.” “I admit weariness hugs my mind, but...” she trailed off. Her head panned the empty corridor. The empty, blank corridor devoid of any doors or servants. Even though they had been walking the halls for a good ten minutes, she had not recalled turning left or right since Lulu left her quarters. “What...? Where are they?” ““Nowhere. They were never here. You were never here. I am not here.” He stood on all fours, calm as he could possibly be. “They’ve been missing for some time.” The lady backed away from the lord. Her wings twitched and readied for flight, but she took the time to examine the castle in greater detail. The floors were immaculately kept and the fires still burned with a comforting warmth. There was a slight chill in the air, but such a thing occurred in any castle built from cold stones. The corridor that seemed to stretch the entirety of the castle was, somehow, blank besides windows and the occasional table. “And yet, more questions remain. For instance, despite us talking for some time, do you know where this place is?” “Home. I know this place.” Her eyes met his. He had retained his usual calm cheer and beads of mirth in his eyes. However, something clung to the corners, something she didn’t recognize. Only then did she understand how old they actually felt. The lord’s red eyes were stuffed full of tales, legends, and stories, not all of them conjured over a pint or the fire. That kind of age only came from experience. “How did you get to the bar, My Lady?” “From the castle. I...” she trailed off. She... suddenly she was just there at the bar. Speaking to... a complete stranger now that she thought about it. Not once did she call him his name or see his cutiemark. “I will show you mine, if you show me yours, princess,” he repeated as if he could divine her thoughts. “I know you have many questions for me, but I am afraid I can only provide so few answers.” “Who are you? How did I get here? Speak; are you spirit or dream?” she demanded. “By the order of the crown and the holy seal I command you to tell me what I require.” “And how come you never noticed our patterns of speech are so vastly different? All in good time, princess. Yes, I know who you are,” he added upon seeing him call her by her title for the second time. Tia backed away from the stallion. How could she be so foolish? The curse of sleep prevented her from realizing the truth about her environment, the small inconsistencies that only amounted to a false reality crafted when night had fallen and drowned the sun. “...Why art thou here? Thine eyes are not that of dream’s whimsy,” she muttered. “That is the second truth. I am here to show you yourself.” In a flash, every single light source within the complex snuffed itself out in some great wind. The light of the moon streamed through the window, but it was precious little light to navigate the darkness. “I have always prefered the darkness, My Lady. As do the monsters.” “Art thou?” Celestia backed herself into the midst of a moonbeam. “My dear, I assure you no physical harm will befall you this night,” his voice echoed. Given the breadth of the corridor and its echoic nature, she had difficulty discerning where his voice originated. She focused every particle of her mind on the dream, concentrating, willing the darkness to part. It was her dream after all. A single torch in front of her burst to life. Tia screamed. In front of her was a massive creature composed of several animals. It grinned at her, eyes brimming with mirth and cruelty. “The little lord is lost in the light. Perhaps that is your singular fault, Celly. The inability to see the evil that good may cause.” The light vanished as her control of the dream slipped through due to panic. Her breathing was rapid and shallow. “Wha-what was that beast?” “A memory, trapped in the shadows. Listen to his words, princess,” the lord preached. “Monsters flee to the darkness for more than just preferential hunting grounds. They know that the real monsters prefer the light.” Tia ran to the next moonbeam. The lord’s voice followed her. “The lies and false faces, the good intentions brimming with sharp words and razorblades, everypony wears hidden intentions in the light. Everypony works for self gratification in the idea of utopia, an idea that will never come to pass unless it is tainted with a vein of evil. When you are in the dark, you can trust a monster to be true to its nature, the evil, good, or malicious intent is always worn on their sleeve. Those that dwell in the light force their corruption behind veils.” “Keep your forked tongue behind your lips, loremaster! You speak of the superiority of evil? Bah!” She focused her mind again. She needed light to find the lord, wherever he was. The strong need not be strong for themselves, but for others. It is a cruel fate to be sure; they will never know if they can keep enough courage for themselves after supporting their followers. Be strong for yourself, and if not, be strong for your people. ~Time Turner For chapter updates and my ramblings, visit my page on FimfictionHERE. Edited by: Prereader: Softy8088 The Greatest Show on Earth: Deleted Scene [Original] [OC] [Celestia] Author's Note This is a deleted scene from The Greatest Show on Earth. Over the course of scripting, I went through a few drafts to get things right. The Baron, although his character had already been scripted, was still difficult to pin down. The reason behind the coming scene was to show the Lady that sometimes doing good things does not create a good result. People don't choose to be evil, after all. Not unless they are insane. We are the heroes of our own stories. The Baron knows this, but I couldn't have him committing evil acts to his desire. He'd be a hypocrite. The purpose was to teach, to warn, if he was truly real at all. The exact nature of dreams is always suspect, especially considering dreamwalking is a notable skill in the my Little Pony universe. This scene felt too vindictive to me, while straying too far from what the Baron was trying to accomplish. That is the reason this particular scene was cut from The Greatest Show on Earth. I didn't publish the story anyway, but at least the reasons are out there. Unfinished as The Greatest Show on Earth is, so will this one be. Here is the deleted scene. I recommend reading The Greatest Show on Earth first before reading this. The Greatest Show on Earth: Deleted Scene [Original] [OC] [Celestia] “I admit weariness hugs my mind, but...” she trailed off. Her head panned the empty corridor. The empty, blank corridor devoid of any doors or servants. Even though they had been walking the halls for a good ten minutes, she had not recalled turning left or right since Lulu left her quarters. “What...? Where are they?” “Nowhere. They were never here. You were never here. I am not here.” He stood on all fours, calm as he could possibly be. “They’ve been missing for some time.” The lady backed away from the lord. Her wings twitched and readied for flight, but she took the time to examine the castle in greater detail. The floors were immaculately kept and the fires still burned with a comforting warmth. There was a slight chill in the air, but such a thing occurred in any castle built from cold stones. The corridor that seemed to stretch the entirety of the castle was, somehow, blank besides windows and the occasional table. “And yet, more questions remain. For instance, despite us talking for some time, do you know where this place is?” “Home. I knost this place.” Her eyes met his. He had retained his usual calm cheer and beads of mirth in his eyes. However, something clung to the corners, something she didn’t recognize. Only then did she understand how old they actually felt. The lord’s red eyes were stuffed full of tales, legends, and stories, not all of them conjured over a pint or the fire. That kind of age only came from experience. “How did you get to the bar, My Lady?” “From the castle. I...” she trailed off. She was... suddenly she was there. Speaking to... a complete stranger now that she thought about it. Not once did she call him his name or reveal his cutiemark. “I will show you mine, if you show me yours, princess,” he repeated as if he could divine her thoughts. “I know you have many questions for me, but I am afraid I can only provide so few answers.” “Who are you? How didst I get here? Speak; are you spirit or dream?” she demanded. “By the order of the crown and the holy seal I command you to tell me what I require.” “And how come you never noticed our patterns of speech are so vastly different? All in good time, princess. Yes, I know who you are,” he added upon seeing her call her by her title for the second time. Tia backed away from the stallion. How could she be so foolish? The curse of sleep prevented her from realizing the truth about her environment, the small inconsistencies that only amounted to a false reality crafted when night had fallen and drowned the sun. “...Why art thou here? Thine eyes are not that of dream’s whimsy,” she muttered. “That is the second truth. I am here to show you yourself.” In a flash, every single light source within the complex snuffed itself out in some great wind. The light of the moon streamed through the window, but it was precious little light to navigate the darkness. “I have always prefered the darkness, My Lady. As do the monsters.” “Art thou?” Celestia backed herself into the midst of a moonbeam. “My dear, I assure you no physical harm will befall you this night,” his voice echoed. Given the breadth of the corridor and its echoic nature, she had difficulty discerning where his voice originated. She focused every particle of her mind on the dream, concentrating, willing the darkness to part. It was her dream after all. A single torch in front of her burst to life. Tia screamed. In front of her was a massive creature composed of several animals. It grinned at her, eyes brimming with mirth and cruelty. “The little lord is lost in the light. Perhaps that is your singular fault, Celly. The inability to see the evil that good may cause.” The light vanished as her control of the dream slipped through due to panic. Her breathing was rapid and shallow. “Wha-what was that beast?” “A memory, trapped in the shadows. Listen to his words, princess,” the lord preached. “Monsters flee to the darkness for more than just preferential hunting grounds. They know that the real monsters prefer the light.” Tia ran to the next moonbeam. The lord’s voice followed her. “The lies and false faces, the good intentions brimming with sharp words and razorblades, everypony wears hidden intentions in the light. Everypony works for self gratification in the idea of utopia, an idea that will never come to pass unless it is tainted with a vein of evil. When you are in the dark, you can trust a monster to be true to its nature, the evil, good, or malicious intent is always worn on their sleeve. Those that dwell in the light force their corruption behind veils.” “Keep your forked tongue behind your lips, loremaster! You speak of the superiority of evil? Bah!” She focused her mind again. She needed light to find the lord, wherever he was. The light flashed on once again. Her mouth opened to scream, but this time it died on her lips. Instead of the comforting stone and light chill of familiar castle walls, she was greeted with a large, unending wasteland bloated with fires and the scent of death. Ponies littered the ground like pockmarks, as did creators caused by arcane science. Ponies clothed in gold and the occasional silver dueled everywhere in great battalions. The skies were alight by the full moon, yet the skies were almost black under waves upon waves of pegasi. “Commander General!” a pony screamed at her. A large, imposing stallion in rent gold armor stood tense. Blood streamed from where one of his eyes was once previously! “We must fall back and regroup our forces! An entire legion of magi have defected to the enemy, slaughtering our reserves! We are being overwhelmed!” She was trained for this. Scholars and many wizened taught her battle tactics and tactical maneuvers along with political skills. Some instinct took hold of her mind. “Which lines doest thou speak of?” “The eastern reserves, highness. They’re being crushed by a pincer movement by the traitors and a force of ground troops. Without them, we may lose protection on that front altogether. We’d be flanked and surrounded.” “Tell them to hold, general. Stage an incremental retreat and order the vanguard to hold to provide cover.” The soldier stared at her for a moment longer than necessary. “...We’ll lose a fair portion of the vanguard and our reserves, highness.” It was just a statement of fact, but his remaining eye watched her, seeing how she would take the news. “Understood, soldier.” The panic of battle had receded. Seeing that he still had not moved, her eyes narrowed and she issued a cold, hard command, “Dismissed.” The lights died once again. “Who knew that ponies were capable of such a slaughter?” The lord’s voice held a hint of gallows humor. “That was quite cold of you, sending ponies to their deaths without a hint of remorse.” “‘Tis the price of battle, loremaster. One cannot hold investment in a battle to the death.” “I would have issued the same order. But death? Is that what it what battle is to you?” Amusement mixed with curiosity filled his voice. “All battles comes with death. You cannot fight a bloodless battle?” “You can fight to protect instead of destroy... Celestia.” Something about the loremaster saying her name with such sadness resonated with her. Celestia’s horn flashed with light. A tall pony stood in front of her with fur as black as the deepest, darkest shadows. Her mane billowed in a nonexistent wind and shined as if crafted from starlight itself. “YOU!” Never had Celestia heard a voice crafted with such blind, wanton hatred. Her ears flattened against her skull. Only then did she notice that the monster mare was not looking at her, but above her. Celestia quickly got out of the angry mare’s way and saw who exactly she was looking at. The most beautiful mare she had ever seen stood head bowed, legs spread, wings flared at the front of a set of double doors. “It that... me...?” The light dimmed once more as Celestia saw the look on her elder’s face. It mirrored the monster mare point for point, every curve of her perfect face contorted into a violent, wordless snarl. “I always thought it would be more difficult for you to fight an enemy you know. As I said, the pain of an friend always cuts deeper.” The lord’s voice still followed her every step in the now normal castle. “Chaos is right. Why deny what may be your nature, princess?” “I do not dwell amongst the wicked.” “You misunderstand me. This is not about right or wrong, about the validity of good or evil, it is about truth. Pure, unbiased truth.” Celestia increased her pace to that of a good clip, yet the lord’s voice never escaped her. It was better than staying in one place amongst the endless corridor, waiting for the inevitable climax of the lord’s designs. “This is about you being on the precipice of something great and terrible, being capable of changing the world for the best, or its most prolonged and lasting evil. There is a fine line between the greater good and watching the world dance on silver strings. Your young mind sees yourself as a driving force that cannot be denied. Your will is law.” “Of course it is! I have been groomed to rule!” For once, the lord is silent. Celestia tried once more to force the world to bend to her will, even though experience hinted such an opportunity would not be granted. “Oh ho ho! Didn’t you learn anything while we were together, Celly?” The creature was back, it’s elongated face giving her a wide, toothy smile. It leaned against the wall towering over her young form. “Speak, demon. I command you to reveal the puppetmaster.” “Celly, you wound me!” He grasped his heart in mock pain. “Stop it! Only Luna can call me that!” she demanded. This only widened the creature’s smile. “Oh come now, this is your dream. I can call you whatever I want. Even if we were not, we are two sides of the same coin. I inflict chaos for the fun of it, you inflict it because you think it is needed.” The creature snapped his fingers and her world became consumed in a blinding flash of light. The sound of stampeding hooves met her ears. She was in a large courtyard in some place she didn’t recognize. The adult version of herself was back with a foreigner held up to her eyes by magic. “I’ve had enough of your lies,” her older self told the mare. In a flash of motion, adult Celestia stabbed her horn into the other mare’s gut. As she pulled away, something other than red congealed against her fur. Grayish stone branched out like some fast-forming web across her abdomen and limbs. Before she even knew what was going on, the mare was frozen stiff, petrified in solid stone. Celestia didn’t move. Her older self had... had petrified a mare. “I told you already, Celestia.” The creature was by her face, slowly stroking her jawline. “I don’t turn ponies into stone.” The sky darkened once more into the cold castle ceiling. Celestia didn’t move. “This is all a dream...” “Of course!” the creature exclaimed. “Does that make it any less real?” Celestia turned around and ran from the beast. Windows and glowing moonlight streamed past her, but she did not stop. Galloping down the endless corridor did about as well as she would expect: nothing. “Lies are always easier to take, my dear,” the lord comforted. “What will be, or what has been, is never easy to face.” “This is a dream. None of this is real I will never do... that!” “Never hurt somepony for the greater good? Never hold a foreign leader prisoner in order to quell bloody revolts? Never hurt the one dearest to you for the greater good?” Something twitched in her chest and Celestis stopped in her tracks, skidding across the floor. She glared at the darkness. “I will never hurt Luna!” “‘I’, my dear? Not we, but I?” Celestia thought for a moment. “I do not understand.” “Not ‘We were groomed to rule,’ but ‘I have been groomed to rule’. Do you really think so little of your sister?” “Perhaps another lesson is in order.” The creature had appeared in front of her again. With a snap of its fingers, the world was transformed once more. A battlefield. Unlike before where there was nothing but chaos, battle lines were clearly defined now, and one was destroyed beyond belief. Ponies lay dead on a field running red with the blood of the fallen. Far off in the distance was a titanic black gateway opened to a red, hellish world. A great creature was stumbling through the gateway with a horde of eldritch creatures. Celestia saw horns on the beast, a wicked smile and a limp form clutched in one great hand. “LUNA!” she screamed into the night. MLM: AtE Alternate Scene: Down in the DepthsAuthor's Note This time we have a deleted scene from Minecraft, and not one I've posted in my blogs before. Speaking of that one, I should move those over to this. This is from my Minecraft story At the End, Chapter 9. This chapter kicks off the second arc, as machinations are finally set in motion through the actions of the mysterious Voice, a creature named later in the story as Brimstone. Those further on in the story know who this is. The reason why I cut it from the original draft was easy: it was too evil and petty. Needlessly so. Don't get me wrong: what happens in chapter 9 was far more cruel, but the Voice at least had a proper reason for doing what it did. It was reprehensible, but there was an underlying logic to it. This just seemed... mean. Needlessly narcissistic to the point of comical. After I had written the entire chapter, I axed the entire thing in order to rewrite it. This was way back when I was capable of pumping out chapters once a week. Those were the days... This was the first draft of the scene, after the "deal" had been made. Readers of my work may recognize a couple lines. I indeed go through several drafts of stuff, and if something doesn't work out, I am a practitioner of cannibalizing my own work. So here is the original, very poor beginning of Brimstone. MLM: AtE Alternate Scene: Down in the Depths Jetstream’s mind had locked up; his brain could not believe or process any of what he just heard. “I’m glad you agree to my terms. Afterwards, you are free to say what you wish to her, suspicions or otherwise.” ‘No.... That thing will kill them all...’ “I’m afraid I must still inform others above as to this gateway’s location, but I think you are capable of doing what we agreed on without detection. Endermen are quite skilled in that art.” ‘You’re just going to sit by and watch!?’ “I bid you farewell.” BAMF! The particles vanished. ‘HUNDREDS OF PONIES ARE GOING TO DIE!’ Picking up the now empty saddlebag, his body ran, not cantered, back to the ravine. “Oh dear, time has gotten away from me.” ‘What else is there for you to do?’ Scenarios flew across Jetstream’s mind, all of them with streets full of dead ponies. It disgusted him. Who or what could willingly do such a thing? His body removed the saddlebag and rain poncho and tossed them into the abyss. Jetstream counted the seconds. ‘1... 2... 3... 4...’ Thump! Four seconds at terminal velocity. That would be an unpleasant drop. For a moment, his heart jumped into his throat at the thought. Was his puppeteer going to force him over the edge? It would take days to find his body... Jetstream winced internally, trying and failing to mentally prepare for what was about to come. His body took another step. ‘No! Don’t!’ Clip-clop ‘Please stop!’ Clip-clop He was staring straight into the gaping maw of darkness itself. All it would take was to lean a little further... ‘For the love of Celestia, I beg of you, don’t so it!’ That time, his body stopped. He was staring down into the darkness with an expression on his face he didn’t recognize. He was smiling, but it was the curve of his lips and the narrowed eyes suggested something else. Sadness? Anger? “I let my hosts see what I do out of courtesy,” the Voice said and Jetstream jumped internally. It was the first time the Voice addressed him directly. “There are those that view other species as something lower than themselves.” His body stepped away from the cliff face and started walking down the tunnel once more. Something squished under his hoof, but without being able to move his head, he couldn’t check. His body just kept on walking. “I never understood that impulse. Take for instance you and me. Are you different? Yes. Weaker, yes. Primitive, yes. But that does not blind me to your strengths. Your race has an admirable fortitude when banded together, and I respect that. Discord, Nightmare Moon, they are creatures that could have crushed all opposition if it weren’t for those with a firm will and a stout heart. Even if I believe I am far beyond a creature, I will grant it access to my deeds.” Jetstream wasn’t sure how to respond to the Voice. Despite the condescending undertones, the Voice was paying him a compliment. ‘T-t-thank you.’ His body snorted. “Don’t let it go to your head. One positive trait does not negate your other traits, especially your race’s blind faith that you can overcome any obstacle there is to encounter, that you may band together after any threat. It’s a child’s irrational belief that all harm will pass without scars. Your kind should not hold such a misguided faith.” Jetstream would have bristled in irritation at the comment, ‘You--’ “I stepped on a centipede ten seconds ago and you never noticed.” ‘It was an accident. It happens.’ “Not to me. I crushed an innocent creature on purpose to put things into perspective for you. A being as grand, complex, and terrible as I can do glorious things. I can create life and cheat death. I can do so many things far beyond your meager understanding. The ideas and constructs floating around in my—your—head at this very moment surpass even the brightest of minds your world has to offer. Despite my greatness, I am a merciful and kind being. I do not look down on those lesser than me. “But that does not negate the fact your hypocrisy disgusts me. As accomplished as your race may be, you still do not understand how small you really are. To me, you are no more great than that little insect I crushed.” Jetstream said nothing for the longest time. They, or he should say the Voice, was coming dangerously close to the surface. Once there... there was no telling what it would do with his body. Jetstream’s mind returned to the earlier conversation between the Voice and the... Endermen, was it? His mind played through the horrors the Voice listed off so casually, atrocities Equestria would endure after sending the Endermen home. ‘If you know so much, why are sitting back and not doing anything? Tell Celestia why that gate is so large. You know everything! You can stop this! You can save hundreds, if not thousands, of lives!’ Jetstream would have been hyperventilating at this point. In just a few short months, Equestria and the crown would never be the same. Her splendor, wasted. Her glory, tarnished. ‘Why --’ “Stop sniveling.” It wasn’t a request. It wasn’t even a command given to the Sergeant. The Voice’s tone simply stated a fact: This will not continue in my attendance. “I do not appreciate begging in my presence. It is most unbecoming.” ‘I’m sorry.’ Jetstream blanched as he thought that. He had actually apologized to his puppeteer, and he meant it. In just a few minutes time, the Voice had commandeered his obedience. It was... very unsettling to say the least. “Do you know why I left the creature from before alone?” Jetstream said nothing, so the Voice took initiative and continued, “He has heart. I terrified him. Petrified him to his very soul. But you saw what he did after he realized he had nowhere else to turn.” Jetstream felt his body smile and raise his head proudly. “I’ve done nothing to harm your spirit, and already you bend to my will. He fought back. Unsuccessfully, but still, he had more of a spine than you.” Jetstream felt his body smile wider and wider. There was very nearly a skip in his step with whatever delight the Voice found in his words. But despite the Voice’s calm and even tone, it still carried the undertones of suppressed fury. “Decadent, degenerate, and completely self-absorbed. You creatures care nothing for those around you, for the spirits that you cannot hope to comprehend. Through your pouting and prattling, did the lives of the Gryphon Kingdoms come to mind? Cervidas? Zebrica? What of the monsters that roam this land? Do they not deserve a chance because you deem them a threat to your existence?” The Voice did not shout its word or alter its inflections in the slightest. Jetstream would have prefered it to start shouting; its calm, collected speech proved far more terrifying. “There are diamonds in the rough when it comes to your kind, but you do not realize what else is out there. Do you honestly believe that all is well? Do you believe that this world truly belongs to you and none other? You know nothing of what was lost.” Jetstream was at a loss for words. The Voice did not appear to want to harm him, but its self-assured command, itsindomitable authority and presence, suppressed any argument Jetstream might have conjured. He would have been shaking like a foal experiences his first thunderstorm if it was possible. There was something in the Voice’s words that silenced him so thoroughly that Jetstream would have greatly respected the Voice’s fortitude in another set of circumstances. “Perhaps... something more intimate is in order. Actions do speak louder than words, after all, and I’ve done nothing but talk.” The Voice halted next to a sapphire protruding out of one of the cavern walls. With the light of Ms. Rarity’s crown, the gemstone radiated a palm glow that scattered light in all directions. Jetstream could see his own visage through the gem’s many facets. His face was contorted into a cruel smile that gleamed in amusement. Jetstream gave a mental whimper, instantly regretting what was about to come. “You are nothing. Become nothing.” Pain. Jetstream felt only pain. It was… something akin to a shriek, an endless scream wallowing in ecstatic laughter. A blast of consciousness and understanding beyond anything he had ever felt. It was not directed at him, but it crushed his soul and will as if all of his mental barriers were worthless, dust in the wind. He could feel the scream, feel it as it filtered through the universe and consumed everything in its rapture and chaos. Such joy that scream gave. Such rapture. Such madness. It passed through Jetstream, through the very universe itself. Through everything. Jetstream knew that ponies died. He knew that fearing death was something natural, a means of self-preservation and survival. But why did that instinct need protecting? Why was life so precious that lives would lash out like a cornered rat to protect it? This... thing he just felt was something beyond what he had ever known. Such puny matters like life, power, and beauty were nothing to it. Life... hope... existence... how little those things mattered in the end. How pathetic they were in the grand scheme of things. Jetstream could tell that the Voice was right. Something as simple as a pony seemed so fragile, its life so brittle and delicate that it would vanish under the slightest breeze or caress. How little life mattered. Jetstream couldn’t breathe, even if he retained control. Something was upon him, around him, behind him, inside him. There was nothing to see or feel. Only... Only the sensation that he was being watched. And then he felt it. There was something, something akin to a presence with him. He was being watched and he could feel the eyes on him, even though he could not see them. There was intelligence to the presence, a complexity more grand and terrible than anything he could have possibly imagined. Jetstream recognized it and it recognized him back, but it was not the way one pony greeted another in the street or a husband returning home to his wife. It was the way a stallion examined a small creature like a ladybug or locus, only Jetstream was the insect, insignificant under something infinitely more vast and unfathomably more perceptive. It was suffocation, a shower in power and force of will beyond the scale of his existence. He could feel it. He could SEE it. Jetstream panicked; he had to run away. If only he could run. His mind seemed separated from his body, yet he scrambled for light, for the warmth of day... Jetstream gasped and wilted, his mind beaten to a pulp by the ordeal. He was panting, shaking at the ordeal. To be in the same universe had just crushed his will to live. What kind of monster is capable of such overwhelming power? ‘...what are you?’ “Your savior. Your reckoning.” MLM: AtE Deleted Scene: Brimstone's GambitAuthor's Note I cut this scene from Chapter 14 of At the End for two reasons. The first and lesser important was Daisy Showers. Daisy had, at the time, become a curse. Everything I tried to make her do, failed horribly. As you may recall, Sergeant Jetstream investigated some underground tunnels in Chapter nine and had four Senior Privates with him, one of which was Daisy. In my original draft, Brimstone makes an illusion of Daisy and kills her in the tunnels to frighten Jetstream, but I cut that scene. Later, I planned on having an intermission chapter that involved Daisy meeting Rarity and the possibility of her being possessed by Brimstone, but I needed to cut that one as well. Now I had her possessed and written in, but I forgot one thing: Brimstone. If you hadn’t guessed, the more power Brimstone uses, the harder it is on its host body. In this scene, Brimstone uses enough power to render Daisy ill, ill enough that it draws the eyes of her superiors. I was ready to incorporate it into the story... but I couldn’t. The lingering thread of Equestria knowing about Brimstone, even partially, wasn’t something I wanted so soon. For one, Brimstone is more careful than that, and two, I didn’t want to overcomplicate things. There’s already so much going on at this particular point in time: Twilight and friends brainstorming for ideas, the attack on Canterlot, the arrival of Herobrine, the Crafter’s capture; I didn’t need the add headache of Brimstone. I already had enough to work with and didn’t want to drown my readers with unnecessary fluff. The second was the reason to incorporate Brimstone had been rendered moot. While scripting the chapter, I wasn’t sure if I could make the Crafter’s willing surrender believable, so I wrote in Brimstone to nudge him in the right direction. I surprised myself without realizing it: The upcoming fight with Barricade and the following capture flowed well enough that the scene was no longer necessary. I wanted to include Brimstone; I like the character and its inherent creepiness, but Brimstone was no longer needed. I asked myself: “Does the scene need to be here?” No. I like it, but no. It was on that day I learned to listen to my gut, and I think I made the right choice. So here we go. This scene takes place right after the Crafter leaves Lyra’s house. Brimstone interrupts him halfway, and tells him he needs to stop running from fate. MLM: AtE Deleted Scene: Brimstone's Gambit The creature screamed at the top of its lungs and pointed at me. The warmness at first contact and a brief reprieve from my running vanished like smoke. Replacing my sword with my axe, I swung it at the opposite wall and remove a cube of wall, revealing the moist dirt behind it. I heard Lierah call out and I turned for a moment, just a moment. The newcomer had it’s legs around Lierah and was fighting tooth and nail to drag her up the steps, babbling incoherently all the while. Lierah was conflicted, torn between the same desire of communication I had, and the likely need of conferencing with her associate. I did not stay and watch the outcome of her dilemma; I returned to my digging and sealed the wall behind me. I dug upwards and returned to the surface. It was a shallow basement, by my standards anyway, and I had no problem beating the newcomer to the surface. I started running back to my tunnel and heard, from the direction of Lierah’s house, the newcomer screeching in the street. I recalled my first experience with these creatures, the same one after I had attacked Lierah; if they made loud enough noises, others would come. Oh, crap. I did not wish to face the soldier or the sovereign again. Not again. Not ever again. I barely survived the first time. My memory, horrible as it was, was good enough to remember the path back to my underground tunnel. Turn at the cake house, run across the town square, past town hall, and back down the alley. As I just said, my memory was pretty bad. It’s always been bad; I keep getting lost in caves and have to dig straight up just to get a point of reference. But I like to think my memory wasn’t bad enough to forget a solid wall of black nothingness in my path. My brain took a few moments to understand what I was seeing. It was just blackness. It was not like the Void Fog I saw in the bottom of the Overworld, it was just a complete lack of everything. Perhaps I could find a way around the obstruction or void or whatever it was. I shifted to turn around. “Don’t turn around.” It felt like ice flooded my body. It was more than just having something sneak up behind me, not an easy task in itself, but I understood what it was saying perfectly. I conjured my sword and prepared to turn. “Don’t look at me! If you turn around, you will die.” I froze. Dare I chance it? Would it be possible to get the jump on the creature behind me? The one I did not even notice until I was trapped? Not this again. I felt like I was back in the cave, staring into the eyes of a terrifying beast all over again. “Now... let me begin. Don’t look.” My body was shaking. I don’t what it was about the creature’s voice that paralyzed my will to rebel, but it was most effective. It’s words were laced with command and authority, but there was a distinct shroud of menace and... an unclean belligerence surrounding it. “What do you want, Crafter?” I blinked. The shaking that had only just seeded my bones stopped due to the sheer mood reversal of the question. What was it talking about? “Centuries you have lived in a world barren of any soul. Millenia. Eons. How old are you Crafter? Do you even know anymore? “Millions of years of absolute power, and what did you do? Build monuments to your own vanity? Slaughter countless animals to suit your needs? Reshape the land in your own image? For what!?” The creature spat the last sentence with enough venom to make me jump. I imperceptibly shifted to be ready to turn and either fight or run, but it was still noticeable to the beast. “I’m warning you only once more, Crafter,” it growled. “My patience has already been tried by cowardice, I do not wish it to be tested by blind fear. You will live through this, as long as you listen to my words and follow this order: “Don’t look.” I didn’t know what else to do, so I nodded to the blackness. “You are every bit the coward I think you are, but you have the capacity for a stout heart. That will be needed, in time, but now, I have much to say. “Think on these words carefully Crafter. What do you want? You are as eternal as the sun and sand, but all you desire is all you have ever known: construction. You build and build and never stop building. Have you ever questioned why?” Why would I even question? It’s all I have ever known. “Ponder this, Crafter. You have something worth living for. Do you have something worth dying for?” What? “If I were to kill you at this moment, would you consider your life a bountiful one?” Don’t kill me... “You build, you live, you survive, and the cycle begins anew. Have you ever questioned the existential horror of it all? You build because you know how to build. You live because you can. Have you ever thought about what would happen if you were at the end? What would you do if you ever faced death in the eyes? Would you stand tall and firm as an equal, or run and hide like some gall-less fool? “You exist to prolong your existence. At the end of your journey, when all has come to pass and all debts are settled, your spirit will still be imprisoned in the quagmire of time. An eternal path in the twilight is not isolation. “It is oblivion.” I... really didn’t know how to take the creature's words. I built because I am good at it. Did I really need a reason? No, but then why build in the first place if the act itself serves no purpose? I never thought about that. All along, I built... because that’s what I did. “A journey only begins when it ends. All your accomplishments will be realized, but will they be worth it? What purpose is there to build without a purpose? You live by instinct. Live by purpose!” I lowered my head in thought, but before I could contemplate its words any more, the creature behind me continued, “You hold a power greater than any other: the power of creation itself.” I felt something cold stroke my right arm. “You hold the right hand of God, the ability to reshape reality itself to your will. This is a power greater than individuals, greater than kings and the stars themselves. You must make a choice Crafter: become something greater, or sow the seeds of your own destruction. You have the power and the will to become something so much more. Not just a creator, but a legend. “So run and hide, lonely miner. Dig to the planet’s core and cower amongst the dirt and the dark. Alone. Forever. “Or...” I really did not like waiting for the creature to speak. Every second of anticipation weighed on my heart. I felt an undeniable sense of fear at this creature’s mere presence. Not of what it was doing, but what it could do. If this creature could blockade me so easily, why didn’t it just kill me? Why only talk? “Or would you make the critical choice?The stage is set, and the game has begun. Make a choice, Crafter. Will you choose to greet the darkness and unknown as a friend, or run? Judgement is coming, and the angels are starting to sing. “What do you really want, Crafter?” The creature sighed. I thought for a moment and discovered a peculiar fact about myself: I was no longer afraid of the creature. It’s unique aura, as terrible and forbodding as it was... was somewhat comforting. This... thing, this monster or creature or whatever it may be, had a power far greater than I understand. It was a grand and complex type of sorcery, but the creature did not intend to hurt me. As foul as the creature felt, I felt safe and under its temporary protection. “Now I must tell you, Crafter, that I was incorrect; there is another order you must follow.” Oh no, oh no, oh no... “Run. They are coming for you.” I looked up once again. The path was clear and the entrance to my tunnel was in sight. I bolted, fleeing from both the unseen threats and their harbinger. While the creature had been talking, I had completely forgotten about what I was running from in the first place. This place is making me lose my touch. The sound of wind blasted my ears as I entered the street. The wind had picked up and howled ever so fiercely. Rain pelted my shirt and I nearly lost my footing as I hydroplaned across a small puddle. It happened again. For an instant, I felt a small pressure in the back of my head, and then a vision forced itself on me for a second time. I was following something. No, I was chasing something, but I could not feel my limbings moving in the slightest. I couldn’t see; darkness was all around me, yet I was still moving. How was that possible? Darkness. Movement. Fear. Not mine, something else’s. The Darkness... ...No... not darkness. Fog. Tiny, almost imperceptible, wisps off black fog. The Void Fog. Again? What was it doing here? For a brief moment, the fog parted and I saw my quarry for the first time: the cream-colored creature with pink hair. MLM: AtE Alternate Scene: Barricade vs. BrimstoneAuthor's Note In the first draft of Chapter 17: Into the Darkness I'll Sing Them A Song in my story At the End, the ending was a little different. The first draft had a little different scene that eventually led into another at about halfway through the story. I wrote the chapter, including all the scenes you saw in 17, except for one part. The key reason I rewrote it is because Brimstone does something that goes against his character. Brimstone is vile creature, but he believes what he is doing is right. He does bad things to ponies because he wants to learn how they act under pressure. He's a sociopath, but there still are lines he does not cross. What he does in this deleted scene goes against his character. He wanted Barricade as an ally, not an underling. That's why what happens here was axed. TL:DR version: Brimstone wouldn't do this, and that's why it was axed. Oh yeah, spoilers and stuff. This takes place at the end of Chapter 17. MLM: AtE Alternate Scene: Barricade vs. Brimstone Silence flooded the tent, accentuated only by the sound of Barricade’s own heart beat. The sound beat like thunder, despite being the most quiet of noises. The Doppelganger’s livid gaze pierced the air life daggers. Barricade did not back down in the slightest. If this disappointed the Doppelganger, if this killed her, her conscious was clear. “Than you can baptise your soul in the blood of the fallen. Thousands will die in the oncoming storm, but at least your conscious is clean. Live with the knowledge that the blood of innocents is on your head.” The Doppelganger’s voice was as even and calm as the night. “Into the darkness I’ll sing them a song.” The Doppelganger slowly turned around and walked to the door. “If I cannot obtain your assistance, I will do this myself.” At that moment, all the ringing and skull-splitting pain she had been feeling intermittently throughout the night came back in one titanic pulse. Barricade collapsed, hooves to her temples and screaming at the top of her lungs. It felt like corkscrews were being tightened behind her eyes. Even though the initial spike was enough to drop the mare, the throbbing crescendoed more and more. Barricade was blind to the world, ignorant of everything except the white-how pain coursing through her brain. “What are you doing to me!?” Barricade screeched. The poor soldier’s voice was scratchy and raw from yelling in a continuous stream. For just long enough, the pain abated enough for Barricade to recognize a blurred form through her painful tears. “I’ve been implanting the necessary triggers ever since we started speaking, my dear, just in case you denied my offer. You will help me when I need you to, but I must say, if we meet on opposite sides again, you will be a worthy foe.” “Who... who are you.” She whimpered. “Brimstone.” “What?” Barricade faltered. “Brimstone,” she repeated “Brimstone’s not a name.” “This is your wake-up call, my dear.” Another flash of pain blinded the mare. Nevertheless, she said, “I will fight you.” The blurred silhouette of her copy came into focus and spoke. Contrary to the previous venom saturating her voice, this time she sounded almost... pleased. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” “This is just a dream,” Barricade growled. Brimstone lowered her lips to Barricade’s ear, “Does that make it any less real?” Her Doppelganger smiled, touched her forehead to Barricade’s, and the pain began once more. Barricade didn’t know how long the pain lasted, but even a mighty warrior like her could scream for only so long. Doctor Hemos jumped back as the Captain screamed and thrashed her way into consciousness. “Sedative!” He shouted to the nurses. “Captain! Captain, it’s me!” Lieutenant Chaser, disturbed by the sudden ruckus, rose to attention to find the hospital in instant bedlam to secure the panicking Captain. Barricade shoved Hemos abruptly to the side, leaving just the opening needed for the Lieutenant to exploit. The Night Guard snaked her way between the startled nurses and rose to her hind legs. Smack! “Snap out of it!” Lieutenant Chaser’s hooves struck the Captain square in the jaw. The Captain’s head snapped back, startled by the blow, but it was enough to silence the Captain’s protests. The nurses pulled the Night Guard away and she willingly let herself be restrained, though her eyes were focused on the Captain. Barricade’s eyes were wide and wild, but she had ceased her senseless screaming. Slowly, she turned to the startled group of ponies who watched the mare with caution. One of the nurses had prepared a needle filled with a crystal-clear liquid, but she had halted administering the injection with an unspoken directive to halt from Hemos. “Lieutenant Lightning Chaser...” Barricade enunciated each syllable carefully, unsure of her own words. The lieutenant nodded quickly, still observing her superior for any signs of trouble. “Captain...” Doctor Hemos approached slowly, not wanting to startle the Captain into another fit. “Are you well? You’ve been asleep for the past hour.” Barricade put a hoof to her head and pulled it away for examination. Seeing nothing attached she examined the rest of herself carefully. Those present gave the mare the time to check herself out. They had frozen where they stood, all of them quietly waiting to see how the Captain would react. “I’m... I’m alright.” The rest of the tent save for the Lieutenant and Hemos sighed in relief. The built-up tension in everyone’s posture eased, especially the eagle-eyed Honor Guard. Even if the danger had apparently passed, her eyes flashed across Barricade’s body, her eidetic memory taking absorbing everything in a single sweep. Elevated pulse, cold sweat, rapid breathing, fidgeting limbs; the Captain – the Captain Barricade – was shaking off a panic attack or the worst nightmare of all time. “It was just a bad dream... what dream?” She could only remember vague impulses like light, silence, and pain, but not the actual contents of what brought her to the land of the living screaming like a moon-sick mare. Her hoof rose to her shoulder, rubbing a wound that was not actually there. “I feel...” Barricade swallowed the bile rising in her throat. “I don’t remember what I was dreaming about, and I think I’m glad.” She felt the rising sense of self-loathing and embarrassment at her outburst. It was poor form to be caught in such a state of helpless and scrambling like a foal over such something as small as a bad dream. The quick-thinking Lieutenant’s strike snapped her out of her panic. ‘What happened?’ Barricade thought. She felt exhausted. Her past wounds and the exertion of recent events made the mare pay a heavy price. While she was floundering around on the bed, the only thing she could think of was fear and a complete, blind hatred. Of what, the Captain was uncertain. She was just grateful that the Lieutenant snapped her out of it. Of course, she would still speak with her at a later date about striking a superior officer. Speaking of the night Guard, she was eyeing Barricade uncomfortably. It wasn’t fear, worry, or pity, it was cold, restrained analysis; the Lieutenant was still evaluating the Captain as a threat. The Lieutenant saw the shift in the Captain as it occurred piece by piece. Her spine straightened, her eyes narrowed, her gaze hardened. The actions made cords of tightened muscles softened in the Lieutenant and she finally stood down. Bowing her head slightly, she said, “It’s good to see you alive, Captain.” Barricade had already examined the patch of gauze on her flank and the layers of bindings wrapped around her stomach and found the bandages to be fresh. The creature really had done quite a number on her. “Was I – ” “No.” It was Doctor Hemos who responded. Now that the tent had calmed, He had resumed his duties by examining her vitals. Rows of machines blipped and flashed, projecting data that the Doctor understood in an instant. Blood pressure, pulse, O2 saturation, and a few specialty instruments used to examine magic and the pony brain. Concern flashed across the Doctor’s face and was gone in a flash. “I never lost you. I was worried the arrowhead would fracture upon removal and complicate matters, but its removal was swift and without incident.” “Captain,” came a stern voice near the back. A pony had just entered in full military uniform. “Major Stormcloud,” Barricade fought to sit up, but the Major held up a hoof. “At ease, Captain. Rest easy, but I’m here with you on business until Princess Celestia leaves. I need you to come with me; reports say your new friend is getting a little antsy and I’d like to make sure he calms down before we leave.” “With all due respect, Major,” Hemos said, “Captain Barricade is my patient and is under my care until I clear her to leave.” “True, but I have the power to override preceding orders in the interest of security and public safety. Make sure she is fit to move for the next hour. I need her until then, where she shall then be returned to you, Doctor.” Without verifying his orders were followed, the Major turned on his hooves and left the tent. “Make sure she gets a cloud.” He told some unnamed soldier escorting him. The Guard nodded and followed the major out into the rain. Hemos, disgruntled as ever, gave a disappointed snort. “Saddle up, Captain; we’re going on a trip – what’s that?” Hemos asked after hearing Barricade hum a soft tune. “La la la la, la la la la... it’s nothing, just a tune that came to mind.” MLM: AtE Alternate Scene: Better Make Way When the Crafter ComesAuthor's Note I had the underground scene in chapter 29 of At the End in my head for a long time, but it has gone through quite a few changes. Originally, the Crafter was never intercepted by anypony and freely retreated underground. There, he slowly dug to the surface, learning the pony way of life little by little. He stayed hidden due to his ability to dig tunnels, and that's how he listened to their conversations and learned about their way of life, including their language. This concluded in him saving Rarity from some Diamond Dogs. Obviously, I've rewritten several things since my first draft of the story. This is a scene from Rarity's perspective a little after he saves her. I'll tell you, this way written WAY back, so my prose is poor and it hasn't gone through editing. This is just a little alternate cut that came to my mind so long ago. There are spoilers for chapter 29 nevertheless. Without further ado, here's the partially completed chapter aptly titled: Better Make Way When the Crafter Comes MLM: AtE Alternate Scene: Better Make Way When the Crafter Comes Chapter XX: Better Make Way When the Crafter Comes Rarity was having trouble keeping up with her benefactor. Whatever it was—no, whatever he was, he had a very high stamina. High enough that Rarity was sure he could match Applejack in a race. He just kept on sprinting down the endless tunnels, swerving right and left with only a torch and the light of the gems to guide him. Rarity was accustomed to tunnels, they held the best gems after all, but he seemed to have an uncanny sense of direction in the endless gray and brown tunnels packed with dirt and stone. “Please Mister, I am quite aware of the unpleasantness and lack of hospitality of Diamond Dogs, but I must rest. Plus I need to clear my mane of this unpleasant dust.” The creature turned to Rarity, eyes concerned, but still urgent. He held up his strange hoof and a mass of brown coalesced out of the air into a cube of wood. For the life of her, Rarity had no idea how he did that. Maybe Twilight would have an answer once she made it back to the surface. The creature ticked away at the wood for a second before showing her what he wrote. ALMOST THERE “Well, Mister, why didn’t you just say so?” The creature ticked away at the sign some more. Rarity blinked in surprise. For one, the previous message inked in black letters had vanished. Secondly was the three words printed on the sign. I CAN’T TALK Spike spoke up before Rarity, “Well I’ve never met a pony that couldn’t talk before. Even monsters of the Everfree Forest make some kind of noise.” “Please Spike,” Rarity chided. “If he says he cannot talk, then he can’t.” She turned to the creature before her. “Well Mister, do you at least have a name I can call you besides the standard polite prefix?” The creature gave Rarity what she thought was a confused expression. He thought for a moment before ticking away at the sign. I DON’T HAVE A NAME Rarity was about to ask a question, but the creature started sprinting again, gesturing for Rarity to follow. Rarity gave a defeated sigh and ran after him; he’d better have a shower. After a minute, Rarity noticed a strange shift in the tunnels. The once rough and winding tunnels had started to widen and become more angular. The tunnel opened up to a larger cavern that ran alongside an underground river and the floor was conspicuously flat. The walls and stones lining the wall had much sharper angles while the cavern on the other side of the river was still full of curves and ridges. Rarity, Spike, and the creature came up to a nearly flat wall. He turned around, making sure he got Rarity’s attention before pointing to some small outcroppings on the wall. “...Well what about it?” He shook his head and pressed one of the bumps in the wall. Rarity gave a small shriek as the wall in front of her parted to reveal a hidden room on the other side. She didn’t get a good look at the other side because after a second, the wall slide back to its perfectly flat state. He pressed the bump in the wall and the wall opened. He quickly walked through and gestured for Rarity to follow before the wall closed once more. “Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained,” Spike said. He stood up on Rarity’s back and pressed the button to open the wall. “Spike!” Rarity almost objected, but cut it short as the wall opened and she walked into the room with the now beckoning creature. Rarity gasped, not quite able to process what she was seeing at the moment. In front of her built into a large cavern was a full courtyard with an accompanying garden in front of a small mansion made out of granite and cobblestone. There was stone steps built in tiles leading up to a circular park with trees, grasses and an array of flowers there was a bubbling brook in the center that flowed underground and parted to run parallel to the left and right of the stairs. She could see reds, yellows, blues, and even common weeds arrayed in patterns framing trees and other shrubbery. She saw great oaks, weeping willows, birch, and elm trees. Flowers arranged in colored rows leading to the center of the garden where a great oak tree stood. And then there was the mansion, a marvelous, if a little too angular, piece of craftsmanship 5 stories tall, one hundred meters wide and fifty deep. A small set of stone stairs led from the courtyard up to the iron doors and Rarity could swear she could see woolen carpet of a variety of colors in the many, many windows dotting the sides. But despite the grand scale of everything inside, the cavern was shockingly well lit. Not by gems, though the creature seemed to have begun to grasp a gem’s light retention capability with their dotted locations across the courtyard, but by torches. There must have been hundreds, maybe a thousand to cover this grand room. “I... I... I s-suspected that there was only one of you. To build all of this... How many of you are there?” TickTickTickTickTickTick I STARTED BUILDING THIS MYSELF SINCE I CAME HERE A MONTH AGO TickTickTick I AM ALONE Rarity’s dropped jaw would have hit the ground if it could drop any further. That... that was impossible. The stairs or the garden alone would have taken a team of ponies weeks to construct. And moving all that stone and mortar to make the mansion? There was no conceivable way that could occur. ‘But...’ Rarity’s thoughts backtracked. This creature did have an unusual kind of magic. He could make things appear and disappear at will, so his claims weren’t completely unbelievable. Just mostly. Spike had regained his grasp on his speech as well and was about to give the creature a retort for his claims, but Rarity quieted him with a glance. She had far too many questions and didn’t want Spike to anger him accidentally. The creature beckoned once more up to the mansion and the pony followed with careful steps. She couldn’t help but admire the creature’s work. The smells of the garden would make Fluttershy envious beyond belief. There was fountain deeper in the garden and the source of the brook. The spray of the water was a bone-cutting cold as she walked past. Well water from deeper underground. Rarity’s mind backtracked again. Despite all of the sights and smells of the garden, she didn’t see or hear a single bird or squirrel or any animal whatsoever. She supposed it would be hard to get animals this deep in the earth; it was another question to ask for later. Inside, Rarity could see it was every bit as grand as she thought. Woolen carpets, pane glass windows, bookshelves lining the walls, a fully stocked kitchen and a wall full of ovens, a dining room with glass floors, a living room with oak furniture and potted plants in the corners, dozens of empty rooms richly adorned with woolen sheets and carpets of deep blues, reds, and purples. Everything in this building rivaled even the most tactlessly extravagant places she’d seen in Canterlot. Everything still had an overabundance of lines and edges, but Rarity had almost immediately forgotten about that. Sure, she believed that smooth, flowing textures and patterns were superior to this creature’s designs, but there was a simple, spartan beauty to this place’s simplicity. Every line and block had a purpose and fit together like a puzzle. Rarity couldn’t help but admire the craftsmanship. The creature led the pair to the living room and gestured to a simple bench covered with woolen sheets. Rarity’s eyes almost bulged. Now that she noticed it, all the sheets and carpets in the mansion were all hoof-stitched. How did he do this!? The creature sat down on a wooden chair and held out a sign. WHAT DO YOU WANT TO KNOW? The obvious question came first, “What are you?” The creature ticked away at his sign. I SUPPOSE YOU COULD CALL ME A CRAFTER. I BUILD THINGS “What kind of things?” Spike asked. WHATEVER I WANT “But how can you create such detailed extravagance? By yourself no less?” IT IS WHAT I DO BEST “But how? I have never witnessed such incredible and useful magic before! If I may be so bold as to inquire, where did you research such marvelous feats?” The Crafter looked confused for a second before making another message. NOT MY LANGUAGE. TOO MANY BIG WORDS Spike laughed at that. “He’s got your number Rarity.” “Spike! Do not be rude to our host! He did save our lives after all.” Rarity turned back to the Crafter. “I do apologize. What I mean to say is can you tell me about your magic?” HOW I CAN CREATE AND ABSORB MATERIALS? Rarity gave a furious nod. IT IS JUST SOMETHING I CAN DO The Crafter scribbled at his sign some more, having run out of room. I DO NOT KNOW HOW IT WORKS “Well, how did you learn you could do it?” INSTINCT. EVER SINCE I AWOKE IN THE OVERWORLD, I HAVE BEEN ABLE TO CRAFT “What is this... Overworld?” The Crafter had begun to write, but stopped and wrote something else. “I WILL NEED MORE SIGNS.” Getting up, he walked along the woolen carpets and to the cabinets on the far side of the wall. Unlike the rest of the cabinets she’d seen dotting the mansion, these ones were very simply made. Oddly enough, the doors opened upward instead from the front, as if to keep a flat workspace when the doors were closed. Rarity got up on her hooves to observe the Crafter root around the chest. There was nothing but a swirling mass of colors of every shape of the rainbow and more inside. The Crafter seemed to know what he was looking for and reached for a jumbled mass of brown, twisting, semi-viscous energy. The brown energy shot into the Crafter’s odd hoof and disappeared. He closed the chest and sat back down, Rarity mimicking his action. The Crafter got busy writing on his sign. When he ran out of room on that one, he set that one down on a mahogany table and conjured up another. Now that she had time to stop and think, she observed the Crafter’s conjuring. A mass of the same viscous energy escaped from his hoof and curled around his foreleg. Rarity had seen Fluttershy’s animals nuzzle the gentle Pegasus in the same manner, but this seemed different. But after a blink of an eye, the brown energy morphed and hardened into a blank, square sign. I LIVED IN THE OVERWORLD, AN ENDLESS PLACE FULL OF NATURE, ORE, AND MONSTERS IT IS THERE THAT I MINED THE LANDSCAPE AND HARVESTED THE WORLD’S BOUNTY TO SURVIVE. MY FIRST MEMORY WAS ON AN ISLAND WITH A GREAT LANDMASS ACROSS THE WATER MY MIND WAS GRACED WITH A SINGLE THOUGHT: SURVIVE CRAFTING WAS ALL I KNEW, SO IT IS ALL I DID. I HAD NO REASON TO, BUT NO REASON NOT TO SO I CRAFTED TOOLS, THEN OBJECTS, THEN BUILDINGS, THEN CITIES. IT WAS ALL I KNEW Rarity was quiet for a minute, silently chewing on the Crafter’s words. His behavior matched what she’d seen so far. A grand feat of architecture and design lay underneath her hooves in all of its marvelous splendor. The Baron's Stage [Original] [OC] [Atmospheric]Author's Note Behold, the last of my Baron-related material. Before I actually began writing my stories for the Thirteen (Actually, it was eight) Days of Nightmare Night. They were supposed to be a set of thirteen completely independent stories, but I wanted to pull a fast one. As explained in my commentary, there was one common characteristic through most of the tales: a pony dressed in white. Mares and gentlecolts, meet the Baron. Originally I was going to have the stories as chapters in one large anthology, but I had a change of heart because I couldn't pull off the ending I wanted to. That's why I split them up, but I kept the Baron in anyway. I was going to have the Baron be a storyteller to a crowd, reciting scary stories to his audience every Nightmare Night. I got so far as a nearly complete intro before I scrapped and reworked the series in general, as I just stated. Rather than letting the Baron suffer in limbo, let him prance on the stage he was destined to perform. Applause, everypony, and welcome your host for this evening. The Baron's Stage [Original] [OC] [Atmospheric] Prologue Hordes of ponies walked through the usually empty streets of Shady Hollow, far more than those that actually lived in the small town. The skies twinkled with a fine blanket of stars across the night sky. Although there was no wind so late in the year, a slight chill in the air necessitated warmer clothing to hold back the bite. The rural town was commonplace by pony standards. The usual general store, blacksmith, schoolhouse, town doctor, horseshoe smith, and town hall decorated the town’s very loose grid-like design. Several trees, however, were ancient oaks - broad and hardy trees too difficult to excavate. Such old flora was interspaced between buildings, forcing several homes and shops to be placed much farther away from the main path. If one climbed the mountains on either side of the hollow, they could see homes and farms dotted all along the valley. Some of the more reclusive homes were wedged deep in the forest, obfuscated behind several dense layers of trees and light thickets. The crickets were out in full force that night, but none cared even the slightest. Even the ever-irritating mosquitoes and gnats that habitually haunted the small town so late in the year were expelled by scented torches. Mares and stallions were out in full force, far more than the scant few that inhabited the town. Dozens herded diminutive colts and fillies from one house and business to the next. Each child was dressed as their favorite storybook character or hero. If one truly looked hard enough, they could see a few fillies dressed as Celestia or Luna. It was every child’s favorite holiday. It was Nightmare Night. Their wild hooftsteps and cheerful cries echoed into the night and were swallowed by the layers of trees surrounding the small town. Their hooves did not even clop in the din, as the rural nature of Shady Hollow did not grant them enough funds for a brick or cobblestone road; it was naught but dirt, grass, gravel, and woodchips, depending on whom owned that particular piece of land. Nopony minded; it was their home, where they grew up and where their children will learn and grow. It was not a grand city like Canterlot, nor was it paradise. It was home, and nothing more. Shady Hollow was a moderately wooded town that was difficult to find even if you knew where it was. Even calling it a town was generous, as it barely had enough ponies to fill a hamlet. Once a year, however, the population exploded as ponies from across Equestria flooded the streets. Whether only a few or at a time or by the droves, ponies entered the town from the only dirt road leading to the outside world. Flanked on either side by torches, they came. Some came with gleeful smiles on their faces. Others chatted eagerly with close friends and loved ones. Their clothing marked them just as easily as their accents. There were the rough linens of seafaring ponies, posh silks and fitted suits from upperclass ponies with accents from Trottingham and Canterlot, thick wool shirts and blouses belonging to farmers and fellow townies from near and far, and even a few were dressed in appropriate costumes for such a succulent and frightful night. A few lovers were wrapped in more-than-friendly embraces and suggestive flank-bumping, but Shady Hollow was not their home and the streets were full of children and watchful parental eyes. Amorous feelings would have to wait. The newcomers had a destination to reach anyway. Main Street was lined with games and excitement: pin-the-tail, card games, children’s tag, costume contests, face painting, candy exchanges, horseshoe tossing, delectable treats, storytelling, and tables filled to the brim with candy and tightly wrapped parcels. The yearly influx of out of towners proved a great boost for local businesses. Business was booming, and far more than what even peak times usually granted. Where there were not games or amusements down Main Streets, visiting ponies could refresh themselves with freshly squeezed lemonade, fresh meat right out of the oven, oven-roasted bread with herbs, fresh produce straight from the orchards, and hoof-crafted goods to take home for friends and family. Others were selling strange oddities: goose-feather pillows and thick, woolen blankets. Most were just plain pieces of cloth built to last, but the more devoted natives stitched geometric patterns and popular cultural characters and designs into the fabric. A teenage couple, curious as to why bed ware seemed such a popular selling item and deserving of multiple vendors, walked up to a wrinkled, old mare. Both were completely bare save for a saddlebag apiece and a traveling cloak. “Excuse me, Miss. May I ask why there’s so many pillows and blankets for sale?” The vendor, a dappled white mare with a mane the most vibrant silver, wheezed a laugh. “You youngin’s new to the Baron’s show?” The mare, a snow-white teen earth pony, and her older stallionfriend, a sky-blue pegasus with a mane the color of tarnished silver, nodded. “The Baron does his deeds in the old amphitheater further in the valley until he’s done or by the light of dawn. It can get awfully chilly sometimes, so it be good to have some warmth and comfort.” “Good idea,” the mare said. She craned her head around and saw other couples and families carried bedrolls and pillows on their backs and lunch boxes in their saddlebags; they were obvious veterans of Shady Hollow’s Nightmare Night main attraction: the Baron. “No worries, Aria; I got paid Friday and brought some bits just in case I needed them.” Aria gave him one of her perfect smiles and a flirtatious eye flutter “Thanks, Aegis.” He paid the vendor enough bits for a pillow and blanket apiece. The fluffy blankets were more akin to quilts with their air pockets and large patches, but that meant they were large enough to cover both ponies. The sensual ideas conjured by such an intimate thought crossed both of their minds, but they needed to go: the Baron beckoned. The hollow was small enough to walk across in a short ten minutes. While Aegis and Aria did not know the way to the Baron and the amphitheater, the torches lining the dirt pathway and the stream of chattering ponies was enough to inform them. “I was here last year. It was amazing!” “I heard a filly listened in one night and had nightmares for a month.” “He used to carry a bison head with candles in the eye sockets as the only source of light for this. I swear to Celestia it’s true!” “When did he get here, anyway? Why does he use an old, abandoned amphitheater?” “Who knows? He’s a creepy bastard. He can do whatever the hell he wants.” “It’s a little too cold. I’m going to go get another blanket.” “Last time he told a story about this cursed hand that gave you wishes and they all bit you in the flank as their effects unfolded.” “If this get’s too much, I’m going back to town and see if there’s a room at the inn that’s open.” “They’ve all been booked since last week, Sora.” “Fuck!” “Keep the profanity to a minimum, peasant.” “Who farms the food that goes on your table, you pompous wag?” “Enough you all, we’re almost there.” The spooky, twisted branches of the arching trees cast shadowy talons further in the darkness. The torches produced the unintended side effect of shadowy creatures and monsters just beyond the sanctity of light. A few ponies huddled closer together; although there was naught but insects and small animals in terms of local forest ambiance, the mind conjured beasts and shades when none truly existed. The dirt path slowly widened, opening up to a small clearing, causing several ponies to stop whinnying in worry. A small crowd of ponies was before the new group, all looking down into a large depression. The amphitheater was carved into the side of the mountain at the base of a sharp decline. Nopony, not even the residents of Shady Hollow, knew the origins of the ancient place. Whatever its original purpose may have been, it had been long lost to time and retaken by Mother Nature. The stone steps descending the the large, upraised stone stage were cracked and weathered by the elements. The isles and stone seats were in equally sorry states with some of them outright destroyed over time. Large patches of lichen, moss, and vines had once retaken the stonework, but they had since been cleared for Shady Hollow’s yearly ritual. Aegis, Aria, Sora, and the rest of their particular group of ponies jostled for seats. The amphitheater was already packed with ponies chatterings, enjoying some snacks, or quietly snuggling with friends and family. Some ponies just started laying blankets on the grass outside the amphitheater to claim more legroom. The snobby elite and his stallion companion managed to find seats in the crowd, but even those were difficult to obtain; the remainder of their group deemed it necessary to stake their own claims on the grassy soil and do their best to discover patches devoid of any stickers and burs. Most ponies were nestled together due to lack of room, sharing body heat, or nervousness. The sun had set almost two hours ago and the cloudless night and twinkling stars cast just enough celestial radiance to bath them all in a light glow. The light was mediocre, even with the torches interspaced on the stairs, but most eyes did not need to see into the darkness, for they were directed to the stage. A single pony languished lazily across a stone table. The Baron was dressed in a very fine, fitted suit shaded an immaculate white to rival even Celestia’s unblemished fur. His equally white top hat covered his head and face. Bright, bloody red stitching on his lapels, outside collar, coat tails, and a band across the base of his hat complimented the white. He reached into his breast pocket with a light gray hoof and removed a silver pocket watch. Flicking it open, he tilted his hat up to examine the current time with his equally red eyes. However, the time was not quite appropriate, and he slipped the watch away. “Disgraceful,” whispered the elite to his companion. “splaying himself out like that in front of an audience. And in one of Photo Finish’s designer suits, no less!” “Come now, old chap,” chided his companion, a middle aged stallion in a tailored black suit, perfectly groomed hair, and monocle. “Do not judge the fine sir on first impressions alone.” “Is he even a Baron, Fancypants? What’s he doing out in such an uncivilized place?” “I do not believe he is, Federick.” Fancypants replied. “However, he has attained quite the fanbase by spinning his yearly tall tales. I came last year and found my night most enjoyable.” Frederick huffed in irritation. He tapped his foot impatiently, clearly dissatisfied by present location, company, and host. Unnoticed by all, the Baron removed his watch once again. The click was soft enough to be swallowed by the chattering crickets, let alone over a thousand ponies. “ROOOOOOOLL UP!” The Baron’s light tenor sliced through the cacophonous noise. They hushed for silence, but they were quickly overpowered by uproarious applause. The Baron had risen to his hooves, casually brushing dust and minor bits of grime from his lapels. Whistles and cheers echoed across the amphitheater in droves. He smiled coyly, soaking up the attention as true performers do. The Baron held up a hoof for silence. The applause, cheers, and chatter died to a low rumble, leaving a few overly enthusiastic fans still cheering. The earth pony flicked a hoof to a torch on the far left of the stage. The torch blazed to life in ruby-red flames. The torch on the right relived the same experience, enveloping the stage in light. He removed his hat in a flourish and bowed, a deep and practiced act gained from previous performances. Several audience members gasped; the Baron appeared to be a simple charcoal-gray earth pony until he removed his hat and displayed a horn. Seeing a supposed earth pony perform magic was surprising indeed. “♫~Come one, come all, this All Hallow’s Eve for coming tonight for stories I weave. I bring you fear and a little fright: thirty-one tales of Nightmare Night!” Fluttershy's Dream 2 [Grey Hat] [OC] [Fluttershy] [Psychological]Author's Note I cut this from Grey Hat's Chapter 2: It's Cold Out Here for the same reason as the previous chapter: the Baron still wasn't the way I wanted him. The previous cut made him horribly cruel, and while he's considerably more respectable here, he was still rather mean. If you can't tell from the story or this chapter, Fluttershy is suffering from some pretty bad PTSD. I still couldn't justify this sequence, so into the wood chipper it went. Here's the second deleted cut. Fluttershy's Dream 2 [Grey Hat] [OC] [Fluttershy] [Psychological] The scent of warm earth and animal fur was pleasant and welcome to Fluttershy. To her it reminded her of the forests and plains, of the running animals for which she shared her affinity for compassion. The foods and kibbles stored behind oaken doors sustained them, and the heat of sleeping bodies hung in the air. The hearth in Fluttershy’s cottage was alight with flickering flames. Two large, overstuffed armchairs were pointed towards the fire, but one of them was filled. Looking back towards the door nervously, she swallowed, steeled her shaky nerves, and hopped into the adjacent chair. He was a rather dignified looking unicorn dressed entirely in white, although red stitching along his lapels and tophat seemed to glow in the firelight. His charcoal fur made his red eyes stick out all the more. He was currently nursing a wineglass with some unidentified amber liquid. Without even shifting to greet his guest—it wasn’t even his house—he pushed an identical glass across the tabletop between them. Fluttershy stared at the fireplace. The heat and warmth of it or the presence of her home was no comfort at all. “Back so soon?” he asked politely. He had a very calm, soothing tenor. “Come now, my dear; no need for bad manners.” “This is my house,” she replied. “In more ways than one.” He tipped the glass to his lips and drained a portion, sighing contently. “Are you afraid of me?” The smells. The warmth. The sense of peace and calm. Everything that she could hold onto and form a bastion of comfort vanished into smoke and disappeared into the evening. “Why do you keep coming back?” “That is not an answer.” She could feel his eyes staring at her. The side of her face began to itch. “You’ve never asked me to leave.” True. WIthout looking for him, she grasped the wineglass and sipped. It reminded her of the wine at Cadance’s and Shining’s wedding, pleasant with a peach aftertaste. “Will you go if I ask you to?” “No.” The bluntness finally made her look at him. He did not mock her, and the aged lines on his face relayed no sense of amusement. Before she could even protest, he set his own glass down and added, “You must understand, love, I--” “Please go,” she begged. That careful mirror of calm she’d shown Applejack developed a crack. Voice quavering, she said it again, “Please leave me alone.” Smokey, red eyes flashed in the low light. They reminded her of the princess, strong, unyielding, and hiding their true emotions. “You know I can’t.” He swirled the contents of his glass before sighing. “When offered help is denied, the crux of the issue is largely one of two reasons: pride and fear. People and ponies do not like to appear weak, so the olive branch is shunned to keep up pretenses. It is a basic fear of what others think of you, that when the time comes they might not have faith in you when it is of utmost importance.” She dared to look in his eyes yet again. No malice, no fear, no evil. Yet being in his mere presence made her fur stand on end. “Fear, however, is another breed of monster altogether. “The most pure of paladins wanders the most wicked of lands, cleansing it of evil. One day he encounters an evil warlord who needs the paladin’s help to defeat a particularly bothersome criminal. The criminal is pillaging the lands indiscriminately. The bandit was cudgemoney cur to be sure, but the innocent needed to be protected first before the paladin could fight the warlord. Out of necessity, great good and great evil work together.” The stallion smiled. “But what if it doesn’t stop there? The warlord, a known beast in his own right, continually assigns work to the paladin to cleanse evil. To protect his honor and stay faithful to his patron god, the paladin must protect those unable to defend themselves from evil...” The stallion set his empty glass on the table. The sound set a note of finality trough the room. “Even with good intentions, good can be tainted. Without even realizing it, the paladin had become an apprentice. It is the fear of what becomes of us when clemency and aid is granted. It is the fear of what becomes of us when such responsibilities must be carried on our own shoulders. So... If you truly want me gone, look me in the eye and swear with every fiber of your being you want me gone forevermore. I want to see that fire in your eyes, my dear, and until I do, I am not going anywhere. Your desire to be rid of me isn’t strong enough, and that is why is eats at your heart so much; you want me gone out of fear, not determination. You are not afraid of me, you are afraid of becoming me.” The crackling fire was dying now, its supply of fuel all but diminished. Fluttershy took another gulp of wine to settle her nerves. “What do you want me to do?” A smile spread across his muzzle. “Oh, my wonderful, charming mistress: nothing. I’m here because you invited me, not because I desire to control you. You know exactly why, so command me as you wish.” He gave her a respectful nod. “Best decide what you wish to do before the monsters consume you, though; they won’t leave no matter how far you go, little one, and I can hear them clawing at the walls.” Flashes of memory burst into her mind. Canterlot strewn with panicked screams and rubble in the streets. The stench of burning flesh that summoned carrion for a disgusting and abominable feast. Rarity, howling in agony to the smoky skies choked with ash of buildings and the fallen. A corpse still warm to the touch, its skin burnt while a pair of eyes bled accusations into her soul. Blacklist [Shining Armor] [Twilight Sparkle] [Mystery] [Dark] [Badass Shining Armor]Author's Note Shining Armor disappeared twenty years ago, abandoning family, friends, and his honor. No pony knew why. There was no warning. It was unbelievable that the Equestrian crown soon started hearing word that he was selling state secrets and working for the highest bidder. Twilight Sparkle's heart aches for the brother from her memories. Perhaps she'll get answers one day. Maybe sooner. He just came home. I like the Blacklist TV show. James Spader's acting and deep, scratchy voice is catching, but I find something primally fascinating about a man that would abandoned his country and turn traitor all for the highest bidder. There was also this strange vibe to the villain of the week, at least in season one (the other seasons have kinda blown since then). Each person on the Blacklist, the list of contacts James Spader's character Red Reddington had collected over the years, felt like a supervillain. A doctor that manufactures plagues, a courier that can't feel pain, a body disposal expert; that's awesome material. I don't care one bit about his boring female costar; Red is so very fascinating to me. I don't know when I got the idea for this. I think it was during my college days in class. The idea that a known military and political figure would turn traitor interested me. What would compel a man who has so much to lose to do such a thing? I picked the one character in the show that had the most to lose to match his role: Shining Armor. Friends, family, a wife, daughter, kingdom, and princesses. What would compel him to abandoned all that and believe that was the best option? The reason I cut this one from my possible published stories was, although I do have a general idea about how the story would play out, I don't really have a middle or end. Coming up with supervillains would be easy, although I don't even have my own list. This is just one thing that, compared to my current list of fanfics and ideas, is left on the wayside due to lack of time and TLC. Another part of the problem is I'm just not all that good at writing Shining Armor. The first half of the chapter is perfectly serviceable and introduces some good mystique. When he actually has to talk is a different matter. I'm not sure; it feels less authentic. I just don't like the way it ends. I ran out of steam and realized I didn't have a firm grasp on what Shining should do or say. I decided to just kinda end it before adding more made it any worse. Here is the first chapter. Blacklist [Shining Armor] [Twilight Sparkle] [Mystery] [Dark] [Badass Shining Armor] The Black Cat (No. 27) Ravenwing could only sigh in disgust. As captain of Princess Twilight Sparkle’s personal guard, there was plenty to hate: monster attacks due to the proximity of the Everfree Forest, the lovely dear constantly getting herself in some form of world-ending trouble, mass blue box sightings, the occasional eldritch abomination being summoned into the world, and—strangely—unscripted music numbers appearing out of the blue. What ranked on top of her personal hate list? All the damn paperwork. "She is nothing if not thorough...” Every single incident, from recruitment, to a complete documentation of Guard activities, went through the princess, and she demanded nothing less. And concerning what she wanted done, she gave as much as she could take. In her hooves was no less than four graphical representations, drafted by the princess herself of course, concerning suggestions for new troop and resource deployment. “Send it down the grapevine. See if the quartermaster and the other captains find it agreeable.” Knowing Her Majesty, her work would be impeccable. Captain Ravenwing returned the folder to her subordinate, Lieutenant Cloudkicker. The mare nodded, her eyes drooping slightly due to the late hour. It was already well past dusk and more than her needed a rest. Ravenwing could feel the fatigue eating at her mind as well. The siren song of her bed was calling. "Will do, Cap.” In her early years on the force the mare would have gone through a laundry list of punishments for the insubordination. Ravenwing rolled her eyes. “Aw, don’t give me that.” Cloudkicker thrust a wing into the captain’s abdomen. Her armor absorbed the blow well enough. "Just do it first thing in the mornining.” Cloudkicker unwillingly nodded. An irritated Princess Twilight was enough to send most guardponies running for the hills. Cloudkicker turned down one of the Rainbow Palace’s wide corridors. Her underling’s chambers were not far off from her own, and each was afforded the necessities for their post and the finest furnishing bits could buy. It wasn’t as if the palace wasn’t already decorated with one-of-a-kind crystal formations and priceless murals. The polished floors were shined to perfection every morning before dawn, and not a speck of dirt encrusted the darkest corner. The occasional patrol roamed the corridors, those passing by only taking a moment to salute before continuing. By now even the princess would be in bed, despite being a notorious insomniac. Soon enough, Ravenwing approached the double doors to her own private quarters. She could see herself in the reflection of the black oak door’s many encrusted gems and crystals. She was a little bigger than most mares. Not in terms of baby fat, as her husband constantly insisted, but of the muscle that came with many long years as a member of the military. Her own form-fitted gold and violet armor, specially crafted by Ponyville’s finest alchemists and enchanted by no less than Lady Rarity herself, hugged her alabaster curves. Despite being almost snow colored, her feathers started off as a light gray dapple until the tips were almost charcoal. The doors unlocked soundlessly. One of the princess’ many pet peeves, something the new recruits referred to as the “Sleep-B-Gone List”, was squeaky door hinges. Princess Luna was always thought of as the most militant and traditional of the four princesses. Being used to ruling in a time where her word was law, Princess Luna was known to be a stickler for protocol. Ravenwing snickered to herself; Luna had nothing on a neurotic, OCD neat freak. When Ravenwing started her first day on the job, she would have never called it either. Spartan, boring, and empty as they may be, her quarters were home. Her own house wedged in a vale on the outskirts of Fillydelphia was similar enough. Despite the more than generous pay, even the occasional instance from her Lady to be a little less frugal, things just weren’t... interesting. Even though there were no tapestries or paintings, there was still... did carpets count? Moving to her desk, she gave a quick scan of the topmost documents. Her office was still cluttered with paperwork. More reports on monster activity in the Everfree region, those reports on recruitment the princess desired... ugh. “It’s not due until next week, anyway.” Paperwork. She needed another clerk on staff. Her bed was calling anyway. Even if she did want to finish, she doubted she’d get very far. Her armor was the first thing that needed to go. Her equipment rack was in the adjacent room, her bedroom which doubled as her personal parlor. It was the only special perk she’d requested, given that the princess allowed her some leeway. She couldn’t stop herself from freezing. Something... didn’t feel quite right. Something in the air was wrong. That little itch that made her feel like she was being watched. Polished wood and oil, fresh linens and the scents of varying alcoholic beverages. It smelt like her room. Still... Was her door tampered with? Rewinding the past few moments in her head... no, the lock was fine. Cloudkicker? No, even she didn’t start scheming when she was tired. She backed up slowly. There were candles in her desk. There was never a breakin in the Rainbow Palace since... well, not since— "Oh, stop jumping at shadows.” Sulphur flooded the air as the crimson flame of a match burst to life and lit the candle by her bedside. Every inch of her body was tightened into coils, ready to pounce on the interloper. A good four meters separated them; there was plenty of time for a counterattack, but the lingering question hung in her mind: why did he announce his presence? He had the perfect opportunity to attack her. Instinct overrode her curiosity and her hoof tugged at the rope near her desk. She heard a slight chime in some other part of the castle. "Going to call for the cavalry now?” He was a unicorn, that was for sure. His own fur was as snowy as hers, but he was clearly several years her senior. Despite his mane bearing the signs of being a lush blue, most of it had taken on a steely gray hue. An opened bottle of Bourbon lay on the nightstand, and he was holding a single glass on the rocks in his magical touch. He was currently sitting in her chair set in her favorite spot next to the empty hearth, eyeing her from underneath the brim of a black fedora as he brushed a speck of lint off his pressed suit. Ravenwing felt all the blood drain from her face. She didn’t even know when her jaw had dropped into a stupid look of stunned surprise. “It cannot be..." The stallion smiled. That lantern-jawed chin, the blue mane... and the heater shield cutiemark... Her door burst open and a slew of guards rushed in. A few of them stopped, gawking at the intruder. "It’s good to be home." "It’s really him..." "It’s not possible." "How did he get in?" "Does the captain—" "He didn’t even resist." "Did she...?" ”Shut it!” Ravenwing shouted. She ripped the bag off his head and he gave a gasp of sweet relief. Did they ever wash those bags? No matter. As the brightness faded to more tolerable levels, the traitor blinked and examined his surroundings. The cap was firmly placed on his horn, cutting off his own access to magic. Chains bound him to the floor, driven into the stone surface by great iron spikes. The cubical cage surrounding his scant prison glowed blue with runic enchantments. On the outside were no less than a dozen magi. Each fed their collective strength into the cell, while another two dozen guards waited on alert. The bag floated through the bars and into the grasp of a waiting magi. "I was always a fan of a nice sherry myself. But bourbon? A little hard for a late night nip. Is that what passes for Captain activity now?” He shook his head, that same playful smile on his lips. “For shame, Ravenwing. For shame." The guards hissed quietly to themselves. Each one was decked out in full battle-ready armor, even the magi enforcing his cell. Typical baiting. He was just trying to get under her skin. She took front and center as a magi passed her a scroll. "Shining Armor, you are hereby charged with treason, espionage, selling state secrets, impersonating an officer of the Equestrian court, impersonating a jarl of the Griffon Empire, extortion, murder, kidnapping—" "I don’t mean to interrupt, captain, but I am aware of how lengthy Equestria’s misgivings are towards me. Can we dispel with the pleasantries?" "Some of us has have respect for our position, Mister Armor.” He nodded politely at her response and waited for her to finish, examining his manacles on occasion. Ravenwing returned to stating Shining’s charges. “These charges have been compiled by the Equestrian Court, cosigned by Princesses Celestia, Luna, Twilight, and Cadance,” Something flashed across his face, but she wasn’t sure which of the names caused it. Shining Armor clapped his hooves together, or at least tried to. Bound as he was, his hooves stopped short and he frowned. “Now that we got that out of the way, down to business." "You are in no position to bargain or order anything, Mister Armor." As if that line itself was something he was waiting for the entire time, a slight smirk grew across his aged face. She didn’t like it. Something wasn’t right. This entire situation reeked of a trap. The guard didn’t catch one of the most wanted criminals in the world by chance or a smooth operation, he walked in completely gift wrapped. "I believe I am entitled under law counsel of one pony of my choosing under title seven, chapter eleven, subchapter one, section four as long long as they are able and competent to carry out their duties, and not indisposed with prior engagement that would delay a speedy trial." She wanted to wipe that smug grin off his stupid, smiling face. She’d kept her voice neutral so far. No point in changing that now. Taking a deep breath, she said, “I assure you we will take every available step to take care of your legal needs." In a pig’s eye. "I want to see my sister." A chill went down her spine. No. No. She was captain of her liege’s guard and there was no way she’d let this little maggot find an open sore and crawl inside. "Princess Twilight Sparkle has already been made aware of the situation.” Time to turn the tables. Taking a sweet tone, she responded, “Given how well versed you are in law, you know a princess’ busy schedule might be problematic for a speedy trial. I am sure she will be made available when she available. Just hope it is before the trial." Shining met her gaze. Oh, he knew how this game was played. The doors banged open. "Speak of the alicorn, and she appears." Princess Twilight Sparkle in all her royal majesty strode into the polished room with purpose. All guards bowed and scraped as she passed, parting like water around a boulder. Despite never being one for regalia, her own silver and garnet crown rested atop her head. Her violet mane and tail tinged with a bloody red dawn rippled and danced around her like a ghost. Instinct made Ravenwing bow her head. Respect made her avoid looking at the look of complete and utter fury. "Out." Ravenwing nodded. The air crackled with the princess’ bottomless arcane might. Her breast pulsed as she struggled to retain control of her breathing. Sweet, little, innocent Twilight from the stories. Ravenwing remembered seeing pictures of Twilight in her youth. This wasn’t a scholar. This was an angry god. For a moment Ravenwing contemplated only dismissing the soldiers. The magi were needed to hold the prison. Better safe than sorry. A quick word dismissed the soldiers. “Shall I keep the magi? "No." She didn’t even look at her as she walked right up to her brother’s cage. Ravenwing dismissed the magi. The three of them were alone. Shining looked upon his sister. She was considerably taller than him now, and that was saying something given how broad-chested and burly the middle-aged stallion was. She was slim and lithe, with only the slightest bit of pudge left over from her sedentary lifestyle. He was grizzled with age and stripped bare of all assets he came in with. He smiled and chuckled slightly. “Heh heh. You know, I had a thousand things ready to say, Twily. For the life of me, I can’t think of a single—" "You do not get to call me that anymore." Ravenwing stepped back as the temperature in the room dropped. Twilight had calmed slightly. Now she possessed the regal authority and billowing mane known to symbolize Equestrian power. Shining nodded. “Very well, princess." "How did you get in my castle?" "My? Not ‘the’? A little possessive now, aren’t we?” Twilight was silent at Shining’s jab, but Ravenwing could see a muscle twitch in her cheek. Always studious, always learning. Ravenwing realized she had never seen her mistress in a position of complete, soul-rending rage. The room was quiet. So eerily quiet. The crystal made the chamber into an amphitheater with how noise carried. Shining shook his head as the princess remained quiet. “I know the place inside and out. I expected you to update security in light of this, and you did so most admirably, princess, but let’s face it...” His gaze moved to Ravenwing just slightly before returning to Twilight. “I know you and the guard too well." Twilight was again quiet for the longest time. ‘Easy, keep it cool,’ Ravenwing told herself. She fought the urge to fidget in place. "That’s not an answer." Shining laughed a deep, throaty laugh. “It’s not a question you want answered." "Stop playing games with me!" He sighed. “Say it, Twilight." Silence. "Neither of us is going to get anyway unless you’ll say it." Silence. "Get it off your chest. You’ll feel better." "Stop it! You’re not my brother!" The room itself shook with her roar. Ravenwing lost her footing. A guard knocked on the other side of the door but a bark from Ravenwing put them in their place. "Twenty years. Twenty years! Out of nowhere you pilfer the Royal Archives and abandon everyone! Cadance, Celestia, Luna, Flurry Heart, me! Do you know how I found out you turned traitor? Do you?!" Ravenwing appreciated that Shining Armor was, wisely, silent. "I was dragged into a conference by the joint chiefs and told that my brother, national hero and ruler of the north, was selling secrets to the highest bidder. I knew something was wrong the moment I saw Celestia there. The look on her face said everything. I fought... I fought—!" Twilight choked on the words. Ravenwing stepped forward and put a hoof on her liege’s should, but Twilight shook it off. "I... I stood up for you longer than everyone. Longer than Cadance. Even she had to put a price on your head when the secret got out and ponies started talking. I was there as she made the address herself. When it was over, I was there for two more hours as she cried herself to sleep." Twilight gasped for breath in a vain attempt to calm down. Twenty years of black, poisonous rage had bubbled to the surface. Tears streamed down her face and her bane billowed in a nonexistent wind. "A-and,” she hiccuped, “you know the worst part? I see you sitting there behind bars... and all I want to do is give you a hug and be told everything will be fine. Why can’t I hate you!?" At that, Twilight collapsed onto her haunches and cried. The howl of grief that dripped from her lips chilled Ravenwing to her core. Princesses were strong, irrevocable. They were the stone on which a nation was built. Here her mistresses cried in such despair, the captain froze. "Leave her." Ravenwing blinked and looked at the prisoner. What was he talking about? Little did she know, her own hoof and lifted once again to comfort Twilight. She dropped it. For once, she actually agreed with him. Both soldiers were quiet as Twilight’s sobs slowed and soon ceased. She wiped her eyes with a hoof. Ravenwing stepped back a half step as Twilight got her breathing under control. "You are even more radiant and beautiful than I remember, Twilight. You’ve truly grown into you role as royalty. I know I wasn’t there for you much as you grew up. Even now I can’t make up for not being there, or what you may think of me." Her mistress was quiet. "Regardless, it is good to see you again, Twily." "You know I have to tell Cadance you’re here." For the first time since meeting him in her room, Ravenwing saw a brief glimmer of sadness on the ex-captain. “You’ll do what you must,” he said. Again it was as if the whole world paused. "Did you have a worthy reason for leaving?” Both sets of eyes turned on Ravenwing. The most wanted criminal and the world’s strongest pony shared looks of surprise upon seeing her speak. Bitterness clung to Princess Twilight. Shining Armor was merely contemplative. He rubbed a hoof through his graying mane, sighed, and spoke as if it was Twilight that aggressed him. Arrogant buck. “None that will fix what’s been damaged. None that will change what you think of me." So then Ravenwing had to ask the million bit question. A traitor and a murderer appears in one of the most heavily guarded places in the world. Princess Twilight was still his sister, granted, but why come back after so long? "Why are you here?" Shining Armor almost looked like he was about to answer Ravenwing before he stopped. Soon he smiled. "Does it matter?" "Let’s face it, Mister Armor. One such as you coming here of your own free will? You wouldn’t be here unless it benefited you in some way." "Does a guilty conscience count for nothing?" Guilt belonged to the tired. Before she could retort, he began to speak. "Six years ago, Zevera reported that their Equestrian consulate was broken into before immediately retracting the claims after publishing a comprehensive report that nothing was taken. In Yoketo, an entire section of the power grid was shut down for reasons unknown as a distraction to break into Blueblood holdings. Even the griffons had a thorn in their side. Jarl Tinfeathers’ private estate was ransacked." What was he talking about? What did this have to do with anything? Princess Twilight seemed unwilling to add anything, so Ravenwing continued. "I have heard of no such thing,” she said. Most of his claims, if real at all, were below her raidar. Why not. He was imprisoned. Let him peacock in whatever spotlight he thought he had. “Tinfeathers is notorious for holding grudges. If his hold was attacked, he would have made a public blood feud until the thief was dead." "Of course the pompous chick would, if he could find anything whatsoever about the thief at all; it’s hard to find a ghost. That’s why I’m here: to help you catch a ghost,” he said as he looked back towards Twilight. "All of these break-ins were perpetrated by the same individual, a pony who goes by the moniker Black Cat. She is not a thief, but a breaking and entering specialist paid to either remove or extract items for the right price. She has never been photographed, no one has seen her face, and she only communicates with her clients via deaddrop. She’s been paid to break into the most secure places in the world time and time again. Whether the job is to plant blackmail or remove a VIP from a very bad place, the Black Cat is at the top of the list." "And what do you want us to do about this phantom?” Ravenwing asked. Shining blinked. “You? I never said anything about you. This is for you, sister mine." Twilight took a breath to cool the anger undoubtedly bubbling up. “You didn’t need to bring this to me." "Of course I did. Her next target is the Royal Canterlot Vault." "Impossible!” Ravenwing said. “The vault is utterly impregnable." "How do you know this?” Twilight asked. Shining ignored Ravenwing. “I know because she’s already in Canterlot. I helped smuggle her into the city.” Wasteland Wonderland - [GORE] [Rarity] [Lone Wanderer] [Fallout 3] [Crossover] [Implied Violence]Author's Note Rarity does her best to survive the Capital Wasteland. I love the idea of Fallout, despite only starting the games this very month. I like the themes of sacrifice, the introspective analysis of human nature, and this vast world it allows players to wander in. I only know of two other games that beat the Fallout-verse in terms of staging great character development. After spending an ungodly amount of time in Fallout 3 (sorry, no Fallout 4 just yet), I played New Vegas today and the music just struck a chord in me. In just a few seconds the quiet ambiance of the wasteland constructed this scene in my head. I don't think I'll make a full story out of this little snippet, but I'd really like to. Ever since Fallout: Equestria, we don't see much of Fallout crossovers not involve Kkat's universe, and certainly not enough where ponies go to our world and not the other way around. Here's to you, Bathesda. I love your games. Now update your fucking game engine. Wasteland Wonderland - [GORE] [Rarity] [Lone Wanderer] [Fallout 3] [Crossover] [Implied Violence] The crackling fire gave off a somewhat foul odor, but those were a dime a dozen no matter where the Lone Wanderer ventured in the Capitol Wasteland. She inhaled it anyway, almost savoring the scent. Or at least trying to get used to it. It had been just over a week since she had left Vault 101, and the world was full of things she had never experienced. Her first day away from home, first scavenge of ammo from a locked safe, first gunfight with some assholes in a school who wanted to eat, rape, and kill her—she still wasn’t sure in what order, and her first kill. She sighed. “Good times.” At least she had stopped shaking whenever she dredged the memory up from the depths of her mind. The scent of crusted blood plastered on the walls, rotting flesh and piss-stained mattresses; it was enough to make her sick in a corner upon walking into that god-forsaken place. Currently the sun was beginning to set on the town of... well, she wasn’t quite sure what it was called. In passing it was always referred to as Minefield, and the good four or five dozen landmines scattered about town were a pretty good indication as to why. Well, there was also that jackass with the rifle who took bullets like a champ. She was just paid to get a landmine for a job! That was it! The resulting gunfight left the old man face down with a family of forty fours in his chest, and her having to pry a rifle round out of her hip. She took another deep breath again. She could still smell the rotten egg smell of gunpowder in the air and the burning oil from exploded cars. At least the town was safe from attacks, although it was a little too close to slaver territory for her comfort. One segment of her new shelter wall had been knocked out entirely, but given the rate of decay of the entire world, it was hard to tell what caused it. Still, she was secluded in what was left of the old badass’ sniper perch cooking up some radroach meat. It still tasted horrible, but it was better than starving to death and as much as she loved the taste, Nuka Cola didn’t quite satisfy. The air was chilly, but not so bad that she needed anything more than her blue Vault Utility jumpsuit. It was a very snug thing and the belt contained all of her tools from her time in the Vault where she grew up. Being handy with tools was only second to an entertainer in Vault importance. Well, not if you counted the Overseer who ran the place. “Big bombs, little bombs, an angry guy with a sledgehammer. Take your pick,” she whispered to herself. Looking out of the exposed wall gave her a rather picturesque view of the rest of the town despite the ramshackle appearance. The wasteland wasn’t kinder to the plants any more than the people who crawled out of the vaults after the world died. What shrubbery that survived was tough and dry. It needed to be in order to survive. At least something survived the world. Bones were everywhere. On the streets, in the wild, on beds clutching a teddy bear for the last time... “You’re crying again.” She brought up her revolver before her mind even identified the voice. New instincts had been drilled into her mind over the last week just to keep her breathing to see the next day. The little form skittered around the corner of the stairs without a sound and if it wasn’t the swish of a tail and the distinctly feminine voice, she wouldn’t have known she was watched at all. If she had been any slower on the draw, she might have gotten a shot off. “Jesus, Rares, stop that. One of these days I’m going to be quick enough on the draw,” she said in a rush. Adrenaline wanted to pump back into her veins but she was close to exhaustion after dealing with the sniper and maneuvering through an active minefield. She could hear Rarity walking back up the steps. How could hooves be so quiet in the first place, being a chunk of hard keratin and all? That was a secret worth knowing. The pony peeked around the corner, but by then the wanderer had holstered her weapon. “I apologize,” she said in accented but recognizable English. “You looked like you wanted a moment, so I didn’t wish to interrupt, but...” “Fine, fine,” the wanderer waved off. The pony was always like that, despite worrying about others being about number four on the list of quickest ways to get a knife in the back. Rarity walked toward her and eyed the fire and the makeshift radroach shishkabob. What once was pure white fur was married to a dirt brown and grey under a ragtag mass of raider armor. There simply wasn’t enough water to wash up in the wasteland, and all potable water was strictly for drinking only. In many circles, water was as good as any currency. As the wanderer ran a hand through her own oily, ratty rat’s nest of raven-black hair, Rarity began unpacking her bags. She looked like she wanted to say something, but she held her tongue. Good. Far too much had happened to worry about Rarity fussing over something. “Not much in terms of scavengables. I found a few of those comics you like, some scrap, and what’s this?” “That’s a vaccum cleaner.” “...That is a very strange design.” “Hey, I didn’t make it.” She flipped the kabob and the meat sizzled as the juice dripped over the open flame. Rarity wrinkled her nose in disgust at the sight. Well, she wasn’t human after all, so different strokes and all that. “I found a couple locked safes as well. Shouldn’t be too hard for you.” The wanderer smiled. Breaking and entering had proven to be quite the guilty pleasure of hers. “Ahem,” Rarity cleared her throat to get her attention. She was brandishing a pair of Nuka bottles. “If you were human, Rares, I’d give you a kiss.” Wondershy [Original Unedited Draft]Author's Note Stories often go through a fair bit of revision, but this one was another beast entirely for me. I pretty much wrote the entire thing, hated it, and scrapped the whole thing to start over. I pretty much wrote the entire story twice, and although I do believe the final draft is good on its own, this one... well, I have issues with it. There are a few problems. Comedy felt not inferior, but still needed more than there was. The worst portion, however, was that the third act was kinda bad. I had foolishly believed I could write the Wonderbolt's desire to draft Fluttershy as good enough to hold the story on its own. I was wrong. All tension pretty much stopped during the second act once the tatzelwurm was defeated. Love it or hate it, this is the first draft. Wondershy [Original Unedited Draft] “Here you go, champ,” Berry Punch said and slid a cocktail down to the flame-haired pegasus. Spitfire tossed back a good slug of gin and tonic with practiced ease. Rainbow Dash had taken her along with Soarin to the Ponyville bar that earlier that afternoon to relax; the Wonderbolts had just completed a twenty city tour and were on their way back to Canterlot. In the spirit of camaraderie and friendship, and because travel could get quiet excruciating when their job relied heavily on their wings and travel, the group had booked hotels in Ponyville in order to complete their trip back the next day. After all, Ponyville was the home of the one and only greatest flier in Equestria. “Can’t stay longer than a day, captain?” Dash asked. “Sorry, Dash. Deadlines to keep, paperwork to do.” Not if she kept shotgunning booze like that. Dash had settled on an Apple malt beer. It was barely past three in the afternoon and Spitfire was downing the hard stuff like a champ; it was a little early to be inhaling booze. Plus side: Dash had an extra bed to crash if Spitfire was too drunk to make it back to the hotel so they could chat. ‘Am I a bad pony for wishing my maybe future boss gets blackout drunk so I can drag her to my house?’ Now that she spelled it out to herself, it did sound kind of stupid. It still felt almost surreal to be in the presence of two Wonderbolts. With equal parts fangirling squeals and shame did she recall herself fawning over the group in the past. She collected their memorabilia, bought tickets to their aerial performances, and did everything she could to meet them in person. Too bad Fluttershy didn’t share her enthusiasm with idols and just wanted a spa visit with Rarity instead. They were just. So. Awesome! Alright, fangirling over, she told herself. She’d gotten her chance to have an informal drink with the ‘bolts and didn’t want to screw it up. The Grand Galloping Gala told her how chill they actually were. No worship or brown nosing, even as much as she wanted to. “Why a pick dive like Ponyville for the trip back? Not that I’m complaining, but there’s better options out there,” Rainbow Dash asked. “Is it wrong to want to hang out with good company and good booze?” Spitfire asked, and some of the regulars shouted ‘Hear hear!’ “I’m not complainin’, but it just feels like there are better choices out there. I mean, you’re the Wonderbolts! Penthouses and gold bathrooms!” “It’s not about the money, Dash,” Soarin said. Huh, Dash just thought about a rhyming game to bring up to Pinkie. “Sure, money’s awesome and everything, but we’re done with the tour and the public eye for now. Ponyville’s a small enough town where our every move is not going to make headlines and we can just chillax.” Dash put both of her hooves up. “Agreed, money is awesome. I even had a dream as a kid where I was rich enough to buy a smelter and turned a shitload of gold into the world’s biggest bathtub.” She shook her head. “Anyway, I just figured you guys would, you know, indulge when you make it big.” Soarin sighed. “Yeah, I indulged in my early years. I cut back real quick. Didn’t get bored or anything, but I didn’t like the limelight as much as I thought. I felt like a cockroach scuttling away from the light of every light bulb flash. Privacy is a very good thing to have, much desired when you make celebrity status.” Spitfire downed her next glass. By Luna’s fat ass, her liver must be god-tier. She wasn’t even swaying or slurring her words. “I’m a simple girl, Dash. I don’t need all that much. I cook for myself, so good food is high on the list. As for what do I actually use the cash for? Along with all the bottles of prickly pear juice and sarsaparilla in the world, a nest egg tucked away in some stocks and bonds to coast through retirement, and the rest is dedicated to all those high class orgies I fund.” “I gotcha.” Dash blinked. “Wait, what?” Dash’s prospects of getting laid were sadly demolished as something was demolished. Smoke and shouts rose from the east after the air was cut with a rumbling in the earth and a thunderous crash of breaking wood. An equal number of ponies ran from and to the sound of danger, those fleeing for their life brushing up against those running to help. “Here we go again,” Dash sighed as her wings unfurled and she took to the air. They were overdue for a monster attack anyway. Paper Pusher, the town’s insurance agent, was going to have a fit. “‘Again’? What kind of hellhole is Ponyville where this is a casual affair?” Soarin shouted. Dash didn’t see if the two Wonderbolts followed her, but she heard them take to the air just like her. Air rushed over her wings as she darted towards the smoke and sounds of destruction. She could see ponies running down the side streets like little spiders on threads of web. Those coming to assist were staying a cautious distance away until the danger could be ascertained. Everyone was well practiced on what to do by now. The source of trouble wasn’t all that hard to find. Ambrosia and her work crews were going to have some work: a sinkhole had swallowed half a house. Everything from basement to two floors of Ponyville craftsmanship were utterly destroyed in a perfect circle. She struggled to hear anything more in the sea of pony screams and bedlam down below. Ears erect and searching, she heard the sound of creaking and snapping wood underneath the pillar of smoke and tumbling rock. She couldn’t tell if the pillar of smoke stemming from Ponyville’s new gaping scar was from dust and ash, or smoke from a fire. Nothing smelled like it was burning, but that could change. “No rest for the weary?” Dash asked. Soarin and Spitfire caught up to her and flanked both sides. “We’re off duty, not heartless, Rainbow,” Soarin said. “Might as well stick around to help. This is your turf. You make the call.” She nodded. “First thing’s first, make sure ground zero is clear and then set up a perimeter. Then we can find out what the hell happened.” There shouldn’t be a sinkhole in Ponyville. The earth it stood over was far too rocky. “Let’s check it out and meet right back here in four minutes.” Blue and red streaked by her side as she dove towards the collapsing house. The wood beams groaned and buckled as she landed on the top floor of the house. Soarin took the first floor while Spitfire searched the ground floor for survivors. The air was thick with dusk and smoke, but still no smell of burning. That was good. She spread a wing across her face and breathed through a veil of feathers. It wasn’t much, but it lessened her fume intake. Sunlight poured in through the hole in the roof and reflected off the smog, turning everything a sickly brown-orange color. It stung and brought tears to her eyes as she searched. She was in what looked like the master bedroom. There wasn’t anybody there, or parts of anybody, thank the powers. In the name of thoroughness and anticipating the inherent skittish fear in most ponies, she checked under the bed and the closet. No one. The earth rumbled and she struggled to find stable ground before the house settled. This was not a good place to be. “Is there anyone in here?” she called out. No one answered her. “You two find anyone?” “No!” “Nothing!” Busy hours for the town ended at four. There was a good chance no one was home, but they didn’t have the time to make sure; it was better to search the house anyway and be sure rather than potentially leave someone inside a collapsing house. Rainbow coughed and exited the bedroom, coming into a crushed narrow hallway. One wall was shakily standing, while the other buckled in on her in spots that wasn’t just missing outright “First floor clear!” Soarin shouted. Good. The occupants may have actually escaped or avoided this mess. Rainbow jumped as a piece of the wall collapsed away and fell into the pit. Indignant, the pit then spat something right back out. “The hell was that?” Spitfire asked. Whatever shot right out was much too fast and tore a trail right through all the haze. No one had any time to respond; a buttery ball of fur shot right back into the destroyed building, hovering in the center of the massive hole. There were two types of panic when it came to Fluttershy: ‘my shadow scared me’, and ‘run before it eats your face’. The look on her face was most certainly the latter. “You need to leave! Right now!” Fluttershy urged her before shooting right back out. Something fluttered in the dark depths of the sinkhole, fetid and rotten. Oh crap not a sinkhole! “Both of you, get the hell outta there!” Dash immediately shot out of the house with Spitfire close behind. Soarin was a close third, but the rumbling underground sure lit a fire under his tail. “Hold your breath!” Dash did so, not knowing if her two comrades obeyed Fluttershy’s command. Dash knew she wasn’t all that smart and didn’t know much about animals, but there was enough for her to know the signs of a tatzlwurm. The three of them scattered as the tatzlwurm lashed out of its new burrow, its rank breath billowing across her fur. She felt more than saw the beast rise into the air on its great serpentine body. Its shadow blocked a vast swath of Ponyville proper, utterly dwarfing even the tallest buildings in the little berg. Dash banked left and chanced a peek behind her. The tatzlwurm snapped at the tiny outline of Fluttershy zipping through the air like a thunderbolt. It’s segmented mouth opened and it lunged at the normally timid pegasus while its many tongues lashe out. Fluttershy’s wings snapped close and she dropped like a stone. Dash’s heart leapt into her throat, but she relaxed infinitesimally when she realized it was a calculated dive. The beast’s many tongues grabbed empty air and its maw snapped shut. It must have been real thirsty for the mare because it utterly ignored everything around it except for her. Spitfire flashed to her side. She was trying to remain cool, but her eyes were wide with panic now that she saw the sheer scale of the threat. “Well... I got nothing.” She looked to Rainbow Dash for guidance. Dash’s wings beat in time with her heart as she scanned the monster. Everything had a weakness of some kind. She just had to find it. Tazlwurms were big and scaley. She could beat her hooves against its hide all day and it would barely feel it. It’s mouth was soft enough to attack, but it had those golden teeth, and tongues that would just drag her down into its gut. It looked like it had a fan of petals around its head, but she saw no use in attacking that. ‘C’mon, c’mon...’ Near the destroyed house was a large patch of scales that had been ripped off its undulating hide. It looked like it had been patched with leaves prior, but now the wound was covered in rock dust and oozing viscous unmentionables. “There!” she shouted triumphantly. Rainbow Dash darted forward with her two companions in hot pursuit. Fluttershy was making her own escape from the giant wurm. The beast arced its winding body to follow her and lashed out with its many tongue, the pegasus artfully dodging and weaving like a bat. Rainbow was prepared to say something as Fluttershy dove dangerously close to the ground, but her wings opened in an instant and a cushion of air stopped her fall. The dirt and dust she kicked up wasn’t nearly enough to hide her position, but it was much harder for the tatzlwurm to follow her as she shot straight up in the air; it was much too large to make sharp turns. Rainbow Dash put the full force of her momentum behind her as she slammed into the wurm’s wounded side, followed quickly by Spitfire and Soarin. It roared less in pain and more like they tore off a bandaid stuck to some hair, but it stopped its relentless pursuit of Fluttershy. The wurm lashed out at the three of them. They were not so lucky as the normally timid mare. They were all world-class fliers and could dodge such a beast with ease, but Spitfire faltered and fell as she caught a whiff of its disease-ridden breath. “Gotcha Spitsy!” Soarin said as he swooped down. Rainbow snorted. What a stupid nickname. Sniggering almost turned to fear as the wurm snapped at her with its many tongues. They weren’t a problem on their own, but each tongue was coated in a thick layer of sticky mucus that was almost like glue. Her whole body lurched as she came to a stop and she felt the creature snap its maw close on her tail. Its prey only inches away, it opened its maw for one more tug while Dash took the opportunity to lunge forward with all her might. Vertigo took her and she lost which way was up and she was blasted with liquid, forcing her to take a breath from shock. Did it swallow her? No, she was wet and cold, not sticky, and her head was clear. She didn’t get doused with its breath. She brought her wings tighter to her side for a more controlled spiral to the hard ground. The tatzlwurm’s shriek through a cloud that had been launched like a bullet at its head. It didn’t sound pained, but it sure didn’t like being surrounded by the thick mist. Dash finally managed to snap her wings open and she arced long and far, certainly out of reach of the wurrm. It shrunk back into its burrow to escape the cloud, shaking its flowery head to dispel the cloud. Fluttershy was already on her way back to the skies for another cloud. Well, might as well join her. Dash adjusted herself and launched skyward, passing over Soarin bringing Spitfire to safety. Fluttershy had already launched her cloud at the creature’s head the time she acquired her own. It still released the same snarling hiss and retreated a little further into the depths. She really wanted to know why it did that, but there would be time for questions later. If it was afraid of water, all the better. Rainbow lined herself up and shoved against the cloud. She didn’t want to push too hard or else she would lose it or have it disintegrate in her hooves. It didn’t matter in the end for the monster was still slithering back at the sudden onslaught of Fluttershy’s last cloud. Rainbow didn’t question why it worked, but she held her breath once she got close enough and kicked off from the cloud. The tatzlwurm gave one final hiss and slithered back into the hole. Now that the threat was over and danger had passed, Rainbow took a moment to get a good, solid look at the landscape beneath her. It took her a second to place it, but the smashed house belonged to Berry Punch and her daughter. That was good; Berry was safe and her kid Pinchy was in school. No loss of life. The town started cheering as she and Fluttershy landed side by side Bon Bon’s candy shop. Normally fearful of attention as she was, Fluttershy’s full attention was on the destroyed house, oblivious to the cries of victory and the occasional wolf whistle. “Hot damn!” Soarin exclaimed. He was almost carrying Spitfire. The captain was ashen faced and sweating, but otherwise appeared fine as long as she stopped looking like she’d vomit. “I admit my butthole puckered up a little there, but that was fun!” He clapped his other hoof on Fluttershy’s back. It was almost comical the way Fluttershy turned to him and jumped, only now realizing somepony had touched her. She didn’t so much as buckle under Soarin’s brawny pat. “Fluttershy, was it? You are built like iron.” Spitfire swallowed and added, “That was some pretty impressive flying there, Fluttershy.” “...Thank you.” “You okay, Flutters?” Dash asked. Fluttershy had that look like she wasn’t really paying attention to what was going on around her. “Yeah.” Spitfire looked from her and then back to Fluttershy. “Pretty impressive might actually...” She swallowed whatever was about to come back up. “...Lot better than I thought. Got some real skill there.” “Better than that! I’d be willing to fund a private judging for a chance for you to join us! I thought you said you couldn’t fly worth a damn. What I saw was no chick falling out of the nest.” Soarin added. Something in his words must have snapped her out of Fluttershy’s strange dreamy state. Her wings fluttered and snapped to her sides. “Um...” Fluttershy’s eyes darted to the fallen captain, then to Soarin’s excitable features, and then to the crowd the four of them were slowly accumulating. “M-miss Sp-Spitfire, th-th—” And with that, Fluttershy ran away. “Seriously, Dash. I thought you said she couldn’t fly any better than a filly. Hell, I have your records. You as a filly could fly better than her now. Or so I thought.” “I know there is a certain bravado to Wonderbolts, but I am going to need you to please sit still for a little while longer, Miss Spitfire.” Rainbow Dash had a cautious respect for Nurse Redheart, even when she was patching up other ponies. She had the unpleasant privilege of working the clinic most days, so it was she that had to patch up the town once they were done with whatever problem was happening each week. She honestly preferred the mare to look so soul-rendingly dead inside that the reaper might as well be peeking over her shoulder. Redheart had the unusual ability to quiet rowdy children by smiling so unpleasantly it looked like she were made of plastic.Dash considered herself a well traveled and experienced mare, but there was something to be said about a mare that had to fix up a town like Ponyville and didn’t run for the hills. Redheart finished taking a sample of blood and replaced the bucket Spitfire was leaning over. The pegasus didn’t get dosed bad enough to be bedridden or sent to urgent care, but she’d be out of her shows for a good week or two. “I’ve faced worse than this,” Spitfire said. “But you are under my roof and in my care, and will thus follow my rules until I discharge you.” “We just went face to ugly face with a tatzlwurm, Miss Redheart,” Soarin countered. Dash just looked down and kicked her legs against her chair. Not a good idea to match wits with a Ponyville nurse. “I pulled a bowling pin from a mare’s nether regions.” Hmmm... Dash wondered why Rarity was walking bow legged last week. Soarin gapped a little, stumbled for words, and then bowed to the nurse. “Anyway,” he said, giving Redheart a wary look, “by chance could we have a chat with Fluttershy later, Rainbow Dash?” “Depends. She seemed pretty spooked this time around. I’d have to see what rock she’s hiding under this time, and that’d take some time. Might not find her by tomorrow.” Soarin waved her off. “Nah, nah, nah. That’s not the only point. I saw Fluttershy fly before. Myself. Hate to say it, but she ain’t that good, at least that’s what I thought until today. She needs a lot of work, but she’d make a damn fine flier and could even be Wonderbolt material in about two years or so. Thing is, how’d she go from that she little filly that I saw to practically flying circles around us?” “I mean, she wasn’t good enough to fly circles around all of us, she just knew what to do with the tatzl—” “Daaaaash?” Spitfire said slowly. “Yes, mom?” Spitfire rolled her eyes. This was the part Dash wasn’t looking forward to. There was a reason Fluttershy wasn’t always in beast mode. Soarin didn’t look like he’d take much less than an application though. “She won’t join up. I can promise you that already.” “I don’t believe we’ll be able to convince her either,” Spitfire said. “Really?” If anything, she expected Spitfire to press Fluttershy joining up even more. “Then why do you want to talk to her?” “On the off chance I’m wrong. She’s a good flier, Rainbow Dash. I’d at least like to try.” It wouldn’t hurt. She sighed and shrugged. “Yeah, Fluttershy is actually a pretty good flier. Good wingmanship and everything. Don’t have much interest in sports no matter how much I tried to get her involved, but does even worse with stress; she folds like a cheap card table. I told her if something like this happens, I won’t sign her up for anything and let her explain herself.” Well, she knew Fluttershy’s usual spots. Hopefully it wouldn’t be too hard to smoke her out after dealing with something as big as the wurm. Fluttershy had a fondness for all critters, no matter how big or house-eating they were. Rainbow honestly didn’t think Fluttershy was in the spa, but it was a good a place as any to start looking for her after searching her house. Dash even checked her own cloudy home just in case. Hopefully Fluttershy wanted to relax a little after the day’s fun, but the entire spa proved to be empty. What Dash wanted was to enlist Pinkie’s help in finding Fluttershy; the mare had a bloodhound’s sense for finding ponies in a snap. The Cakes said she was watching paint dry. Rainbow figgered it was best to leave her be for now, instead contending with questions from the Wonderbolts. “No she wasn’t always like that. Back at Flight Camp, she really couldn’t fly at the well. Probably the worst flier there, honestly. Kinda why she got picked on a lot. This was something she picked up over time.” Spitfire followed her out the mud room doors and into the spa lobby. The spa twins were busy stocking their supplies and ignored them upon realizing they wouldn't be patrons. She didn’t look all that good, but at least she hadn’t started puking again. “She use those skills here in town?” Rainbow shook her head. “Mostly she keeps to herself, but she’ll step up as pinch hitter if needed.” Rarity entered the spa just as the three were leaving, still walking bow-legged. “Yeah, about that,” Soarin said. “What’s this shit about monster attacks being routine? “Yeah, we almost had to work for it this time. From what I hear, the Royal Guard doesn’t even deploy troops anymore. You just get used to it after a while.” Shit, she saw Pencil Pusher. He was the singular agent of the crown in the entire village and had the unfortunate responsibility of being an insurance agent. No other agency even dared touch the town due to their proximity to the Everfree Forest. No doubt he’d want to talk to her again, especially after hearing her role in the monster attack. Pasty white and looking forever bored, he was searching the crowds. Best to make herself scarce. Rainbow spread her wings and took to the air. There was one place Fluttershy liked to go that was pretty exposed, but no one explored. Even now birds fluttered around the top of the old clock tower. Jackpot. Fluttershy was almost covered head to hoof in birds. Pigeons, canaries, forest runners, yellow-breasted somethings she forgot the name of; Fluttershy was just an unending mass of feathers under the great bell. The bell tongue had long since been removed due to damage that certainly wasn’t caused by Dash and her gang of friends. The only telltale sign that there was somepony under thirty layers of flying rats was the flicker of pink brushing against the hard cement floor. “Fl—” Dash didn’t even get a syllable out before Fluttershy’s avian friends scattered to the winds, leaving one very startled-looking mare facing down three ponies that weren’t there before. “Fluttershy, easy! They’re cool. They just want to chat, no crowds or races or nothin’.” Rainbow was hoping to get this over with quickly. Pencil Pusher was likely going to want a word with her about another destroyed house. Apparently Ponyville kept bankrupting agencies. Fluttershy’s fur looked puffed out like a startled cat. At least she hadn’t bolted. A promising sign. Slowly but surely Fluttershy relaxed. “I-I-I’m sorry, you just scared me.” “Fine, fine. Didn’t expect no bird swarm of yours to be up here either.” That was the song and dance of dealing with Fluttershy: always be prepared for her to panic. Rainbow Dash didn’t mind. It was cute in its own way, like a fearful kitten not realizing he is hissing at his own reflection. “And I’m sorry for running out on you. I had to deal with the tatzlwurm and I... don’t like crowds.” Fluttershy shrunk a little bit as she made eye contact with Spitfire and Soarin. “H-hi.” Jeez, all the birds flying off must have really scared the daylights out of her if she was still stuttering. “You’re the Wonderbolts, right?” Spitfire nodded and said, “Yup!” Soarin just mouthed to Rainbow ‘Deal with?’ incredulously. Rainbow Dash stepped to the side a little and gestured to Spitfire. “They saw what you did with big and ugly back there and just want to talk a little.” Spitfire cleared her throat and took a step forward. “That was some pretty slick flying back there, Miss Fluttershy. It’s safe to say we’re more than impressed; really didn’t know you had it in you. Rainbow Dash here says you’re not interested in joining the Wonderbolts.” Fluttershy vehemently shook her head ‘no’. As diplomatic as the public figure she was, Spitfire shrugged her shoulders without complaint. “Oh, this isn’t a recruitment. I wouldn’t mind if you were interested, sure, but I’m not here to draft you or anything. “Just tell them what you do here, Fluttershy,” Dash interjected. “Same thing you gave Twi. Just start with how you learned to fly like you do.” “You want to know why I can fly so good?” Fluttershy asked timidly. “More or less.” “It started with the rainboom.” Fluttershy wasn’t making eye contact with any of them. “I was always a little scared of others. I have social anxiety and I just kind of... freeze when other people watch me. I was never a good flier and other foals at Flight Camp always made fun of me for it. A sort of psychological block. It didn’t help that Flight Camp was a breeding ground for sociopaths.” Someone was still a little bitter after fifteen years. Soarin looked like he was about to protest the comment, but was given a nudge to quiet by Spitfire. The Wonderbolts tended to gather new recruits from Flight Camp. Spitfire nodded for her to continue. Fluttershy drew circles in the stone with a forehoof. “I moved as soon as I could to a quiet town where I could focus on my work with animals. Animals treated me better than any of the other foals, and I liked taking care of them. In Ponyville, I could focus on my talents, and as an added bonus, I didn’t need to fly all that much because it already had a weather team and Rainbow moved to town with me.” Fluttershy gave her a grateful smile, which made her puff out her chest a little in pride. Why wouldn’t she? They were friends to the end. “Over time, the animals came to me as, um... Harry likes to exaggerate a little.” Soarin looked at Dash with a raised eyebrow. “A brown bear,” she clarified. He seemed to think she was joking. Fluttershy nodded, but looked a little bashful. “I suppose he’s the reason all the other animals came to me for help. Harry exaggerates, but he started calling me the warden of the Everfree Forest after I rescued him from a mother bear protecting her cub. He woke up and the mother thought he was going after her cub. I had to wrestle her into submission in order to get him out safely. He got hurt in the process, so I teach him how to wrestle and massage his back every week.” Soarin held up a hoof. “Steve Magnet the sea dragon told me about some herbs I could dry and burn for pain relief, so I swim with him on occasion. He’s really helped me map out the forest. He’s so nice; I really don’t know why ponies are scared of sea dragons.” Spitfire also looked like she wanted to say something, but kept silent. She appeared to be having an intense debate on deciding whether it was Harry exaggerating or Fluttershy herself. “That’s sort of what made me, uh...” Fluttershy blinked cutely trying to come up with the proper word. “...helped my, I don’t know, business? I think? It helped my business take off. I realized how much I liked animals and helping them during the Rainboom, but for once in my life, I was happy with a quiet life. On occasion I’ll have to fly away from a few hives of enderhornets or the occasional pack of timberwolves. Last week I had to wrestle a few timberwolves because my wings were tired from swimming with Steve Magnet. I had to ask a manticore to give me a ride on his back to make it to my cottage before dark.” Her two guests were quiet, slackjawed. The slight wind blowing through the tower ruffled Fluttershy’s thin layer of fur. Her lengthy mane always made her fur seem longer by association, but both could see how little of her bulk was not fur, but hard, corded muscle. Fluttershy blinked and shrunk a little bit at their silence. “They were just pups. They didn’t know any better. I gave their parents a good talking to.” “And then?” Rainbow prodded. “Oh. Oh! Sorry, I didn’t mean to get so carried away. Anyway, I just sort of adapted my flying skills to work for my job as an animal caretaker. I learned how to swim like a dragon, swoop like a bat, hunt like a wolf. I needed to learn from them in order to care for them. I, uh.” She looked at herself, acknowledging her own impressive bulk. She was slightly smaller than Soarin, but still matched him in body mass. “I’d gotten a little, teeny, tiny bit stronger and faster in order to be able to keep up with so many creatures. They’re really nice once you get to know them, and I’ve learned so much about how to keep the bad monsters out of town. I know it seems more like an earth pony’s job than a pegasus’, but I like it. I like keeping my hooves on the ground. I like flying, but I like it because it helps with my job, but because I, um... I don’t mean to be insensitive, but not because I should just because I am a pegasus.” Soarin still seemed a little hung up on Fluttershy’s claims, but Spitfire appeared much more contemplative. Fluttershy was, in just about every since of the word, a coward. Dash was enough of a realist to admit that, and even Fluttershy acknowledged her own irrational fears. The linchpin, the key that defined Fluttershy’s skills wasn’t aptitude, but desire. The caretaker continued, “That’s why I sorta did what I did earlier today. I flew not because I wanted to, but because I needed to. Rarity had told me when we were in the spa that she’s been prospecting for gems earlier that day, but almost encountered some Diamond Dogs. They were burrowing closer to the tatzlwurm and were going to wake it up at their pace. Steve Magnet told me that one of his water reservoirs drained and I investigated and found the wurm. It was injured and driven off by something else, and I don’t know how to talk to them yet, but it let me tend to its wounds. It was actually kind of fascinating to see up close. I didn’t know tatzlwurms were a symbiotic lifeform, a cross of flowers and burrowers. Plants are susceptible to cold, which is why it didn’t like the cold air from clouds.” Huh. Giant, boulder-crushing, house-smashing monster hated to get a little nippy. “You’re quite a good flier, Fluttershy. Really good, when you put your mind to it. And that’s me saying that.” It was the first thing Spitfire said since Fluttershy started her tale. Rainbow Dash fully expected Fluttershy to swear up and down she wasn’t, but she continued to surprise her. “Th-thanks, Miss Spitfire. I’ve tried out for flying stuff before with Rainbow Dash, but I... don’t... like it all that much and did it only because Rainbow Dash asked me. I’m sorry Rainbow, I don’t say it to hurt your feelings or anything—” “Water under the bridge, Flutters. We’ve been over that before and it’s okay.” Part of being in the limelight was the ability to take a punch, and while Fluttershy could probably eat a punch along with a brick, Fluttershy’s self esteem and ego were too fragile to make a Wonderbolt, despite her skill. “Right. Sorry.” Fluttershy returned her attention to Spitfire. “Anyway, I could never do anything good with eyes on me. I just... shrink. It’s like the world gets so big and and then starts suffocating me. All those eyes on me, judging me, some of them calling me names...” Her voice softened with each word until it was little more than a squeak. Ears folded, shoulders hunched, and her tail stood unmoving between her legs. In the very next instant, Fluttershy took a deep breath and raised her head. “I don’t do well under pressure, but I’m okay with that. I’m happy taking care of all my animal friends instead of taking up a job that requires me to fly. I like flying, but I don’t like ponies watching me fly, if that makes any sense.” “Oh, totally!” Spitfire seemed to jump a little now that Soarin broke his silence. “You should see all the embarrassing garbage we have to go through during practice. All the crashes and the lame way our early stunts look; it’s kind of hilarious and why we don’t let anypony film rehearsals.” “Tell you what, Fluttershy,” Spitfire added. “I got an offer for you. How about we invite you and Dash up to Cloudsdale some time so we can all just hang out and relax? Maybe have a private race or two with gates closed?” Travel was always fun, and Cloudsdale was Fluttershy’s home town. Her ears perked up and wings fluttered, making Rainbow Dash smile; she was interested. “My work keeps me pretty busy, Miss Spitfire... but I do like the sound of that.” Spitfire clapped her hooves together happily. She didn’t acquire another prospective recruit, but there was always time for friends. “Great! We’ll work something out at a later time. Lookin’ forward to a race.” “Wahoo! Road trip!” Dash exclaimed. In a flutter of wings, the four ponies exited the clock tower and landed on Ponyville’s cobblestone streets. Almost three hours had passed since the taztlwurn erupted from the ground. Dash was not the only one to notice a fair bit of their day had been spent. “Say,” Soaring said, “we got half a day left. What’s say we spend that half day drinking?” “Sounds like a plan to me! I didn’t even get a buzz yet,” Spitfire said. Was everything pisswater to her? Rainbow Dash thought about asking Golden Harvest for her tharra garbage. It was the strongest booze in town but only a rare brave few drank it for fear of going blind. “You up for a few rounds, Fluttershy? I’m buying.” Fluttershy shyly brushed a lock behind an ear and smiled. “Sure. I can stay out for a little bit.” “Hello again, Rainbow Dash.” The mare whirled around at the mention of her name. Pencil Pusher, sweaty and exhausted from searching half of town, held a manilla folder in his grasp and within what looked like a thousand empty insurance forms to sign. “Shit.” Fluttershy's Dream 1 [Grey Hat] [OC] [Fluttershy] [Gore]Author's Note I cut this from Grey Hat's Chapter 2: It's Cold Out Here for a pretty simple reason: I didn't like the Baron. The Baron, a character you can read about in detail in earlier entries in the journal if you'd like, was a character I made for some horror-themed fanfictions. Now this is not the same character; I only adopted certain mannerisms and his general description. Still, I didn't like the way this turned out, as even I couldn't get a good frame of reference for why he was doing what he was doing. He was kind, yet cruel, and it clashed in a way I didn't like. I couldn't justify it with regards for later plot elements, so I axed it and rewrote it from scratch. Mild gore warning for you right now, and so here's the original cut. Fluttershy's Dream 1 [Grey Hat] [OC] [Fluttershy] [Gore] The scent of warm earth and animal fur was pleasant and welcome to Fluttershy. To her it reminded her of the forests and plains, of the running animals for which she shared her affinity for compassion. The foods and kibbles stored behind oaken doors sustained them, and the heat of sleeping bodies hung in the air. The hearth in Fluttershy’s cottage was alight with flickering flames. Two large, overstuffed armchairs were pointed towards the fire, but one of them was filled. Looking back towards the door nervously, she swallowed, steeled her shaky nerves, and hopped into the adjacent chair. He was a rather dignified looking unicorn dressed entirely in white, although red stitching along his lapels and tophat seemed to glow in the firelight. His charcoal fur made his red eyes stick out all the more. He was currently nursing a wineglass with some unidentified amber liquid. Without even shifting to greet his guest--it wasn’t even his house--he pushed an identical glass across the tabletop between them. Fluttershy stared at the fireplace. The heat and warmth of it or the presence of her home was no comfort at all. “Back so soon?” he asked politely. He had a very calm, soothing tenor. “Come now, my dear; no need for bad manners.” “This is my house,” she replied. “In more ways than one.” He tipped the glass to his lips and drained a portion, sighing contently. “Are you afraid of me?” The smells. The warmth. The sense of peace and calm. Everything that she could hold onto and form a bastion of comfort vanished into smoke and disappeared into the evening. “Why do you keep coming back?” “That is not an answer.” She could feel his eyes staring at her. The side of her face began to itch. “You’ve never asked me to leave.” True. Without looking for him, she grasped the wineglass and sipped. It reminded her of the wine at Cadance’s and Shining’s wedding, pleasant with a peach aftertaste. “Will you go if I ask you to?” “No.” The bluntness finally made her look at him. He did not mock her, and the aged lines on his face relayed no sense of amusement. Before she could even protest, he set his own glass down and added, “You must understand, love, I--” “Please go,” she begged. That careful mirror of calm she’d shown Applejack developed a crack. Voice quavering, she said it again, “Please leave me alone.” The stallion sighed, his demeanor that of a parent who must unpleasantly punish a child despite how necessary it may be. “I cannot. I want something in return, Fluttershy.” He adjusted himself, leaning in closer. His eyes bleed the warmth and friendliness he’d shown just moments before. The hearth cast his face in shadows so only red gleamed through the darkness. “You wish every little thing that you don’t like away. I want you to need me gone, and I’m not leaving so easily. You invited me here of our own free will, you allowed me to stay, and I know you have a few more guests wandering about.” No. Not nice. Not nice at all. “I hear them, my dear.” He leaned in closer. He seemed to loom over her, eating all the light in the room. “I hear them clawing at the walls. You think you can just run from your friends and wish them all away?” Just like that, he was back in his chair, sipping a glass. “What makes me different from them is that they’re unwelcome, and I am not. They won’t leave no matter how far you go, little one. I am here because you need my help.” He turned back on her, waiting for the impending response. “Why?” The stallion chuckled plainly. He tipped his wineglass. “You’ll have to deal with him, for starters.” White-hot pain spiked through her heart. Warmth bubbled around her throat and chest and she called out for the stallion. He only stared at her as nothing but a stuttering gasp pierced her lips and wetness flew from her throat. Her hooves flew to her throat and came back warm and stained red from hemorrhaging blood. She was staring at the ceiling now, her back now wet with her own blood. She had fallen off the chair at some point and could only gurgle weakly as strength left her limbs and the light began to fade. Just as the darkness came to ferry her to death, a reptilian face came into view, in its scaly hand a dagger stained crimson. “I’ll be in touch, Flutters.”
The Bell Never Tolls [Original] [Bittersweet] [Cadance] [OC] [Implied Torture]Author's Note Never has there been a tale of woe quite like Doctor Destiny. Those that know me know of my three original characters: Reon Adler, warrior hero and the progenitor of much of my drive. The Journeyman, the bard whose name I bear and whose tale I have yet to tell. Finally, Doctor Edmund Sirus. I really liked the doctor when I made him. For one, who went against my traditional types. When I was a kid, I had three little notebooks where I drew my crummy monsters and story ideas. The heroes always won no matter what. There's nothing inherently wrong with that, but it lacked any sort of originality on my part. Doctor Sirus was the first who was neither a "good guy" or one who strove to change that. All he really cared about was what was right in front of him. His tale was always meant to be told in media res. The horrors of the past were always right over his shoulder, as was his silent companion, the voice that never left his his side. Over time, Edmund's past was revealed through flashbacks, remembrance, and quiet contemplation. I always wanted to transfer his story to an MLP equivalent, but there were several things that never quite fit. I tried a couple times, and glimpses of the character can be seen through SCP-976 — Doctor Destiny, Hippocratic Oath, and Along Came a Spider. Never the full story, however, and never touching the heart of the tragedy. I can't get in too deep just yet, at least not before this chapter has been told. Maybe one day I will write the dear doctor's story in full, but that day is not today. Without further ado, here is the closest I have ever gotten to transcribing the story. Enjoy The Bell Never Tolls. The Bell Never Tolls [Original] [Bittersweet] [Cadance] [OC] [Implied Torture] The Bell Never Tolls There was a purity in darkness. The raw, crystalline minerals projecting every which way cast many shadows, and the incredible depth at which they resided meant that none of the sun’s holy radiance never touched the cavernous deep. Darkness greeted, enveloped, and even entombed whatever construct of blood, steel and stone that resided in the underground. It never judged, and shrouded everything equally. Cave spiders, lichens, moss, blind creatures long languishing in the darkness, and the insurmountable power of the earth. Even above ground in the sun-soaked forests and plains, there was darkness at the end of every light. The caves were slashed by a blinding blue light. Blind centipedes and amphibians scurrying around for food fled in pain as unwelcome light cut through their precious darkness. Just as quickly as it appeared, the light was lost and the darkness resumed its omnipresence. It is time to begin. Twin beams of orange light, a far cry from the sudden burst of power moments ago, illuminated azure and violet crystal formations. Walls, stalactites, and even the very ground seemed composed of nothing but the same crystalline minerals. Light refracted off them and illuminated all directions as it cut through the dark. It created a dim glow that illuminated the source of the light. A stallion fiddled with the metal ring around his throat and the dual flashlights attached to it. He was devoid of wings or a horn, and yet still managed to keep an almost regal bearing about him. His dull brown saddlebags were immaculately cleaned, his dappled light brown coat had seen better days but was still combed and groomed, and devoid of grime and tarnish was his stark white doctor’s jacket. Appearances were deceiving. The stallion’s demeanor conflicted greatly with his mien. Dark circles hung under his ice-blue eyes and what professional interest one would expect from a doctor was replaced by a look of blank apathy. What was a doctor doing underground? The stallion stepped forward, looking left and right carefully. The twin lights followed his every movement. The glittering lights were a gorgeous sight to behold, but rather than stop and admire the once in a lifetime opportunity, he kept walking. Spiders, worms, and amphibians shied away from his thumping hoofsteps and light. Ponies dominated the lands above ground, even the mountain the caverns currently lay beneath. The underground was not the domain of ponies, and the creatures of the dark knew it. The stallion soon approached a junction that split into five separate paths. Taking a moment, he shined his lights down each respective tunnel, searching for a means to progress. The second from the left. The stallion, tugged by some unknown impulse, did as the voice commanded. Issuing a soft winny, he stepped down the indicated tunnel and progressed deeper into the earth. He looked behind, knickered an unspoken thought, and kept moving. The tunnel did not split any further, but the stallion kept looking behind, searching for something the darkness struggled to hide. The tunnel soon leveled out into a narrow but tall gully. Face still empty of emotion, he tasted the air and coughed. It was terribly dry. Caverns were usually moist, especially those with mineral deposits, but everything was as dry as a bone. After a brief coughing fit, the stallion composed himself. Twin swords of light stabbed at the dark. He looked up, but the ceiling was so impossibly high it was swallowed by the shadows. Without wings or magic, and the walls far too steep to afford any purchase, it would be impossible to climb regardless. Proceed down the first left. Mechanically, the stallion began searching the leftmost wall. Left to right, up and down. Back and forth he searched as the sound of his steps bounced off the narrow walls and was swallowed by the depths. The path the voice indicated was almost hidden by a shattered piece of crystal that had fallen from a higher point in the gully’s distant past. The stallion knickered and bucked. The crystal shard only twitched, refusing to budge. For once, an emotion crossed his face. Inhaling, he planted himself as firmly as he could and bucked with all his might. The crystal was heavy, and although it slid a little more, it was still not enough space to slide his own slender form inside. Grunting, he prepared for one more buck. The heavy crystal slid a little further across the dusty, dry ground. he gave it a disdainful look before his face returned to its artful smoothness. Had such a large piece of crystal landed on him as he traversed the gully, it would have killed him instantly. Crouching, the stallion squeezed into the narrow gap. The crystal’s dagger-like protrusions cut into his flanks, but did not pierce flesh. Low he hunched, ears listening for any signs of displaced rock or angry earthen tremors. Too easily can a cave become a tomb. He lifted his jacket over his muzzle to protect his sensitive nose and lungs from the accumulated dust and stale air. Fret not, doctor; she is close. The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, but did not resound off the enclosed walls. The doctor did not pay the voice the slightest heed or acknowledgement. Progress was much slower than normal now that cramped quarters replaced rotund passages and niches. Light kept reflecting back into his eyes, causing him to snort in irritation. Minutes passed in silence, yet the doctor trudged onward without complaint or question. Never did any vestige of care or warmth touch the corners of his smile or eyes. The doctor hadn’t even bothered to keep track of time when the glow of his lights grew brighter and closer; he was nearing the end. Rather than the shattered remains of a crystal, the entire wall had collapsed in a solid chunk, blocking his advance. Light leaked through the side, highlighting several dark, immobile shapes. Cut through. Wordless, the doctor contorted himself until he could unbuckle his packs. It was still a tight fit. He fished a small tubular device that fed back into his packs. Holding it in his teeth, he placed it against the wall and clicked a switch on the device with his tongue. Jets of ultra high pressure water sliced through the crystal with ease. Focusing the stream on the farthest edges that he could reach, several minutes passed before he finally managed to cut through enough crystal. He placed the device on the hard ground before placing his head against the cut crystal and shoving. It took several long, grueling seconds before splintering crystals fell at his hooves. The collapses crystal groaned in protest, and as much as he dreaded the sound, he knew that no harm could or would come to him. Not with the voice guiding him. The crystal chunk began to develop spiderwebbed cracks under the strain. Something cracked and the chunk shot forward. The doctor fell on his face, sprawling out over the hard ground. But he was out. Tiny crystalline residue and shards dug into his barrel and chin. Dribbles of sweat and possible blood from their dagger-like teeth hung off his sunken jawline. Brining a hoof to his face, he wiped away the liquid. It came away clear. Good. No blood. Getting to his hooves, he surveyed his new surroundings. It was an enclosed chamber that fed into an even smaller chamber to his left. His ears stood erect. More than just groaning stone came to his attention. He heard the soft sounds of another living creature. Go to her. Picking up the cutting device and saddlebags, he carefully walked deeper into the cave. The air was distinctly more fresh. SLightly so, but enough that he could taste cleaner air. His current cave had been trafficked recently. The small, bubble-like cavern narrowed after a good dozen meters, causing him to crouch low in order to progress. Lying on the floor in the midst of several hard crystal formations was a pony covered in sweat and grime. Moving his head back and forth. Her bubblegum-pink coat, once likely as immaculately kept as his own, was disheveled and messy. Her mane was equally unkempt and plastered against her face. She was shivering, and asleep. That was never a good sign in dungeons deep. You know what to do. The doctor walked towards the mare, examining her from a distance. If she was properly groomed, she’d be quite pretty. Golden slippers, once holding gemstones of great cut and luster, were void of their decoration and cracked. A fastener was placed around her throat, but whatever it held was long gone. The doctor sat on his haunches next to her, carefully moving his hooves down her body as carefully and gently as he could. She was still breathing and her pulse was far too thready for his liking. He frowned. Her ribs were sticking out from her barrel. Dreadfully malnourished. He removed his jacket and set it aside momentarily. Moving behind her back, he felt down her spine. Nothing felt damaged or broken; at least her abuse stemmed only from neglect. What he spotted next made him hesitate. Wings. A pair of wings, several feathers missing and strewn across the floor, projected from her back.. He looked up. Yes, a horn was still atop her head. A hybrid? He felt along the underside of her wings, making sure he did not disturb the sleeping mare. Nothing was broken or dislodged there. Irrelevant. The voice jolted him out of his examination. Yes, he was not there to question her presence, only do his job. Picking up his jacket, he placed it carefully over the mare. She still shivered quietly as he walked to his saddlebags and dragged them over. The mare fidgeted in her sleep. The doctor removed a bag full of clear fluids with a long, serpentine plastic tube stemming from one end. Hanging it from a nearby crystal, he removed a needle and medicinal supplies. All the while, his eyes were on her face. Whatever nightmares haunted her in the waking hours never left while she slumbered. Her eyes twitched behind their lids endlessly. With as much gentleness as he could, he removed a sterile cloth and padded the sweat off her face. Carefully moving a lock of hair that seemed to be bothering her and tucking it behind her ear, her woes diminished. Her lids twitched less and her shivering slowed. You can only help so much, doctor. She cannot wake up now, but she must later. Nightmares come for us all. The worst happen to be real. Slowly he pulled away and began his work. He had cleaned and swabbed her throat soon after. As slowly and easily as he could, he felt across her throat. Dehydration had made her veins retract inwards, making them difficult to see. After several more minutes of careful fiddling, he believed he had located the necessary vein. Holding one hoof steady, he placed the tip of a sealed needle in his mouth and tore off the hygienic covering. Leaning in close, he placed it against her skin and fed it deeper with his other hoof. The mare twitched. Holding absolutely still, his eyes were locked on his patient’s. As slowly as he could, he fed the needle deeper with his other hoof. He missed the vein. Eye twitching in irritation, he removed the needle. He tried again, and failed. The third time, however, he felt the difference. He was through. It was a simple matter of hooking up the bag to the needle for a simple fluid drip laced with painkillers. It was a far cry from proper medical attention, a good meal, and a night’s rest, but it was a start. Turning down the intensity of his lights, he crouched prone near her face. Brushing her bedraggled bangs out of her eyes, he opened one eyelid and then the other. Seeing both pupils react normally to light, he finally cracked a small smile; no neurological damage. Do not grow attached, doctor. You know what must be done. You know why you are here. The smile disappeared. He stepped away from the mare and returned to her flanks, not wanting to look at her face again. Taking only a moment’s hesitation, he lifted her tail and shined a light over her hindquarters. No signs of forced penetration. All in all, despite being abandoned in the dark, she was in fairly good condition. Luck has nothing to do with her pain, doctor. You know this. The doctor greeted the voice with silence. He progressed down her legs, cleaning cuts and sealing wounds with a cold cream. In seconds, little more remained of her more severe wounds than angry red scars. Questions you may have for her, and she for you as her benefactor. You for me as well. Know that she must never find out the truth. That is our purpose here. Removing her broken slippers, the doctor examined her hooves for infection or buildup. Finding none, he returned to cleaning her cuts. How does it feel to save a life? To be able to help others in such a capacity? You have just altered the future by being here. If she had expired in the dark, none but her tormentor would have known. She would rot, unsung, unremembered, and completely forgotten. The doctor’s face froze. The mare continued to sleep, unaware of the one-sided conversation before her. You have changed that path. She will live. How does it feel to save a life doctor? He replaced the banana bag with another fresh pack, this one with a slight red tinge to the contents. He stored the partially depleted bag into his pack and resumed cleaning and disinfecting her wounds. A particularly angry red ascese on her stomach was leaking puss. Infection that needed to be removed. I don’t quite understand these feelings. Saving a life is thrilling to me. How will she change the future that no longer will come to pass with her continued life? Will she strike down her tormentor? Will she become just as wicked in revenge? Perhaps she will become an avatar of light and justice for all to admire? Back and forth, the doctor moved. His ears were perked, and his eyes focused. Dedicated to his duty as he was, he was listening. What if she comes to murder those under her rule? Their blood is on us. The doctor froze. You need not worry, doctor. I will permit you one question. Ask, and you shall receive. The doctor halted, contemplating thoughts known only to himself. Seconds ticked by. The mare groaned and shivered, and the doctor mechanically rubbed her back and withers to calm whatever demons haunted her mind and ailing body. “Why don’t you just kill me?” The doctor’s voice was harsh, ill used to speech, not one used for company or pleasant conversation. His scratchy tenor made the mare fidget once more, but she did not awaken from her noisy slumber. Two reasons. The first is right in front of you, doctor. The doctor looked down at the mare. She was indeed still pretty, even if malnutrition, cold, and time had carved recompense from her body. Look at how easy it is to fall from grace. Before you was once a proud individual, now laid bare and helpless. Class does not matter, Birth does not matter. You do not matter. They do not matter. It would be simplistic to end her suffering. Without a pause, the doctor raised his left forehoof and placed it against the mare’s throat. The slightest hint of panic crossed his face before it was once again artfully blank and smooth. The doctor increased the pressure of his hoof. His eye twitched, but he did not remove the offending limb. Just the slightest pressure would be enough to end her life. Blood to the brain, blade to the bone. Flesh is what binds the weak and the strong, and separates them from gods. There was a pregnant pause as he contemplated the voice’s words. He felt the throbbing of the jugular vein under his hoof, the minute pressure as her life-giving blood was being denied access to her brain. It would take less than a minute for a clot to cause permanent damage. You are killing her. The doctor removed his hoof as soon as the voice’s words ceased. All four hooves were planted firmly in the ground, far away from the sleeping mare. Without another word, he tore his eyes away form her and returned to his own meager gear and medical supplies. Bit by bit, he began packing them away into their proper places with surgical precision and practiced ease. The voice did not stop its monologue. It is so simple to die, doctor. Why do you place so much importance on life? Why are we here together saving one right now? The doctor’s mouth opened to answer, but snapped shut. The following silence was telling only to the voice and the doctor. Turning back into the shadows, the doctor turned on his light and walked into the caverns. What makes living so special? Why live just to prolong living? What intrinsic value is held for such an effortless task? Say I extract the neurons for creativity and emotion from your own brain. It seems contemptible to you, yes, but you would still be alive, and still as miserable. The steady clip-clopping of hooves were the doctor’s comrade once again, in addition to the omnipresent voice in his head. The mare’s soft snores grew dim enough to be swallowed by the darkness. Memories of friends, the pain of loss. A lifetime of emotional triggers and chemicals decide what is good, pleasurable, and just. The ideal mate, the guilty pleasure, the noble sacrifice, the heroic accomplishment. Lives are forged in love and pain to achieve arbitrary accomplishments. That is the beauty, however. That is the perfection of its simplicity, its intrinsic marvel that solves the unsolvable equation. As an engineer of sorts myself, I cannot help but admire and understand, even if I disagree, the mechanics of a simple design. It is the mark of an inferior architect to make an overly complex mechanism to achieve a single goal. Yes, dying is easy and living is convoluted and complex, but that difficulty is what makes it desirable. The pain makes it worth the price. Dying is easy, doctor. Living is hard. The doctor said nothing as he retreated further and further into the caves. As for the other reason, I hate you far too much to let you go so easily.
SCP-1824-J – "The Miner" [At the End]Author's Note In another one of my stories, I went on an SCP Foundation binge before finishing up one of the chapters and had the bright idea of creating an SCP entry for The Player from Minecraft. It wasn't very good, but I had fun making it. It was the progenitor of two other SCP stories of mine, SCP-██ and Site-16. I don't intend to upload it to the official SCP Foundation archive, because for one, it focuses on a pony-controlled Foundation. The other main reason is that the Foundation members and editors are some of the pickiest bastards on the Internet. I mean that as a form of very high praise. If you think editors and staff from Fimfiction are finicky, that is nothing compared to the Foundation members. I have seen tales and dossiers get completely destroyed through critique. Another aspect of the Foundation rating system concerning dossiers: If your dossier goes into negative ratings, meaning more downvotes than upvotes, the staff hold a poll. If they unanimously agree, you are given a time-limit to improve your article, otherwise it is removed from the archive. Enough fanboying. I love that site, despite some of the staff being robots from the future. This is just something made for fun, but it made sense. With all of the horrible things going around in Equestria, as well as it's great capability for Fridge Horror and Crapsaccharine nature, I wouldn't be surprised if they did have some form of Foundation control. Credit must still be give to Trachyon for a brief bought of editing. Way back when, I contemplated posting this as a Joke article on Fimfiction, but decided against it. It doesn't have the humor or flare for such a thing. Seriously; their joke articles are awesome. Without further ado, here is a report on The Player, if he had somehow stumbled into Equestria's SCP Foundation. SCP-1824-J – "The Miner" [At the End] Item #: SCP-1824-J Object Class: ~~Keter~~ Euclid Special Containment Procedures: As no known material or magic can indefinitely restrain SCP-1824-J, Research Facility 11 was specially constructed to house it. Should any non-site personnel come into close proximity of Research Facility 11 or [DATA EXPUNGED], they are to be detained for questioning and given a Class-A Mnemonic Enchantment to clear their memories. Should they prove sufficiently hostile enough for safe detainment to be too high of a liability, termination is authorized. SCP-1824-J’s containment cell is a 5x5x5 meter room with walls composed of tungsten or other material with a density rating of 15,000 or greater. If materials of higher density and sufficient quantities are procured, a separate cell of said materials is to be constructed immediately. Negotiations are in place for securing iridium stockpiles. The walls must have a minimal thickness of three (3) meters in all directions. Should there be any discovered wear in the metal, or if SCP-1824-J uses it’s inherent abilities on its containment cell, researchers should immediately summon no less than twenty (20) security personnel, two (2) Magi with clearance level three (3) or higher, and Site Commander Captain ████████. All are to observe and restain SCP-1824-J until repairs to its cell are complete. Restraining SCP-1824-J through use of binding magic or [DATA EXPUNGED] is allowed until repairs are complete. SCP-1824-J’s cowardice leaves its hostility and escape attempts at a minimum and relatively cooperative with Foundation staff, but such docility may be a luring tactic. Extreme caution is advised. Under no circumstances are any weapons, magical regents, or artifacts allowed near SCP-1824-J’s cell. SCP-1824-J is to be released from its cell for research purposes only, and must always be accompanied by guards trained in containing Level-3 security threats. Description: SCP-1824-J is a bipedal creature approximately two (2) meters tall with peach skin, brown hair, and unremarkable cotton pants and shirt. It’s skin is heavily scarred from unknown past conflicts. SCP-1824-J’s biology does not coincide with any documented creature on record, even in historical lore of all known cultures. Physiology suggests primate ancestry, but no concrete evidence has been procured. Despite possessing what appears to be a functional pair of vocal chords, SCP-1824-J refuses to speak. Note that it [DATA EXPUNGED]. Silhouette of SCP-1824-J SCP-1824-J has the ability to regenerate from any wound through the consumption of organic matter as long as such a wound does not cause subject termination. Tested matter safe for consumption includes: ► Carbohydrates ► Vegetables ► Fruits ► Sugars ► Synthetic sugars ► Meat - Note that SCP-1824-J has a preference for cooked meat, but will eat fresh meat. Tested flesh includes: . ► Griffon . ► Pony . ► Draconic . ► [DATA EXPUNGED] Wounds SCP-1824-J is capable of recovering from are as followed: ► Stab wounds ► Bludgeoning ► Slashes ► Limb removal ► Shattered skeletal structure ► Internal hemorrhaging ► Cranial trauma ► Evisceration ► Organ failure ► [DATA EXPUNGED] SCP-1824-J displays a remarkable ability to conjure ~~any known substance at will~~ any item which it has “absorbed.” The maximum absorption and conjuring range is unknown, but is suspected to not exceed five (5) meters. Absorbed materials can remain stored for an indefinitely long period of time. No known limit for SCP-1824-J’s storage capacity exists. Just as it can absorb items at will, items can be conjured at will. No known or theorized forms of magic are capable of duplicating SCP-1824-J’s abilities. SCP-1824-J also has the capability to combine items into new objects. Despite having two or more separate regent items, SCP-1824-J’s “product” may not carry the total mass of the regent items. How it manages to break Starswirl’s Law of Interchange and Distribution of Matter and Magic is unknown. All recorded substances, save for [DATA EXPUNGED] are [DATA EXPUNGED]. Addendum S-1: ~~As evidence suggests SCP-1824-J is prone to hostility, capable of conjuring any known material with ease - including undocumented artifacts, and is capable of transfiguring any material on a subatomic level, SCP-1824-J has been classified as Keter.~~ Designation rescinded on 06/██/████. Addendum S-2: Below is a complete listing of conjured items to date that SCP-1824-J is capable of producing. This list will be updated accordingly. ► Dirt - Note that recovered samples are [DATA EXPUNGED] ► Cobblestone ► Wood ► Sticks ► Torches - [DATA EXPUNGED] ► Shovels ► Pickaxes ► Swords - [DATA EXPUNGED] ► A helmet composed of diamond fit for SCP-1824-J ► A chestplate composed of diamond fit for SCP-1824-J ► A pair of leggings composed of diamond fit for SCP-1824-J ► A pair of boots composed of diamond fit for SCP-1824-J ► Bow and arrows ► A wooden workbench ► Wooden Signs ► Stone Furnace - [DATA EXPUNGED] ► Coal - [DATA EXPUNGED] ► Wooden Chests - [DATA EXPUNGED] ► Flask containing liquid similar to [DATA EXPUNGED] ► [DATA EXPUNGED] ► [DATA EXPUNGED] Addendum S-3 06/██/████: Due to the subject’s benign attitude under observation, the capture log by Captain ████████, and assurances by O5-██, SCP-1824-J has been reclassified as Euclid until further notice. Addendum S-4: Text of a missive by Doctor ████████ To all Research Facility 11 personnel, I firmly understand the affection all staff and soldiers have for SCP-1824-J, whether due to its congeniality, novelty, or fair spirits. However, you must remember the danger it still poses to the general populous should it ever escape. This is not a petting zoo, but it is not a tavern, either. SCP-1824-J is, first and foremost, contained for safety. Despite your affections, it is unprofessional to treat him as anything more than a captive. Secondly, it is also unprofessional to address any SCP in official reports by any designation other than their SCP item number. If I see any more reports naming SCP-1824-J as “Radical Steve”, the perpetrator will be severely reprimanded. Repeated failure to comply with this order will involve demotion and assignment to D-class duty. Doctor ████████ Addendum S-5: Field Agent ███████ ██████ reported on 06/██/████ that SCP-1824-J and SCP-████ both [DATA EXPUNGED]. This suggests an entity deliberately released both SCPs onto the populous. Further research to confirm the existence of said entity is ongoing. Addendum S-6: Whose bright idea was it to give the thing that can absorb anything fire brandy? Was it to see if SCP-1824-J could heal from ingesting liquids? I hope the resulting containment breach was enough to satisfy your curiosity about a drunk demigod. I will find you and, you will be terminated. Painfully. ~Site Commander Captain ████████ SCP Foundation Homesite Silhouette is a still image from the Youtube series Minecraft: Prophecy Editors: Trachyon
The Greatest Show on Earth [Original] [OC] [Celestia] Author's Note I really wanted to finish this, but I couldn't muster any enthusiasm to do so. For October 2013, I performed an ambitious task: develop 13 stories for 13 days of Halloween. I couldn't do it: it was something that I was underprepared to accomplish, and still needed more time than I had allotted. There was a running metaplot to the thirteen tales, even if I only managed to finish eight of them. There was always a character in the background plucking the strings of those involved.. That character would later become known as the Baron, the mastermind behind much, and not much was easily distinguished as reality or fantasy. The Baron spun his stories, but what he was truly planning would have been something for later installments. I had several ideas, but I had burned myself out and the responses I got for the stories I did complete weren't what I was expecting. Don't get me wrong: I love reading comments and seeing fans enjoy my work. It just felt that the responses I got weren't worth the effort I put in. Sorry. The 2013 stories would have culminated in this one, where we finally get to see the storyteller and his relation to the Nightmare Night tales. This story is, however, unfinished. I don't know if that fact will ever change. Maybe someday. Someday I might come back to the Baron. Special thanks goes to Softy for his wonderful work, and his helpful motivations. You've pulled me out of more than one dark place, friend. The Greatest Show on Earth [Original] [OC] [Celestia] The Greatest Show on Earth The ruddy tavern was poorly lit, dusty, and bare of the usual pleasantries or cleanliness one would associate with normal Equestrian watering holes. The bar was cracked, several pictures on the wall were stained with who knows what while others were cut to ribbons over the course of the tavern’s life. Several hooks in the ceiling provided room for a trio of chandeliers to illuminate the establishment, but the cracked ceiling had brought down two of them, leaving only a single, half fractured wood chandelier to do the job of three. An odd stench hung in the air. Not unpleasant, but a stagnant and musty odor that had accumulated over a long time. The barkeep, a shifty, skinny stallion with a bottlebrush mustache and grey-azure coat, stared at two remaining occupants seated at the bar. Indeed, others did sit in booths, chatting animatedly, but none of them concerned him, despite their shiftiness. A red headed unicorn with a dull brown coat spoke with a sludge-green earth pony in hushed whispers in a corner booth. The earth pony brought a small bag out from the confines of his coat and sat the content on the table, which clinked softly in the low light. A waitress, a disheveled mess of a mare who looked ready to stab somepony with the produce knife she had tucked in her uniform, eyed the four customers with open contempt. The two ponies hanging onto the bar contrasted with the remaining occupants like night and day. The first was a very well dressed charcoal-gray stallion in a fine, form-fitting white suit. Bright red stitching across his lapels, the base of his white top hat, outside collar, and coattails contrasted with the white and only made him stick out even more inside the dilapidated bar. His crimson eyes brimmed with friendliness, mirth, and a hint of playfulness as he looked at his companion. She was very young, only just blooming into maturity. A violet and gold evening dress clung to her body, also tailored to fit perfectly around her wings. Her coat was utterly immaculate and only served to accentuate her youthful radiance. Her fur was such a light shade of rose that it almost appeared as white as the stallion’s suit. Bubblegum pink hair framed her perfect face and the sunhat over her head was tucked over her brow in a playful shyness. The lord and lady, each had no place in such an unpalatable establishment, and both had their cutiemarks hidden under their garb. “Why sir, thou hast such a clever tongue and a magical way with words. Surely thou jest with the proclamation thou hast not graced a school with thine presence?” Her tongue was calm and concise, if antiquated. That did not stop two shady ponies in back from turning their heads upon hearing her cherubic voice. The lord laughed a rich tenor, his voice resounding across the small room. “Oh my dear, I am afraid I cannot. In the past I have indulged in such scholarly pursuits, but I am naught but a wandering storyteller now.” “Surely not!” she protested. “I merely gave thee the vain request of a few tales and thou providest me with entertainment to last weeks to come! Thy speech surely hinted at past intellectual exploits, as thou hast just expounded, but thy verboseness is masterful work and tho dost honor this silly filly with a momentary indulgence. Thou wouldst bring pride to any school. Such a waste, being a vagrant.” The lord chuckled softly and nursed his amber drink, the exact name of the liquid forgotten over his past tales. Now that the storytelling was over, the barkeep and the waitress were hoping the pair would leave so that they could close up, but the filly’s exuberance and enthusiasm toward her companion's craft left them lingering a little longer. The lord saw the seeds of irritation begin to bloom into anger and professed, “I assure you our time is almost expunged. Even if the lady wishes to stay, I must be leaving shortly.” He turned to his companion, who seemed miffed that they would soon part company and that he felt forced to leave due to the inclining unwelcomeness. “Fear not, youngling. You have me for a few more minutes. It has been quite the pleasure telling stories, even if they are nothing more than my dark musings. And to clarify, I have gone to a respectable school, although I left when I discovered that the path of a scholar was ill-suited to a pony such as I. I prefer more elegant company than those that bury their snouts in books, even more so when they listen to my tales of horror.” “I must say I expected more cheer from such an enlightened stallion, as those tales were absolutely ghastly.” “I hope I did not frighten you, My Lady,” the lord returned with a smile. The lady knickered in retort. “I am young, but not a child.” Her cheeks and chest puffed in a pout, which did nothing but make the lord snicker. “Dost thou make sport of me?” “I wouldn’t dream of it, My Lady,” he replied between chuckles. Her cheeks were tinged red with irritation and soon the lord was openly chortling. The lady glared at the lord, but the laughter was contagious and soon she was openly laughing. The two shifty individuals exchanged the bag of bits for an enclosed envelope, but once again turned their attention to her as the peal of her voice rang out. Her voice sounded like an angel, his was a hearty but dry rasp. “What... tales did you wish to hear?” he said as he brought his voice under control. “I admit the drab mood may have led me towards dour tales.” “Why, my heart is set on the more uplifting tales.” Her hooves tapped against the bar, causing the barkeep to growl at her. She paid him no mind. “Tales of courage and heroes overcoming woe. Princes and princesses overcoming monsters and uniting nations.” “Ahhhhhh,” the lord hummed sagely. “More innocent tales, fraught with naivety and childish wonder.” “Now thou truly dost make sport of me.” “No deliberate attack on your character was performed, I assure you of this.” The lord tapped his glass to get the bartender’s attention and pushed a small pile of bits across the bar. The lady did the same, but her payment pile was far less voluminous than than his. The barkeep scooped up both piles, filled their drinks and muttered, “Last call.” “Prithee, enlighten me.” “You are blossoming into adulthood, quite finely I might add.” Her cheeks bloomed crimson. He smiled, and seeing that he paid her the salacious compliment only to provoke a reaction, playfully nudged his shoulder. “But I feel that such childhood dreams cannot be fulfilled in the real world. As sweet and pleasant as such hopes and aspirations may be, they cannot match the hardships and pleasures of life.” “I remind thee, naught but stories. No such harm be done by speaking of whimsical tales.” “True. I suppose it is only a matter of taste. My apologies.” “Despite my preference, dost thou not wish for utopia?” “Always.” “What harm be incurred from such tales? They may not reflect truth, but what couldeth be better than a high hope on a plinth? An aspiration to achieve?” “I fear such high hopes may be beyond the reach of such ponies.” The lord downed half of his glass and sighed. Despite his heavier intoxication, he appeared not the least bit tipsy. “Why shoot for the stars when the mountains are closer?” “We divide on ideals.” “No, only the theory of pony nature when pressed against conflict. I do not wish to be a pessimist, but a rule utilitarian. I have yet to see holding such lofty goals in such high esteem as a beneficial act.” The lady ‘hmmmed’ and sipped her own drink. She winced slightly as the burning alcohol coursed down her throat, but did not shy away from taking another brief nip. “Lofty expectations drive ponies to do great deeds in my experience.” The lord raised his glass to her. “I very much wish to meet such ponies,” and he finished his glass. The barkeep did not appear to take his it. The lord stretched as far as his limbs would reach. Snaps and pops crossed his body and as his head tilted back, his hat hung precariously on his head before falling back. It stopped, stuck on an obstruction; he had a horn. The lady huffed in irritation once again. “Thou hast led me to believe you were naught but a clever earth pony! Forked tongue! Thou dost make sport of me!” “You didn’t ask...” he replied simply. Crimson still crossed her face, but after a few more sips, she calmed down. The red blossoming her cheeks faded only slightly but hung due to her marginal inebriation. She grumbled under breath, but said something akin to, “True...” “Do you recall the story of the stallion with the monster in his head?” he asked. She nodded. “The tragic tale of the healer turned killer, the doctor who could not fight the urge to kill.” “Indeed. Part of my response is instrumental to the tale. The doctor dealt death as well as life. As cruel as his circumstances were, it gave him perspective on life’s fragility. If a pony sees nothing but the joys and wonders in life, then he or she can never learn the painful lessons and will forever be trapped in the quagmire of utopia. If one knows only pain then it becomes impossible to elevate one’s existence.” “What of a balance of joy and pain?” “Well, my dear...” he whispered. His crimson eyes stared deep into her own magenta depths. “I do not know.” “The loremaster has become tongue-tied,” she joked. “Not even I know everything,” he said with a sigh. “Do I see regret on thine lips?” In the space of a single moment, age compounded on his eyes with the weight of the entire world. Even though eye contact between the pair had not been broken, he had ceased seeing her physical presence. She was barely out of her teens, and he was into his middle years, but some memory brought the knowledge and experience of an entire civilization down upon him. “Indeed... naught but a regret, My Lady.” “I shan't believe thy talk of spirits and stories hath brought thineself grief. His company hath been most enjoyable.” Although the compliment only meant to cheer up the lord’s momentary diminished demeanor, something about the way he stared off into the aether caught her eye. Something about their conversation truly bothered him. “Like the doctor, I am merely reminded of an inescapable fact of my existence.” He shook off the stupor and let mirth and warmth return to his aged features. “Let such talks be set upon the four winds for now. Tonight is a night for stories.” “Spooky stories at that. Though thou hast not bespoken of thy cause for such frightfulness,” she commented. What scary stories she had been told before dusk had died had been at the forefront of her mind. It was strange that they were all tales designed to frighten. Why? Surely the stallion knew more tales than that. “I believed a few frights were in order. Most do not wish to tell tales of horror. I find it a taxing but immensely rewarding experience,” he replied. The lady finally finished her own drink and pushed it towards the other end of the bar to be picked up by the waitress or barkeep. Neither appeared to take it, and the lord’s glass still lay untouched on the counter. “Do tell.” “Certainly. I love the idea of horror, the concept that we may reach something that makes us reach deep down into ourselves. When faced with impossible opposition, it becomes possible to see what kind of mettle a pony is truly made of. Stories let us bask in our own vulnerabilities, the things that frighten us most. We can laugh or cry at what makes us weak, feed on dregs that hinder us.” “Thou makest it seem so ghastly.” The lord removed himself from the chair. The lady did the same. “I have told many tales this evening. Little did you know, I had every intention of telling you another. Tell me, do you know why thirteen is often considered an unlucky number among ponies?” She shook her head. “I shall enlighten thee. I am a student of history as well as stories, after all, despite my lack of consolidated learning in the arts. Very well. In ages long past, there were the three pony tribes. You are familiar with the Great Freeze that destroyed the ponies’ ancestral homes?” She nodded again. “Good. Very good. What most do not know was the subterfuge and hate that dwelt long before tensions grew so bad and the snows fell in unending blankets. The warrior pegasi, commanded by Commander Hurricane, staged a cloak and dagger infiltration of the unicorn royal palace... on October the thirteenth.” The lady’s eyes widened with the historical influx. Details from such a time were sparse due to the swaths of destruction wendigos had carved. thousands of years of history, millions of lives all lost. How did such a stallion get a hold of such information. Was it false? Or did he have in his possession texts authenticating his claim? “Although the commander authorized the break in, she did not lead the charge. That duty was assigned to her immediate subordinate, Corporal Corona.” Interrupting was not ladylike, but his companion could not help herself. “What of Private Pansy? Was she not the focus of Hearth’s Warming Eve?” “Aye, but few know that Private Pansy replaced her predecessor after she disappeared without a trace, or so everypony thought. The records were sealed or destroyed, all but Commander Hurricane’s private records. Corporal Corona led twelve other brave pegasi through the unguarded sewage runoff vent. An insignificantly small hole in the unicorn’s defense, but a hole nevertheless.” The lady’s nose wrinkled in disgust. He continued without a second thought, “The goal was to steal texts from the grand library. Commander Hurricane’s advisors believed that pegasi weather magic could be properly modified to manipulate the heavens. Under normal circumstances, there may have been valid credence to such thinking. Sadly, whatever evidence they may have had was lost to time and the cold. “Despite being under the cover of darkness and knowing the layout of the castle, they never stood a chance. All it took was a single monk to raise an alarm and a robbery quickly turned into the fight of their lives. It was a slaughter and by the time dawn came, thirteen dead lay on sovereign unicorn grounds. The unicorns demanded reparations for the hostilities, while Commander Hurricane demanded the same for the loss of thirteen of her best and brightest. She claimed that even if they were trespassing on foreign soil on her orders, they had the firepower to confine them easily enough as prisoners of war. The deaths were an act of spite, she claimed, not of necessity.” The lord let his tale sink in. The lady’s face was utterly smooth, not betraying even the slightest hint of what was occurring behind her perfect face. “A sad tale, but not frightening.” “‘Twas not meant to be. The point of the tale was to outline that everything tends to get worse before it gets better.” “‘Tis the nature of things in many respects.” “Indeed, My Lady.” The lord’s hooves thundered against the floorboards. Dust, grime, and miscellaneous filth kicked up in a small cloud as he approached the door and held it open for the lady. “Chivalry hath not been vanquished,” she said with a smile. The lord only smiled a crooked grin. “Merely a result of proper upbringing.” The pair removed themselves from the empty bar. Their glasses had yet to be removed. The night was heavily overcast, but specks of moonlight leaked through the thinner layers. The could taste moisture on their lips even if it did not come from the rolling cloudbanks that hung heavy in the air. Torches and lanterns hung from stout ironwork hangers, even if most were tarnished green or rusted red after long exposure to the elements. The companions followed the lit but cracked cobblestone pathway into a forest. The trees were old. Astonishingly old. Gnarled bark as hard as iron armored the trees, a sign of their immense age and girth. The smell of earth and loam was heavy, but not an unpleasant scent. Sounds from local wildlife, both the tall and the small, skittered away from the light. Great monsters hunted the forest, but there was larger and more worthy pray to be had. “I fail to understand, the sad story of Corporal Corona was your final tale? I had hoped for a complete set whence your intent to tell horror became clear to my eyes,” the lady said. “I am afraid and pleased that my final tale has yet to be told.” The lord walked closer to her. The light-lined path, however discernable in the night, only provided so much illumination and it was best to be close to friends with so little room to maneuver in safe light. Leaves and dry grass crunched beneath their hooves as they walked through the autumn air. “Prithee, My Lord. I received not just thy previous tales, but another and a wonderful lesson on history.” “I am afraid my final tale must wait until a few more minutes have passed. This final tale will be one I know will haunt you for many millennia to come.” “I quake with anticipation, My Lord,” she said happily. She began humming a merry tune into the night. The lord only looked at her, worry and pity gracing his features. Light flashed and hid the ancient trees, playing a game of hide and seek as they walked together. Lights were up ahead, but the pair were still deep enough in the forest that the source was hidden from sight. The lady began to shiver slightly. Even though she was covered in a fine layer of fur, it was late in the year and the night was unkind. A slight wind ruffled the leaves, blowing those on the ground and scattering those that remained on trees. Faint glimmers of gold and red rained down upon them. Continuing with the behavior of a proper gentlecolt, the lord removed his coat and draped it around her. She nodded in thanks, and took a quick peek at his flanks. Although attractive enough to warrant a few moments stare, she had done so in an effort to discover his cutiemark. It still lay hidden underneath his undershirts. “I will show you mine, if you show me yours, my dear.” He wiggled his hips as he walked. Crimson blossomed across her face once more in the light and he bellowed a laugh. “If a comment stemmed from a stallion of lesser integrity, I would have him thrown into irons for insulting mine honor.” “Your honor is preserved. I am afraid this time I do make sport of you. Your face glows a lovely radiant shade when flustered. Forgive this old pony for a little indulgence.” Her face scrunched up into disapproval, but she said little else. The road widened into a much larger path as the trees thinned. The lights from before grew and grew into a massive web of torches spiraling out from a central courtyard. The pair walked down the wide stone pathway, which in turn lead to a large castle nestled on top of a steep cliff face. Stout stone walls covered the entire breadth of the castle and were intermittently cut with battlements and looming towers. Rather than have conventional glass windows, most panes were composed of fanciful stained glass or colored with luminescent dyes. At a slow walk, it would take a good half hour just to circle the structure. Even though not a single sign of life resonated through the grounds or the many windows, they continued through the front gate and passed the retracted portcullis. “My Lord, I must admit my curiosity runs deep.” “Fret not; your tale will come soon. There is something that must be done.” The lord was glancing around, looking for something that was not present. His face fell little by little as his search seemed more and more fruitless until his small smile dropped into a frown. Stealing a glance at his companion, his face filled with sadness before becoming stonily blank. The pair stalked through empty corridors with only the light of lit oil basins and the occasional torch and hearth to guide them. The walls, ceilings, and floor were surprisingly blank of flair or furniture for such a large structure, yet the lady did not seem to mind. A soft tune hummed behind her angelic features. While her mood only increased with every step, the lord’s demeanor only seemed to drop. A great oak door opened with a deafening bang. The lady jumped in surprise, her wings flaring slightly to balance herself. A mare with a rich light-blue coat walked from a large bedchamber and stopped once she realized she was not alone. The lord did not seem surprised or even startled by the sudden interruption despite the mare – taller but maybe a few years younger than his companion – possessing not only wings but a horn. The smooth features, slender form, and air of royal dignity strongly hinted at family a resemblance. “It is you.” Three simple words was all it took to convey a canvas of emotion. The frosty voice, narrowed eyes, and slight grit to her teeth would have been enough to make the earlier barflies quake in their hides. The lady seemed resigned, almost irritated as she spoke. The lord seemed... sad. “Pray tell, why dost thou stalk the halls at so late an hour?” “Mine lips speak the same, dear sister,” she replied haughtily. The sister harumphed, giving the distinct impression there was much she wished to say but was forcing herself to not. “I merely wished to quench my thirst. Have a good night, Tia.” “Likewise, Lulu. I beseech thee to not slam the doors. It is most unladylike.” Lulu said nothing as she stalked past Tia. For the first time since their short meeting, Lulu only now seemed to notice the lord and the fact that Tia wore his coat. Their eyes met and a web of emotions crossed her face: anger, surprise, embarrassment, curiosity, and finally contemplation. The lord only looked at her with those same sad eyes. She looked like she was about to stop, but her eyes darted back to her sister and filled with suppressed anger and annoyance once again. With a resigned sigh, she turned her head forward and walked out of sight. “I do beg for forgiveness for my sister’s rude behavior... My Lord?” The lord shook off his lamentation and forced a smile for his companion. “It is nothing, My Lady. I merely recall what my final tale must be.” “I await with bated breath, fine sir!” All concern over her sister was gone. The two walked together once more. Moonlight streamed through the clouds and provided a little more illumination. Although illuminated fairly well for such a large castle, there were still vast swathes of darkness in most corners. “Long ago,” he began. A smile lit Tia’s face like hearth fire. “there were two brothers who languished in oblivion. There was no light, no sound, no time, no life, just an endless nothingness where nothing lived, and nothing died. The brother of light, wishing an end to his eternal torment, created a flame to light his way. The brother of shadow, not capable of seeing in such brilliance, created shadows in which to hide. “But there was nothing to cast a shadow in such a forsaken place. He crafted the earth to give himself a place to hide from the light. He did not despise his brother for indulging in little pursuits for comfort, so he did not mind that the sun hurt his eyes. However, the seeds of pride had been planted in the light brother’s heart. “The shadow brother had crafted two pieces of work, while the sun brother had crafted only one. Not wishing to be outdone, the sun brother stole his kin’s power.” “Why would he do such a thing?” Tia asked. She was hanging on his every word, using only her peripheral vision to see where she was going as she watched the lord. He adjusted his hat, seemingly distracted once again. “Because the brother wished for a balance. Not only did he want to have creations equal each other, he wished to show how much they could accomplish if their powers were combined, the wonders they could create. Living in emptiness since time immemorial had created an unknown thirst for creation and wonder in his heart. “The sun brother stole his kin’s powers not for selfish reasons, but to provide them both with everything they needed. The shadow brother could only see in the dark, so the light brother created the heavens themselves. Rather than having a single place to hide from the flame, the light brother gave the shadow brother thousands of places to hide. It was the greatest gift he could offer him, he thought. Even though he loved his brother dearly, he understood that he could not see in the light. If the brother did not wish to stay in one place, he had many to choose from.” “What a nice gift,” Tia said happily. “The shadow brother thought otherwise,” the lord countered. Tia tilted her head to the side in confusion. “Rather than thank his brother, he grew angry. Wrathful that his brother would steal what did not belong to him, he accused him of prideful selfishness, that the only reason he crafted the heavens was to inflate his sense of self, not help the one who needed it. In a fit of rage, the shadow brother began destroying all light.” “What could compel him to commit such sin?” “Sin? It wasn’t such a thing in his eyes.” The two entered and exited shadows as they walked. It gave the impression that his tale was coming from some long forgotten-archive. “It was a sin most foul, a betrayal of trust. Rather than face the destruction of existence itself, the light brother forced the shadow brother into the first flame. There he was trapped forever, unable to see, unable to find his way out.” “While I do admit that such a choice is extreme, my pity runs shallow. It was an honorable gift, needlessly squandered.” Tia sniffed reproachfully. “I cannot help but feel an unending well of sadness for the brother. I understand all too well what it feels like to be rendered inconsequential, to feel not just overshadowed, but worthless.” Tis walked forward a little faster in order to get a better angle of his face. He tipped his hat forward, hiding his eyes from view. “The brother’s anger would have done much damage, loremaster.” “Of this I am certain. That does not mean I can’t pity the villain. I have seen nations tear themselves to pieces with unjust and misguided hatred. I have seen two sisters impale themselves on each other’s sword.” Tia could not help but take a step back at these words. Rather than the smoky, inviting tone he had used to tell his story, some abrasive, hard edge infiltrated his voice. It was one thing to be entertaining, it was another to be personally invested in a story. “I dug graves as reality was ripped asunder under a dark and tyrannical god. I comforted the broken and shattered families who prayed for the return of their fathers and sons under a sky as dark as black as the most unforgiving night. I stood by as the sun committed the greatest act of treachery the world has ever known.” “My Lord...?” For the first time, the lord had raised his voice in her presence. He did not seem to notice. “That is the curse I must endure, to sit and watch as the ground freezes and thaws with the passing ages. You are young; it takes age and experience to understand the depth of true pain. It is not the loss to evil that cuts the deepest, it is the loss to a friend.” Only now did the lord meet Tia’s eyes with his own. His sad, sad eyes. “‘Tis the price that must be paid. I will learn when the time comes.” The lord’s eyes narrowed again. He looked around the halls once more. They were still devoid of life. “There are three truths I hoped you will learn before my time in your presence is over, My Lady. The price of hubris is not one, but something crucial you must learn in life.” “Oh?” She questioned. Something about his tone affronted her. The gentleness and warmth she had associated with his presence had transformed into a slight frost. “Explain.” The fact she did not request him to do so with the usual pleasantries was not lost. She detected a shift in the mood, but only the lord knew how far it had gone. “You are asleep.” “I admit weariness hugs my mind, but...” she trailed off. Her head panned the empty corridor. The empty, blank corridor devoid of any doors or servants. Even though they had been walking the halls for a good ten minutes, she had not recalled turning left or right since Lulu left her quarters. “What...? Where are they?” ““Nowhere. They were never here. You were never here. I am not here.” He stood on all fours, calm as he could possibly be. “They’ve been missing for some time.” The lady backed away from the lord. Her wings twitched and readied for flight, but she took the time to examine the castle in greater detail. The floors were immaculately kept and the fires still burned with a comforting warmth. There was a slight chill in the air, but such a thing occurred in any castle built from cold stones. The corridor that seemed to stretch the entirety of the castle was, somehow, blank besides windows and the occasional table. “And yet, more questions remain. For instance, despite us talking for some time, do you know where this place is?” “Home. I know this place.” Her eyes met his. He had retained his usual calm cheer and beads of mirth in his eyes. However, something clung to the corners, something she didn’t recognize. Only then did she understand how old they actually felt. The lord’s red eyes were stuffed full of tales, legends, and stories, not all of them conjured over a pint or the fire. That kind of age only came from experience. “How did you get to the bar, My Lady?” “From the castle. I...” she trailed off. She... suddenly she was just there at the bar. Speaking to... a complete stranger now that she thought about it. Not once did she call him his name or see his cutiemark. “I will show you mine, if you show me yours, princess,” he repeated as if he could divine her thoughts. “I know you have many questions for me, but I am afraid I can only provide so few answers.” “Who are you? How did I get here? Speak; are you spirit or dream?” she demanded. “By the order of the crown and the holy seal I command you to tell me what I require.” “And how come you never noticed our patterns of speech are so vastly different? All in good time, princess. Yes, I know who you are,” he added upon seeing him call her by her title for the second time. Tia backed away from the stallion. How could she be so foolish? The curse of sleep prevented her from realizing the truth about her environment, the small inconsistencies that only amounted to a false reality crafted when night had fallen and drowned the sun. “...Why art thou here? Thine eyes are not that of dream’s whimsy,” she muttered. “That is the second truth. I am here to show you yourself.” In a flash, every single light source within the complex snuffed itself out in some great wind. The light of the moon streamed through the window, but it was precious little light to navigate the darkness. “I have always prefered the darkness, My Lady. As do the monsters.” “Art thou?” Celestia backed herself into the midst of a moonbeam. “My dear, I assure you no physical harm will befall you this night,” his voice echoed. Given the breadth of the corridor and its echoic nature, she had difficulty discerning where his voice originated. She focused every particle of her mind on the dream, concentrating, willing the darkness to part. It was her dream after all. A single torch in front of her burst to life. Tia screamed. In front of her was a massive creature composed of several animals. It grinned at her, eyes brimming with mirth and cruelty. “The little lord is lost in the light. Perhaps that is your singular fault, Celly. The inability to see the evil that good may cause.” The light vanished as her control of the dream slipped through due to panic. Her breathing was rapid and shallow. “Wha-what was that beast?” “A memory, trapped in the shadows. Listen to his words, princess,” the lord preached. “Monsters flee to the darkness for more than just preferential hunting grounds. They know that the real monsters prefer the light.” Tia ran to the next moonbeam. The lord’s voice followed her. “The lies and false faces, the good intentions brimming with sharp words and razorblades, everypony wears hidden intentions in the light. Everypony works for self gratification in the idea of utopia, an idea that will never come to pass unless it is tainted with a vein of evil. When you are in the dark, you can trust a monster to be true to its nature, the evil, good, or malicious intent is always worn on their sleeve. Those that dwell in the light force their corruption behind veils.” “Keep your forked tongue behind your lips, loremaster! You speak of the superiority of evil? Bah!” She focused her mind again. She needed light to find the lord, wherever he was. The strong need not be strong for themselves, but for others. It is a cruel fate to be sure; they will never know if they can keep enough courage for themselves after supporting their followers. Be strong for yourself, and if not, be strong for your people. ~Time Turner For chapter updates and my ramblings, visit my page on FimfictionHERE. Edited by: Prereader: Softy8088
The Greatest Show on Earth: Deleted Scene [Original] [OC] [Celestia] Author's Note This is a deleted scene from The Greatest Show on Earth. Over the course of scripting, I went through a few drafts to get things right. The Baron, although his character had already been scripted, was still difficult to pin down. The reason behind the coming scene was to show the Lady that sometimes doing good things does not create a good result. People don't choose to be evil, after all. Not unless they are insane. We are the heroes of our own stories. The Baron knows this, but I couldn't have him committing evil acts to his desire. He'd be a hypocrite. The purpose was to teach, to warn, if he was truly real at all. The exact nature of dreams is always suspect, especially considering dreamwalking is a notable skill in the my Little Pony universe. This scene felt too vindictive to me, while straying too far from what the Baron was trying to accomplish. That is the reason this particular scene was cut from The Greatest Show on Earth. I didn't publish the story anyway, but at least the reasons are out there. Unfinished as The Greatest Show on Earth is, so will this one be. Here is the deleted scene. I recommend reading The Greatest Show on Earth first before reading this. The Greatest Show on Earth: Deleted Scene [Original] [OC] [Celestia] “I admit weariness hugs my mind, but...” she trailed off. Her head panned the empty corridor. The empty, blank corridor devoid of any doors or servants. Even though they had been walking the halls for a good ten minutes, she had not recalled turning left or right since Lulu left her quarters. “What...? Where are they?” “Nowhere. They were never here. You were never here. I am not here.” He stood on all fours, calm as he could possibly be. “They’ve been missing for some time.” The lady backed away from the lord. Her wings twitched and readied for flight, but she took the time to examine the castle in greater detail. The floors were immaculately kept and the fires still burned with a comforting warmth. There was a slight chill in the air, but such a thing occurred in any castle built from cold stones. The corridor that seemed to stretch the entirety of the castle was, somehow, blank besides windows and the occasional table. “And yet, more questions remain. For instance, despite us talking for some time, do you know where this place is?” “Home. I knost this place.” Her eyes met his. He had retained his usual calm cheer and beads of mirth in his eyes. However, something clung to the corners, something she didn’t recognize. Only then did she understand how old they actually felt. The lord’s red eyes were stuffed full of tales, legends, and stories, not all of them conjured over a pint or the fire. That kind of age only came from experience. “How did you get to the bar, My Lady?” “From the castle. I...” she trailed off. She was... suddenly she was there. Speaking to... a complete stranger now that she thought about it. Not once did she call him his name or reveal his cutiemark. “I will show you mine, if you show me yours, princess,” he repeated as if he could divine her thoughts. “I know you have many questions for me, but I am afraid I can only provide so few answers.” “Who are you? How didst I get here? Speak; are you spirit or dream?” she demanded. “By the order of the crown and the holy seal I command you to tell me what I require.” “And how come you never noticed our patterns of speech are so vastly different? All in good time, princess. Yes, I know who you are,” he added upon seeing her call her by her title for the second time. Tia backed away from the stallion. How could she be so foolish? The curse of sleep prevented her from realizing the truth about her environment, the small inconsistencies that only amounted to a false reality crafted when night had fallen and drowned the sun. “...Why art thou here? Thine eyes are not that of dream’s whimsy,” she muttered. “That is the second truth. I am here to show you yourself.” In a flash, every single light source within the complex snuffed itself out in some great wind. The light of the moon streamed through the window, but it was precious little light to navigate the darkness. “I have always prefered the darkness, My Lady. As do the monsters.” “Art thou?” Celestia backed herself into the midst of a moonbeam. “My dear, I assure you no physical harm will befall you this night,” his voice echoed. Given the breadth of the corridor and its echoic nature, she had difficulty discerning where his voice originated. She focused every particle of her mind on the dream, concentrating, willing the darkness to part. It was her dream after all. A single torch in front of her burst to life. Tia screamed. In front of her was a massive creature composed of several animals. It grinned at her, eyes brimming with mirth and cruelty. “The little lord is lost in the light. Perhaps that is your singular fault, Celly. The inability to see the evil that good may cause.” The light vanished as her control of the dream slipped through due to panic. Her breathing was rapid and shallow. “Wha-what was that beast?” “A memory, trapped in the shadows. Listen to his words, princess,” the lord preached. “Monsters flee to the darkness for more than just preferential hunting grounds. They know that the real monsters prefer the light.” Tia ran to the next moonbeam. The lord’s voice followed her. “The lies and false faces, the good intentions brimming with sharp words and razorblades, everypony wears hidden intentions in the light. Everypony works for self gratification in the idea of utopia, an idea that will never come to pass unless it is tainted with a vein of evil. When you are in the dark, you can trust a monster to be true to its nature, the evil, good, or malicious intent is always worn on their sleeve. Those that dwell in the light force their corruption behind veils.” “Keep your forked tongue behind your lips, loremaster! You speak of the superiority of evil? Bah!” She focused her mind again. She needed light to find the lord, wherever he was. The light flashed on once again. Her mouth opened to scream, but this time it died on her lips. Instead of the comforting stone and light chill of familiar castle walls, she was greeted with a large, unending wasteland bloated with fires and the scent of death. Ponies littered the ground like pockmarks, as did creators caused by arcane science. Ponies clothed in gold and the occasional silver dueled everywhere in great battalions. The skies were alight by the full moon, yet the skies were almost black under waves upon waves of pegasi. “Commander General!” a pony screamed at her. A large, imposing stallion in rent gold armor stood tense. Blood streamed from where one of his eyes was once previously! “We must fall back and regroup our forces! An entire legion of magi have defected to the enemy, slaughtering our reserves! We are being overwhelmed!” She was trained for this. Scholars and many wizened taught her battle tactics and tactical maneuvers along with political skills. Some instinct took hold of her mind. “Which lines doest thou speak of?” “The eastern reserves, highness. They’re being crushed by a pincer movement by the traitors and a force of ground troops. Without them, we may lose protection on that front altogether. We’d be flanked and surrounded.” “Tell them to hold, general. Stage an incremental retreat and order the vanguard to hold to provide cover.” The soldier stared at her for a moment longer than necessary. “...We’ll lose a fair portion of the vanguard and our reserves, highness.” It was just a statement of fact, but his remaining eye watched her, seeing how she would take the news. “Understood, soldier.” The panic of battle had receded. Seeing that he still had not moved, her eyes narrowed and she issued a cold, hard command, “Dismissed.” The lights died once again. “Who knew that ponies were capable of such a slaughter?” The lord’s voice held a hint of gallows humor. “That was quite cold of you, sending ponies to their deaths without a hint of remorse.” “‘Tis the price of battle, loremaster. One cannot hold investment in a battle to the death.” “I would have issued the same order. But death? Is that what it what battle is to you?” Amusement mixed with curiosity filled his voice. “All battles comes with death. You cannot fight a bloodless battle?” “You can fight to protect instead of destroy... Celestia.” Something about the loremaster saying her name with such sadness resonated with her. Celestia’s horn flashed with light. A tall pony stood in front of her with fur as black as the deepest, darkest shadows. Her mane billowed in a nonexistent wind and shined as if crafted from starlight itself. “YOU!” Never had Celestia heard a voice crafted with such blind, wanton hatred. Her ears flattened against her skull. Only then did she notice that the monster mare was not looking at her, but above her. Celestia quickly got out of the angry mare’s way and saw who exactly she was looking at. The most beautiful mare she had ever seen stood head bowed, legs spread, wings flared at the front of a set of double doors. “It that... me...?” The light dimmed once more as Celestia saw the look on her elder’s face. It mirrored the monster mare point for point, every curve of her perfect face contorted into a violent, wordless snarl. “I always thought it would be more difficult for you to fight an enemy you know. As I said, the pain of an friend always cuts deeper.” The lord’s voice still followed her every step in the now normal castle. “Chaos is right. Why deny what may be your nature, princess?” “I do not dwell amongst the wicked.” “You misunderstand me. This is not about right or wrong, about the validity of good or evil, it is about truth. Pure, unbiased truth.” Celestia increased her pace to that of a good clip, yet the lord’s voice never escaped her. It was better than staying in one place amongst the endless corridor, waiting for the inevitable climax of the lord’s designs. “This is about you being on the precipice of something great and terrible, being capable of changing the world for the best, or its most prolonged and lasting evil. There is a fine line between the greater good and watching the world dance on silver strings. Your young mind sees yourself as a driving force that cannot be denied. Your will is law.” “Of course it is! I have been groomed to rule!” For once, the lord is silent. Celestia tried once more to force the world to bend to her will, even though experience hinted such an opportunity would not be granted. “Oh ho ho! Didn’t you learn anything while we were together, Celly?” The creature was back, it’s elongated face giving her a wide, toothy smile. It leaned against the wall towering over her young form. “Speak, demon. I command you to reveal the puppetmaster.” “Celly, you wound me!” He grasped his heart in mock pain. “Stop it! Only Luna can call me that!” she demanded. This only widened the creature’s smile. “Oh come now, this is your dream. I can call you whatever I want. Even if we were not, we are two sides of the same coin. I inflict chaos for the fun of it, you inflict it because you think it is needed.” The creature snapped his fingers and her world became consumed in a blinding flash of light. The sound of stampeding hooves met her ears. She was in a large courtyard in some place she didn’t recognize. The adult version of herself was back with a foreigner held up to her eyes by magic. “I’ve had enough of your lies,” her older self told the mare. In a flash of motion, adult Celestia stabbed her horn into the other mare’s gut. As she pulled away, something other than red congealed against her fur. Grayish stone branched out like some fast-forming web across her abdomen and limbs. Before she even knew what was going on, the mare was frozen stiff, petrified in solid stone. Celestia didn’t move. Her older self had... had petrified a mare. “I told you already, Celestia.” The creature was by her face, slowly stroking her jawline. “I don’t turn ponies into stone.” The sky darkened once more into the cold castle ceiling. Celestia didn’t move. “This is all a dream...” “Of course!” the creature exclaimed. “Does that make it any less real?” Celestia turned around and ran from the beast. Windows and glowing moonlight streamed past her, but she did not stop. Galloping down the endless corridor did about as well as she would expect: nothing. “Lies are always easier to take, my dear,” the lord comforted. “What will be, or what has been, is never easy to face.” “This is a dream. None of this is real I will never do... that!” “Never hurt somepony for the greater good? Never hold a foreign leader prisoner in order to quell bloody revolts? Never hurt the one dearest to you for the greater good?” Something twitched in her chest and Celestis stopped in her tracks, skidding across the floor. She glared at the darkness. “I will never hurt Luna!” “‘I’, my dear? Not we, but I?” Celestia thought for a moment. “I do not understand.” “Not ‘We were groomed to rule,’ but ‘I have been groomed to rule’. Do you really think so little of your sister?” “Perhaps another lesson is in order.” The creature had appeared in front of her again. With a snap of its fingers, the world was transformed once more. A battlefield. Unlike before where there was nothing but chaos, battle lines were clearly defined now, and one was destroyed beyond belief. Ponies lay dead on a field running red with the blood of the fallen. Far off in the distance was a titanic black gateway opened to a red, hellish world. A great creature was stumbling through the gateway with a horde of eldritch creatures. Celestia saw horns on the beast, a wicked smile and a limp form clutched in one great hand. “LUNA!” she screamed into the night.
MLM: AtE Alternate Scene: Down in the DepthsAuthor's Note This time we have a deleted scene from Minecraft, and not one I've posted in my blogs before. Speaking of that one, I should move those over to this. This is from my Minecraft story At the End, Chapter 9. This chapter kicks off the second arc, as machinations are finally set in motion through the actions of the mysterious Voice, a creature named later in the story as Brimstone. Those further on in the story know who this is. The reason why I cut it from the original draft was easy: it was too evil and petty. Needlessly so. Don't get me wrong: what happens in chapter 9 was far more cruel, but the Voice at least had a proper reason for doing what it did. It was reprehensible, but there was an underlying logic to it. This just seemed... mean. Needlessly narcissistic to the point of comical. After I had written the entire chapter, I axed the entire thing in order to rewrite it. This was way back when I was capable of pumping out chapters once a week. Those were the days... This was the first draft of the scene, after the "deal" had been made. Readers of my work may recognize a couple lines. I indeed go through several drafts of stuff, and if something doesn't work out, I am a practitioner of cannibalizing my own work. So here is the original, very poor beginning of Brimstone. MLM: AtE Alternate Scene: Down in the Depths Jetstream’s mind had locked up; his brain could not believe or process any of what he just heard. “I’m glad you agree to my terms. Afterwards, you are free to say what you wish to her, suspicions or otherwise.” ‘No.... That thing will kill them all...’ “I’m afraid I must still inform others above as to this gateway’s location, but I think you are capable of doing what we agreed on without detection. Endermen are quite skilled in that art.” ‘You’re just going to sit by and watch!?’ “I bid you farewell.” BAMF! The particles vanished. ‘HUNDREDS OF PONIES ARE GOING TO DIE!’ Picking up the now empty saddlebag, his body ran, not cantered, back to the ravine. “Oh dear, time has gotten away from me.” ‘What else is there for you to do?’ Scenarios flew across Jetstream’s mind, all of them with streets full of dead ponies. It disgusted him. Who or what could willingly do such a thing? His body removed the saddlebag and rain poncho and tossed them into the abyss. Jetstream counted the seconds. ‘1... 2... 3... 4...’ Thump! Four seconds at terminal velocity. That would be an unpleasant drop. For a moment, his heart jumped into his throat at the thought. Was his puppeteer going to force him over the edge? It would take days to find his body... Jetstream winced internally, trying and failing to mentally prepare for what was about to come. His body took another step. ‘No! Don’t!’ Clip-clop ‘Please stop!’ Clip-clop He was staring straight into the gaping maw of darkness itself. All it would take was to lean a little further... ‘For the love of Celestia, I beg of you, don’t so it!’ That time, his body stopped. He was staring down into the darkness with an expression on his face he didn’t recognize. He was smiling, but it was the curve of his lips and the narrowed eyes suggested something else. Sadness? Anger? “I let my hosts see what I do out of courtesy,” the Voice said and Jetstream jumped internally. It was the first time the Voice addressed him directly. “There are those that view other species as something lower than themselves.” His body stepped away from the cliff face and started walking down the tunnel once more. Something squished under his hoof, but without being able to move his head, he couldn’t check. His body just kept on walking. “I never understood that impulse. Take for instance you and me. Are you different? Yes. Weaker, yes. Primitive, yes. But that does not blind me to your strengths. Your race has an admirable fortitude when banded together, and I respect that. Discord, Nightmare Moon, they are creatures that could have crushed all opposition if it weren’t for those with a firm will and a stout heart. Even if I believe I am far beyond a creature, I will grant it access to my deeds.” Jetstream wasn’t sure how to respond to the Voice. Despite the condescending undertones, the Voice was paying him a compliment. ‘T-t-thank you.’ His body snorted. “Don’t let it go to your head. One positive trait does not negate your other traits, especially your race’s blind faith that you can overcome any obstacle there is to encounter, that you may band together after any threat. It’s a child’s irrational belief that all harm will pass without scars. Your kind should not hold such a misguided faith.” Jetstream would have bristled in irritation at the comment, ‘You--’ “I stepped on a centipede ten seconds ago and you never noticed.” ‘It was an accident. It happens.’ “Not to me. I crushed an innocent creature on purpose to put things into perspective for you. A being as grand, complex, and terrible as I can do glorious things. I can create life and cheat death. I can do so many things far beyond your meager understanding. The ideas and constructs floating around in my—your—head at this very moment surpass even the brightest of minds your world has to offer. Despite my greatness, I am a merciful and kind being. I do not look down on those lesser than me. “But that does not negate the fact your hypocrisy disgusts me. As accomplished as your race may be, you still do not understand how small you really are. To me, you are no more great than that little insect I crushed.” Jetstream said nothing for the longest time. They, or he should say the Voice, was coming dangerously close to the surface. Once there... there was no telling what it would do with his body. Jetstream’s mind returned to the earlier conversation between the Voice and the... Endermen, was it? His mind played through the horrors the Voice listed off so casually, atrocities Equestria would endure after sending the Endermen home. ‘If you know so much, why are sitting back and not doing anything? Tell Celestia why that gate is so large. You know everything! You can stop this! You can save hundreds, if not thousands, of lives!’ Jetstream would have been hyperventilating at this point. In just a few short months, Equestria and the crown would never be the same. Her splendor, wasted. Her glory, tarnished. ‘Why --’ “Stop sniveling.” It wasn’t a request. It wasn’t even a command given to the Sergeant. The Voice’s tone simply stated a fact: This will not continue in my attendance. “I do not appreciate begging in my presence. It is most unbecoming.” ‘I’m sorry.’ Jetstream blanched as he thought that. He had actually apologized to his puppeteer, and he meant it. In just a few minutes time, the Voice had commandeered his obedience. It was... very unsettling to say the least. “Do you know why I left the creature from before alone?” Jetstream said nothing, so the Voice took initiative and continued, “He has heart. I terrified him. Petrified him to his very soul. But you saw what he did after he realized he had nowhere else to turn.” Jetstream felt his body smile and raise his head proudly. “I’ve done nothing to harm your spirit, and already you bend to my will. He fought back. Unsuccessfully, but still, he had more of a spine than you.” Jetstream felt his body smile wider and wider. There was very nearly a skip in his step with whatever delight the Voice found in his words. But despite the Voice’s calm and even tone, it still carried the undertones of suppressed fury. “Decadent, degenerate, and completely self-absorbed. You creatures care nothing for those around you, for the spirits that you cannot hope to comprehend. Through your pouting and prattling, did the lives of the Gryphon Kingdoms come to mind? Cervidas? Zebrica? What of the monsters that roam this land? Do they not deserve a chance because you deem them a threat to your existence?” The Voice did not shout its word or alter its inflections in the slightest. Jetstream would have prefered it to start shouting; its calm, collected speech proved far more terrifying. “There are diamonds in the rough when it comes to your kind, but you do not realize what else is out there. Do you honestly believe that all is well? Do you believe that this world truly belongs to you and none other? You know nothing of what was lost.” Jetstream was at a loss for words. The Voice did not appear to want to harm him, but its self-assured command, itsindomitable authority and presence, suppressed any argument Jetstream might have conjured. He would have been shaking like a foal experiences his first thunderstorm if it was possible. There was something in the Voice’s words that silenced him so thoroughly that Jetstream would have greatly respected the Voice’s fortitude in another set of circumstances. “Perhaps... something more intimate is in order. Actions do speak louder than words, after all, and I’ve done nothing but talk.” The Voice halted next to a sapphire protruding out of one of the cavern walls. With the light of Ms. Rarity’s crown, the gemstone radiated a palm glow that scattered light in all directions. Jetstream could see his own visage through the gem’s many facets. His face was contorted into a cruel smile that gleamed in amusement. Jetstream gave a mental whimper, instantly regretting what was about to come. “You are nothing. Become nothing.” Pain. Jetstream felt only pain. It was… something akin to a shriek, an endless scream wallowing in ecstatic laughter. A blast of consciousness and understanding beyond anything he had ever felt. It was not directed at him, but it crushed his soul and will as if all of his mental barriers were worthless, dust in the wind. He could feel the scream, feel it as it filtered through the universe and consumed everything in its rapture and chaos. Such joy that scream gave. Such rapture. Such madness. It passed through Jetstream, through the very universe itself. Through everything. Jetstream knew that ponies died. He knew that fearing death was something natural, a means of self-preservation and survival. But why did that instinct need protecting? Why was life so precious that lives would lash out like a cornered rat to protect it? This... thing he just felt was something beyond what he had ever known. Such puny matters like life, power, and beauty were nothing to it. Life... hope... existence... how little those things mattered in the end. How pathetic they were in the grand scheme of things. Jetstream could tell that the Voice was right. Something as simple as a pony seemed so fragile, its life so brittle and delicate that it would vanish under the slightest breeze or caress. How little life mattered. Jetstream couldn’t breathe, even if he retained control. Something was upon him, around him, behind him, inside him. There was nothing to see or feel. Only... Only the sensation that he was being watched. And then he felt it. There was something, something akin to a presence with him. He was being watched and he could feel the eyes on him, even though he could not see them. There was intelligence to the presence, a complexity more grand and terrible than anything he could have possibly imagined. Jetstream recognized it and it recognized him back, but it was not the way one pony greeted another in the street or a husband returning home to his wife. It was the way a stallion examined a small creature like a ladybug or locus, only Jetstream was the insect, insignificant under something infinitely more vast and unfathomably more perceptive. It was suffocation, a shower in power and force of will beyond the scale of his existence. He could feel it. He could SEE it. Jetstream panicked; he had to run away. If only he could run. His mind seemed separated from his body, yet he scrambled for light, for the warmth of day... Jetstream gasped and wilted, his mind beaten to a pulp by the ordeal. He was panting, shaking at the ordeal. To be in the same universe had just crushed his will to live. What kind of monster is capable of such overwhelming power? ‘...what are you?’ “Your savior. Your reckoning.”
MLM: AtE Deleted Scene: Brimstone's GambitAuthor's Note I cut this scene from Chapter 14 of At the End for two reasons. The first and lesser important was Daisy Showers. Daisy had, at the time, become a curse. Everything I tried to make her do, failed horribly. As you may recall, Sergeant Jetstream investigated some underground tunnels in Chapter nine and had four Senior Privates with him, one of which was Daisy. In my original draft, Brimstone makes an illusion of Daisy and kills her in the tunnels to frighten Jetstream, but I cut that scene. Later, I planned on having an intermission chapter that involved Daisy meeting Rarity and the possibility of her being possessed by Brimstone, but I needed to cut that one as well. Now I had her possessed and written in, but I forgot one thing: Brimstone. If you hadn’t guessed, the more power Brimstone uses, the harder it is on its host body. In this scene, Brimstone uses enough power to render Daisy ill, ill enough that it draws the eyes of her superiors. I was ready to incorporate it into the story... but I couldn’t. The lingering thread of Equestria knowing about Brimstone, even partially, wasn’t something I wanted so soon. For one, Brimstone is more careful than that, and two, I didn’t want to overcomplicate things. There’s already so much going on at this particular point in time: Twilight and friends brainstorming for ideas, the attack on Canterlot, the arrival of Herobrine, the Crafter’s capture; I didn’t need the add headache of Brimstone. I already had enough to work with and didn’t want to drown my readers with unnecessary fluff. The second was the reason to incorporate Brimstone had been rendered moot. While scripting the chapter, I wasn’t sure if I could make the Crafter’s willing surrender believable, so I wrote in Brimstone to nudge him in the right direction. I surprised myself without realizing it: The upcoming fight with Barricade and the following capture flowed well enough that the scene was no longer necessary. I wanted to include Brimstone; I like the character and its inherent creepiness, but Brimstone was no longer needed. I asked myself: “Does the scene need to be here?” No. I like it, but no. It was on that day I learned to listen to my gut, and I think I made the right choice. So here we go. This scene takes place right after the Crafter leaves Lyra’s house. Brimstone interrupts him halfway, and tells him he needs to stop running from fate. MLM: AtE Deleted Scene: Brimstone's Gambit The creature screamed at the top of its lungs and pointed at me. The warmness at first contact and a brief reprieve from my running vanished like smoke. Replacing my sword with my axe, I swung it at the opposite wall and remove a cube of wall, revealing the moist dirt behind it. I heard Lierah call out and I turned for a moment, just a moment. The newcomer had it’s legs around Lierah and was fighting tooth and nail to drag her up the steps, babbling incoherently all the while. Lierah was conflicted, torn between the same desire of communication I had, and the likely need of conferencing with her associate. I did not stay and watch the outcome of her dilemma; I returned to my digging and sealed the wall behind me. I dug upwards and returned to the surface. It was a shallow basement, by my standards anyway, and I had no problem beating the newcomer to the surface. I started running back to my tunnel and heard, from the direction of Lierah’s house, the newcomer screeching in the street. I recalled my first experience with these creatures, the same one after I had attacked Lierah; if they made loud enough noises, others would come. Oh, crap. I did not wish to face the soldier or the sovereign again. Not again. Not ever again. I barely survived the first time. My memory, horrible as it was, was good enough to remember the path back to my underground tunnel. Turn at the cake house, run across the town square, past town hall, and back down the alley. As I just said, my memory was pretty bad. It’s always been bad; I keep getting lost in caves and have to dig straight up just to get a point of reference. But I like to think my memory wasn’t bad enough to forget a solid wall of black nothingness in my path. My brain took a few moments to understand what I was seeing. It was just blackness. It was not like the Void Fog I saw in the bottom of the Overworld, it was just a complete lack of everything. Perhaps I could find a way around the obstruction or void or whatever it was. I shifted to turn around. “Don’t turn around.” It felt like ice flooded my body. It was more than just having something sneak up behind me, not an easy task in itself, but I understood what it was saying perfectly. I conjured my sword and prepared to turn. “Don’t look at me! If you turn around, you will die.” I froze. Dare I chance it? Would it be possible to get the jump on the creature behind me? The one I did not even notice until I was trapped? Not this again. I felt like I was back in the cave, staring into the eyes of a terrifying beast all over again. “Now... let me begin. Don’t look.” My body was shaking. I don’t what it was about the creature’s voice that paralyzed my will to rebel, but it was most effective. It’s words were laced with command and authority, but there was a distinct shroud of menace and... an unclean belligerence surrounding it. “What do you want, Crafter?” I blinked. The shaking that had only just seeded my bones stopped due to the sheer mood reversal of the question. What was it talking about? “Centuries you have lived in a world barren of any soul. Millenia. Eons. How old are you Crafter? Do you even know anymore? “Millions of years of absolute power, and what did you do? Build monuments to your own vanity? Slaughter countless animals to suit your needs? Reshape the land in your own image? For what!?” The creature spat the last sentence with enough venom to make me jump. I imperceptibly shifted to be ready to turn and either fight or run, but it was still noticeable to the beast. “I’m warning you only once more, Crafter,” it growled. “My patience has already been tried by cowardice, I do not wish it to be tested by blind fear. You will live through this, as long as you listen to my words and follow this order: “Don’t look.” I didn’t know what else to do, so I nodded to the blackness. “You are every bit the coward I think you are, but you have the capacity for a stout heart. That will be needed, in time, but now, I have much to say. “Think on these words carefully Crafter. What do you want? You are as eternal as the sun and sand, but all you desire is all you have ever known: construction. You build and build and never stop building. Have you ever questioned why?” Why would I even question? It’s all I have ever known. “Ponder this, Crafter. You have something worth living for. Do you have something worth dying for?” What? “If I were to kill you at this moment, would you consider your life a bountiful one?” Don’t kill me... “You build, you live, you survive, and the cycle begins anew. Have you ever questioned the existential horror of it all? You build because you know how to build. You live because you can. Have you ever thought about what would happen if you were at the end? What would you do if you ever faced death in the eyes? Would you stand tall and firm as an equal, or run and hide like some gall-less fool? “You exist to prolong your existence. At the end of your journey, when all has come to pass and all debts are settled, your spirit will still be imprisoned in the quagmire of time. An eternal path in the twilight is not isolation. “It is oblivion.” I... really didn’t know how to take the creature's words. I built because I am good at it. Did I really need a reason? No, but then why build in the first place if the act itself serves no purpose? I never thought about that. All along, I built... because that’s what I did. “A journey only begins when it ends. All your accomplishments will be realized, but will they be worth it? What purpose is there to build without a purpose? You live by instinct. Live by purpose!” I lowered my head in thought, but before I could contemplate its words any more, the creature behind me continued, “You hold a power greater than any other: the power of creation itself.” I felt something cold stroke my right arm. “You hold the right hand of God, the ability to reshape reality itself to your will. This is a power greater than individuals, greater than kings and the stars themselves. You must make a choice Crafter: become something greater, or sow the seeds of your own destruction. You have the power and the will to become something so much more. Not just a creator, but a legend. “So run and hide, lonely miner. Dig to the planet’s core and cower amongst the dirt and the dark. Alone. Forever. “Or...” I really did not like waiting for the creature to speak. Every second of anticipation weighed on my heart. I felt an undeniable sense of fear at this creature’s mere presence. Not of what it was doing, but what it could do. If this creature could blockade me so easily, why didn’t it just kill me? Why only talk? “Or would you make the critical choice?The stage is set, and the game has begun. Make a choice, Crafter. Will you choose to greet the darkness and unknown as a friend, or run? Judgement is coming, and the angels are starting to sing. “What do you really want, Crafter?” The creature sighed. I thought for a moment and discovered a peculiar fact about myself: I was no longer afraid of the creature. It’s unique aura, as terrible and forbodding as it was... was somewhat comforting. This... thing, this monster or creature or whatever it may be, had a power far greater than I understand. It was a grand and complex type of sorcery, but the creature did not intend to hurt me. As foul as the creature felt, I felt safe and under its temporary protection. “Now I must tell you, Crafter, that I was incorrect; there is another order you must follow.” Oh no, oh no, oh no... “Run. They are coming for you.” I looked up once again. The path was clear and the entrance to my tunnel was in sight. I bolted, fleeing from both the unseen threats and their harbinger. While the creature had been talking, I had completely forgotten about what I was running from in the first place. This place is making me lose my touch. The sound of wind blasted my ears as I entered the street. The wind had picked up and howled ever so fiercely. Rain pelted my shirt and I nearly lost my footing as I hydroplaned across a small puddle. It happened again. For an instant, I felt a small pressure in the back of my head, and then a vision forced itself on me for a second time. I was following something. No, I was chasing something, but I could not feel my limbings moving in the slightest. I couldn’t see; darkness was all around me, yet I was still moving. How was that possible? Darkness. Movement. Fear. Not mine, something else’s. The Darkness... ...No... not darkness. Fog. Tiny, almost imperceptible, wisps off black fog. The Void Fog. Again? What was it doing here? For a brief moment, the fog parted and I saw my quarry for the first time: the cream-colored creature with pink hair.
MLM: AtE Alternate Scene: Barricade vs. BrimstoneAuthor's Note In the first draft of Chapter 17: Into the Darkness I'll Sing Them A Song in my story At the End, the ending was a little different. The first draft had a little different scene that eventually led into another at about halfway through the story. I wrote the chapter, including all the scenes you saw in 17, except for one part. The key reason I rewrote it is because Brimstone does something that goes against his character. Brimstone is vile creature, but he believes what he is doing is right. He does bad things to ponies because he wants to learn how they act under pressure. He's a sociopath, but there still are lines he does not cross. What he does in this deleted scene goes against his character. He wanted Barricade as an ally, not an underling. That's why what happens here was axed. TL:DR version: Brimstone wouldn't do this, and that's why it was axed. Oh yeah, spoilers and stuff. This takes place at the end of Chapter 17. MLM: AtE Alternate Scene: Barricade vs. Brimstone Silence flooded the tent, accentuated only by the sound of Barricade’s own heart beat. The sound beat like thunder, despite being the most quiet of noises. The Doppelganger’s livid gaze pierced the air life daggers. Barricade did not back down in the slightest. If this disappointed the Doppelganger, if this killed her, her conscious was clear. “Than you can baptise your soul in the blood of the fallen. Thousands will die in the oncoming storm, but at least your conscious is clean. Live with the knowledge that the blood of innocents is on your head.” The Doppelganger’s voice was as even and calm as the night. “Into the darkness I’ll sing them a song.” The Doppelganger slowly turned around and walked to the door. “If I cannot obtain your assistance, I will do this myself.” At that moment, all the ringing and skull-splitting pain she had been feeling intermittently throughout the night came back in one titanic pulse. Barricade collapsed, hooves to her temples and screaming at the top of her lungs. It felt like corkscrews were being tightened behind her eyes. Even though the initial spike was enough to drop the mare, the throbbing crescendoed more and more. Barricade was blind to the world, ignorant of everything except the white-how pain coursing through her brain. “What are you doing to me!?” Barricade screeched. The poor soldier’s voice was scratchy and raw from yelling in a continuous stream. For just long enough, the pain abated enough for Barricade to recognize a blurred form through her painful tears. “I’ve been implanting the necessary triggers ever since we started speaking, my dear, just in case you denied my offer. You will help me when I need you to, but I must say, if we meet on opposite sides again, you will be a worthy foe.” “Who... who are you.” She whimpered. “Brimstone.” “What?” Barricade faltered. “Brimstone,” she repeated “Brimstone’s not a name.” “This is your wake-up call, my dear.” Another flash of pain blinded the mare. Nevertheless, she said, “I will fight you.” The blurred silhouette of her copy came into focus and spoke. Contrary to the previous venom saturating her voice, this time she sounded almost... pleased. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” “This is just a dream,” Barricade growled. Brimstone lowered her lips to Barricade’s ear, “Does that make it any less real?” Her Doppelganger smiled, touched her forehead to Barricade’s, and the pain began once more. Barricade didn’t know how long the pain lasted, but even a mighty warrior like her could scream for only so long. Doctor Hemos jumped back as the Captain screamed and thrashed her way into consciousness. “Sedative!” He shouted to the nurses. “Captain! Captain, it’s me!” Lieutenant Chaser, disturbed by the sudden ruckus, rose to attention to find the hospital in instant bedlam to secure the panicking Captain. Barricade shoved Hemos abruptly to the side, leaving just the opening needed for the Lieutenant to exploit. The Night Guard snaked her way between the startled nurses and rose to her hind legs. Smack! “Snap out of it!” Lieutenant Chaser’s hooves struck the Captain square in the jaw. The Captain’s head snapped back, startled by the blow, but it was enough to silence the Captain’s protests. The nurses pulled the Night Guard away and she willingly let herself be restrained, though her eyes were focused on the Captain. Barricade’s eyes were wide and wild, but she had ceased her senseless screaming. Slowly, she turned to the startled group of ponies who watched the mare with caution. One of the nurses had prepared a needle filled with a crystal-clear liquid, but she had halted administering the injection with an unspoken directive to halt from Hemos. “Lieutenant Lightning Chaser...” Barricade enunciated each syllable carefully, unsure of her own words. The lieutenant nodded quickly, still observing her superior for any signs of trouble. “Captain...” Doctor Hemos approached slowly, not wanting to startle the Captain into another fit. “Are you well? You’ve been asleep for the past hour.” Barricade put a hoof to her head and pulled it away for examination. Seeing nothing attached she examined the rest of herself carefully. Those present gave the mare the time to check herself out. They had frozen where they stood, all of them quietly waiting to see how the Captain would react. “I’m... I’m alright.” The rest of the tent save for the Lieutenant and Hemos sighed in relief. The built-up tension in everyone’s posture eased, especially the eagle-eyed Honor Guard. Even if the danger had apparently passed, her eyes flashed across Barricade’s body, her eidetic memory taking absorbing everything in a single sweep. Elevated pulse, cold sweat, rapid breathing, fidgeting limbs; the Captain – the Captain Barricade – was shaking off a panic attack or the worst nightmare of all time. “It was just a bad dream... what dream?” She could only remember vague impulses like light, silence, and pain, but not the actual contents of what brought her to the land of the living screaming like a moon-sick mare. Her hoof rose to her shoulder, rubbing a wound that was not actually there. “I feel...” Barricade swallowed the bile rising in her throat. “I don’t remember what I was dreaming about, and I think I’m glad.” She felt the rising sense of self-loathing and embarrassment at her outburst. It was poor form to be caught in such a state of helpless and scrambling like a foal over such something as small as a bad dream. The quick-thinking Lieutenant’s strike snapped her out of her panic. ‘What happened?’ Barricade thought. She felt exhausted. Her past wounds and the exertion of recent events made the mare pay a heavy price. While she was floundering around on the bed, the only thing she could think of was fear and a complete, blind hatred. Of what, the Captain was uncertain. She was just grateful that the Lieutenant snapped her out of it. Of course, she would still speak with her at a later date about striking a superior officer. Speaking of the night Guard, she was eyeing Barricade uncomfortably. It wasn’t fear, worry, or pity, it was cold, restrained analysis; the Lieutenant was still evaluating the Captain as a threat. The Lieutenant saw the shift in the Captain as it occurred piece by piece. Her spine straightened, her eyes narrowed, her gaze hardened. The actions made cords of tightened muscles softened in the Lieutenant and she finally stood down. Bowing her head slightly, she said, “It’s good to see you alive, Captain.” Barricade had already examined the patch of gauze on her flank and the layers of bindings wrapped around her stomach and found the bandages to be fresh. The creature really had done quite a number on her. “Was I – ” “No.” It was Doctor Hemos who responded. Now that the tent had calmed, He had resumed his duties by examining her vitals. Rows of machines blipped and flashed, projecting data that the Doctor understood in an instant. Blood pressure, pulse, O2 saturation, and a few specialty instruments used to examine magic and the pony brain. Concern flashed across the Doctor’s face and was gone in a flash. “I never lost you. I was worried the arrowhead would fracture upon removal and complicate matters, but its removal was swift and without incident.” “Captain,” came a stern voice near the back. A pony had just entered in full military uniform. “Major Stormcloud,” Barricade fought to sit up, but the Major held up a hoof. “At ease, Captain. Rest easy, but I’m here with you on business until Princess Celestia leaves. I need you to come with me; reports say your new friend is getting a little antsy and I’d like to make sure he calms down before we leave.” “With all due respect, Major,” Hemos said, “Captain Barricade is my patient and is under my care until I clear her to leave.” “True, but I have the power to override preceding orders in the interest of security and public safety. Make sure she is fit to move for the next hour. I need her until then, where she shall then be returned to you, Doctor.” Without verifying his orders were followed, the Major turned on his hooves and left the tent. “Make sure she gets a cloud.” He told some unnamed soldier escorting him. The Guard nodded and followed the major out into the rain. Hemos, disgruntled as ever, gave a disappointed snort. “Saddle up, Captain; we’re going on a trip – what’s that?” Hemos asked after hearing Barricade hum a soft tune. “La la la la, la la la la... it’s nothing, just a tune that came to mind.”
MLM: AtE Alternate Scene: Better Make Way When the Crafter ComesAuthor's Note I had the underground scene in chapter 29 of At the End in my head for a long time, but it has gone through quite a few changes. Originally, the Crafter was never intercepted by anypony and freely retreated underground. There, he slowly dug to the surface, learning the pony way of life little by little. He stayed hidden due to his ability to dig tunnels, and that's how he listened to their conversations and learned about their way of life, including their language. This concluded in him saving Rarity from some Diamond Dogs. Obviously, I've rewritten several things since my first draft of the story. This is a scene from Rarity's perspective a little after he saves her. I'll tell you, this way written WAY back, so my prose is poor and it hasn't gone through editing. This is just a little alternate cut that came to my mind so long ago. There are spoilers for chapter 29 nevertheless. Without further ado, here's the partially completed chapter aptly titled: Better Make Way When the Crafter Comes MLM: AtE Alternate Scene: Better Make Way When the Crafter Comes Chapter XX: Better Make Way When the Crafter Comes Rarity was having trouble keeping up with her benefactor. Whatever it was—no, whatever he was, he had a very high stamina. High enough that Rarity was sure he could match Applejack in a race. He just kept on sprinting down the endless tunnels, swerving right and left with only a torch and the light of the gems to guide him. Rarity was accustomed to tunnels, they held the best gems after all, but he seemed to have an uncanny sense of direction in the endless gray and brown tunnels packed with dirt and stone. “Please Mister, I am quite aware of the unpleasantness and lack of hospitality of Diamond Dogs, but I must rest. Plus I need to clear my mane of this unpleasant dust.” The creature turned to Rarity, eyes concerned, but still urgent. He held up his strange hoof and a mass of brown coalesced out of the air into a cube of wood. For the life of her, Rarity had no idea how he did that. Maybe Twilight would have an answer once she made it back to the surface. The creature ticked away at the wood for a second before showing her what he wrote. ALMOST THERE “Well, Mister, why didn’t you just say so?” The creature ticked away at the sign some more. Rarity blinked in surprise. For one, the previous message inked in black letters had vanished. Secondly was the three words printed on the sign. I CAN’T TALK Spike spoke up before Rarity, “Well I’ve never met a pony that couldn’t talk before. Even monsters of the Everfree Forest make some kind of noise.” “Please Spike,” Rarity chided. “If he says he cannot talk, then he can’t.” She turned to the creature before her. “Well Mister, do you at least have a name I can call you besides the standard polite prefix?” The creature gave Rarity what she thought was a confused expression. He thought for a moment before ticking away at the sign. I DON’T HAVE A NAME Rarity was about to ask a question, but the creature started sprinting again, gesturing for Rarity to follow. Rarity gave a defeated sigh and ran after him; he’d better have a shower. After a minute, Rarity noticed a strange shift in the tunnels. The once rough and winding tunnels had started to widen and become more angular. The tunnel opened up to a larger cavern that ran alongside an underground river and the floor was conspicuously flat. The walls and stones lining the wall had much sharper angles while the cavern on the other side of the river was still full of curves and ridges. Rarity, Spike, and the creature came up to a nearly flat wall. He turned around, making sure he got Rarity’s attention before pointing to some small outcroppings on the wall. “...Well what about it?” He shook his head and pressed one of the bumps in the wall. Rarity gave a small shriek as the wall in front of her parted to reveal a hidden room on the other side. She didn’t get a good look at the other side because after a second, the wall slide back to its perfectly flat state. He pressed the bump in the wall and the wall opened. He quickly walked through and gestured for Rarity to follow before the wall closed once more. “Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained,” Spike said. He stood up on Rarity’s back and pressed the button to open the wall. “Spike!” Rarity almost objected, but cut it short as the wall opened and she walked into the room with the now beckoning creature. Rarity gasped, not quite able to process what she was seeing at the moment. In front of her built into a large cavern was a full courtyard with an accompanying garden in front of a small mansion made out of granite and cobblestone. There was stone steps built in tiles leading up to a circular park with trees, grasses and an array of flowers there was a bubbling brook in the center that flowed underground and parted to run parallel to the left and right of the stairs. She could see reds, yellows, blues, and even common weeds arrayed in patterns framing trees and other shrubbery. She saw great oaks, weeping willows, birch, and elm trees. Flowers arranged in colored rows leading to the center of the garden where a great oak tree stood. And then there was the mansion, a marvelous, if a little too angular, piece of craftsmanship 5 stories tall, one hundred meters wide and fifty deep. A small set of stone stairs led from the courtyard up to the iron doors and Rarity could swear she could see woolen carpet of a variety of colors in the many, many windows dotting the sides. But despite the grand scale of everything inside, the cavern was shockingly well lit. Not by gems, though the creature seemed to have begun to grasp a gem’s light retention capability with their dotted locations across the courtyard, but by torches. There must have been hundreds, maybe a thousand to cover this grand room. “I... I... I s-suspected that there was only one of you. To build all of this... How many of you are there?” TickTickTickTickTickTick I STARTED BUILDING THIS MYSELF SINCE I CAME HERE A MONTH AGO TickTickTick I AM ALONE Rarity’s dropped jaw would have hit the ground if it could drop any further. That... that was impossible. The stairs or the garden alone would have taken a team of ponies weeks to construct. And moving all that stone and mortar to make the mansion? There was no conceivable way that could occur. ‘But...’ Rarity’s thoughts backtracked. This creature did have an unusual kind of magic. He could make things appear and disappear at will, so his claims weren’t completely unbelievable. Just mostly. Spike had regained his grasp on his speech as well and was about to give the creature a retort for his claims, but Rarity quieted him with a glance. She had far too many questions and didn’t want Spike to anger him accidentally. The creature beckoned once more up to the mansion and the pony followed with careful steps. She couldn’t help but admire the creature’s work. The smells of the garden would make Fluttershy envious beyond belief. There was fountain deeper in the garden and the source of the brook. The spray of the water was a bone-cutting cold as she walked past. Well water from deeper underground. Rarity’s mind backtracked again. Despite all of the sights and smells of the garden, she didn’t see or hear a single bird or squirrel or any animal whatsoever. She supposed it would be hard to get animals this deep in the earth; it was another question to ask for later. Inside, Rarity could see it was every bit as grand as she thought. Woolen carpets, pane glass windows, bookshelves lining the walls, a fully stocked kitchen and a wall full of ovens, a dining room with glass floors, a living room with oak furniture and potted plants in the corners, dozens of empty rooms richly adorned with woolen sheets and carpets of deep blues, reds, and purples. Everything in this building rivaled even the most tactlessly extravagant places she’d seen in Canterlot. Everything still had an overabundance of lines and edges, but Rarity had almost immediately forgotten about that. Sure, she believed that smooth, flowing textures and patterns were superior to this creature’s designs, but there was a simple, spartan beauty to this place’s simplicity. Every line and block had a purpose and fit together like a puzzle. Rarity couldn’t help but admire the craftsmanship. The creature led the pair to the living room and gestured to a simple bench covered with woolen sheets. Rarity’s eyes almost bulged. Now that she noticed it, all the sheets and carpets in the mansion were all hoof-stitched. How did he do this!? The creature sat down on a wooden chair and held out a sign. WHAT DO YOU WANT TO KNOW? The obvious question came first, “What are you?” The creature ticked away at his sign. I SUPPOSE YOU COULD CALL ME A CRAFTER. I BUILD THINGS “What kind of things?” Spike asked. WHATEVER I WANT “But how can you create such detailed extravagance? By yourself no less?” IT IS WHAT I DO BEST “But how? I have never witnessed such incredible and useful magic before! If I may be so bold as to inquire, where did you research such marvelous feats?” The Crafter looked confused for a second before making another message. NOT MY LANGUAGE. TOO MANY BIG WORDS Spike laughed at that. “He’s got your number Rarity.” “Spike! Do not be rude to our host! He did save our lives after all.” Rarity turned back to the Crafter. “I do apologize. What I mean to say is can you tell me about your magic?” HOW I CAN CREATE AND ABSORB MATERIALS? Rarity gave a furious nod. IT IS JUST SOMETHING I CAN DO The Crafter scribbled at his sign some more, having run out of room. I DO NOT KNOW HOW IT WORKS “Well, how did you learn you could do it?” INSTINCT. EVER SINCE I AWOKE IN THE OVERWORLD, I HAVE BEEN ABLE TO CRAFT “What is this... Overworld?” The Crafter had begun to write, but stopped and wrote something else. “I WILL NEED MORE SIGNS.” Getting up, he walked along the woolen carpets and to the cabinets on the far side of the wall. Unlike the rest of the cabinets she’d seen dotting the mansion, these ones were very simply made. Oddly enough, the doors opened upward instead from the front, as if to keep a flat workspace when the doors were closed. Rarity got up on her hooves to observe the Crafter root around the chest. There was nothing but a swirling mass of colors of every shape of the rainbow and more inside. The Crafter seemed to know what he was looking for and reached for a jumbled mass of brown, twisting, semi-viscous energy. The brown energy shot into the Crafter’s odd hoof and disappeared. He closed the chest and sat back down, Rarity mimicking his action. The Crafter got busy writing on his sign. When he ran out of room on that one, he set that one down on a mahogany table and conjured up another. Now that she had time to stop and think, she observed the Crafter’s conjuring. A mass of the same viscous energy escaped from his hoof and curled around his foreleg. Rarity had seen Fluttershy’s animals nuzzle the gentle Pegasus in the same manner, but this seemed different. But after a blink of an eye, the brown energy morphed and hardened into a blank, square sign. I LIVED IN THE OVERWORLD, AN ENDLESS PLACE FULL OF NATURE, ORE, AND MONSTERS IT IS THERE THAT I MINED THE LANDSCAPE AND HARVESTED THE WORLD’S BOUNTY TO SURVIVE. MY FIRST MEMORY WAS ON AN ISLAND WITH A GREAT LANDMASS ACROSS THE WATER MY MIND WAS GRACED WITH A SINGLE THOUGHT: SURVIVE CRAFTING WAS ALL I KNEW, SO IT IS ALL I DID. I HAD NO REASON TO, BUT NO REASON NOT TO SO I CRAFTED TOOLS, THEN OBJECTS, THEN BUILDINGS, THEN CITIES. IT WAS ALL I KNEW Rarity was quiet for a minute, silently chewing on the Crafter’s words. His behavior matched what she’d seen so far. A grand feat of architecture and design lay underneath her hooves in all of its marvelous splendor.
The Baron's Stage [Original] [OC] [Atmospheric]Author's Note Behold, the last of my Baron-related material. Before I actually began writing my stories for the Thirteen (Actually, it was eight) Days of Nightmare Night. They were supposed to be a set of thirteen completely independent stories, but I wanted to pull a fast one. As explained in my commentary, there was one common characteristic through most of the tales: a pony dressed in white. Mares and gentlecolts, meet the Baron. Originally I was going to have the stories as chapters in one large anthology, but I had a change of heart because I couldn't pull off the ending I wanted to. That's why I split them up, but I kept the Baron in anyway. I was going to have the Baron be a storyteller to a crowd, reciting scary stories to his audience every Nightmare Night. I got so far as a nearly complete intro before I scrapped and reworked the series in general, as I just stated. Rather than letting the Baron suffer in limbo, let him prance on the stage he was destined to perform. Applause, everypony, and welcome your host for this evening. The Baron's Stage [Original] [OC] [Atmospheric] Prologue Hordes of ponies walked through the usually empty streets of Shady Hollow, far more than those that actually lived in the small town. The skies twinkled with a fine blanket of stars across the night sky. Although there was no wind so late in the year, a slight chill in the air necessitated warmer clothing to hold back the bite. The rural town was commonplace by pony standards. The usual general store, blacksmith, schoolhouse, town doctor, horseshoe smith, and town hall decorated the town’s very loose grid-like design. Several trees, however, were ancient oaks - broad and hardy trees too difficult to excavate. Such old flora was interspaced between buildings, forcing several homes and shops to be placed much farther away from the main path. If one climbed the mountains on either side of the hollow, they could see homes and farms dotted all along the valley. Some of the more reclusive homes were wedged deep in the forest, obfuscated behind several dense layers of trees and light thickets. The crickets were out in full force that night, but none cared even the slightest. Even the ever-irritating mosquitoes and gnats that habitually haunted the small town so late in the year were expelled by scented torches. Mares and stallions were out in full force, far more than the scant few that inhabited the town. Dozens herded diminutive colts and fillies from one house and business to the next. Each child was dressed as their favorite storybook character or hero. If one truly looked hard enough, they could see a few fillies dressed as Celestia or Luna. It was every child’s favorite holiday. It was Nightmare Night. Their wild hooftsteps and cheerful cries echoed into the night and were swallowed by the layers of trees surrounding the small town. Their hooves did not even clop in the din, as the rural nature of Shady Hollow did not grant them enough funds for a brick or cobblestone road; it was naught but dirt, grass, gravel, and woodchips, depending on whom owned that particular piece of land. Nopony minded; it was their home, where they grew up and where their children will learn and grow. It was not a grand city like Canterlot, nor was it paradise. It was home, and nothing more. Shady Hollow was a moderately wooded town that was difficult to find even if you knew where it was. Even calling it a town was generous, as it barely had enough ponies to fill a hamlet. Once a year, however, the population exploded as ponies from across Equestria flooded the streets. Whether only a few or at a time or by the droves, ponies entered the town from the only dirt road leading to the outside world. Flanked on either side by torches, they came. Some came with gleeful smiles on their faces. Others chatted eagerly with close friends and loved ones. Their clothing marked them just as easily as their accents. There were the rough linens of seafaring ponies, posh silks and fitted suits from upperclass ponies with accents from Trottingham and Canterlot, thick wool shirts and blouses belonging to farmers and fellow townies from near and far, and even a few were dressed in appropriate costumes for such a succulent and frightful night. A few lovers were wrapped in more-than-friendly embraces and suggestive flank-bumping, but Shady Hollow was not their home and the streets were full of children and watchful parental eyes. Amorous feelings would have to wait. The newcomers had a destination to reach anyway. Main Street was lined with games and excitement: pin-the-tail, card games, children’s tag, costume contests, face painting, candy exchanges, horseshoe tossing, delectable treats, storytelling, and tables filled to the brim with candy and tightly wrapped parcels. The yearly influx of out of towners proved a great boost for local businesses. Business was booming, and far more than what even peak times usually granted. Where there were not games or amusements down Main Streets, visiting ponies could refresh themselves with freshly squeezed lemonade, fresh meat right out of the oven, oven-roasted bread with herbs, fresh produce straight from the orchards, and hoof-crafted goods to take home for friends and family. Others were selling strange oddities: goose-feather pillows and thick, woolen blankets. Most were just plain pieces of cloth built to last, but the more devoted natives stitched geometric patterns and popular cultural characters and designs into the fabric. A teenage couple, curious as to why bed ware seemed such a popular selling item and deserving of multiple vendors, walked up to a wrinkled, old mare. Both were completely bare save for a saddlebag apiece and a traveling cloak. “Excuse me, Miss. May I ask why there’s so many pillows and blankets for sale?” The vendor, a dappled white mare with a mane the most vibrant silver, wheezed a laugh. “You youngin’s new to the Baron’s show?” The mare, a snow-white teen earth pony, and her older stallionfriend, a sky-blue pegasus with a mane the color of tarnished silver, nodded. “The Baron does his deeds in the old amphitheater further in the valley until he’s done or by the light of dawn. It can get awfully chilly sometimes, so it be good to have some warmth and comfort.” “Good idea,” the mare said. She craned her head around and saw other couples and families carried bedrolls and pillows on their backs and lunch boxes in their saddlebags; they were obvious veterans of Shady Hollow’s Nightmare Night main attraction: the Baron. “No worries, Aria; I got paid Friday and brought some bits just in case I needed them.” Aria gave him one of her perfect smiles and a flirtatious eye flutter “Thanks, Aegis.” He paid the vendor enough bits for a pillow and blanket apiece. The fluffy blankets were more akin to quilts with their air pockets and large patches, but that meant they were large enough to cover both ponies. The sensual ideas conjured by such an intimate thought crossed both of their minds, but they needed to go: the Baron beckoned. The hollow was small enough to walk across in a short ten minutes. While Aegis and Aria did not know the way to the Baron and the amphitheater, the torches lining the dirt pathway and the stream of chattering ponies was enough to inform them. “I was here last year. It was amazing!” “I heard a filly listened in one night and had nightmares for a month.” “He used to carry a bison head with candles in the eye sockets as the only source of light for this. I swear to Celestia it’s true!” “When did he get here, anyway? Why does he use an old, abandoned amphitheater?” “Who knows? He’s a creepy bastard. He can do whatever the hell he wants.” “It’s a little too cold. I’m going to go get another blanket.” “Last time he told a story about this cursed hand that gave you wishes and they all bit you in the flank as their effects unfolded.” “If this get’s too much, I’m going back to town and see if there’s a room at the inn that’s open.” “They’ve all been booked since last week, Sora.” “Fuck!” “Keep the profanity to a minimum, peasant.” “Who farms the food that goes on your table, you pompous wag?” “Enough you all, we’re almost there.” The spooky, twisted branches of the arching trees cast shadowy talons further in the darkness. The torches produced the unintended side effect of shadowy creatures and monsters just beyond the sanctity of light. A few ponies huddled closer together; although there was naught but insects and small animals in terms of local forest ambiance, the mind conjured beasts and shades when none truly existed. The dirt path slowly widened, opening up to a small clearing, causing several ponies to stop whinnying in worry. A small crowd of ponies was before the new group, all looking down into a large depression. The amphitheater was carved into the side of the mountain at the base of a sharp decline. Nopony, not even the residents of Shady Hollow, knew the origins of the ancient place. Whatever its original purpose may have been, it had been long lost to time and retaken by Mother Nature. The stone steps descending the the large, upraised stone stage were cracked and weathered by the elements. The isles and stone seats were in equally sorry states with some of them outright destroyed over time. Large patches of lichen, moss, and vines had once retaken the stonework, but they had since been cleared for Shady Hollow’s yearly ritual. Aegis, Aria, Sora, and the rest of their particular group of ponies jostled for seats. The amphitheater was already packed with ponies chatterings, enjoying some snacks, or quietly snuggling with friends and family. Some ponies just started laying blankets on the grass outside the amphitheater to claim more legroom. The snobby elite and his stallion companion managed to find seats in the crowd, but even those were difficult to obtain; the remainder of their group deemed it necessary to stake their own claims on the grassy soil and do their best to discover patches devoid of any stickers and burs. Most ponies were nestled together due to lack of room, sharing body heat, or nervousness. The sun had set almost two hours ago and the cloudless night and twinkling stars cast just enough celestial radiance to bath them all in a light glow. The light was mediocre, even with the torches interspaced on the stairs, but most eyes did not need to see into the darkness, for they were directed to the stage. A single pony languished lazily across a stone table. The Baron was dressed in a very fine, fitted suit shaded an immaculate white to rival even Celestia’s unblemished fur. His equally white top hat covered his head and face. Bright, bloody red stitching on his lapels, outside collar, coat tails, and a band across the base of his hat complimented the white. He reached into his breast pocket with a light gray hoof and removed a silver pocket watch. Flicking it open, he tilted his hat up to examine the current time with his equally red eyes. However, the time was not quite appropriate, and he slipped the watch away. “Disgraceful,” whispered the elite to his companion. “splaying himself out like that in front of an audience. And in one of Photo Finish’s designer suits, no less!” “Come now, old chap,” chided his companion, a middle aged stallion in a tailored black suit, perfectly groomed hair, and monocle. “Do not judge the fine sir on first impressions alone.” “Is he even a Baron, Fancypants? What’s he doing out in such an uncivilized place?” “I do not believe he is, Federick.” Fancypants replied. “However, he has attained quite the fanbase by spinning his yearly tall tales. I came last year and found my night most enjoyable.” Frederick huffed in irritation. He tapped his foot impatiently, clearly dissatisfied by present location, company, and host. Unnoticed by all, the Baron removed his watch once again. The click was soft enough to be swallowed by the chattering crickets, let alone over a thousand ponies. “ROOOOOOOLL UP!” The Baron’s light tenor sliced through the cacophonous noise. They hushed for silence, but they were quickly overpowered by uproarious applause. The Baron had risen to his hooves, casually brushing dust and minor bits of grime from his lapels. Whistles and cheers echoed across the amphitheater in droves. He smiled coyly, soaking up the attention as true performers do. The Baron held up a hoof for silence. The applause, cheers, and chatter died to a low rumble, leaving a few overly enthusiastic fans still cheering. The earth pony flicked a hoof to a torch on the far left of the stage. The torch blazed to life in ruby-red flames. The torch on the right relived the same experience, enveloping the stage in light. He removed his hat in a flourish and bowed, a deep and practiced act gained from previous performances. Several audience members gasped; the Baron appeared to be a simple charcoal-gray earth pony until he removed his hat and displayed a horn. Seeing a supposed earth pony perform magic was surprising indeed. “♫~Come one, come all, this All Hallow’s Eve for coming tonight for stories I weave. I bring you fear and a little fright: thirty-one tales of Nightmare Night!”
Fluttershy's Dream 2 [Grey Hat] [OC] [Fluttershy] [Psychological]Author's Note I cut this from Grey Hat's Chapter 2: It's Cold Out Here for the same reason as the previous chapter: the Baron still wasn't the way I wanted him. The previous cut made him horribly cruel, and while he's considerably more respectable here, he was still rather mean. If you can't tell from the story or this chapter, Fluttershy is suffering from some pretty bad PTSD. I still couldn't justify this sequence, so into the wood chipper it went. Here's the second deleted cut. Fluttershy's Dream 2 [Grey Hat] [OC] [Fluttershy] [Psychological] The scent of warm earth and animal fur was pleasant and welcome to Fluttershy. To her it reminded her of the forests and plains, of the running animals for which she shared her affinity for compassion. The foods and kibbles stored behind oaken doors sustained them, and the heat of sleeping bodies hung in the air. The hearth in Fluttershy’s cottage was alight with flickering flames. Two large, overstuffed armchairs were pointed towards the fire, but one of them was filled. Looking back towards the door nervously, she swallowed, steeled her shaky nerves, and hopped into the adjacent chair. He was a rather dignified looking unicorn dressed entirely in white, although red stitching along his lapels and tophat seemed to glow in the firelight. His charcoal fur made his red eyes stick out all the more. He was currently nursing a wineglass with some unidentified amber liquid. Without even shifting to greet his guest—it wasn’t even his house—he pushed an identical glass across the tabletop between them. Fluttershy stared at the fireplace. The heat and warmth of it or the presence of her home was no comfort at all. “Back so soon?” he asked politely. He had a very calm, soothing tenor. “Come now, my dear; no need for bad manners.” “This is my house,” she replied. “In more ways than one.” He tipped the glass to his lips and drained a portion, sighing contently. “Are you afraid of me?” The smells. The warmth. The sense of peace and calm. Everything that she could hold onto and form a bastion of comfort vanished into smoke and disappeared into the evening. “Why do you keep coming back?” “That is not an answer.” She could feel his eyes staring at her. The side of her face began to itch. “You’ve never asked me to leave.” True. WIthout looking for him, she grasped the wineglass and sipped. It reminded her of the wine at Cadance’s and Shining’s wedding, pleasant with a peach aftertaste. “Will you go if I ask you to?” “No.” The bluntness finally made her look at him. He did not mock her, and the aged lines on his face relayed no sense of amusement. Before she could even protest, he set his own glass down and added, “You must understand, love, I--” “Please go,” she begged. That careful mirror of calm she’d shown Applejack developed a crack. Voice quavering, she said it again, “Please leave me alone.” Smokey, red eyes flashed in the low light. They reminded her of the princess, strong, unyielding, and hiding their true emotions. “You know I can’t.” He swirled the contents of his glass before sighing. “When offered help is denied, the crux of the issue is largely one of two reasons: pride and fear. People and ponies do not like to appear weak, so the olive branch is shunned to keep up pretenses. It is a basic fear of what others think of you, that when the time comes they might not have faith in you when it is of utmost importance.” She dared to look in his eyes yet again. No malice, no fear, no evil. Yet being in his mere presence made her fur stand on end. “Fear, however, is another breed of monster altogether. “The most pure of paladins wanders the most wicked of lands, cleansing it of evil. One day he encounters an evil warlord who needs the paladin’s help to defeat a particularly bothersome criminal. The criminal is pillaging the lands indiscriminately. The bandit was cudgemoney cur to be sure, but the innocent needed to be protected first before the paladin could fight the warlord. Out of necessity, great good and great evil work together.” The stallion smiled. “But what if it doesn’t stop there? The warlord, a known beast in his own right, continually assigns work to the paladin to cleanse evil. To protect his honor and stay faithful to his patron god, the paladin must protect those unable to defend themselves from evil...” The stallion set his empty glass on the table. The sound set a note of finality trough the room. “Even with good intentions, good can be tainted. Without even realizing it, the paladin had become an apprentice. It is the fear of what becomes of us when clemency and aid is granted. It is the fear of what becomes of us when such responsibilities must be carried on our own shoulders. So... If you truly want me gone, look me in the eye and swear with every fiber of your being you want me gone forevermore. I want to see that fire in your eyes, my dear, and until I do, I am not going anywhere. Your desire to be rid of me isn’t strong enough, and that is why is eats at your heart so much; you want me gone out of fear, not determination. You are not afraid of me, you are afraid of becoming me.” The crackling fire was dying now, its supply of fuel all but diminished. Fluttershy took another gulp of wine to settle her nerves. “What do you want me to do?” A smile spread across his muzzle. “Oh, my wonderful, charming mistress: nothing. I’m here because you invited me, not because I desire to control you. You know exactly why, so command me as you wish.” He gave her a respectful nod. “Best decide what you wish to do before the monsters consume you, though; they won’t leave no matter how far you go, little one, and I can hear them clawing at the walls.” Flashes of memory burst into her mind. Canterlot strewn with panicked screams and rubble in the streets. The stench of burning flesh that summoned carrion for a disgusting and abominable feast. Rarity, howling in agony to the smoky skies choked with ash of buildings and the fallen. A corpse still warm to the touch, its skin burnt while a pair of eyes bled accusations into her soul.
Blacklist [Shining Armor] [Twilight Sparkle] [Mystery] [Dark] [Badass Shining Armor]Author's Note Shining Armor disappeared twenty years ago, abandoning family, friends, and his honor. No pony knew why. There was no warning. It was unbelievable that the Equestrian crown soon started hearing word that he was selling state secrets and working for the highest bidder. Twilight Sparkle's heart aches for the brother from her memories. Perhaps she'll get answers one day. Maybe sooner. He just came home. I like the Blacklist TV show. James Spader's acting and deep, scratchy voice is catching, but I find something primally fascinating about a man that would abandoned his country and turn traitor all for the highest bidder. There was also this strange vibe to the villain of the week, at least in season one (the other seasons have kinda blown since then). Each person on the Blacklist, the list of contacts James Spader's character Red Reddington had collected over the years, felt like a supervillain. A doctor that manufactures plagues, a courier that can't feel pain, a body disposal expert; that's awesome material. I don't care one bit about his boring female costar; Red is so very fascinating to me. I don't know when I got the idea for this. I think it was during my college days in class. The idea that a known military and political figure would turn traitor interested me. What would compel a man who has so much to lose to do such a thing? I picked the one character in the show that had the most to lose to match his role: Shining Armor. Friends, family, a wife, daughter, kingdom, and princesses. What would compel him to abandoned all that and believe that was the best option? The reason I cut this one from my possible published stories was, although I do have a general idea about how the story would play out, I don't really have a middle or end. Coming up with supervillains would be easy, although I don't even have my own list. This is just one thing that, compared to my current list of fanfics and ideas, is left on the wayside due to lack of time and TLC. Another part of the problem is I'm just not all that good at writing Shining Armor. The first half of the chapter is perfectly serviceable and introduces some good mystique. When he actually has to talk is a different matter. I'm not sure; it feels less authentic. I just don't like the way it ends. I ran out of steam and realized I didn't have a firm grasp on what Shining should do or say. I decided to just kinda end it before adding more made it any worse. Here is the first chapter. Blacklist [Shining Armor] [Twilight Sparkle] [Mystery] [Dark] [Badass Shining Armor] The Black Cat (No. 27) Ravenwing could only sigh in disgust. As captain of Princess Twilight Sparkle’s personal guard, there was plenty to hate: monster attacks due to the proximity of the Everfree Forest, the lovely dear constantly getting herself in some form of world-ending trouble, mass blue box sightings, the occasional eldritch abomination being summoned into the world, and—strangely—unscripted music numbers appearing out of the blue. What ranked on top of her personal hate list? All the damn paperwork. "She is nothing if not thorough...” Every single incident, from recruitment, to a complete documentation of Guard activities, went through the princess, and she demanded nothing less. And concerning what she wanted done, she gave as much as she could take. In her hooves was no less than four graphical representations, drafted by the princess herself of course, concerning suggestions for new troop and resource deployment. “Send it down the grapevine. See if the quartermaster and the other captains find it agreeable.” Knowing Her Majesty, her work would be impeccable. Captain Ravenwing returned the folder to her subordinate, Lieutenant Cloudkicker. The mare nodded, her eyes drooping slightly due to the late hour. It was already well past dusk and more than her needed a rest. Ravenwing could feel the fatigue eating at her mind as well. The siren song of her bed was calling. "Will do, Cap.” In her early years on the force the mare would have gone through a laundry list of punishments for the insubordination. Ravenwing rolled her eyes. “Aw, don’t give me that.” Cloudkicker thrust a wing into the captain’s abdomen. Her armor absorbed the blow well enough. "Just do it first thing in the mornining.” Cloudkicker unwillingly nodded. An irritated Princess Twilight was enough to send most guardponies running for the hills. Cloudkicker turned down one of the Rainbow Palace’s wide corridors. Her underling’s chambers were not far off from her own, and each was afforded the necessities for their post and the finest furnishing bits could buy. It wasn’t as if the palace wasn’t already decorated with one-of-a-kind crystal formations and priceless murals. The polished floors were shined to perfection every morning before dawn, and not a speck of dirt encrusted the darkest corner. The occasional patrol roamed the corridors, those passing by only taking a moment to salute before continuing. By now even the princess would be in bed, despite being a notorious insomniac. Soon enough, Ravenwing approached the double doors to her own private quarters. She could see herself in the reflection of the black oak door’s many encrusted gems and crystals. She was a little bigger than most mares. Not in terms of baby fat, as her husband constantly insisted, but of the muscle that came with many long years as a member of the military. Her own form-fitted gold and violet armor, specially crafted by Ponyville’s finest alchemists and enchanted by no less than Lady Rarity herself, hugged her alabaster curves. Despite being almost snow colored, her feathers started off as a light gray dapple until the tips were almost charcoal. The doors unlocked soundlessly. One of the princess’ many pet peeves, something the new recruits referred to as the “Sleep-B-Gone List”, was squeaky door hinges. Princess Luna was always thought of as the most militant and traditional of the four princesses. Being used to ruling in a time where her word was law, Princess Luna was known to be a stickler for protocol. Ravenwing snickered to herself; Luna had nothing on a neurotic, OCD neat freak. When Ravenwing started her first day on the job, she would have never called it either. Spartan, boring, and empty as they may be, her quarters were home. Her own house wedged in a vale on the outskirts of Fillydelphia was similar enough. Despite the more than generous pay, even the occasional instance from her Lady to be a little less frugal, things just weren’t... interesting. Even though there were no tapestries or paintings, there was still... did carpets count? Moving to her desk, she gave a quick scan of the topmost documents. Her office was still cluttered with paperwork. More reports on monster activity in the Everfree region, those reports on recruitment the princess desired... ugh. “It’s not due until next week, anyway.” Paperwork. She needed another clerk on staff. Her bed was calling anyway. Even if she did want to finish, she doubted she’d get very far. Her armor was the first thing that needed to go. Her equipment rack was in the adjacent room, her bedroom which doubled as her personal parlor. It was the only special perk she’d requested, given that the princess allowed her some leeway. She couldn’t stop herself from freezing. Something... didn’t feel quite right. Something in the air was wrong. That little itch that made her feel like she was being watched. Polished wood and oil, fresh linens and the scents of varying alcoholic beverages. It smelt like her room. Still... Was her door tampered with? Rewinding the past few moments in her head... no, the lock was fine. Cloudkicker? No, even she didn’t start scheming when she was tired. She backed up slowly. There were candles in her desk. There was never a breakin in the Rainbow Palace since... well, not since— "Oh, stop jumping at shadows.” Sulphur flooded the air as the crimson flame of a match burst to life and lit the candle by her bedside. Every inch of her body was tightened into coils, ready to pounce on the interloper. A good four meters separated them; there was plenty of time for a counterattack, but the lingering question hung in her mind: why did he announce his presence? He had the perfect opportunity to attack her. Instinct overrode her curiosity and her hoof tugged at the rope near her desk. She heard a slight chime in some other part of the castle. "Going to call for the cavalry now?” He was a unicorn, that was for sure. His own fur was as snowy as hers, but he was clearly several years her senior. Despite his mane bearing the signs of being a lush blue, most of it had taken on a steely gray hue. An opened bottle of Bourbon lay on the nightstand, and he was holding a single glass on the rocks in his magical touch. He was currently sitting in her chair set in her favorite spot next to the empty hearth, eyeing her from underneath the brim of a black fedora as he brushed a speck of lint off his pressed suit. Ravenwing felt all the blood drain from her face. She didn’t even know when her jaw had dropped into a stupid look of stunned surprise. “It cannot be..." The stallion smiled. That lantern-jawed chin, the blue mane... and the heater shield cutiemark... Her door burst open and a slew of guards rushed in. A few of them stopped, gawking at the intruder. "It’s good to be home." "It’s really him..." "It’s not possible." "How did he get in?" "Does the captain—" "He didn’t even resist." "Did she...?" ”Shut it!” Ravenwing shouted. She ripped the bag off his head and he gave a gasp of sweet relief. Did they ever wash those bags? No matter. As the brightness faded to more tolerable levels, the traitor blinked and examined his surroundings. The cap was firmly placed on his horn, cutting off his own access to magic. Chains bound him to the floor, driven into the stone surface by great iron spikes. The cubical cage surrounding his scant prison glowed blue with runic enchantments. On the outside were no less than a dozen magi. Each fed their collective strength into the cell, while another two dozen guards waited on alert. The bag floated through the bars and into the grasp of a waiting magi. "I was always a fan of a nice sherry myself. But bourbon? A little hard for a late night nip. Is that what passes for Captain activity now?” He shook his head, that same playful smile on his lips. “For shame, Ravenwing. For shame." The guards hissed quietly to themselves. Each one was decked out in full battle-ready armor, even the magi enforcing his cell. Typical baiting. He was just trying to get under her skin. She took front and center as a magi passed her a scroll. "Shining Armor, you are hereby charged with treason, espionage, selling state secrets, impersonating an officer of the Equestrian court, impersonating a jarl of the Griffon Empire, extortion, murder, kidnapping—" "I don’t mean to interrupt, captain, but I am aware of how lengthy Equestria’s misgivings are towards me. Can we dispel with the pleasantries?" "Some of us has have respect for our position, Mister Armor.” He nodded politely at her response and waited for her to finish, examining his manacles on occasion. Ravenwing returned to stating Shining’s charges. “These charges have been compiled by the Equestrian Court, cosigned by Princesses Celestia, Luna, Twilight, and Cadance,” Something flashed across his face, but she wasn’t sure which of the names caused it. Shining Armor clapped his hooves together, or at least tried to. Bound as he was, his hooves stopped short and he frowned. “Now that we got that out of the way, down to business." "You are in no position to bargain or order anything, Mister Armor." As if that line itself was something he was waiting for the entire time, a slight smirk grew across his aged face. She didn’t like it. Something wasn’t right. This entire situation reeked of a trap. The guard didn’t catch one of the most wanted criminals in the world by chance or a smooth operation, he walked in completely gift wrapped. "I believe I am entitled under law counsel of one pony of my choosing under title seven, chapter eleven, subchapter one, section four as long long as they are able and competent to carry out their duties, and not indisposed with prior engagement that would delay a speedy trial." She wanted to wipe that smug grin off his stupid, smiling face. She’d kept her voice neutral so far. No point in changing that now. Taking a deep breath, she said, “I assure you we will take every available step to take care of your legal needs." In a pig’s eye. "I want to see my sister." A chill went down her spine. No. No. She was captain of her liege’s guard and there was no way she’d let this little maggot find an open sore and crawl inside. "Princess Twilight Sparkle has already been made aware of the situation.” Time to turn the tables. Taking a sweet tone, she responded, “Given how well versed you are in law, you know a princess’ busy schedule might be problematic for a speedy trial. I am sure she will be made available when she available. Just hope it is before the trial." Shining met her gaze. Oh, he knew how this game was played. The doors banged open. "Speak of the alicorn, and she appears." Princess Twilight Sparkle in all her royal majesty strode into the polished room with purpose. All guards bowed and scraped as she passed, parting like water around a boulder. Despite never being one for regalia, her own silver and garnet crown rested atop her head. Her violet mane and tail tinged with a bloody red dawn rippled and danced around her like a ghost. Instinct made Ravenwing bow her head. Respect made her avoid looking at the look of complete and utter fury. "Out." Ravenwing nodded. The air crackled with the princess’ bottomless arcane might. Her breast pulsed as she struggled to retain control of her breathing. Sweet, little, innocent Twilight from the stories. Ravenwing remembered seeing pictures of Twilight in her youth. This wasn’t a scholar. This was an angry god. For a moment Ravenwing contemplated only dismissing the soldiers. The magi were needed to hold the prison. Better safe than sorry. A quick word dismissed the soldiers. “Shall I keep the magi? "No." She didn’t even look at her as she walked right up to her brother’s cage. Ravenwing dismissed the magi. The three of them were alone. Shining looked upon his sister. She was considerably taller than him now, and that was saying something given how broad-chested and burly the middle-aged stallion was. She was slim and lithe, with only the slightest bit of pudge left over from her sedentary lifestyle. He was grizzled with age and stripped bare of all assets he came in with. He smiled and chuckled slightly. “Heh heh. You know, I had a thousand things ready to say, Twily. For the life of me, I can’t think of a single—" "You do not get to call me that anymore." Ravenwing stepped back as the temperature in the room dropped. Twilight had calmed slightly. Now she possessed the regal authority and billowing mane known to symbolize Equestrian power. Shining nodded. “Very well, princess." "How did you get in my castle?" "My? Not ‘the’? A little possessive now, aren’t we?” Twilight was silent at Shining’s jab, but Ravenwing could see a muscle twitch in her cheek. Always studious, always learning. Ravenwing realized she had never seen her mistress in a position of complete, soul-rending rage. The room was quiet. So eerily quiet. The crystal made the chamber into an amphitheater with how noise carried. Shining shook his head as the princess remained quiet. “I know the place inside and out. I expected you to update security in light of this, and you did so most admirably, princess, but let’s face it...” His gaze moved to Ravenwing just slightly before returning to Twilight. “I know you and the guard too well." Twilight was again quiet for the longest time. ‘Easy, keep it cool,’ Ravenwing told herself. She fought the urge to fidget in place. "That’s not an answer." Shining laughed a deep, throaty laugh. “It’s not a question you want answered." "Stop playing games with me!" He sighed. “Say it, Twilight." Silence. "Neither of us is going to get anyway unless you’ll say it." Silence. "Get it off your chest. You’ll feel better." "Stop it! You’re not my brother!" The room itself shook with her roar. Ravenwing lost her footing. A guard knocked on the other side of the door but a bark from Ravenwing put them in their place. "Twenty years. Twenty years! Out of nowhere you pilfer the Royal Archives and abandon everyone! Cadance, Celestia, Luna, Flurry Heart, me! Do you know how I found out you turned traitor? Do you?!" Ravenwing appreciated that Shining Armor was, wisely, silent. "I was dragged into a conference by the joint chiefs and told that my brother, national hero and ruler of the north, was selling secrets to the highest bidder. I knew something was wrong the moment I saw Celestia there. The look on her face said everything. I fought... I fought—!" Twilight choked on the words. Ravenwing stepped forward and put a hoof on her liege’s should, but Twilight shook it off. "I... I stood up for you longer than everyone. Longer than Cadance. Even she had to put a price on your head when the secret got out and ponies started talking. I was there as she made the address herself. When it was over, I was there for two more hours as she cried herself to sleep." Twilight gasped for breath in a vain attempt to calm down. Twenty years of black, poisonous rage had bubbled to the surface. Tears streamed down her face and her bane billowed in a nonexistent wind. "A-and,” she hiccuped, “you know the worst part? I see you sitting there behind bars... and all I want to do is give you a hug and be told everything will be fine. Why can’t I hate you!?" At that, Twilight collapsed onto her haunches and cried. The howl of grief that dripped from her lips chilled Ravenwing to her core. Princesses were strong, irrevocable. They were the stone on which a nation was built. Here her mistresses cried in such despair, the captain froze. "Leave her." Ravenwing blinked and looked at the prisoner. What was he talking about? Little did she know, her own hoof and lifted once again to comfort Twilight. She dropped it. For once, she actually agreed with him. Both soldiers were quiet as Twilight’s sobs slowed and soon ceased. She wiped her eyes with a hoof. Ravenwing stepped back a half step as Twilight got her breathing under control. "You are even more radiant and beautiful than I remember, Twilight. You’ve truly grown into you role as royalty. I know I wasn’t there for you much as you grew up. Even now I can’t make up for not being there, or what you may think of me." Her mistress was quiet. "Regardless, it is good to see you again, Twily." "You know I have to tell Cadance you’re here." For the first time since meeting him in her room, Ravenwing saw a brief glimmer of sadness on the ex-captain. “You’ll do what you must,” he said. Again it was as if the whole world paused. "Did you have a worthy reason for leaving?” Both sets of eyes turned on Ravenwing. The most wanted criminal and the world’s strongest pony shared looks of surprise upon seeing her speak. Bitterness clung to Princess Twilight. Shining Armor was merely contemplative. He rubbed a hoof through his graying mane, sighed, and spoke as if it was Twilight that aggressed him. Arrogant buck. “None that will fix what’s been damaged. None that will change what you think of me." So then Ravenwing had to ask the million bit question. A traitor and a murderer appears in one of the most heavily guarded places in the world. Princess Twilight was still his sister, granted, but why come back after so long? "Why are you here?" Shining Armor almost looked like he was about to answer Ravenwing before he stopped. Soon he smiled. "Does it matter?" "Let’s face it, Mister Armor. One such as you coming here of your own free will? You wouldn’t be here unless it benefited you in some way." "Does a guilty conscience count for nothing?" Guilt belonged to the tired. Before she could retort, he began to speak. "Six years ago, Zevera reported that their Equestrian consulate was broken into before immediately retracting the claims after publishing a comprehensive report that nothing was taken. In Yoketo, an entire section of the power grid was shut down for reasons unknown as a distraction to break into Blueblood holdings. Even the griffons had a thorn in their side. Jarl Tinfeathers’ private estate was ransacked." What was he talking about? What did this have to do with anything? Princess Twilight seemed unwilling to add anything, so Ravenwing continued. "I have heard of no such thing,” she said. Most of his claims, if real at all, were below her raidar. Why not. He was imprisoned. Let him peacock in whatever spotlight he thought he had. “Tinfeathers is notorious for holding grudges. If his hold was attacked, he would have made a public blood feud until the thief was dead." "Of course the pompous chick would, if he could find anything whatsoever about the thief at all; it’s hard to find a ghost. That’s why I’m here: to help you catch a ghost,” he said as he looked back towards Twilight. "All of these break-ins were perpetrated by the same individual, a pony who goes by the moniker Black Cat. She is not a thief, but a breaking and entering specialist paid to either remove or extract items for the right price. She has never been photographed, no one has seen her face, and she only communicates with her clients via deaddrop. She’s been paid to break into the most secure places in the world time and time again. Whether the job is to plant blackmail or remove a VIP from a very bad place, the Black Cat is at the top of the list." "And what do you want us to do about this phantom?” Ravenwing asked. Shining blinked. “You? I never said anything about you. This is for you, sister mine." Twilight took a breath to cool the anger undoubtedly bubbling up. “You didn’t need to bring this to me." "Of course I did. Her next target is the Royal Canterlot Vault." "Impossible!” Ravenwing said. “The vault is utterly impregnable." "How do you know this?” Twilight asked. Shining ignored Ravenwing. “I know because she’s already in Canterlot. I helped smuggle her into the city.”
Wasteland Wonderland - [GORE] [Rarity] [Lone Wanderer] [Fallout 3] [Crossover] [Implied Violence]Author's Note Rarity does her best to survive the Capital Wasteland. I love the idea of Fallout, despite only starting the games this very month. I like the themes of sacrifice, the introspective analysis of human nature, and this vast world it allows players to wander in. I only know of two other games that beat the Fallout-verse in terms of staging great character development. After spending an ungodly amount of time in Fallout 3 (sorry, no Fallout 4 just yet), I played New Vegas today and the music just struck a chord in me. In just a few seconds the quiet ambiance of the wasteland constructed this scene in my head. I don't think I'll make a full story out of this little snippet, but I'd really like to. Ever since Fallout: Equestria, we don't see much of Fallout crossovers not involve Kkat's universe, and certainly not enough where ponies go to our world and not the other way around. Here's to you, Bathesda. I love your games. Now update your fucking game engine. Wasteland Wonderland - [GORE] [Rarity] [Lone Wanderer] [Fallout 3] [Crossover] [Implied Violence] The crackling fire gave off a somewhat foul odor, but those were a dime a dozen no matter where the Lone Wanderer ventured in the Capitol Wasteland. She inhaled it anyway, almost savoring the scent. Or at least trying to get used to it. It had been just over a week since she had left Vault 101, and the world was full of things she had never experienced. Her first day away from home, first scavenge of ammo from a locked safe, first gunfight with some assholes in a school who wanted to eat, rape, and kill her—she still wasn’t sure in what order, and her first kill. She sighed. “Good times.” At least she had stopped shaking whenever she dredged the memory up from the depths of her mind. The scent of crusted blood plastered on the walls, rotting flesh and piss-stained mattresses; it was enough to make her sick in a corner upon walking into that god-forsaken place. Currently the sun was beginning to set on the town of... well, she wasn’t quite sure what it was called. In passing it was always referred to as Minefield, and the good four or five dozen landmines scattered about town were a pretty good indication as to why. Well, there was also that jackass with the rifle who took bullets like a champ. She was just paid to get a landmine for a job! That was it! The resulting gunfight left the old man face down with a family of forty fours in his chest, and her having to pry a rifle round out of her hip. She took another deep breath again. She could still smell the rotten egg smell of gunpowder in the air and the burning oil from exploded cars. At least the town was safe from attacks, although it was a little too close to slaver territory for her comfort. One segment of her new shelter wall had been knocked out entirely, but given the rate of decay of the entire world, it was hard to tell what caused it. Still, she was secluded in what was left of the old badass’ sniper perch cooking up some radroach meat. It still tasted horrible, but it was better than starving to death and as much as she loved the taste, Nuka Cola didn’t quite satisfy. The air was chilly, but not so bad that she needed anything more than her blue Vault Utility jumpsuit. It was a very snug thing and the belt contained all of her tools from her time in the Vault where she grew up. Being handy with tools was only second to an entertainer in Vault importance. Well, not if you counted the Overseer who ran the place. “Big bombs, little bombs, an angry guy with a sledgehammer. Take your pick,” she whispered to herself. Looking out of the exposed wall gave her a rather picturesque view of the rest of the town despite the ramshackle appearance. The wasteland wasn’t kinder to the plants any more than the people who crawled out of the vaults after the world died. What shrubbery that survived was tough and dry. It needed to be in order to survive. At least something survived the world. Bones were everywhere. On the streets, in the wild, on beds clutching a teddy bear for the last time... “You’re crying again.” She brought up her revolver before her mind even identified the voice. New instincts had been drilled into her mind over the last week just to keep her breathing to see the next day. The little form skittered around the corner of the stairs without a sound and if it wasn’t the swish of a tail and the distinctly feminine voice, she wouldn’t have known she was watched at all. If she had been any slower on the draw, she might have gotten a shot off. “Jesus, Rares, stop that. One of these days I’m going to be quick enough on the draw,” she said in a rush. Adrenaline wanted to pump back into her veins but she was close to exhaustion after dealing with the sniper and maneuvering through an active minefield. She could hear Rarity walking back up the steps. How could hooves be so quiet in the first place, being a chunk of hard keratin and all? That was a secret worth knowing. The pony peeked around the corner, but by then the wanderer had holstered her weapon. “I apologize,” she said in accented but recognizable English. “You looked like you wanted a moment, so I didn’t wish to interrupt, but...” “Fine, fine,” the wanderer waved off. The pony was always like that, despite worrying about others being about number four on the list of quickest ways to get a knife in the back. Rarity walked toward her and eyed the fire and the makeshift radroach shishkabob. What once was pure white fur was married to a dirt brown and grey under a ragtag mass of raider armor. There simply wasn’t enough water to wash up in the wasteland, and all potable water was strictly for drinking only. In many circles, water was as good as any currency. As the wanderer ran a hand through her own oily, ratty rat’s nest of raven-black hair, Rarity began unpacking her bags. She looked like she wanted to say something, but she held her tongue. Good. Far too much had happened to worry about Rarity fussing over something. “Not much in terms of scavengables. I found a few of those comics you like, some scrap, and what’s this?” “That’s a vaccum cleaner.” “...That is a very strange design.” “Hey, I didn’t make it.” She flipped the kabob and the meat sizzled as the juice dripped over the open flame. Rarity wrinkled her nose in disgust at the sight. Well, she wasn’t human after all, so different strokes and all that. “I found a couple locked safes as well. Shouldn’t be too hard for you.” The wanderer smiled. Breaking and entering had proven to be quite the guilty pleasure of hers. “Ahem,” Rarity cleared her throat to get her attention. She was brandishing a pair of Nuka bottles. “If you were human, Rares, I’d give you a kiss.”
Wondershy [Original Unedited Draft]Author's Note Stories often go through a fair bit of revision, but this one was another beast entirely for me. I pretty much wrote the entire thing, hated it, and scrapped the whole thing to start over. I pretty much wrote the entire story twice, and although I do believe the final draft is good on its own, this one... well, I have issues with it. There are a few problems. Comedy felt not inferior, but still needed more than there was. The worst portion, however, was that the third act was kinda bad. I had foolishly believed I could write the Wonderbolt's desire to draft Fluttershy as good enough to hold the story on its own. I was wrong. All tension pretty much stopped during the second act once the tatzelwurm was defeated. Love it or hate it, this is the first draft. Wondershy [Original Unedited Draft] “Here you go, champ,” Berry Punch said and slid a cocktail down to the flame-haired pegasus. Spitfire tossed back a good slug of gin and tonic with practiced ease. Rainbow Dash had taken her along with Soarin to the Ponyville bar that earlier that afternoon to relax; the Wonderbolts had just completed a twenty city tour and were on their way back to Canterlot. In the spirit of camaraderie and friendship, and because travel could get quiet excruciating when their job relied heavily on their wings and travel, the group had booked hotels in Ponyville in order to complete their trip back the next day. After all, Ponyville was the home of the one and only greatest flier in Equestria. “Can’t stay longer than a day, captain?” Dash asked. “Sorry, Dash. Deadlines to keep, paperwork to do.” Not if she kept shotgunning booze like that. Dash had settled on an Apple malt beer. It was barely past three in the afternoon and Spitfire was downing the hard stuff like a champ; it was a little early to be inhaling booze. Plus side: Dash had an extra bed to crash if Spitfire was too drunk to make it back to the hotel so they could chat. ‘Am I a bad pony for wishing my maybe future boss gets blackout drunk so I can drag her to my house?’ Now that she spelled it out to herself, it did sound kind of stupid. It still felt almost surreal to be in the presence of two Wonderbolts. With equal parts fangirling squeals and shame did she recall herself fawning over the group in the past. She collected their memorabilia, bought tickets to their aerial performances, and did everything she could to meet them in person. Too bad Fluttershy didn’t share her enthusiasm with idols and just wanted a spa visit with Rarity instead. They were just. So. Awesome! Alright, fangirling over, she told herself. She’d gotten her chance to have an informal drink with the ‘bolts and didn’t want to screw it up. The Grand Galloping Gala told her how chill they actually were. No worship or brown nosing, even as much as she wanted to. “Why a pick dive like Ponyville for the trip back? Not that I’m complaining, but there’s better options out there,” Rainbow Dash asked. “Is it wrong to want to hang out with good company and good booze?” Spitfire asked, and some of the regulars shouted ‘Hear hear!’ “I’m not complainin’, but it just feels like there are better choices out there. I mean, you’re the Wonderbolts! Penthouses and gold bathrooms!” “It’s not about the money, Dash,” Soarin said. Huh, Dash just thought about a rhyming game to bring up to Pinkie. “Sure, money’s awesome and everything, but we’re done with the tour and the public eye for now. Ponyville’s a small enough town where our every move is not going to make headlines and we can just chillax.” Dash put both of her hooves up. “Agreed, money is awesome. I even had a dream as a kid where I was rich enough to buy a smelter and turned a shitload of gold into the world’s biggest bathtub.” She shook her head. “Anyway, I just figured you guys would, you know, indulge when you make it big.” Soarin sighed. “Yeah, I indulged in my early years. I cut back real quick. Didn’t get bored or anything, but I didn’t like the limelight as much as I thought. I felt like a cockroach scuttling away from the light of every light bulb flash. Privacy is a very good thing to have, much desired when you make celebrity status.” Spitfire downed her next glass. By Luna’s fat ass, her liver must be god-tier. She wasn’t even swaying or slurring her words. “I’m a simple girl, Dash. I don’t need all that much. I cook for myself, so good food is high on the list. As for what do I actually use the cash for? Along with all the bottles of prickly pear juice and sarsaparilla in the world, a nest egg tucked away in some stocks and bonds to coast through retirement, and the rest is dedicated to all those high class orgies I fund.” “I gotcha.” Dash blinked. “Wait, what?” Dash’s prospects of getting laid were sadly demolished as something was demolished. Smoke and shouts rose from the east after the air was cut with a rumbling in the earth and a thunderous crash of breaking wood. An equal number of ponies ran from and to the sound of danger, those fleeing for their life brushing up against those running to help. “Here we go again,” Dash sighed as her wings unfurled and she took to the air. They were overdue for a monster attack anyway. Paper Pusher, the town’s insurance agent, was going to have a fit. “‘Again’? What kind of hellhole is Ponyville where this is a casual affair?” Soarin shouted. Dash didn’t see if the two Wonderbolts followed her, but she heard them take to the air just like her. Air rushed over her wings as she darted towards the smoke and sounds of destruction. She could see ponies running down the side streets like little spiders on threads of web. Those coming to assist were staying a cautious distance away until the danger could be ascertained. Everyone was well practiced on what to do by now. The source of trouble wasn’t all that hard to find. Ambrosia and her work crews were going to have some work: a sinkhole had swallowed half a house. Everything from basement to two floors of Ponyville craftsmanship were utterly destroyed in a perfect circle. She struggled to hear anything more in the sea of pony screams and bedlam down below. Ears erect and searching, she heard the sound of creaking and snapping wood underneath the pillar of smoke and tumbling rock. She couldn’t tell if the pillar of smoke stemming from Ponyville’s new gaping scar was from dust and ash, or smoke from a fire. Nothing smelled like it was burning, but that could change. “No rest for the weary?” Dash asked. Soarin and Spitfire caught up to her and flanked both sides. “We’re off duty, not heartless, Rainbow,” Soarin said. “Might as well stick around to help. This is your turf. You make the call.” She nodded. “First thing’s first, make sure ground zero is clear and then set up a perimeter. Then we can find out what the hell happened.” There shouldn’t be a sinkhole in Ponyville. The earth it stood over was far too rocky. “Let’s check it out and meet right back here in four minutes.” Blue and red streaked by her side as she dove towards the collapsing house. The wood beams groaned and buckled as she landed on the top floor of the house. Soarin took the first floor while Spitfire searched the ground floor for survivors. The air was thick with dusk and smoke, but still no smell of burning. That was good. She spread a wing across her face and breathed through a veil of feathers. It wasn’t much, but it lessened her fume intake. Sunlight poured in through the hole in the roof and reflected off the smog, turning everything a sickly brown-orange color. It stung and brought tears to her eyes as she searched. She was in what looked like the master bedroom. There wasn’t anybody there, or parts of anybody, thank the powers. In the name of thoroughness and anticipating the inherent skittish fear in most ponies, she checked under the bed and the closet. No one. The earth rumbled and she struggled to find stable ground before the house settled. This was not a good place to be. “Is there anyone in here?” she called out. No one answered her. “You two find anyone?” “No!” “Nothing!” Busy hours for the town ended at four. There was a good chance no one was home, but they didn’t have the time to make sure; it was better to search the house anyway and be sure rather than potentially leave someone inside a collapsing house. Rainbow coughed and exited the bedroom, coming into a crushed narrow hallway. One wall was shakily standing, while the other buckled in on her in spots that wasn’t just missing outright “First floor clear!” Soarin shouted. Good. The occupants may have actually escaped or avoided this mess. Rainbow jumped as a piece of the wall collapsed away and fell into the pit. Indignant, the pit then spat something right back out. “The hell was that?” Spitfire asked. Whatever shot right out was much too fast and tore a trail right through all the haze. No one had any time to respond; a buttery ball of fur shot right back into the destroyed building, hovering in the center of the massive hole. There were two types of panic when it came to Fluttershy: ‘my shadow scared me’, and ‘run before it eats your face’. The look on her face was most certainly the latter. “You need to leave! Right now!” Fluttershy urged her before shooting right back out. Something fluttered in the dark depths of the sinkhole, fetid and rotten. Oh crap not a sinkhole! “Both of you, get the hell outta there!” Dash immediately shot out of the house with Spitfire close behind. Soarin was a close third, but the rumbling underground sure lit a fire under his tail. “Hold your breath!” Dash did so, not knowing if her two comrades obeyed Fluttershy’s command. Dash knew she wasn’t all that smart and didn’t know much about animals, but there was enough for her to know the signs of a tatzlwurm. The three of them scattered as the tatzlwurm lashed out of its new burrow, its rank breath billowing across her fur. She felt more than saw the beast rise into the air on its great serpentine body. Its shadow blocked a vast swath of Ponyville proper, utterly dwarfing even the tallest buildings in the little berg. Dash banked left and chanced a peek behind her. The tatzlwurm snapped at the tiny outline of Fluttershy zipping through the air like a thunderbolt. It’s segmented mouth opened and it lunged at the normally timid pegasus while its many tongues lashe out. Fluttershy’s wings snapped close and she dropped like a stone. Dash’s heart leapt into her throat, but she relaxed infinitesimally when she realized it was a calculated dive. The beast’s many tongues grabbed empty air and its maw snapped shut. It must have been real thirsty for the mare because it utterly ignored everything around it except for her. Spitfire flashed to her side. She was trying to remain cool, but her eyes were wide with panic now that she saw the sheer scale of the threat. “Well... I got nothing.” She looked to Rainbow Dash for guidance. Dash’s wings beat in time with her heart as she scanned the monster. Everything had a weakness of some kind. She just had to find it. Tazlwurms were big and scaley. She could beat her hooves against its hide all day and it would barely feel it. It’s mouth was soft enough to attack, but it had those golden teeth, and tongues that would just drag her down into its gut. It looked like it had a fan of petals around its head, but she saw no use in attacking that. ‘C’mon, c’mon...’ Near the destroyed house was a large patch of scales that had been ripped off its undulating hide. It looked like it had been patched with leaves prior, but now the wound was covered in rock dust and oozing viscous unmentionables. “There!” she shouted triumphantly. Rainbow Dash darted forward with her two companions in hot pursuit. Fluttershy was making her own escape from the giant wurm. The beast arced its winding body to follow her and lashed out with its many tongue, the pegasus artfully dodging and weaving like a bat. Rainbow was prepared to say something as Fluttershy dove dangerously close to the ground, but her wings opened in an instant and a cushion of air stopped her fall. The dirt and dust she kicked up wasn’t nearly enough to hide her position, but it was much harder for the tatzlwurm to follow her as she shot straight up in the air; it was much too large to make sharp turns. Rainbow Dash put the full force of her momentum behind her as she slammed into the wurm’s wounded side, followed quickly by Spitfire and Soarin. It roared less in pain and more like they tore off a bandaid stuck to some hair, but it stopped its relentless pursuit of Fluttershy. The wurm lashed out at the three of them. They were not so lucky as the normally timid mare. They were all world-class fliers and could dodge such a beast with ease, but Spitfire faltered and fell as she caught a whiff of its disease-ridden breath. “Gotcha Spitsy!” Soarin said as he swooped down. Rainbow snorted. What a stupid nickname. Sniggering almost turned to fear as the wurm snapped at her with its many tongues. They weren’t a problem on their own, but each tongue was coated in a thick layer of sticky mucus that was almost like glue. Her whole body lurched as she came to a stop and she felt the creature snap its maw close on her tail. Its prey only inches away, it opened its maw for one more tug while Dash took the opportunity to lunge forward with all her might. Vertigo took her and she lost which way was up and she was blasted with liquid, forcing her to take a breath from shock. Did it swallow her? No, she was wet and cold, not sticky, and her head was clear. She didn’t get doused with its breath. She brought her wings tighter to her side for a more controlled spiral to the hard ground. The tatzlwurm’s shriek through a cloud that had been launched like a bullet at its head. It didn’t sound pained, but it sure didn’t like being surrounded by the thick mist. Dash finally managed to snap her wings open and she arced long and far, certainly out of reach of the wurrm. It shrunk back into its burrow to escape the cloud, shaking its flowery head to dispel the cloud. Fluttershy was already on her way back to the skies for another cloud. Well, might as well join her. Dash adjusted herself and launched skyward, passing over Soarin bringing Spitfire to safety. Fluttershy had already launched her cloud at the creature’s head the time she acquired her own. It still released the same snarling hiss and retreated a little further into the depths. She really wanted to know why it did that, but there would be time for questions later. If it was afraid of water, all the better. Rainbow lined herself up and shoved against the cloud. She didn’t want to push too hard or else she would lose it or have it disintegrate in her hooves. It didn’t matter in the end for the monster was still slithering back at the sudden onslaught of Fluttershy’s last cloud. Rainbow didn’t question why it worked, but she held her breath once she got close enough and kicked off from the cloud. The tatzlwurm gave one final hiss and slithered back into the hole. Now that the threat was over and danger had passed, Rainbow took a moment to get a good, solid look at the landscape beneath her. It took her a second to place it, but the smashed house belonged to Berry Punch and her daughter. That was good; Berry was safe and her kid Pinchy was in school. No loss of life. The town started cheering as she and Fluttershy landed side by side Bon Bon’s candy shop. Normally fearful of attention as she was, Fluttershy’s full attention was on the destroyed house, oblivious to the cries of victory and the occasional wolf whistle. “Hot damn!” Soarin exclaimed. He was almost carrying Spitfire. The captain was ashen faced and sweating, but otherwise appeared fine as long as she stopped looking like she’d vomit. “I admit my butthole puckered up a little there, but that was fun!” He clapped his other hoof on Fluttershy’s back. It was almost comical the way Fluttershy turned to him and jumped, only now realizing somepony had touched her. She didn’t so much as buckle under Soarin’s brawny pat. “Fluttershy, was it? You are built like iron.” Spitfire swallowed and added, “That was some pretty impressive flying there, Fluttershy.” “...Thank you.” “You okay, Flutters?” Dash asked. Fluttershy had that look like she wasn’t really paying attention to what was going on around her. “Yeah.” Spitfire looked from her and then back to Fluttershy. “Pretty impressive might actually...” She swallowed whatever was about to come back up. “...Lot better than I thought. Got some real skill there.” “Better than that! I’d be willing to fund a private judging for a chance for you to join us! I thought you said you couldn’t fly worth a damn. What I saw was no chick falling out of the nest.” Soarin added. Something in his words must have snapped her out of Fluttershy’s strange dreamy state. Her wings fluttered and snapped to her sides. “Um...” Fluttershy’s eyes darted to the fallen captain, then to Soarin’s excitable features, and then to the crowd the four of them were slowly accumulating. “M-miss Sp-Spitfire, th-th—” And with that, Fluttershy ran away. “Seriously, Dash. I thought you said she couldn’t fly any better than a filly. Hell, I have your records. You as a filly could fly better than her now. Or so I thought.” “I know there is a certain bravado to Wonderbolts, but I am going to need you to please sit still for a little while longer, Miss Spitfire.” Rainbow Dash had a cautious respect for Nurse Redheart, even when she was patching up other ponies. She had the unpleasant privilege of working the clinic most days, so it was she that had to patch up the town once they were done with whatever problem was happening each week. She honestly preferred the mare to look so soul-rendingly dead inside that the reaper might as well be peeking over her shoulder. Redheart had the unusual ability to quiet rowdy children by smiling so unpleasantly it looked like she were made of plastic.Dash considered herself a well traveled and experienced mare, but there was something to be said about a mare that had to fix up a town like Ponyville and didn’t run for the hills. Redheart finished taking a sample of blood and replaced the bucket Spitfire was leaning over. The pegasus didn’t get dosed bad enough to be bedridden or sent to urgent care, but she’d be out of her shows for a good week or two. “I’ve faced worse than this,” Spitfire said. “But you are under my roof and in my care, and will thus follow my rules until I discharge you.” “We just went face to ugly face with a tatzlwurm, Miss Redheart,” Soarin countered. Dash just looked down and kicked her legs against her chair. Not a good idea to match wits with a Ponyville nurse. “I pulled a bowling pin from a mare’s nether regions.” Hmmm... Dash wondered why Rarity was walking bow legged last week. Soarin gapped a little, stumbled for words, and then bowed to the nurse. “Anyway,” he said, giving Redheart a wary look, “by chance could we have a chat with Fluttershy later, Rainbow Dash?” “Depends. She seemed pretty spooked this time around. I’d have to see what rock she’s hiding under this time, and that’d take some time. Might not find her by tomorrow.” Soarin waved her off. “Nah, nah, nah. That’s not the only point. I saw Fluttershy fly before. Myself. Hate to say it, but she ain’t that good, at least that’s what I thought until today. She needs a lot of work, but she’d make a damn fine flier and could even be Wonderbolt material in about two years or so. Thing is, how’d she go from that she little filly that I saw to practically flying circles around us?” “I mean, she wasn’t good enough to fly circles around all of us, she just knew what to do with the tatzl—” “Daaaaash?” Spitfire said slowly. “Yes, mom?” Spitfire rolled her eyes. This was the part Dash wasn’t looking forward to. There was a reason Fluttershy wasn’t always in beast mode. Soarin didn’t look like he’d take much less than an application though. “She won’t join up. I can promise you that already.” “I don’t believe we’ll be able to convince her either,” Spitfire said. “Really?” If anything, she expected Spitfire to press Fluttershy joining up even more. “Then why do you want to talk to her?” “On the off chance I’m wrong. She’s a good flier, Rainbow Dash. I’d at least like to try.” It wouldn’t hurt. She sighed and shrugged. “Yeah, Fluttershy is actually a pretty good flier. Good wingmanship and everything. Don’t have much interest in sports no matter how much I tried to get her involved, but does even worse with stress; she folds like a cheap card table. I told her if something like this happens, I won’t sign her up for anything and let her explain herself.” Well, she knew Fluttershy’s usual spots. Hopefully it wouldn’t be too hard to smoke her out after dealing with something as big as the wurm. Fluttershy had a fondness for all critters, no matter how big or house-eating they were. Rainbow honestly didn’t think Fluttershy was in the spa, but it was a good a place as any to start looking for her after searching her house. Dash even checked her own cloudy home just in case. Hopefully Fluttershy wanted to relax a little after the day’s fun, but the entire spa proved to be empty. What Dash wanted was to enlist Pinkie’s help in finding Fluttershy; the mare had a bloodhound’s sense for finding ponies in a snap. The Cakes said she was watching paint dry. Rainbow figgered it was best to leave her be for now, instead contending with questions from the Wonderbolts. “No she wasn’t always like that. Back at Flight Camp, she really couldn’t fly at the well. Probably the worst flier there, honestly. Kinda why she got picked on a lot. This was something she picked up over time.” Spitfire followed her out the mud room doors and into the spa lobby. The spa twins were busy stocking their supplies and ignored them upon realizing they wouldn't be patrons. She didn’t look all that good, but at least she hadn’t started puking again. “She use those skills here in town?” Rainbow shook her head. “Mostly she keeps to herself, but she’ll step up as pinch hitter if needed.” Rarity entered the spa just as the three were leaving, still walking bow-legged. “Yeah, about that,” Soarin said. “What’s this shit about monster attacks being routine? “Yeah, we almost had to work for it this time. From what I hear, the Royal Guard doesn’t even deploy troops anymore. You just get used to it after a while.” Shit, she saw Pencil Pusher. He was the singular agent of the crown in the entire village and had the unfortunate responsibility of being an insurance agent. No other agency even dared touch the town due to their proximity to the Everfree Forest. No doubt he’d want to talk to her again, especially after hearing her role in the monster attack. Pasty white and looking forever bored, he was searching the crowds. Best to make herself scarce. Rainbow spread her wings and took to the air. There was one place Fluttershy liked to go that was pretty exposed, but no one explored. Even now birds fluttered around the top of the old clock tower. Jackpot. Fluttershy was almost covered head to hoof in birds. Pigeons, canaries, forest runners, yellow-breasted somethings she forgot the name of; Fluttershy was just an unending mass of feathers under the great bell. The bell tongue had long since been removed due to damage that certainly wasn’t caused by Dash and her gang of friends. The only telltale sign that there was somepony under thirty layers of flying rats was the flicker of pink brushing against the hard cement floor. “Fl—” Dash didn’t even get a syllable out before Fluttershy’s avian friends scattered to the winds, leaving one very startled-looking mare facing down three ponies that weren’t there before. “Fluttershy, easy! They’re cool. They just want to chat, no crowds or races or nothin’.” Rainbow was hoping to get this over with quickly. Pencil Pusher was likely going to want a word with her about another destroyed house. Apparently Ponyville kept bankrupting agencies. Fluttershy’s fur looked puffed out like a startled cat. At least she hadn’t bolted. A promising sign. Slowly but surely Fluttershy relaxed. “I-I-I’m sorry, you just scared me.” “Fine, fine. Didn’t expect no bird swarm of yours to be up here either.” That was the song and dance of dealing with Fluttershy: always be prepared for her to panic. Rainbow Dash didn’t mind. It was cute in its own way, like a fearful kitten not realizing he is hissing at his own reflection. “And I’m sorry for running out on you. I had to deal with the tatzlwurm and I... don’t like crowds.” Fluttershy shrunk a little bit as she made eye contact with Spitfire and Soarin. “H-hi.” Jeez, all the birds flying off must have really scared the daylights out of her if she was still stuttering. “You’re the Wonderbolts, right?” Spitfire nodded and said, “Yup!” Soarin just mouthed to Rainbow ‘Deal with?’ incredulously. Rainbow Dash stepped to the side a little and gestured to Spitfire. “They saw what you did with big and ugly back there and just want to talk a little.” Spitfire cleared her throat and took a step forward. “That was some pretty slick flying back there, Miss Fluttershy. It’s safe to say we’re more than impressed; really didn’t know you had it in you. Rainbow Dash here says you’re not interested in joining the Wonderbolts.” Fluttershy vehemently shook her head ‘no’. As diplomatic as the public figure she was, Spitfire shrugged her shoulders without complaint. “Oh, this isn’t a recruitment. I wouldn’t mind if you were interested, sure, but I’m not here to draft you or anything. “Just tell them what you do here, Fluttershy,” Dash interjected. “Same thing you gave Twi. Just start with how you learned to fly like you do.” “You want to know why I can fly so good?” Fluttershy asked timidly. “More or less.” “It started with the rainboom.” Fluttershy wasn’t making eye contact with any of them. “I was always a little scared of others. I have social anxiety and I just kind of... freeze when other people watch me. I was never a good flier and other foals at Flight Camp always made fun of me for it. A sort of psychological block. It didn’t help that Flight Camp was a breeding ground for sociopaths.” Someone was still a little bitter after fifteen years. Soarin looked like he was about to protest the comment, but was given a nudge to quiet by Spitfire. The Wonderbolts tended to gather new recruits from Flight Camp. Spitfire nodded for her to continue. Fluttershy drew circles in the stone with a forehoof. “I moved as soon as I could to a quiet town where I could focus on my work with animals. Animals treated me better than any of the other foals, and I liked taking care of them. In Ponyville, I could focus on my talents, and as an added bonus, I didn’t need to fly all that much because it already had a weather team and Rainbow moved to town with me.” Fluttershy gave her a grateful smile, which made her puff out her chest a little in pride. Why wouldn’t she? They were friends to the end. “Over time, the animals came to me as, um... Harry likes to exaggerate a little.” Soarin looked at Dash with a raised eyebrow. “A brown bear,” she clarified. He seemed to think she was joking. Fluttershy nodded, but looked a little bashful. “I suppose he’s the reason all the other animals came to me for help. Harry exaggerates, but he started calling me the warden of the Everfree Forest after I rescued him from a mother bear protecting her cub. He woke up and the mother thought he was going after her cub. I had to wrestle her into submission in order to get him out safely. He got hurt in the process, so I teach him how to wrestle and massage his back every week.” Soarin held up a hoof. “Steve Magnet the sea dragon told me about some herbs I could dry and burn for pain relief, so I swim with him on occasion. He’s really helped me map out the forest. He’s so nice; I really don’t know why ponies are scared of sea dragons.” Spitfire also looked like she wanted to say something, but kept silent. She appeared to be having an intense debate on deciding whether it was Harry exaggerating or Fluttershy herself. “That’s sort of what made me, uh...” Fluttershy blinked cutely trying to come up with the proper word. “...helped my, I don’t know, business? I think? It helped my business take off. I realized how much I liked animals and helping them during the Rainboom, but for once in my life, I was happy with a quiet life. On occasion I’ll have to fly away from a few hives of enderhornets or the occasional pack of timberwolves. Last week I had to wrestle a few timberwolves because my wings were tired from swimming with Steve Magnet. I had to ask a manticore to give me a ride on his back to make it to my cottage before dark.” Her two guests were quiet, slackjawed. The slight wind blowing through the tower ruffled Fluttershy’s thin layer of fur. Her lengthy mane always made her fur seem longer by association, but both could see how little of her bulk was not fur, but hard, corded muscle. Fluttershy blinked and shrunk a little bit at their silence. “They were just pups. They didn’t know any better. I gave their parents a good talking to.” “And then?” Rainbow prodded. “Oh. Oh! Sorry, I didn’t mean to get so carried away. Anyway, I just sort of adapted my flying skills to work for my job as an animal caretaker. I learned how to swim like a dragon, swoop like a bat, hunt like a wolf. I needed to learn from them in order to care for them. I, uh.” She looked at herself, acknowledging her own impressive bulk. She was slightly smaller than Soarin, but still matched him in body mass. “I’d gotten a little, teeny, tiny bit stronger and faster in order to be able to keep up with so many creatures. They’re really nice once you get to know them, and I’ve learned so much about how to keep the bad monsters out of town. I know it seems more like an earth pony’s job than a pegasus’, but I like it. I like keeping my hooves on the ground. I like flying, but I like it because it helps with my job, but because I, um... I don’t mean to be insensitive, but not because I should just because I am a pegasus.” Soarin still seemed a little hung up on Fluttershy’s claims, but Spitfire appeared much more contemplative. Fluttershy was, in just about every since of the word, a coward. Dash was enough of a realist to admit that, and even Fluttershy acknowledged her own irrational fears. The linchpin, the key that defined Fluttershy’s skills wasn’t aptitude, but desire. The caretaker continued, “That’s why I sorta did what I did earlier today. I flew not because I wanted to, but because I needed to. Rarity had told me when we were in the spa that she’s been prospecting for gems earlier that day, but almost encountered some Diamond Dogs. They were burrowing closer to the tatzlwurm and were going to wake it up at their pace. Steve Magnet told me that one of his water reservoirs drained and I investigated and found the wurm. It was injured and driven off by something else, and I don’t know how to talk to them yet, but it let me tend to its wounds. It was actually kind of fascinating to see up close. I didn’t know tatzlwurms were a symbiotic lifeform, a cross of flowers and burrowers. Plants are susceptible to cold, which is why it didn’t like the cold air from clouds.” Huh. Giant, boulder-crushing, house-smashing monster hated to get a little nippy. “You’re quite a good flier, Fluttershy. Really good, when you put your mind to it. And that’s me saying that.” It was the first thing Spitfire said since Fluttershy started her tale. Rainbow Dash fully expected Fluttershy to swear up and down she wasn’t, but she continued to surprise her. “Th-thanks, Miss Spitfire. I’ve tried out for flying stuff before with Rainbow Dash, but I... don’t... like it all that much and did it only because Rainbow Dash asked me. I’m sorry Rainbow, I don’t say it to hurt your feelings or anything—” “Water under the bridge, Flutters. We’ve been over that before and it’s okay.” Part of being in the limelight was the ability to take a punch, and while Fluttershy could probably eat a punch along with a brick, Fluttershy’s self esteem and ego were too fragile to make a Wonderbolt, despite her skill. “Right. Sorry.” Fluttershy returned her attention to Spitfire. “Anyway, I could never do anything good with eyes on me. I just... shrink. It’s like the world gets so big and and then starts suffocating me. All those eyes on me, judging me, some of them calling me names...” Her voice softened with each word until it was little more than a squeak. Ears folded, shoulders hunched, and her tail stood unmoving between her legs. In the very next instant, Fluttershy took a deep breath and raised her head. “I don’t do well under pressure, but I’m okay with that. I’m happy taking care of all my animal friends instead of taking up a job that requires me to fly. I like flying, but I don’t like ponies watching me fly, if that makes any sense.” “Oh, totally!” Spitfire seemed to jump a little now that Soarin broke his silence. “You should see all the embarrassing garbage we have to go through during practice. All the crashes and the lame way our early stunts look; it’s kind of hilarious and why we don’t let anypony film rehearsals.” “Tell you what, Fluttershy,” Spitfire added. “I got an offer for you. How about we invite you and Dash up to Cloudsdale some time so we can all just hang out and relax? Maybe have a private race or two with gates closed?” Travel was always fun, and Cloudsdale was Fluttershy’s home town. Her ears perked up and wings fluttered, making Rainbow Dash smile; she was interested. “My work keeps me pretty busy, Miss Spitfire... but I do like the sound of that.” Spitfire clapped her hooves together happily. She didn’t acquire another prospective recruit, but there was always time for friends. “Great! We’ll work something out at a later time. Lookin’ forward to a race.” “Wahoo! Road trip!” Dash exclaimed. In a flutter of wings, the four ponies exited the clock tower and landed on Ponyville’s cobblestone streets. Almost three hours had passed since the taztlwurn erupted from the ground. Dash was not the only one to notice a fair bit of their day had been spent. “Say,” Soaring said, “we got half a day left. What’s say we spend that half day drinking?” “Sounds like a plan to me! I didn’t even get a buzz yet,” Spitfire said. Was everything pisswater to her? Rainbow Dash thought about asking Golden Harvest for her tharra garbage. It was the strongest booze in town but only a rare brave few drank it for fear of going blind. “You up for a few rounds, Fluttershy? I’m buying.” Fluttershy shyly brushed a lock behind an ear and smiled. “Sure. I can stay out for a little bit.” “Hello again, Rainbow Dash.” The mare whirled around at the mention of her name. Pencil Pusher, sweaty and exhausted from searching half of town, held a manilla folder in his grasp and within what looked like a thousand empty insurance forms to sign. “Shit.”
Fluttershy's Dream 1 [Grey Hat] [OC] [Fluttershy] [Gore]Author's Note I cut this from Grey Hat's Chapter 2: It's Cold Out Here for a pretty simple reason: I didn't like the Baron. The Baron, a character you can read about in detail in earlier entries in the journal if you'd like, was a character I made for some horror-themed fanfictions. Now this is not the same character; I only adopted certain mannerisms and his general description. Still, I didn't like the way this turned out, as even I couldn't get a good frame of reference for why he was doing what he was doing. He was kind, yet cruel, and it clashed in a way I didn't like. I couldn't justify it with regards for later plot elements, so I axed it and rewrote it from scratch. Mild gore warning for you right now, and so here's the original cut. Fluttershy's Dream 1 [Grey Hat] [OC] [Fluttershy] [Gore] The scent of warm earth and animal fur was pleasant and welcome to Fluttershy. To her it reminded her of the forests and plains, of the running animals for which she shared her affinity for compassion. The foods and kibbles stored behind oaken doors sustained them, and the heat of sleeping bodies hung in the air. The hearth in Fluttershy’s cottage was alight with flickering flames. Two large, overstuffed armchairs were pointed towards the fire, but one of them was filled. Looking back towards the door nervously, she swallowed, steeled her shaky nerves, and hopped into the adjacent chair. He was a rather dignified looking unicorn dressed entirely in white, although red stitching along his lapels and tophat seemed to glow in the firelight. His charcoal fur made his red eyes stick out all the more. He was currently nursing a wineglass with some unidentified amber liquid. Without even shifting to greet his guest--it wasn’t even his house--he pushed an identical glass across the tabletop between them. Fluttershy stared at the fireplace. The heat and warmth of it or the presence of her home was no comfort at all. “Back so soon?” he asked politely. He had a very calm, soothing tenor. “Come now, my dear; no need for bad manners.” “This is my house,” she replied. “In more ways than one.” He tipped the glass to his lips and drained a portion, sighing contently. “Are you afraid of me?” The smells. The warmth. The sense of peace and calm. Everything that she could hold onto and form a bastion of comfort vanished into smoke and disappeared into the evening. “Why do you keep coming back?” “That is not an answer.” She could feel his eyes staring at her. The side of her face began to itch. “You’ve never asked me to leave.” True. Without looking for him, she grasped the wineglass and sipped. It reminded her of the wine at Cadance’s and Shining’s wedding, pleasant with a peach aftertaste. “Will you go if I ask you to?” “No.” The bluntness finally made her look at him. He did not mock her, and the aged lines on his face relayed no sense of amusement. Before she could even protest, he set his own glass down and added, “You must understand, love, I--” “Please go,” she begged. That careful mirror of calm she’d shown Applejack developed a crack. Voice quavering, she said it again, “Please leave me alone.” The stallion sighed, his demeanor that of a parent who must unpleasantly punish a child despite how necessary it may be. “I cannot. I want something in return, Fluttershy.” He adjusted himself, leaning in closer. His eyes bleed the warmth and friendliness he’d shown just moments before. The hearth cast his face in shadows so only red gleamed through the darkness. “You wish every little thing that you don’t like away. I want you to need me gone, and I’m not leaving so easily. You invited me here of our own free will, you allowed me to stay, and I know you have a few more guests wandering about.” No. Not nice. Not nice at all. “I hear them, my dear.” He leaned in closer. He seemed to loom over her, eating all the light in the room. “I hear them clawing at the walls. You think you can just run from your friends and wish them all away?” Just like that, he was back in his chair, sipping a glass. “What makes me different from them is that they’re unwelcome, and I am not. They won’t leave no matter how far you go, little one. I am here because you need my help.” He turned back on her, waiting for the impending response. “Why?” The stallion chuckled plainly. He tipped his wineglass. “You’ll have to deal with him, for starters.” White-hot pain spiked through her heart. Warmth bubbled around her throat and chest and she called out for the stallion. He only stared at her as nothing but a stuttering gasp pierced her lips and wetness flew from her throat. Her hooves flew to her throat and came back warm and stained red from hemorrhaging blood. She was staring at the ceiling now, her back now wet with her own blood. She had fallen off the chair at some point and could only gurgle weakly as strength left her limbs and the light began to fade. Just as the darkness came to ferry her to death, a reptilian face came into view, in its scaly hand a dagger stained crimson. “I’ll be in touch, Flutters.”
