Icon: Remnants of the North

Chapters

Act 1: Dreamscape
Act 1- Chapter 1: Hazy Daze
Act 1- Chapter 2: Conference Call
Act 1- Chapter 3: The Difference
Act 1- Chapter 4: The Test Audience
Act 1- Chapter 6: First to Press
Act 1- Chapter 7: Symbols and Signs
Act 1- Chapter 8: Miasma
Act 1- Chapter 9: Offering and Offending
Act 2- Chapter 1: A Quiet Muse
Act 2- Chapter 2: To Be Informed
Act 2- Chapter 3: An Examination
Act 2- Chapter 4: Dark Visions
Act 2- Chapter 5: Finding Aid in a Quiet Glade
Act 2- Chapter 6: Stillness
Act 2- Chapter 7: Idea From a Puddle
Act 2- Chapter 8: Coward
Act 2- Chapter 9: Blank Space
Act 2- Chapter 10: In Hindsight
Act 2- Chapter 11: Only the Blind
Act 3- Chapter 1: Leviathan
Act 3- Chapter 2: A Wake Up
Act 3- Chapter 3: The Summons
Act 3- Chapter 4: Incidents
Act 3- Chapter 5: The Plan
Act 3- Chapter 6: In Dark Corners
Act 3- Chapter 7: The Sleeper
Act 3- Chapter 8: The Boulevard of Broken Dreams
Act 3- Chapter 9: Over Easy
Act 3- Chapter 10: Chevaucheé
Act 3- Chapter 11: Swamps of Sadness
Act 4: Abattoir
Act 4- Chapter 2: Castle in the Sky
Act 4- Chapter 3: Scratching on Canvas
Act 4- Chapter 4: First Choices
Act 4- Chapter 5: To Find a Butcher
Act 4- Chapter 6: The Queen is Dead
Act 4- Chapter 7: Frozen Hymns
Act 4- Chapter 8: Negotiations
Act 4- Chapter 9: Run For It
Act 4- Chapter 10: Who Dares
Act 4- Chapter 11: Winds of Change
Act 4- Chapter 12: Ice Clad Steps
Act 4- Chapter 14: The Last Question
Epilogue
Prologue
Act 1- Chapter 5: Waking Up is Hard to Do
Act 2: Untold
Act 3: Havoc
Act 4- Chapter 1: Under the Mountain
Act 4- Chapter 13: Dreams and Nightmares

Act 1: Dreamscape

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Act 1- Chapter 1: Hazy Daze

Hazy Daze

It starts small: a dull intrusive drone here or faint instances of static noises there. They pick and nibble around the very edge of consciousness until a hideous clamour shatters the glassy veil of sleep entirely. In its wake, you emerge with a bewildered cow-eyed expression.

“Hah! Suck it Wondercolts!” Your right ear rings thanks to an explosive shout less than a foot away. You wince and shoot the offender a vicious glare. The oblivious grin plastered on the young man's face does nothing to help your mood. “That was right, correct?” you strain to hear the question as half of it is swept away in the sea of applause echoing all around you.

Is 'what' right?

You nose up the bridge of your glasses and rub your eyes. Waking up amidst a horde of a few hundred people packed like sardines on the bleachers in a school gymnasium wasn't particularly pleasant. You glance over at the expectant face of your brown-haired friendly neighbourhood 'alien'.

“Yes Frank, you're doing very well.” the patronizing tone venomously drips from your lips . Your willowy friend's response is merely a wrinkle of his nose, but his pinched frown says volumes as he returns to watching something beyondthe press of bodies. You knew he'd hate that.

You nearly deafen me, François, I Americanize your name. Deal with it.

It's tough seeing past the standing masses; they're staggered here and there, allowing only a token glimpse of the school gymnasium's floor below the foyer. At least the red-lit scoreboard iimparts a hint. The 'Wondercolts' are winning, 54 to 34.

Twenty points and indoors. Hmm, must be basketball.

Who thought that competition would be the best way to showcase the new sister school? Either way, it's a novel if unwelcome way to end the week before Thanksgiving. You hear the hurled insults from a frustrated albeit lethargic crowd towards the guests from your visiting 'sister school'. Canterlot Academy, you hadn't heard of it before now which had been a surprise. The announcement after summer vacation of twinning schools was just as much a surprise. You were pretty sure you already had a sister school in...Osaka? Oslo? It was something like that.

You sigh and try to make your escape from the overcrowded gymnasium with one inelegant excuse, “I'm going to go and get a drink or... something, I'll be back in a bit.”

“I'll come too.” Your long-haired classmate replies before hopped down from the bleachers. You both inch your way out from the crowded grandstand, trampling over crumpled napkins from discarded hot dog boxes litter the ground around the nearby plastic garbage can, and the vending machine next to it blinks like an old neon sign. It was an old school, it was a cramped school, and it was currently a loud school. Half the student body was packed into that gym with another 'phantom' half coming from the Canterlot Academy.

Rushing past one unfamiliar girl, her polite 'sorry' and beaming grin almost puts you off. All around her your own classmates were baying for blood and she was wearing a rightly emblazoned C like the Denver Broncos on a gaudy cardigan. Not only that, as if to make it all the more clear where she's from, she sports a blue and yellow headbands, fake triangle ears, and a swishy tail belt that wouldn't usually be seen by anyone outside of conventions.

Whatever other thoughts you have are swiftly drowned out by an ear-splitting cheer followed by a ragged chorus of boos and muted curses. As you leave the gymnasium the red-lit board flickers again: 57 to 34.

♣

“So let me get this straight... you can turn right on a red or left on a one way street?” your friend gives you an incredulous look.

“Yes.”

“And you won't get a ticket?” He asks again, pulling you through the thankfully deserted hallway on the other side of the school.

It was quiet here. Glassy windows overlook ableak scene of dead twigs and fallen leaves past cracked potted plants in the atrium outside the library. The display really went unheeded these days, first because of the weather then the mid-terms.

“Well, if tickets aren't an issue then you can pell-mell through a red while singing if you wish.” He shoots you a strained roll of his eyes, “No no, it's true...” you insist with a grin, “It's only eight demerit points. Ten if you're singing Le Marseillaise.” he groans and laughs, shaking his head.

“And you know what would happen if you did that where I'm from, eh?” Frank offhandedly flicks his wrist for emphasis.

“I'd probably get shot by the Sûreté, I know, I know.” Crossing in front of the library, a sigh leaves your lips. “But it doesn't really matter, because you don't own a ca-” the library door rockets open, its edge smashing into your shin. The jolts of pain and sheer surprise rips a gasping yelp from your throat as you clutch your throbbing leg.

A demoness emerges from the doorway and looks over her shoulder. Her intense glare practically bores a hole in the door through her thick bifocals as if questioning what excuse it had for not opening to her satisfaction. As she scuttles away, arms filled with dusty old tomes and raven-black hair streaming behind her like a pennant, she mumbles a token "sorry." It sounds more like a question than an apology.

Frank takes a breath, “See the Ice Queen in her natural habitat, eh?” You bob your head. Twila Smythe was indeed 'the Ice Queen'. She was prudish, prissy, and perfectly suited to being an oblivious bookworm at the top of every single honour roll of every class and enrolled every advanced placement course she could take.

Nursing your tortured shin, you sit down against the concrete wall against the metal heating vents that rattle like a thanks to years of abuse and neglect. Out of the corner of your eye you notice something, “Twila, you dropped your ...” you reach out to grasp the book, “Sweet's ninth edition Anglo-Saxon primer...”

A morbid curiosity sweeps over you as you stare into a page of what looks like incomplete hieroglyphics. Twila was taking the same English AP course you were saddled with next term.

That does it. If that's required reading, I'm transferring.

As you leaf through the book, a small scrap of paper slips from the front cover. Picking it up, the texture was rough and uneven, slightly pebbly and a dull aged rose hue with imperfections in the grain.

You'd handled parchment and velum before, this wasn't just that fake artistic stationery. Flipping it over, violet cursive sweeps across the square in a thick flourishing scrawl:

Thou hast chosen and been chosen, to relocate to one of Our finest urban centres. We trust that our note findst thou well and of the utmost disposition this day-of-days. All things shall be accounted for, as We have made all suitable preparations in advance of thy arrival. Harken to the Canterlot Academy marker five minutes afore the fifteenth and one-half hour.
~Noctum Regina

The violet ink is spattered here and there while other areas near the edges bleed from a nib being left in place for longer than an instant. It was still pleasing to the eye, but the imperfections made it seem genuine: some lunatic had actually gotten parchment and written this with a quill pen.

Is it a pen-pal in the English AP course?

“Twila. Tw-Twila!” you call out, voice bouncing off the walls. She'd long since darted into one of the other school wings.

A hand on your shoulder and another on your forearm pulls you upright. “There. Bien rangé.” You can't help but smile a bit as the bell rings. “Ah, English.”

“Yes please.” you laugh a bit, but by now you were getting better at what Frank was actually saying, regardless of language.

Frank rolls his eyes, "Vous êtes un âne, monsieur!" After a quick punch in the arm he takes off in the same same direction as Twila with a parting wave. You're left to meander to your locker with the strange book and note in hand.

If Twila needed the book, she'd be wherever the note said to meet the writer. You could go bring the book down to the office, actually that seemed like a pretty good idea in retrospect. But if you did, you would certainly be late for class and even a good excuse was still an excuse for some teachers.

The hell with it; this way you would get a chance to yell at her, and that marker wasn't far removed from your usual after-school route. For now though, you have a class to get to.

♣♣

Alright, so History class was about as rousing and rip-roaring as you expected, given the dulcet call of the approaching long weekend. Half the class was missing, your teacher was going through the motions, and you were lazily browsing the internet the whole time. Now you're outside in the freezing cold...

Joy of joys.

You'd gotten out a little early and took to standing in front of the large glass entrance of the school near the flag pole, just five feet from the stone marker. The shrill winds set the square of sun-bleached cloth snapping overhead while its metal washer clacks and bounces noisily against the hollow metal-pole. It's a miserable sounding afternoon as the naked trees clatter and clap their denuded branches all along the packed boulevard.

Buses line up, choking the air with diesel exhaust, and other students peal out of the reserved parking lot in their raggedy convoy of cars and trucks. You could have been one of them, warm or at least warmer, but now you stood out here. Alone, heroic, watched by teaming masses of junior students, you stand near the flag pole as if awaiting a martial challenge. A hero of old, a titanic leviathan: imposing, looking over the scuttling mortals that dash across the slippery stone between the front doors of the school and the sidewalk to the buses.

Not for the first time or the last a younger first-year unexpectedly slides across the icy sidewalk. “You good?” you ask, drawing a blink and a happy bob of her head as she hunches her shoulders against the tempestuous winds and scurries up the bus steps with her tail between her legs-

Damn Canterlotians.

You run those thoughts together with a contemptuous sigh. Their whole 'nice and cheery' thing had to be an act, they were too happy and too cheery. It was a momentary distraction as you look at your phone's display:

3:19.

Your thin jacket is buttoned-up completely and you rub your palms together, but your skin is still starting to freeze. A hat would have been a good idea, but ignoring reasonable advice was a pass-time for almost all of humanity. Why wear a toque when it musses up your hair and made you look like some antiquated fisherman?

Well, the reasons were becoming more self-evident as you scratch a frost-bitten ear. Surely Twila had to be on her way. You once again look at your phone:

3:21

Well, it was still going to be another four minutes. It gives you time to survey this new marker that the sister school brought. It's basically an overly extravagant concrete monolith, with four flat sides, three plaques: one for each school with an etched mascot of your respective schools, and one that showed a great deal of care put into the agreement of the twinning. The fourth was bewilderingly blank, just smooth concrete with its usual slightly grainy texture like a highway barrier. Something seems missing; there should be some sort of statue on top.

It begs for your inspection and you slip over towards the concrete plinth in obedience to that urge. But running your hands over the frigid stone feels unerringly like nails on a chalkboard. A shiver courses up your arm from the uncomfortable touch.

Where the hell is Twila?

3:23

Screw this.

It's cold, it's uncomfortable, and you have a sneaking suspicion that at that moment you were seen as a lunatic for fawning over a rock. After all, you're standing around outside when there's a perfectly warm bus no more than fifteen feet away and a school twenty feet away.

“Hey, it's cold out you know, eh?” The familiar accented voice of your bilingual friend greets you. Frank just grins and waves, skidding across the wind-swept slickness of the sidewalk with contemptuous ease. Thick jacket, thick gloves, strong constitution, “Happy Thanksgiving!” Your diplomatic response includes a wayward smirk and four flexes muscles as you extend extending a middle finger in his direction.

He laughs and scrambles on the bus. If he got out now, it had to be late enough.

For a persnickety brat Twila sure wasn't a stickler for punctuality like you expected. "Yeah, well screw you too, sister," you mutter and lick your chapped lips. Stamping your foot to get the circulation back, there's a sudden give as you nearly slide to the side from a small patch of ice. Steadying yourself with a muted curse, it was a good reminder not to do that again.

Rising up and down on your toes, the frigid weather is swiftly becoming unbearable. You had a home to go back to, you had TV to watch, websites to visit, and time to waste. You couldn't afford to spend all your precious free time waiting here for some girl who didn't give a damn about appointments.

The bell rings again, a last reminder that the school day was over. You didn't need to check your phone this time, it was 3:25 and the buzzer confirmed it. Twila was late. You dig out the dog-eared paperback and tuck it under your arm, all in preparation to simply toss the blighted book to Twila and leave, it was getting too late and too cold for gloating speeches. A gaggle of students blocks the doors as it opens. You catch a glimpse of flaxen hair, purple earmuffs, and a glint of glasses thicker than your own.

S'that her?

You duck and weave, rising up on your toes again in the hopes of being certain. Despite that, you still can't see through the twenty-some herd of band students flocking outside at once. Neither did they respond to the mental impulse you had for them to 'shut up and move!' A small hop up was reflexive as you try to get four inches of height to confirm your suspicions.

That four inches of height confirms it: yes, the 'Ice Queen' was just hurrying out the door laden with a ludicrous amount of books in her bulging backpack and clasped in her arms. But you didn't have time to savour that as you land, feet skidding out from under you.

The patch of ice catapults you backwards into an eldritch miasma of jarring kaleidoscopic colours, but there was no end to that stomach-churning lurch. Your surprised yelp disintegrates; the sound fractilizes as if filtered through a synthesizer. A sudden snap and smell of burning ozone greets you long enough for a sharp blow to the head to rob you of consciousness completely.

♣♣♣

Darkness greets you at long last. It's no night-time penumbral expanse governed by hazy shapes and faint outlines masquerading as blackness, but a vacant void. There's a sudden sound, a slow-building pitch like a finger dragged around the rim of a crystal glass.

A simpering note passes your lips with an uncomfortable sigh. Reaching out, your hand probes the wet stone edge beneath the back of your head. Despite the blow your brain arranges the edges into 'stairs'. Your fingers follow the wetness back to your scalp, only for a sudden pulse of pain to send a wave of nausea washing over you. Even the cold press of marble on your cheek can't halt the rising tide of bile in your stomach as you leave the torn skin alone.

“Be still.” A feminine voice shatters the encroaching darkness. Movement echoes through the void: a harsh taps of feet, like jack boots on tile. “We did not summon thee, so how is it that thou intrudes upon us when we expect another...” it didn't sound like a question: she was pondering something unexpected and evidently unwelcome.

The ensuing bids you to hold your tongue and lay still. It stills your quivering stomach, but the cold aura of uncertainty forms beads of cold sweat on your brow. The voice sniffs, and finally something appears in the void.

A pale white light forms in the vacuous world in front of you. Silvered threads of light weave together with a harmonious chime like resonating crystal, illuminating Corinthian columns stretching off to your left and to your right. The void takes shape as if touched by the subtle hints of moonlight before you saw its origin: a spiral of blue ivory rising above two glowing pools of pale green. There is no face, just a hazy indistinct form that hovers like a wraith in the impenetrable gloom.

Your unsteady voice croaks out, “where am-”

“Silence.” she cut your question short, “thou seems poorly and We must think.”

Author's Note

So here's the first actual chapter. Where is this based? Frankly, it doesn't matter too-too much after the weather North America's had and Europe routinely gets. The use of French is intentional, but it's likewise minor and about what you can pick up from someone from out of state/province/country exchange students or migrants. As for 'why glasses?' I just don't see them too much and they're extremely common.

I'm also assuming you're: A, academically smart or have seen a few trivia shows, and B, male (my apologies, I couldn't make the referential he/she thing work in a gender neutral way though that was on my mind. I literally diced off for it and male came out the 'winner'). That's about all the baggage you bring with you, the rest can be checked at the door. So that's the end of your stay on earth and, once again, welcome to Equestria.

Anyhow, y'all take care now and see ya' next time, eh?

Act 1- Chapter 2: Conference Call

Conference Call

Proofread by TehSporkBandit

Crimson sparks blaze in the penumbral shadows between the absolute darkness cast by thick pillars stretching up into the imperceptible expanse. The tall arched windows let in the faintest rays of light. It might be too weak to dispel the gloom, but it had been absent just moments ago. What had started in darkness became a faint red pall that lit only the windows in an infernal light, before giving way to a calmer blue haze.

Those same sparks burst to life for a few fleeting seconds before burning out like embers in a cold stone hearth. The silence that reigned for a minute or two after your arrival was mostly supplemented by another glow around yourself, then a steadying nudge up to your feet before that disappeared too. At leat you weren't bleeding anymore and the sickness had passed. Unfortunately, now the silence could almost be counted as comforting solitude: sibilant whispers and a steady rhythmic clap of hooves ring out in the distance, like a prowler stalking just out of sight.

It wasn't just that single strange being here either, you catch fleeting glimpses of something else outside as they race past the windows swift enough to seem like an after-image. It would have been nice and comfortable to think that it was just your mind providing small discomforting motions through the blind spot in your eyes, but that couldn't be the case. Silent spectres still haunt the spaces just outside those tall star-lit windows.

You stick close to your... the female's title died in your throat. Was she a guide, warden, or a captor? You hadn't seen that combination of a Unicorn and a Pegasus before and the fact that she could, and had, spoken was just one further mystery among the myriad of confusing notions rattling around your brain.

She had a deep midnight blue coat as dark and lustreless as smoke. Only a single feature was visible with any clarity in the moonlight; on her hindquarters was a silver crescent moon that glittered as brilliantly as diamonds at the slightest hint of light. Yet the moment she stepped into one of the many murky pools of shadow the mark was entirely gone.

Baleful eyes maintain a constant vigil and check your every motion. They're smaller than the female, but there's no question that they are guards; each is covered in black lacquered plate and armed with a devilishly simple spear crooked under their wing. At an arms length away, the creature's maw springs open with a viperous hisses. Ropes of saliva hanging down from pointed teeth as the guttural snarls echoed out as reptilian sibilance. Scant seconds later as a door closes behind you closed with an audible click.

One by one, torches swirl into existence in sequential bursts. Along a darkened, alabaster wall, two-dozen wall sconces hold burning torches that separating light from darkness... no, that was only half-true. Only every second torch was lit, but the room is quickly illuminated nonetheless.

Aside from two silken banners bearing images of celestial bodies, there is nothing else in the room. Perhaps it is a partition or secured hall. “We shall deal with Our sister. For the time being, listen, and speak only if spoken to. Thou may yet be of some use.” It heralds a few unwanted thoughts: were you going to be locked in a dungeon or questioned and killed?

It takes only a moment before you recognize the uncomfortable feeling welling up in your chest might be from the pair of green eyes staring at you again. “Come. The foolish notion of residing with the royal dungeon is the least of thy concerns.”

♣

Empty halls, grand arcades, rows of pillars, and high vaulted ceilings remain the proverbial cornerstones of just about every architectural feature you could find in this new wing. Brazen wall sconces cast soft pale hues over the red carpets covering mirror-like marble floors. You scrunch up your nose as the heady scent of azaleas and roses permeates everything.

Quickly turning a corner midway through what seemed like a circular corridor, you and your hostess are met by half a score of waiting guards. Five of them were the vicious looking creatures you had thought you left behind in the other wing while the remaining five are perfectly white and pristine unicorns clad in golden plate. Your hostess stops at the doors and simply stands there. It might have looked strangely comical as she stared at the door just stare at it for a moment, but that was before the ornamental brass handles glow in a faint sapphire haze before squeaking open.

Inside, underneath a crystal chandelier lit by a ring of candles, is a single great round table with a sun-disc sigil at its heart. It could probably even pass as the fabled Arthurian Round table.

The none-too subtle sound of hard footfalls meets your ears once more. No, it was too quick. No footstep was like that so your mind swiftly relabelled it properly: hoofsteps. The slow clatter emenates from an alcove just off the main chamber. From that sheltered doorway emerges another being you could underwhelming label as a 'horse'. Far more notably, the figure cuts a spectral image of awe as it glided between the arcade and into the room itself.

The snow-white mare would was unimaginably thin compared to any horse you knew of, though she was still taller than you by two or three inches. But with a perfect powder white coat and full prismatic spectrum running through her mane and tail, she didn't look sickly in the least. Beneath the two foot long spiral of ivory, right past a golden coronet of finest gold, a pair of bright amethyst eyes looked you over with evident surprise but tiredness in equal measure. The nascent emergence of confusion twists her muzzle for no longer than a heartbeat before it disappears under a slowly spreading smile.

“You're not exactly what I was expecting.” the coldness of the chamber melts like dew on a summer morning.

As you open your mouth to speak the accompanying figure interjects, “There was a... mishap, We had not foreseen.” It's hard to tell if her tone held venom or merely embarrassment.

“So it seems.” That sound of sound of stroked crystal rings out again; a strange movement and shimmer out of the corner of your vision catches your attention. From the other side of the room a pale gold haze appears near the columns of the arcade and a weighty slab-like tome lifts itself from a stone railing before floating in mid-air. It stops, and flips itself open before sliding over in front of the pale equine. Swords and sorcery were still alive in this place, so it would appear.

She looks it over, reading quietly before gesturing with a gold shod hoof, “Please, sit.” A sharp glance up didn't make it specify if she was talking to you or to your warden. Another gesture indicates it was both of you, though she quietly laughs as the evident hesitation. “You may take your coat off if you feel more comfortable. You, dear Luna, may not.” Her bright eyes sparkle, even as the dusk-cloaked female breathes an impatient sigh at the joke. “There are a number of things that we must discuss.”

Beating a hasty retreat to the indicated spot, it was just one of a number of small raised daises with thick velvet cushions. None of them have backs, and it resembled a Japanese tea services which may have held the right degree of ceremony for your hostesses. Stripping off your coat you tap the pocket to be sure the small white and green book was inside, “Y-yes... ma'a-”

“Please, Celestia, or Princess are both equally acceptable.” it was a congenial start that was making you slightly uneasy. As a princess it meant nobility, as nobility it probably meant power enough to lop off heads. But she continues without that stilted air of regality that the dark-coloured female possessed.

These seats were obviously not meant for you. Even sitting on your knees only brought your chin to table top height so that your elbows rests next to your ears. Suddenly, you do feel quite childish and a little demeaned as the two others hadn't lost any height at all and now tower over you like giants. A hoof to her mouth, Celestia stifles a laugh but by the gentle contractions in her chest, it was only barely working.

“You may take these to seat thyself properly.” Luna said as the pillows on the chairs either side of you shimmers with a pale blue light. What the mechanics behind light infused levitation was, you couldn't guess; it might as well have been magic for all you knew. A pair of horse wizards.... admittedly, it wasn't the worst thing you could conceive of as you bring yourself up to a more respectable height.

Perhaps she sensed that aura of awkward hesitation as she launches into what sounds like a prefabricated speech. “I'm certain that you have many questions. This is the realm of Equestria, Our sovereign kingdom. Its governorship and the responsibility of the safety of its people reside with my sister, Princess Luna, and myself.” she had the soft voice of a storyteller. It's wispy at times and grand in others, never settling on a particular note for long.

“Be content to know that we have brought you here for a purpose.” Celestia continues before finally halting to look at Luna for a moment. The dark regent says nothing, but the fur on her cheeks bristle as she averts her gaze. Celestia hums for a moment, then continues, “May I?” she asks and fluidly gestures to your coat pocket.

Taking the volume from your pocket and holding the primer out, the book is sheathed in the same pale glow as you had seen before. That golden haze touches your hand for a moment; it's remarkably warm and fizzles like bubbles from dish washing liquid popping against your skin.

“Regardless of your answer, there will be neither right or wrong. So you needn't have any fear that this is a test, you may as you see fit. After which, we can decide in what capacity you might be of greatest use and integrate most smoothly.” Celestia beams. You can only blink as if the word 'integrate' was something of a key there. Claws of anxiety glide down your back.

Integrate into what?

There was a sound like brushed crystal and a wisp of parchment. A neatly cut square of paper slips from a manilla folder right next to the large tome but you couldn't see what else it contains. “Do you recognize this?” it was Celestia's first legitimate question. You take a moment to look at the parchment placed in front of you.

ic ánþing gebannum

The royal pair look at you, waiting, and you stare at those three words. And thus you give your verdict, “is that thing a P or a B?”

♣♣

A deep sigh of consternation passes your lips as you bury your face in a damp hand towel. Squeezing it out again, you take another breath of the rejuvenating steam, sucking it into your lungs and calming what had been thus far one of the most mentally draining experiences in recent memory. The standing wash basin hidden behind one of the arcade pillars appeared to be solid gold with bumps and flattened sections that caught every errant sparkle from candle light and every reflection. You feel drained and certainly look the part.

Finishing up, you place the cloth back in the basin and meander among the arcade pillars that separate the main chamber from the two small galleries to either side. It wouldn't be for long but that did provide you a chance to stretch your legs and try to gauge how long you talked. It had to have been several hours at the very least.

While you had gotten used to their levitating talents, it was still distracting to see two quill pens scribbling away on page after page of parchment without a single break. Every single word that left your mouth seemed to be jotted down for reference and every page that was written had been shuffled aside in sequence until it looked like a ring binder exploded. Those pages represented the battery of questions they'd put you through so far.

Questions, one after another, often similar but never the same had pelted you from one royal sister or the other. Oh sure, some of them had been exactly what you expected, but others were out of left field. This wasn't just some little 'meet and greet' to get the latest gossip, this felt like some Jung inspired test of your sub-conscious self.

'What are you? What do you spend your day doing? Who do you follow? Where are you from?' They were the smallest and most reasonable sample of questions that Celestia had asked. Despite their apparent simplicity, each question was quickly twisted into another.

Despite being right, every question needed to be re-asked. Suddenly, Celestia was less intrigued about your answer of being a human and had apparently meant 'what are you' to mean what was your occupation. 'What do you do every day' became a question about your subjects and specialities. As for 'where were you from', well, that had led to at least ten subsequent questions on ethnicity, culture, physical location, parentage, 'class', and everything each entailed. She followed a fluid formula that diverged off into a line of tangential interest every single time.

Princess Luna, you quickly learned, was uncomfortably blunt. For every question that Celestia had that you were right about, Luna had one that you were suddenly unsure. Part of that was that she never showed any emotion at your responses, all you heard or saw was the scratching of a quill pen. Had you ever slain your fellow human in any form whatsoever? If you were forced to choose between your heart and mind which should you choose? Who defines good and evil? Where was 'here'? The last question took no less than thirty agonizing seconds as you scrambled to find the name of the realm they had mentioned in passing only once. Even then, you had just hoped she wasn't asking something else.

Both Princesses seemed to have a basic understanding of your culture anyway so those little clarifying interjections you made earlier with Celestia were met by a 'yes, We know' with Luna. It this was some version of good-cop bad-cop then they handled it marvelously.

And now you were just meandering back to your seat, suddenly aware of the headache that had taken up residence in the left side of your skull. Both of the sisters had fresh sheets of parchment by now, and both had small neat stacks of rolled up scrolls as well. Then there was that strangely out-of-place manilla folder laying next to Celestia. She'd given you the single paper slip from it and no more.

Luna's head snapped up and she asked you swiftly, “What is your name?” In the number of hours that you'd been interrogated, that had never cropped up.

Your reply to Luna's question met with an awkward silence on behalf of both Princesses. They hadn't stopped so long after a question so far without explaining.

“No, that shall not do. We shall issue thee a new one.” to say that it had come as a surprise would have been an understatement yet she just looks down and begins writing again as if it was any other question. Of all the things she said no too how could it be that? You didn't have some odd name by any stretch of the imagination: It wouldn't compare to, say, 'Blanket' Prince Michael Jackson II. Apparently that was about to change. Flummoxed hadn't come close to the word for that bizarre feeling that was neither bemusement nor indignation.

“Art thou sufficiently recovered?” asked Princess Luna in that regal temperament you'd gotten used too. Admittedly your mouth still hung open every now and then, but golden crowns and royal titles overruled your confusion.

Celestia stands and dabs her quill pen onto a smudged sheet of paper before corking a vial of ink. “Perhaps we should continue another time.” She hauls herself to her feet and makes her way to the golden basin before daubing her face here and there. Her muscles tense and she had turned back before you finally saw the red-rimmed eyes and an unlocked jaw, squint, and chin practically tucked against her neck. You were about to answer Luna, but opening you mouth led to a quickly stifled yawn. A yawn caught from a horse, that was new.

“I wouldn't mind a break, but if this is important I'm at your service.” you reply and return to your seat hoping that you didn't come across as ungrateful or disrespectful. Royalty could be as benevolent as they wanted but there was always that air of power that they held and you didn't know how far it reached.

“Acceptable.” Princess Luna said, folding her hooves together in front of her, “As We hath said, thy name may suffice in thine own lands, but in Equestria, it presents Our subjects something of a challenge. Nay, a conspicuous challenge-”

The dark sapphire princess looked set to continue before Celestia cuts her off, “We wouldn't want your integration to be a complicated one. So this may be for the best. We had originally wished to contact and address Twila Smythe, of course; if you were at the meeting point you must know her.”

The crushing awkwardness made you continue after that insipid pause, “I was returning a book, saw the note, figured that would be better than trying to actually find her. She's, hmm, not very personable.”

“Irrelevent.” came Luna's stern voice again. Your open mouth produced no sound under the monarch's withering gaze which now bade you to remain silent. “Her knowledge and experience on matters would be instrumental in helping Us solve an evolving iss-”

“Hush.” Celestia intervenes, but offers no additional reproach Instead, she turns to you with a smile as Luna sighs in evident frustration. “My sister has used her considerable talents to attempt to gain Twila's assistance-” Celestia's tone was soft enough to pad any implications of blame and remove the bite from any other insinuations.

Luna wipes away that coddling tone with her more straight-forward mien, “The methods are no doubt beyond thy ken. Suffice to say, We consulted another who shared her previous contacts with Us. Certain conditions were created, though any more and her natural skepticism would have resulted in difficulties. We... were uncertain whether or not she would have consented.”

That was a strong admission that got you to blink, then blink again. Luna was upset because she may have been able to set up a meeting that might or might not have taken place?

“But she did not, thou did.” she stares down at her hooves and clicks them together. A quick quivers across her face, showing bared teeth. It lasts only a moment before she slumps forward, barely holding herself up at the table, streaming mane hung limply in front of her face.

“I'm sorry... but why couldn't you have just waited for Twila or someone else, too? I could have just been a mistake.”

“Thou... broke Our concentration.”

Celestia responds soon after, “Twila would have been assigned to the library with any requirements taken care of by my personal staff. You are not as naturally skilled, so you will need some outside assistance in order to reach your potential. After all, you may still be in a position to offer us valuable insight, regardless of if you can translate that missive or not.” her voice is still smooth enough to act as a balm for any burn.

Luna's eyes shifts between her sister who took a seat at the end of the table, and yourself. “Once the primary mirror opens nineteen moons hence, thou may leave. Until then, We must focus our efforts on other matters.”

Nineteen moons?! A quick mental count put that at, “More than a year and a half?” It garners nothing but a single nod from both equines as your jaw remains swung open for a few long moments. 'So what will I do? Can't you send me back?' both questions were plain as day though you'd given voice to neither.

“For the time being, you will stay in Equestria under guardianship. You will be given a new identity to help with your integration, and will be provided for until you're up on your own two feet.” Celestia smiles in amusement, as if you didn't hear you'd been abducted for nearly a year and a half. Neither had she answered the second question.

The Princess of the Night glances over and sharply states, “We will send for you if we have additional need and return thee home at the soonest possible moment.”

Celestia's resulting sigh was the first time you'd heard it sound both tired and unhappy. She was still smiling but it wavers, as if taking real effort to achieve the effect, “If you promise to follow what she says, follow our laws, and keep yourself from mischief, I will do everything in my power to make your stay here as pleasant as possible.”

Pacing back and forth she let the halt sink in, “Small issues, instances, and misunderstandings can be reasonably resolved. After all, we can not expect you to know our laws and customs, and nopony is perfect. This is one reason why you will have a guardian look after you.” Celestia's voice grew harder and her pacing stopped. Affixing you with her strongest gaze, she was even more intimidating than Luna had been, “However, if you recklessly endanger our subjects, intentionally cause harm, or otherwise try to corrupt or destroy what serves this realm, then you will leave me no choice but to banish you.”

That seemed perfectly understandable. “Understood.” you extend her a curt bob of the head as she returns the gesture back in acknowledgment.

Lune stares at you; it wasn't particularly harsh, but something seemed to be brewing in her mind. She blinks, looking aside, then states,“We wish to have him promise it. Swear it, in thy own words.” Luna insists and taps a hoof forcefully to the table. It echoes like a gunshot in the chamber and fades completely before another word is spoken.

Celestia visibly struggled with seeing through what good that would do, but her arced brow flattens some as an unseen understanding passes between the two sisters. She nods in consent, “That seems reasonable.”

A gesture so simple might be enough to mollify the Princess of the Night. If that was all it took it seemed like a small price to pay. “I swear.”

“Go on.” Luna's eyes bore into you, urging you to continue and finish the oath.

Fidgeting and hoping to recall every circumstance that could lead to exile you begin again, “I swear that I won't take any action that will recklessly endanger, cause intentional harm, corrupt, or destroy the institutions that serve this realm. I recognize the consequences.” A silence pervades the room once again.

“May I keep this?” Celestia's voice broke the uncomfortable silence. She taps the small green and white primer that you had brought. With what her good graces had promised you, there was little else to do but bob your head and let her have the useless book.

“Thank you, it may come in useful. If we need you then I will send a summons. Until then, perhaps you should sleep. Your guardian should arrive in the morning.” Taking the second book and stacking it on the first, Celestia paces back among the arcade pillars and disappears into a side room.

Luna remaina seated, inspecting her own notes as if you had already left. No matter how much she tried to hide it there were signs of tiredness: her wings drooped now and then, while her eyes look more cloudy than Celestia's, or the guards for that matter. Clenching her jaw for a moment you look at her parchment and notice she had crossed out several lines. Even the ink blotches were there where the pen hesitated and bled through. If her snippy mein stemmed from tiredness then maybe this was truly abnormal.

Conjuring up your resolve you finally speak to her alone, “There's really no way to get back? If I could get back, is there any way I could, you know, fix this?”

“If there was, We would not have suffered this conversation. Bypassing the mirror was no simple feat. The time, risk, planning, and energy required of two additional instances would be... significant.” Luna's reply bore a striking resemblance to that of a disinterested clerk. With no moderator to keep her in check she could say what she wished. There really was no hope of a quick journey home.

“So that's it then.” You sigh in resignation.

“For the time being, thy actions hath altered Our plans.” Luna replies, the scratching recommencing in earnest. “Do not forget thy vows. You may still be of use to Us.”

“Yes, princess.” You bow and turn to leave, not that you knew where you were going, but it felt like you had just been dismissed.

Luna's voice halts your departure. “Thou shalt be escorted to thy quarters and remain there.” Twisting to look back at the dark princess you hear the doors open amidst a clatter of armour and shod hooves. It looked like your escort was already waiting in the wings.

Author's Note

Alright, so, there's the set up at least. There are some important bits scattered around here and there so as much as I'd have liked to cut it down more and attach it to another chapter, I couldn't justify it. Luna and Celestia aren't the biggest players in the story but enough so that they need the attention.

As for the inevitable: the 'Equestria Girls' mirror is gone, but you might very well be able to figure out how the mechanic for transportation works anyway. There'll be some expansion on it soon enough though just in case.

Anyhow, y'all take care now and see ya' next time, eh?

Act 1- Chapter 3: The Difference

The Difference

Proofread by TehSporkBandit

Water washes over soft leather with a throaty slosh, spilling the liquefied sand around goatskin boots before finally settling. The scent of sea salt permeates the air while the thin tendrils of the east winds set loose cloth snapping. Slowly, faint traces of the breeze were starting to clear the thick banks of fog that rolled over the countryside, obscuring the distant banks across the tame waters. A single glassy stretch of wet sand no more than five paces wide stretched along the milky void. “The mists will lift.”

“They are here... I can smell them.” the guttural voice replied. “We should go to meet them, my lord, the carrion birds fly and so should we. You have nearly two thousand warriors at your call. Just give the word.” the gravelly tone all but hissed in anticipation.

“Not yet.” the first voice commanded, curbing the predatory snarl that echoed from between clenched teeth. There was no further word from that granite tone beyond the faint rasping of breath through mail hanging from an iron helm. That initial voice, calm and collected, continued unabated, “The waters will recede and Bright-Courage will be waiting on the far shore. He can scarcely afford not to be. Ten thousand pounds or a single token. What choice do the Angles have?” it solicited nothing more than a grunt and a few wayward clacks of spear shafts on metal rimmed shields. Figures began to form as wraiths on the far shore, clad thickly in long cloaks of blue and green.

Another voice, far more reasoned than being affected by the enthusiasm of youth, issued out from beneath a helm of iron gilded in brass, “What is Bright-Courage playing at? What trickery is this?”

The regal tone issued forth again from the chest of a tall statuesque man in purest polar white, “He knows. He can't risk having us sail downstream around him to his King's lands. He allows us to beach here because he can't afford not too, Ulf. And we will oblige him.” Blond locks spilled down from beneath the tall helm adorned with a plume of fiery horse hair. Slowly, the man raised a mailed fist. A host of men waited for such a simple gesture from their lord; whether it would be the Great Bear whose every breath sounded like a tempestuous snort, to the silent thane bearing his lord's shield, or the curious red cloaked warrior clutching a long spear with its furled banner.

Their leader's hand dropped. A clarion call echoed across the early morning air, stirring it as a great and mighty warhost waded into the shallow waters, making for unseen shores. The winds did as they were bid, and soon great clouds lifted from the waters. Unveiled were the glittering mail and colourful heraldry of the congregation who opposed them. The banner at the fore of their host unfurled as if by magic. Its sun-disc shape was emblazoned with a single black bird.

♣

The phantom call of a blaring horn was enough to send you bolting upright. Chest tightening and breath leaving in panting huffs, there were no banners, no horns, no mob seeking blood.

What the hell was that?

If it was a dream then it didn't even have the good sense to disappear like a dream should. Instead, every detail was slowly solidifying with a faint hum in the sides of your head like they were being etched inside. Whatever that was, it latched on to your mind and tore away at the boundaries between wakefulness and sleep.

A languid groan of misery passes your lips as you rest your head against the unyielding wooden headboard. Looking towards the window, sunlight scorches your eyes, which sting and water long after you hold an arm to your face. A thin hiss on your lips was the only reply as you twist and awkwardly turn to face back down amongst the pillows and tussled sheets.

Groping blindly for a bedside table, your hands trace over a square faceted goblet, the smooth glass of what had to be a lamp, and then your glasses. Awkwardly unfolding them and snapping them on, a second uncovering of your eyes sent even more uncomfortable lances of pain bolting through your sockets.

Flopping down with a huff, you keep your eyes closed and sink into the sheets of your bed. Hmm, not your bed, it was too soft. A rather grotesque feeling formed in your throat as a worming series of questions gnawed their way through your incohesive mind.

If it's not my bed, whose is it?

Another question nipped at its heels:

Oh God, why am I in someone else’s bed?

Why was something as ephemeral as a dream lingering longer in your mind than the events of only a few hours ago?

Something else seemed out-of-place. There was no sound of cars, no wail of sirens, not even the distant thrum of a highway; silence reigned supreme in this room. Warily, you open your eyes again, hoping to settle at least the immediate question of where am I? It wasn't a basement like you had thought, rather, it looked like a theme room at a resort hotel. You roll your head over with a groan while gazing languidly out the window. Thankfully, this time you could see the bloom of white light that filtered through the glass panes without feeling like you had salt tossed in your face. Light continued to pour in, illuminating dust motes that floated around the room like lazy sparks of silver. Outside was a brass rail of some balcony, and remarkably clear powder blue skies.

Rolling over in bed, the various sheets wrapped around you as you bury your face in soft downy pillows again. Letting a single arm drape off the side, it was a sudden drop that jarred your elbow more than it should have. It was basically a mattress on a floor with stone right beneath you. Covered in ivory silk sheets and a white down duvet, there was no less than half a dozen rounded pillows to spread around in whatever fashion you wanted. Silken sheets slipped off your shoulders as you slowly pulled yourself half upright against a pillow and now uncomfortably familiar headboard. It was a massive bed fit for a king....

Oh, that would make sense.

The events of the night before, as confused as they were, came back in a few radiating waves of clarity. You weren't supposed to leave until certain 'issues' had been resolved, and no one had been forthright with you on what those were. That wasn't to say you were being treated poorly, you were just being neglected. It had to be the afternoon, but with no clocks it was a little hard to be any more precise than that. Wearily, you reach over to the foot of the bed, where you'd last hung your pants, and quickly rifled through the pockets. A wallet, cell phone, keys, and that parchment note were all heaped into a small pile.

Checking the phone, it had no signal, and insisted the time was 1:15 AM. You had apparently arrived in the middle of the night, it was mid day, but your internal clock still said it was night-time, too. Great, it was basically jet-lag and that was uncomfortable. Not only did you not have your charger, but there hadn't been many outlets around either. You turn the phone off, it would be best to save the battery for later. Your wallet and its contents probably wouldn't help you much either.

You'd remembered pacing around your quarters the night before, and while it was strange how different day and night looked, you recalled the layout well enough. Swinging your legs out, you sit on the edge of the bed and push yourself to help stand up. While that goal was achieved, it was coupled with a slow, almost lurching, motion towards the narrow arched door leading to the in-suite bathroom. Awkwardly staggering for a few steps, the sun-warmed stone turned cooler in the shade, snapping you out of that tired stupor. Socks may have been a good idea but it was keeping you awake.

Shutting the door behind you, the bathroom's sterile white-gold finish seemed to make every surface glint. A small shower stall with latticed crystal doors loomed up in front of you, a small vanity and mirror lay on your right that looked about the right size for a hobbit. Opposite that was a very clean and very awkward looking squat toilet. Regardless of the gold fixtures, free-standing water basin, or any of the embossed towels, the bizarre toilet made the room feel distinctly alien. Everything else seemed familiar to typical hotel chic.

Using the toilet was somewhat perplexing, but the shower, aside from having very large hot and cold knobs, was relatively simple. Stripping completely and stepping in, the warm water was one sure way to actually make you feel awake and alive enough to actually face the day. There was a visitor coming in to help you, too, so looking proper for them was doubtlessly important in making a positive first impression.

After the initial surprise, both Princesses appeared to be comfortable with your presence. Hopefully, everyone else, no matter who the inhabitants of the realm might be, would treat you the same way. Smearing some of the liquid soap in your palm, its floral scent was distinct but not overpowering.

It took the span of maybe three minutes before there was an indistinct chime from the main room. Hopping out of the shower and ripping a towel off a brass towel rack, the fabric snapped once before coiling tightly around you like a Roman toga. Your glasses were quickly snatched up from the low seat-height vanity. The shower remained on as you padded towards the door, leaving a small trail of water droplets in your wake.

Poking your head out from the bathroom, sopping hair leaving rivulets streaking down your face and nearly blinding you, there wasn't anybody around. Quickly scanning the room for the source of the musical chime that had interrupted you, you hoped it wasn't your promised help who had come and gone. It was a comfort that something else caught your eye in the corner of the room. An elegant silver tray laden with three white china plates rested on a small table in the corner of the room. Light danced across the polished finish and and gold piping on the fancy plate lids.

That said, there was no soap left in your hair, so it was probably time to get out of the shower anyway. Leaving the door crooked open you started towelling off completely and shut the shower off before returning to your room. Refreshed, returned, dressed, but generally still slightly tired, you were finally able to take stock of what someone had brought.

Lid after lid was opened in sequence. Thin tendrils of steam wafted from one shallow bowl, and bobbing bits of vegetables formed at the surface of a thick broth. A half loaf of bread, flaked with oats and glazed to a honey brown color took up most of the space with a dollop of butter on a second plate. The final plate was laden with what looked like some sort of slightly less common fare. It was somewhat like rice but smaller and rounder, mixed with chopped apples, slivers of nuts, cranberries, and onions. You loft a brow for a moment, not being entirely sure but you could guess:

Is that couscous?

Retrieving the tray and heading back to your bed, it was better than sitting on the floor. Bouncing slightly on the edge of the bed, you look at the silverware wrapped in a red silk napkin previously hidden by the bowl. You tear off a chunk of the bread to dip in your soup. It actually smells pretty good as you pop it in your mouth. The doors of your room were flung open as you inhale the chunk of sopping bread with a cough. The intruder trotted right in without a care in the world, oblivious to your hacking attempts to breathe. It took a second or two with a few spluttering notes to clear your airways.

“I'm sorry if I made you wait, the Express was a little bit late.” the feminine voice informed with a hurried and slightly stilted tone. “Good morning, my name is Twi-uh.” she stumbled over her own name, “Princess Twilight Sparkle.” She was a royal, and like the other royals, she had feathery wings folded against her body and a coloured horn spiralling from behind violet streaked bangs. This princess hadn't even looked at you, instead, she breezed right in and took off her saddle bags that looked filled to bursting. Removing a rolled scroll of parchment, it unfurled to an intimidating length before your eyes.

“Morning, Princess, ma'am....” the rasping, wheezing gargle was barely audible to your ears, let alone hers.

"Actually, Twilight will do." she had to have tremendous hearing, "I am responsible for you while you're here, after all." she is your ward? The officious looking mare was pleasant enough, and at the very least hadn't hissed at you like Luna's guards, but she still seemed even younger than you... What was supposed to be proper etiquette? What were you supposed to say and do? This was like Duchess Middleton breezing into your school lunch room out of the blue and apologizing for the tardiness due to traffic. You'd expected some warden, a parole officer, even some social services stereotype, not another royal. How many were there anyway?

The light crumple of parchment was enough to signal that something had changed. The aged looking list was rolled up and stuffed back into the saddle bag. “Well, I imagine you must have a lot of questions. I'll be happy to answer each and every single one, but first of all, Princess Celestia asked me to help create a convincing cover story for you and I've taken the liberty of preparing a few.”

The scrolls sprang from the book bag in a purple haze as the books spilled out on the bed. She seemed content to make herself comfortable, simply pulling over a small cushion and plopping herself down in front of you. With a bright grin plastered across her muzzle and books spread around her like a card dealer in Vegas, she finally looked up at you for the first time since entering the room.

“Oh, sorry, didn't see you were eating.” a sheepish grin crossed her muzzle as she took a seat at the table, watching with a smile. “Don't mind me. I'll just fill out some of the preliminary documents. Oh-" a small ink pot of burnished brass and long grey feathered quill slipped from the saddle bags, "What was your name?”

♣♣

“No, that's not going to work. I mean, it will work, just not here. Gah, let me start again.” Twilight had tried to say your full name three times already, apparently most 'human' names were tongue twisters to equines. It felt weird that she just lumped all human names together though. She seemed frustrated and shook her head again in resignation. Having dragged the corner table over, she used as a perch for her current tome. Massaging her forehead around the horn, she mumbled, “We're going to need a name that fits.” her musings were likely self addressed.

Twilight was difficult to really judge. She'd been a touch blunt at times and certainly oblivious, but the times she caught herself she had apologized for it. You had eaten some of your breakfast, but despite her claim that you were to 'not mind her', she talked constantly. Five minutes were devoted to her flipping through books, ten more for reading over her prepared list of 'scenarios', and now she was returning to the perpetual question of names.

“So what kind of names do fit?” Getting a grasp on them hadn't been easy as you'd heard only about a half-dozen examples. It was hard to tell if they were descriptors, puns, or something caste-based.

“Well, you know, names-” Twilight held a hoof out as if taking it as self-evident, “they're structured.”

“Princess Twilight-”

“Just Twilight is fine.” she smiled, but some but the lingering hints of frustration remained.

“Twilight. All names are structured.” That's what made them names.

“Not all of them, but many.”

“Alright, so what counts? Give me an example of a boy's name.” you listen for some sort of example.

“I don't understand.” the slow confused words matched her blank expression. Something might have turned in her mind, but it didn't seem to catch. Admittedly, you couldn't tell what part of the request she was missing.

“Well-” you waved a hand to gesture her to continue, “what's a common boy's name?”

“Common name? As in family name?” she was trying to understand, and you were trying to understand her confusion. It really reduced your response to a pensive 'hmm'.

“So, what did you want?” She asked again, craning her neck out and looking over the parchment.

“Look, I don't know, Twilight, I don't fu-” rethinking the adverb in your sentence, you swapped it out for something less likely to be offensive to a royal, “uh, rightly know.”

She thought for a second and smiled, “That could work.”

“Hmm? What could?” she seemed pleased with herself and you weren't sure why.

“Rightly, Rightly could work well. Okay, Rightly, you aren't from Equestria and don't really understand it, so blending in won't be easy. So we don't hide it, we disguise it!” she cracked open one of her books and was swiftly flipping through pages, scanning them as quickly as possible in a flurry of fluttering papers. “How about this? ” She slid a book across the table for you to read the 'title' of, which was full of spirals and swirls.

“This what?” you dumbly say while getting used to the fact that you've been effectively renamed. That wasn't easy to accept as you give the weird lettering a cursory glance, “Is that the Voynich-” you halt. Twilight's mouth hung ajar, eyes wide open, and legs trembling as they barely seemed to keep her upright.

"Wait... wait. So, you didn't skim it? Or you couldn't?" her voice crackled for a moment before growing, louder and higher.

Fetching another canvas clad tome she flipped it open and literally shoved it in your face. "And this?" her voice rattled as you had to push it away from your upturned nose. It was a series of elaborate carvings on a woodcut or the like. You shake your head and look at her as she took deeper and quicker breaths.

“And you don't read from the Royal Cipher. Okay... heh, okay, Twilight, that's fine. Not everypony can read the cipher.” she continued and pushed another book with a fairly elaborate set of more angular runes on it. You shake your head again. “These?” she points to a particular page and gazed at you with pursed lips and an expectant glimmer of hope. It was a number of 'letters' or perhaps alphabets with what looked like swirls indicating some sort of diagram on linguistics. Pouring over the half-dozen samples, each time she asks you the same question, “are you sure? Absolutely positive?"

Each time you confirm what you already suspected, “Aaaah, yes.” A nervous sweat trickles down the back of your neck as a far more hollow sensation started to build up in your chest. You realized the importance of that response before Twilight vocalized it.

“No-no-no. I-I, uh..." she seemed stunned, and trailed off with a squeak of dismay. The protective sheath of violet light surrounding the book faltered and then dissipated, leaving it to noisily collapse to the floor. It served as adequate punctuation to Twilight's blank stare before she covered her muzzle with a hoof. "I’m sorry to say, I really am. I don't know how I could have missed that... As far as most ponies are concerned, you're illiterate.” Twilight's defeated sigh betrayed her, “I thought you might understand Saddle Arabian or Griffonic. They're very similar in some respects to what I saw in your world.” She shook her head, obviously on the cusp of frustration.

“Well they resemble a few types of writing I know of but I couldn't say I understand them.” you still felt a sudden surge of shock, knowing what some of the implications would mean. Wrinkling your brow you ask again, “Wait, what was that last part? What you saw?”

She blinked for a second and beamed, “Oh, yes, well, I've been to your world almost a year ago and was there for a few days.”

“Hang on-” you tried to get something right. Aside from the notion that a talking purple unicorn was on earth and no one noticed, something else seemed strange, “and you say you were in my world but you didn't notice the differences in names? Or the writing?”

She looked offended, which was certainly bad in retrospect, “I'm good at cryptography! Linguistics aren't hard, it's the same phonology, and syntax wasn't all that different," her defensive snorted had her squinting and lowering her chin to her chest in what might have been a defensive display. "A lot of pon-eh-people, had names that made sense. Lily, Page, Brook, Shepherd, Herald, Mat-” you sigh then hold up a hand, conceding the point and really wanting to calm her.

She continued mulling over her own thoughts despite you having conceded the issue, “I hadn't considered that you weren't affected by equipormophization either, so that might have something to do with it. Hmm." She had gone from defensive, to frustrated, to perplexed in a single breath. "Well, the stars were misaligned last night, so that must have had something to do with getting you here, like it did freeing her.”

“Freeing her?” You loft a brow as that last tidbit sounded something like a prison break. her muse.Besides, Twilight seemed like she was talking to herself more than you, so it might be best to let

“Oh, it's... a long story. Anyway, Mirror theory seems to be a way to reconcile the universal non-constants by undergoing some physical metamorphosis to render you and your perceptions comparable and computable to the differences in the world around you. For example, seeing in a different spectrum still registers in your mind even if it’s not entirely accurate. It avoids sensory clashes which are disorienting so your brain adapts and threads the various signals together to fill in the gaps. Sort of like the physiological blind spot. So, because I got to use the mirror itself, and you didn't, that might mean the translation did or didn't occur. That might cause the discrepancy."

"So what does that really, you know, mean?"

She took a steadying breath and seemed to calm herself before continuing, "In a lot of ways, what we're seeing might not even be the same thing...” trailing off with a few blinks she winced, “Oh, dear. That might mean that you could be suffering from displacement sickness. It compliments Star Swirl's Compass Theory quite well if I do say so my...self...” she had to have caught some measure of your blank expression, but not before the damage was done.

"Could that cause weird dreams?" You hope that was the limit of it.

"I guess it could." she hunched her withers in a very close approximation of a shrug. "Why?"

You wave it off, one problem solved. “So, then, what's actually wrong with my name?” you try to trace your steps back to where you began.

“Oh, it's just going to draw a lot of attention to you. But I do have an idea. Now, bear with me, this can still work. I have a parchment pal in Saddle Arabia at their royal archives in Gallopoli. It's a metropolitan city, so not being a pony won't be a problem. They deal with a lot of ancient linguistics so it's only just a matter of getting you somewhat knowledgeable about one place in particular.” She seemed quite proud of the idea.

“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but is that the only option?"

The pensive unicorn tapped a hoof to her chin for a moment, “Well, the only two that can pull strings for are the royal archives in Gallopoli or Whinnypeg's museum for Universal Rights in the Crystal Empi-”

“Gallopoli will do just fine.”

She smiled happily, “Alright, then I know exactly what we'll say! Hah, this'll be fantastic!” A book was held open to a particular page with a hovering glow of personal satisfaction. “I was going to show you a list of the most dangerous local wildlife, who knew it would come in so handy! Here,” the weighty taxonomy tome was crooked open to one page halfway through as your eyes widen, “they're insular, live in the hills of the Neighjd region of Saddle Arabia, and are known for strong feelings towards preservation of their unique culture!”

You take a look at the odd creature for a second as your eyes walk up the page and towards the princess's self-satisfied expression, “You know I can't read it, right?”

“Oh, sorry, sorry. I forgot that you were, you know…” she didn’t need to say ‘illiterate’, all she needed to do was match your glare with her bright grin of scholastic bliss “I heard about these things back when I was in your world so I'm sure you'll be somewhat familiar with them, too! Isn't that great?"

Author's Note

So, we get the pseudonym of our protagonist. If you'd like to change it, Rightly and R. are the only times I think it's ever referenced so download then 'find and replace' on a word document will sort them all out. If you have ideas for changing it, I'm still all ears.

Thanks again to TehSporkBandit, my proofreader, for helping navigate my blathering :twilightblush:

Anyhow, y'all take care now and see ya' next time, eh?

Act 1- Chapter 4: The Test Audience

The Test Audience

Proofread by TehSporkBandit

My name is Rightly, I am a hill troll, and I'm from Gallopoli in Saddle Arabia. I don't read your hieroglyphs because I specialize in other non-equine languages. Did you know hill trolls control a great deal of textile production? We are also only distantly related to cave trolls.

You've recited the highlights of your little cover story quite a few times despite how appallingly simple it was, not to mention that it felt like a miserable existence to live with that particular unflattering title floating over you. Out the window, the countryside unrolled like a sheet in a myriad of rich autumnal colours. Except, those were mostly ignored as your thoughts strayed into all the horrible scenarios that might play out when you got to your destination. This wasn't Canterlot, you couldn't just breeze past a pony in the hallway of the Royal Palace and be sure that you would never see them again. This was going to count.

Over the past three days you had learned a lot of disconnected facts about Saddle Arabia, its consul, and even more facts about Equestria. You learned of its people, cities, economy, and values, then you proved it through Twilight's endless stream of quizzes and tests. History had been bad, English worse, but Equestrian social sciences under headmistress Sparkle had been both vicious and thorough. Between late evening recitations and recurring nightmares, your eyes showed the bags and you were genuinely worrying about Twilight's forewarned displacement sickness. Aside from a bit of anxiety and indigestion from the vegetarian diet, the feared displacement sickness hadn't amounted to much.

While the rhythmic clap of railway ties had nearly lulled you to sleep, the sudden metallic screech and sharp halt of the train jolts you from that stupor. Glancing out the window, the distinct shape of thatch rooves and plaster walls greeted you. It was a homely looking cluster of Tudor style buildings, if a little tall and with some fantastical protrusions, but it wasn't too different from historic parts of the Netherlands or Germany. Compared to the towering turrets, fantastic façades, and often enigmatic edifices of Canterlot, Ponyville was quaint. But, it did mean that there were still ponies there. You were left with one steadfast question:

is this ruse going to work?

It was time to find out. Rocking yourself upright and collecting a set of saddlebags, it looked like your guardian was still curled up and sleeping in the seat opposite you. Picking up a pair of scroll-stuffed bags connected by a leather strap and buckle was easy, waking the Alicorn was a touch harder. “Twilight, hey-hey, listen.” One of her eyes popped open, closed, then the other opened and finally she yawned and made a small mew of discontentment. Curled up in a ball with her wings and a blanket wrapped tightly around her, she sheepishly started to wake up as the locomotive ground to a squealing halt.

“Ready?” she intoned before quickly trying to stifle a yawn. Ears folding back, mouth wide open, she failed and you found it was contagious. Almost mechanically, the blanket was pulled up, folded, and unceremoniously stuffed in another set of bags that she carried with her.

A swift nod was all that was left to be said before she made her way to the exit. “Didn't get enough sleep?” You ask, idly trying to make conversation.

“Hmm? Oh, it's probably just all the extra research and getting your tests ready. Hmm, how are you feeling?” she was relatively bright and cheery which helped lift your spirits before she stretched laboriously and hopped off the train seat.

“Nervous.” but that ease didn't alleviate all your doubts. “And tired.”

“Come on, one step at a time, Rightly.” Her bright smile helped dispel some of that miasma. A waving hoof beckoned you to join her as the first few fragrant twists of the warm autumn breeze tussled her mane about.

Stepping out onto the platform, sunlight broke through small patches of clouds that dappled the land while noxious fumes from burning coal were swept away by the western winds, carrying the scent of orchards and fresh forest copses from across the land. The train station seemed to exist in a warm life of its own. Gone was the haughty airs of Canterlot, giving way to a bloom of life and exuberance. Ponies talked and chatted in loose groups on the wooden platform, a grand old station house's overhang provided shade for dozing elders seated on benches, as fillies and colts laughed and capered away from the tracks. Even the luggage sat unattended in a show of trust as the jocular aura of the small town presented itself. By comparison, Twilight's pleasant greeting seemed stiff and awkward.

A wheezing hiss and billowing cloud of pent up steam from the engine washed over you like a fog bank. It elicited a few choking coughs but little else as you wave your hand in front of your face to clear the mist. It was only then that you realize you'd fallen a few steps behind again. While Twilight's hoofsteps could be heard with painful clarity, vague amorphous shapes and other clatters of hooves on wood seemed to reverberate around you. It might have even been uncomfortable or scary had you not actually glimpsed the ponies, and they you. The latter of which led to that awkward silence in the first place.

Those faces of enjoyment and mirth switched to dumb fascination or various degrees of abject confusion far and wide across the rapidly quieting platform. Ponies stared at you, young and old, just seeming to gawk at the sight of what stepped off the train from Canterlot. A balloon escaped from its owner, taking off as a single green blob that floated by you, yet nopony complained. Eleven in the morning, mid-autumn, in what was supposed to be comfy small-town Equestria. Slow meandering fools and foals made their way towards you in blurry eyed fascination.

“What is it?”

“I don't know, I've never seen something like it before!”

“Oh Celestia, it doesn't have mange does it? How horrid.”

Those voices crowded around you as Twilight cantered back towards you, “Morning, everypony! Roseluck, Caramel,” she greeted one pony after another by name, seeming to know them all, which was thankfully deflecting some of the attention. She did her best to try and haul you along, but you were separated again for a few seconds while she spoke to small clique.

It seemed Twilight was chit-chatting with a few ponies here and there, her usual grasp of schedules partially forgotten or, more likely, it was just factored in to her time-table. The call of a conductor, hiss of the steam engine, and shunting clack got you to twitch at the sudden din. It seemed that the importance of the platform as a hub of commerce and transportation was obscured by the colourful exterior. It wasn't a mere vestigial social hall.

A tug on your sleeve interrupted those few sparse seconds of reflection, “M-morning?” A warbled tone took you by surprise. Spinning quickly she seemed to recoil at the swift movement. Cursing at your own sudden movements, perhaps she was timid and the 'new monster' on the platform wasn't the greatest thing to assuage that. Cream coated with a blue and pink mane, of all the colours you've come across amongst Equestria's population of pastel painted ponies, she was slightly strange even by those standards.

“Morning. Quite the, umm…” you quickly look her over, hoping that ponies had conversation pieces like humans did. All she had was two saddlebags and what looked like a number of glossy magazines left to partially hang out. Your mind races, it was too thick for magazines. Settling on that explanation, you hide the hesitation and buy yourself a respite by clearing your throat, “So it’s catalogue day huh? Seems like a fairly good selection there.” She blinked as if a sudden realization came across her and then smiled more brightly. Holding out a hand you realize the guess had been either right on or close, “I'm Rightly.”

It's working, it's working!

A purple flash stopped between you as you were about to shake her hoof, “Morning, Bonbon, I see you've met my friend, Rightly. He's one of the hill trolls from Saddle Arabia.” You blink, not only taken aback by the abrupt interception, but also that insincere grin plastered across Twilight's muzzle.

Nice Princess… but why are you making excuses for that?

The other mare just politely half smiled back. “Good Morning Princess Twilight. I just wanted to… say hello. Yes.” She looks up at you again, blue eyes staring as if in partial disbelief. She was gawking and you knew it, but neither mare seemed like an exceptionally gifted liar or particularly good at diverting attention.

“He's here for a placement program, we'll be speaking to Mayor Mare and making an announcement about it later on in the day.” Bonbon stared at Twilight, then you, and then back to Twilight. She was speaking for you now, it seemed. A curt nod and parting wave that mingled with a muddled farewell saw the earth-pony off.

“What was all that about?” you ask your hostess quietly when Bonbon was out of earshot.

Twilight's mouth barely moved, “She lives with our resident cryptozoologist, It's best tell her who you are early on. You do know what a cryptozoologist is, right?” She never broke her strained smile and kept waving at the retreating mare.

“Yes.” you adopted the same mask, “They're usually looking for unicorns. And trolls. And sometimes bat-boy.”

“It's near lunch, so we'll put my bags away for study, pick up a bite to eat, and I'll introduce you to a few ponies from around town so you can settle in. We'll just take a slightly more scenic route, away from Sugarcube corner.” It seemed reasonable, and though you still had dozens of questions, maybe they'd be answered in time.

♣

“He does look like the illustration in my book, I just didn't expect to see one in Equestria. It's so, so exciting.” It was hard to really tell if that tone could vocally support something worthy of an exclamation mark. Was she happy? Was she excited? Was the butter-yellow mare so incredibly thrilled as she said she was? All you know is that her pink hair folded down to the ground with a single spiralling curl, and she had the brightest grin you'd seen in days. “And his name is Rightly?”

“And he's from Saddle Arabia!”

Yes, that's been established… Princess Twilight Sparkle… Ma'am…

She didn't act like nobility, sure, but she was still royalty and she'd also been the one to help you out of your current conundrum. Beyond that, if she was to be believed, she knew how awkward it was getting used to the differences between worlds.

The outdoor table on the street in the 'downtown core' of Ponyville was spartan in a sense, but that didn't make it unpleasant. The two or two-and-a-half story café had a warmth of an artisan’s shop melded with the rural patina of agrarian bliss. There was an attached barn with a winch for setting out the outdoor seating during the day. The seats being bales of hay… which suited you fine as they came in blocks high enough to make a fairly good facsimile of an actual chair.

Worming into the prickly material which crackled at every shift, you found yourself being waited on by a uniformed stallion and presented with freshly picked flowers in a vase. You sit beneath the wooden sign, etched and painted with the image of a clover, and sniff the freshly cut hay. It seemed new rather than mouldy, and smells like what a café should instead of the side-of-the-road dust traps for victims to spend their hard-earned money on cheap pre-mixed dough pastries and lukewarm beverages.

“Your daffodil and daisy sandwich and side of hayfries, madam.” it's a pleasant and charming luncheon spot with an odd assortment of menu choices. At least Twilight’s order was put together quickly thanks to the uniformed waiter who had since retreated indoors. It left you floundering as the last undecided diner at the table. You close the menu that you had been hopelessly trying to read, having made neither head nor hooves of it.

“So how long are you staying here in Ponyville, mister Rightly?” The soft-spoken Pegasi enquires with a smile that could have melted a glacier. Her cyan eyes shimmered, as if hoping for you to finish struggling with the question and give her the answer she wanted.

“I'll be studying under Princess Twilight and staying in town for the next year or so.” you partially break up your own cover story which is mostly forgotten and involves some grand archival learning program and occasional Canterlot academic summit.

“So you're here for a whole year?” That was the loudest you've heard her voice go.

Twilight partially stepped in, though her eyes were firmly fixed on the sandwich, “yes, Fluttershy, he'll be here for the next year, so you can get to know plenty of things about him. Hmm, hayfries… You know, they're just one of those things that when you see somepony else having some, you want some too.”

Your head bobs up and down, “Should be fine… hayfries?” you weren't quite sure how that sounded or how that worked.

“Here, have a taste!” The Princess offered you some from her plate.

Gone are the days of the royal taste testers? Or did I just inadvertently volunteer?

Picking up one, you nod your head in gratitude and hesitantly try what seemed to be a common comfort food.

The crunch was expected, the flecked off husks that disintegrated in your teeth and mashed up with the oil it was fried in, was not. It held together remarkably well, and had texture rather than taste as you chew. “It's kinda like deep-fried toast.” You muse aloud and rub your greasy fingers together. “Not bad…” As the waiter pokes his head out from the doorway you wave him over, finally making your decision. “Toasted tomato sandwich, please.”

It got you a weird look for a moment before he nodded, then you noticed Fluttershy was still staring at you. The Pegasi was wide-eyed, happy, cheerful, but utterly silent. You still hadn't quite gotten used to the various 'ponies' in Equestria, but after seeing so many, and noting the menagerie of colours, you were getting more comfortable with the idea.

Still, it wasn't advancing any conversations, and you were still too new to really to make any good attempt. So, once again, the royal picked up the slack, “So…” the Alicorn started, “the girls should be here soon.” There was a scrape against your leg and the sound of a crumple as Twilight lifted the sandwich to her mouth with her magic. She'd covertly passed you a note like a grade-schooler in the middle of class. Your fingers enfold it, finding a small square scrap of parchment. Though, with Fluttershy staring so intently at you, it wouldn't be the greatest idea to read so openly.

“Yoo-hoo, Twi...light?” a voice calls out from down the street to your left. Fluttershy looks as well, and in that moment you peek at the note, unfolding it in your lap.

Fluttershy is a creature encyclopedia. Be careful or she will figure it out.

You'd forgotten how nice it was to be able to actually read something here. Looking to where the voice was coming from with everypony else gave you a moment to shove that note in your pocket. There was a mare approaching your little group: purple bouncing mane and tail, coat gleaming like freshly fallen snow, there wasn't a single strand askew. She’s even wearing a soft velvety green scarf loosely draped around her swanlike neck.

Is she wearing mascara?

You don’t think that would work for a second, and the idea of a horse with mascara almost makes you crackle into unrestrained laughter.

Almost certainly glimpsing you, she looks rather taken aback before taking a seat at the far side of the table. “Dear… don't think me crass, but-” she pauses a breath, “why are you sitting with a cave troll?” Her voice was quick, jumpy, upbeat, as if not wanting a dog to understand what you were saying by the tone. That wasn't lost on you.

“Oh, I'm ever so sorry, but we couldn't find a kennel. So it appears as though neither of us can choose our company. Spot o' bad luck there.” you didn't have to fake your indignity. Every word was pulled from the likes of Downton Abby, Nicholas Nickleby, and the most conceited sorts of stereotypes you could conjure up, just to match the air put on by that mare. Curling your lip then biting it, Twilight didn't look particularly impressed but neither was she chiding you.

The white mare visibly blushed, “I-I'm terribly sorry. Truly, I am. The only one of your frightf-uh-delightful compatriots that we came across was not exactly dinner company quality I'm afraid.” She uncomfortably wormed in her seat between Fluttershy and Twilight, likely to avoid the awkwardness, though it also meant she was almost perfectly across from you and that didn't help. Eyes downcast, the fur on her face prickled up to let the built up heat of embarrassment seep out from cherry red skin.

You shrug a bit, “I suppose I should get used to it, right?” the sigh of frustration led to the same muted feeling that you didn't really belong. “Well, C'est la vie.” the later part slipped out from listening to Frank too much as you look over, “Can I get something warm to drink?" you ask the waiter that slipped past on his way to other customers.

“V-vous... Parlez-vous Prançais?” The snow-scape coated mare placed her forelegs on the table, leaning closer in disbelief.

“Oui?” It was conditioned, one or two words picked up through osmosis, but you weren't quite sure if she was asking you or telling you. Something tells you that you were going to be in trouble.

“Where are my manners. Mon cher, I am Rarity or Miss Rarity si vous plaît.” Her whole attitude seems to have turned right around. Suspicious, odd, but tolerable.

“Rightly.” A single word, a single still unfamiliar name, but a courteous bob of your head took some of the edge off of the terse reply.

“Rightly, marvellous. Oh, it's such a relief. Why, sometimes I feel like I'm entirely alone when talking about such simple refinements as language. It's like an oasis in the vastest expanses of a great dry desert. When I can finally talk to somepony that appreciates it as much, it's like those sensuous evenings in the last dying rays of sun on a balcony overlooking swaying palms and dates, a fan on me, servants in gleaming silks-”

“He's from Saddle Arabia, Rarity.” Fluttershy says with that beaming grin. The same one you didn't want to see at that moment. The incomprehensible stammering sound from the overly theatrical mare lifted a foreleg up to her brow and appeared to swoon.

A gentle click of a plate in front of you said your food was ready. “Bon appétit, monsieur.” he replies as you nod then stare at the unappetizing fare heaped in front of you. Soggy bread, toasted tomato, no pepper, no lettuce, and no mayonnaise. It was still less awkward than looking at the faint 'Miss Rarity' as she all but collapsed against Fluttershy in her imaginative fugue.

“I wonder where Applejack is.” Twilight looked around. So Rarity's condition isn't abnormal either, it wasn't just you feeling uncomfortable.

“If she said she would be here, she will be, darling.” Rarity said snapping out of her daze. “Is there any particular rush?”

“Hmm?” Twilight seemed to think as the uniformed waiter set out a platter of drinks that you could tell were mostly juices, though there was a lemon tea for you.

Huh, the handles are pretty big.

You detach yourself from the mares' conversation. “Oh well I figured Sweet Apple acres could always use a little extra help even if not a single Apple would say as much.” A stubborn farmer, never heard of that before. Hmm, tea's good, little sweet.

You had stopped paying attention and now caught about one word in three as the Alicorn Princess continues, “So I was going to ask Applejack to do me a favour and let him work as indentured help at the farm.”

Indentured?!

Finally picking up on what she was saying you choked and coughed, spitting some of your drink before taking a proffered purple kerchief from Rarity.

That wasn't part of any plan!

“Twilight, you simply can't be serious!”

You tell her 'whitey.'

Coiceless as you were, Rarity is your unexpected defence. “There's finally somepony in town that can speak properly, and knows how to use a kerchief, and enjoys wearing clothing, and you want to send him to work on a farm?!” a few barely caught breaths left Twilight looking a little perplexed.

“Well, Applejack has the room to keep him-”

Keep him!?

Alarm bells whirled in your mind as you try to interject while clearing your lungs.

Twilight took a breath, as if steeling herself up, then began while looking around the table and every pony present in turn. “Applejack has the room at Sweet Apple acres for accommodations; Fluttershy, you have your woodland friends and a busy schedule getting ready for hibernation; Pinkie Pie's room is clearly not enough space for two ponies; I don't think walking on clouds is going to work, so Rainbow Dash is out; I don't have extra room aside from the downstairs laboratory; and unless you're willing to give up your change room, store-room, or work room, you don't have space either.” It was a practical take on the situation and one that seemed to leave you with few options.

Are there any hotels?

Fortunately, Rarity once more interceded, “I'm sure I can find a task that would better suit him. He could...” she paused for a moment. A small glimmer in her eyes said she found one solution, “he could help make my deliveries, wash and dry new garments, even help me hemming and making alterations. Then there’s hooficures,then recording orders and filling out forms. He exudes a sophisticated exotic flare like that of the faaar south seas with the swaying palms and warm sunny sands. He belongs in the spotlight, not, ugh, muck-raking in the sun.” You weren't quite sure what to say but the repeated chorus of No-no-no had been repeating almost from the moment she opened her mouth. It was too bad they the thought never reached your lips. You didn’t want to be a . You had no real wish to be a side-show, and it was probably not what the Royal Sisters had in mind either. Plus, without being able to read and write, that limited your use to about the same as a mule.

Something is wrong, something was always wrong; that horrible silence, that awkward pause that dropped over the table like a wet blanket, “Oh, so you'd rather starve than eat somethin’ growin' in the muck? 'S that it?” You look just over your left shoulder and nearly topple into the table away from a pair of baleful emerald eyes that bored straight past you and into the purple maned mare.

“Applejack, dear, you know that's not what I meant. I was merely saying-” her exasperated backpedalling said enough: they'd been through this a hundred times before. The newcomer sat down right next to you, partially collapsing the hay bale so you were leaned in her direction. This was going to be a long day, not to mention a long lunch. You upend your cup.

The tea's gone, too. Fantastic.

You were too tired for this, and with a sideways glance, it looks like Twilight was too tired for it, too. Her wings draped low, levitating her tea-cup to her lips, before starting on her food oblivious to everypony else. That frown doesn't budge from her muzzle as the world started to feel like it's dissolving into a bickering match broken up by small town hustle and bustle. Despite that, the world drifted by as if born aloft on a steady breeze, leaving you weakly staring into an empty cup.

♣♣

A solitary figure strode forward to issue the demands, "I am Kolbjorn of the North Shores. In the name of my Lord, Son of Tryggve, liege of my kin, I come before you. Give us the icon of Theophilus, or failing that, ten thousand pounds of silver, and peace will remain between us!" The thane narrowed his eyes, watching an immense armoured figure stride forward. Thick iron mail fringed in brass rings jangled at each step, a flowing green cloak matching the shield-thane's own hung over broad shoulders while a brazen helm covered the man's face completely. The thickly etched brow, inlaid detail of a carved moustache, and pursed mouth, each feature of its bearer was rendered on the helm. Lifting his mailed glove the reply was immediate. A ragged volley of thrown spears streaked out as the thane swung his shield up and crouched low. There was a few hissing wisps around him as metal points met wet sand, and then two nearly concurrent thuds as the thane's shield slumped to the side, impaled by spears.

The ensuing clash of shields and roar of pressing bodies went from a glorious charge into a bitter stalemate. Hissing growls issued from between clenched teeth as men pressed forward in a colossal shoving match on the narrow strip of sandy ground near the muddy banks of the estuary. Amidst the resounding thump of blows reflecting from wood and hide, there was the faint crackle and splintering snap of shields from prying strokes, and the familiar cries of agony cut short amongst the stamp of feet and thrust of blades. The band of warriors blocking the estuary had first slowed, then stopped the advance completely.

The same brazen helmed figure swept out with a massive two-handed axe, hewing down warriors left and right. When a shield was raised to block the murderous arcs of the great-axe, the shield was bit into deeply. It was enough to bring a man to his knees, from where the mighty warrior slammed his iron-shod foot down on his neck. “I am Wolf-Stone, Free-man of these lands. If you think you can take what you will, try to take it sea scum!” the words were muffled by the thick helm, but his booming voice carried it to the warhost who streamed across the narrow sandbank in their hundreds.

The great Lion of the North, from his spot in the midst of his host, saw as much as heard the challenge. “Kolbjorn?” he asked as the shield-thane limped back, still facing the enemy that held the narrow strip of land.

“I'm fine, my lord.” his voice tinged with pain, hand flexing to be sure his arm wasn't broken. “All-father knows he's a big one.” the thane hissed while clenching his teeth and sweeping back a few errant locks of pallid hair that spilled in front of his eyes.

“Not as big as the Jarl.” Looking up, he cupped a hand to his mouth and bellowed, “Jarl Sigvald!” Catching the Bear's attention wasn't difficult, seeing the thick chain mask in front of the man's face, beard sticking out at every angle. He shouldered a murderous axe and bulled his way forward. With him was another two hundred warriors, all in thick mail and full faced helms fringed in chain. The banner of the carrion bird fluttered overhead. “You and your Jom kindred-” the warlord's eyes peered over the small knot of enemy warriors stymieing the advance, “dislodge them.”

Sigvald the Bear's warriors shouldered through the tightly pressed throng with a gruff chortle like the rumble of rockslide in high mountain crags, “You can always count on me, Olaf.”

Soon enough, the lines parted enough to allow the Jom kindred full passage. There was no more than fifteen paces between them, and within that gap was dozens of bodies, blood running in criss-cross streams mingled with churned up sand. Two or three crawling figures tried to right themselves but did little more than inch back towards their respective lines. Trampled armour, sodden cloth, and splintered spears littered the ground between the hosts. A steady line of shields on one side, like rocks ready to withstand the tide. On the other was the hefted great-axes in abundance behind their barrier of mail.

A growl emanated from Sigvald the Bear's chest like a hollow tomb, “Juodaaaaan!” the rest of his brotherhood picked up the cry at one and closed that miniscule gap. Their terrible axes stretched high overhead, they led the rest of the Lion's host forward with an earth shattering clamour as they crashed against their foe. Biting blades chewed off limbs with contemptuous ease, splitting mail, and shattering spear shafts at every stroke. Shields flared up to protect the host, but the thin-bladed war axes slammed fast into them, letting them to be yanked from numbed hands. Protection gone, the great sea-folk warriors barrelled into the midst of the shattering formation as, for the first time, the Angles wavered.

Author's Note

Aaaalright, lets see. First of all no, the choice for 'troll' has nothing to do with net culture, and I ain't trolling either. It's just that the IDW comics really make their single troll out to be the most visibly familiar humanoid shape in the series so far and Fluttershy has an attached line saying that her books said trolls were smaller than what was portrayed. So, I just sort of put two-and-two together. Besides, I kind of like the idea of the humanesque Saddle Arabian nomads around without humans being an actual 'thing' in Equestria. Might even do a spin off thing for that later on.

Anyhow, y'all take care now and see ya' next time, eh?

Act 1- Chapter 6: First to Press

First to Press

Proofread by TehSporkBandit

The jaunt from Sweet Apple Acres to Ponyville had never been anything but normal. It gave you time to wind down from the arduous chores of rural life. Each and every day had a short trek that you could look forward to. Some days it led the mind to simply forget and the body let go of the twinges of pain brought on by sore muscles or minor scrapes, but other times it led to musings bordering on the philosophical.

Freshly showered and groomed, you leave the farm behind and walk that dusty road into town that led right along the property line. The open fields of grass swayed to and fro like rippling waves in the autumn breeze. Branches overhung the property line and provided a dappled shade against the heat of the day. Even the rustic split rail fence, bleached white from the sun, added to that antiquated feel of agrarian bliss. Small heaps of stones were piled up along the was yours now, thanks to the marvels of having hands in a hoofed society. You passed by the apple copses, the boughs bending under their bountiful burden when other trees were already showing the colours of autumn. The leaves that were left danced and mixed in great plumes of orange, yellows, and reds amongst the few remaining verdant scales that rustled in the wind. All of it was put on display while walking that winding path towards the footbridge into that peaceful town.

The change in scenery, the change in lifestyle on the whole, hadn't been a terrible one. Of course, it would take you a whole of three or four minutes to get to town by car whereas the walk would be closer to an hour. That was a bit of a drag, but it left a lot more time for these reflective moments. Things were just speeding up around the farm which left you tired from the exertion. It was only half a day, though Applejack had said if they really needed they'd try to work that requirement out with your other employer. The same employer you were heading over to see at that very moment.

Your new friends had done their best to ensure that you had a practical appreciation for Ponyville and, in return, you had a fairly respectable degree of warmth, freedom, and good standing in town. Good will and trust weren't going to evaporate at the slightest provocation, so it was a safety net. They had all taken a chance on you, even if they had been made to by one or more of the princesses. Twilight had been vocal in her support for you, Mayor Mare had done the same in a first day announcements, even Pinkie Pie's 'welcome to Ponyville' party was opulent by your standard and yet, as you found out later, subdued by request. Twilight thought a mix of 'welcome to Ponyville/take you to our leader/avoid a great pony war/silly hat day' would have been excessive. You had made a good impression, but how long would that last if they weren’t here or if they changed their opinion of you.

Familiarity breeds contempt.

You trod upon that winding road, under the distended boughs of older elms and oaks, inching ever closer to the west bridge of the sleepy town.

♣

“Welcome to the Carousel boutique, where everything is- oh, morning, darling.” You are greeted first by the chime of the brass bell over the door and then by that elegant voice. However, that refined tone was tinged with something else, something you couldn't quite place. It was more than just tiredness.

Rarity was looming over one of the clothes horses next to a ponnequin, trying to match bolts of fabric and a strip of bows to a shockingly gaudy dress. Flounced sleeves embroidered in silver thread while emeralds studded the collar with filigree connecting each like a spider's web. The cuffs, collar, waistband, even the hem of ruffles near the feet were festooned in red ribbons to match the velvet strips sewn on. You were afraid to disturb her as she stares at the garment intently through her pair of thick-rimmed red glasses, pencil behind her ear and cloth measuring tape across her back.

Dusting off your coat and folding it, you had a small corner in the shadows behind the sewing machine used for swift alterations on the floor. You tried on a bright grin, hoping those sneaking suspicions that something was wrong were unfounded. Rarity didn't even glance back.

Over the course of the last week you had lost some of your novelty to her. Rarity was still as pleasant as ever, and certainly a pleasant boss, but it hadn't taken long to figure out that she had both fixations and many little passing fancies. It should have been insulting but she was tremendously good at putting ponies off, poor Spike knew that too well. You couldn't be sure you hadn't fallen under her thrall in a different way.

Crossing that gap, the elegant cream coated Unicorn finally glanced up from what looked like a proper creative fugue. Miss Rarity was tired, but you hadn't realized how much so until seeing her for yourself. Her prim and proper mane was frazzled, with small sprigs of regal indigo hair jutting out here and there. Worse yet, as you stare and try to force a more noticeable smile across your lips, she isn't wearing mascara like she usually does; yet the dark edges around her eyes persisted like bruises. At first it looked like she may have been struck, causing a small surge of fear to course through you. Taking a few swift strides towards her, she blinked, barely registering your movement.

“A-afternoon, Miss Rarity. Are you okay?” if she was embarrassed to say something then that was bad. Thankfully she isn't a tremendous gifted liar so you'd pick up on it. Few in Ponyville were adept at deception.

The mare visibly blinked and gazed around before settling on the shrouded windows of her shop. They were well covered in velvet fabric of royal purple letting no other sunlight in which was disconcerting. 'Afternoon?' she mouthed to herself before a faint blue haze appeared by the braided draw cords at the window before the fabric was gathered and pulled back.

The rays of sunlight that lanced in were cheery and pleasant. The blue haze dissipated like a dusting of craft sparkles with a sharp gasp, “Miss Rarity?”

“Hmm, yes, Rightly? Oh, afternoon, of course!” she squints against the light, though it was neither particularly harsh nor bright.

“Oh… sorry, I had something on my mind. Hmm, never mind, it couldn’t have been important.” Nothing, not so much as a blink or incredulous raised brow. No, she just nods in total fence line, each having been uncovered by the plough and pulled from the fields. That chore understanding. Rarity could be every bit as stubborn as Applejack, but she was fairly perceptive. Today she had all the awareness of a bag of mulch.

As Rarity’s pack mule you'd spent a few late nights here completing orders and watching her fret about niggling worries. There had to be a way to break that fugue-like state, “So, Rarity…” you begin, easing away from the selling floor and into the back where you knew there to be a kitchen, “what have you been up to all morning?”

“Oh, not a great deal, just working on a few more saddles for winter and some scarves, it will be getting awful chilly in a few days. Winter can be utterly dreadful, but, it means more time with friends and family.” She seems entranced, though that might have been the exhaustion that was settling in on her.

“Aaand you're working on what right now?” The uncluttered kitchen made finding particular objects easy. You set the burner alight before filling the kettle and relaxing against the countertop.

“Oh, didn't I say? It's a dress for Scarlet O'Hair in Baltimare.” there is faint rattle and sound of something rolling, “Oh, for pony's sake.” she mutters, on edge and unamused.

“So-” you rapidly change the topic, “staying put with a nice warm fire, some good food, and your friends this year for Hearth’s Warming?” A quiet murmur confirmed that it is indeed what she was thinking. “Well, that will be a nice change. And are there a lot of events planned?”

“Absolutely, there's a pageant at the school-house. Oh, I suppose you weren't around last year, were you? Oh silly me, of course you weren’t here. We-that is, my friends and I, were in the Canterlot pageant. It was marvellous, I played Princess Platinum, and quite well if I do say so myself.” A prideful flounce in her voice said it was both a great honour and something quite worth mentioning. Not that you had the faintest idea what she was talking about.

Alright: the kettle's on the stove, the tea is in the strainer, the cup is on the counter.

You had everything ready. Keeping her talking wasn't too difficult, “So, Miss Rarity, is winter a busy season for y-us?” you quickly correct your mistake.

“Oh, I shouldn't think it would be tremendously different. On one hoof it starts off busier because everyone wants to keep warm, those that still want or need clothing for balls and various social events still order, the world doesn't stop just because it starts to snow, after all. But there is less walk-in business for us, dear. I would still expect you to be quite useful in the occasional delivery and helping with repairs and alterations for the younger fillies and colts who have outgrown some of their old clothing. But what we will be getting is some orders for the Hearth’s Warming pageant costumes. I do so love it...” she sighs dramatically as the sewing machine starts its mad chatter, “proper saddles, cloaks, robes, hoods, bosal hackamores… caparisons! Oh my, caparisons. I always wondered why such an item would go out of style, so many colours and so many potential wonderful cuts and fits. It's so beguiling, It doesn't deserve to hung up like a mouldy curtain on a bare wall. It would be a true test of a fashionista to make one positively glamorous caparison without being gaudy.”

“And we wouldn't want that.” you keep her talking as the kettle starts to pop from heat expansion, it wouldn't be too long. In the meantime, you keep your employer talking until the chamomile tea settles her.

“Oh, of course not, better to be under-dressed than overdressed if it's hideous. One can be excused for, qu'est-ce que c'est… ah, minimalism! Minimalism can be proper, and admirable, and exist outside of chic. Gaudy exists in ignorance of it while trying so hard to attain the proper status.” Rarity seems quite certain of her assertion.

“Like Applejack?” You venture as she seems like a paragon of the “minimalist” practical mode.

“Well…“ the pause gives way to a deflating sigh, “to a degree. Though, it's not on purpose, I assure you. She wouldn't know ‘le monde à la haut couture’ if it slapped her on the flank and washed that grubby hat of hers.” the mare grumbles a bit more.

“That seems a little harsh.” Unease creeps in as it seems to be winding her up rather than relaxing her. Biting your lip hard enough for it to hurt, your regret was already winding its way through your brain well after your mouth had decided to take over.

“Harsh? Perhaps some, but it's just so frustrating. It's not like she's beyond hope of being a proper socialite. Did you know that she has a closet full of perfectly respectable clothing? I've made her Celestia knows how many dresses, saddles, hoof slips, hackamores, everything I could think of. I even made her several hats… she might wear them once, once! Then it's as if they've become so passe that they aren't worthwhile to even take off the shelves again.” The proprietress’s voice warbles and crackles for a moment.

The kettle starts to rattle and whirl before screeching at you, causing your hackles to raise as you've been more interested in what the Unicorn had to say. You add the smallest amount of sugar and milk to the boiling water, wait for a few moments, and try to ignore the racked sniff and unsteady chortle which carries in from the adjacent room. “I want to think it's just me, that I have no idea how to appeal to my friend's tastes and that I don't and can't understand them. Maybe I don't, but she even has hand-me-downs from her mother. She wasn't suave or sophisticated, but that didn't make her any less pleasant or charming either. Even she knew how to make an impression where as Applejack is inept.”

You carry the tea and a small matching saucer into the other room carefully, keeping your footsteps quiet across the tile with your head down, hoping not to trip on the divot between tile and the almost non-existent carpeting. The Unicorn was still at her sewing machine, those small reading glasses perched on her muzzle, but she just sort of stared at the unstitched red dress facing. Edging closer in as quiet of a manner as you can conjure, it's not hard to see the unfocused thousand-yard stare in her eyes.

Placing the saucer down, the Unicorn blinks to refocus herself. A small smile draws across her face, “You have magic in your own way, it seems. Thank you ever so much, dear.” That pleased expression remains on her features as she sips not-so daintily from the tea-cup. Her aloof composure slowly returns after the second sip but her eyelids are drooping.

“Vous êtes les bienvenus.” It was an expression, in fact it was just a statement in general that you weren't all that comfortable about. Applejack hadn't even once mentioned her parents, but Rarity did. Was that breaking confidence, or just being informative? She'd oh-so-suddenly put you in an awkward and somewhat precarious spot.

Thankfully, the chamomile seemed to be working as the Unicorn desperately tried to stifle a yawn and failed miserably. Lifting a hoof to her mouth to half conceal it, the gesture wasn't enough. “Oh my, I suppose I am a little tired… but that doesn't excuse me from any of my duties.” she tries to perk up in a hurry, wiggling in her seat and adjusting her glasses, but it is an exercise in futility.

The yawn catches up with you as you try to cover the same involuntary exhalation as well. It miserably fails with a sound not unlike a whimper. The Unicorn finally seems to just stand up straight after almost dozing against the preparation table that the sewing machine was placed on.

This time you cut in before she could get out what she wanted to say, “I'll handle the hemming and getting the rest of this cuff and those scarves-” you flick your hand at the neatly cut bundles of material waiting to be properly stitched, “finished before the end of the day. It shouldn't be too difficult and I shall call the very instant a customer pays us a visit. Don't worry, everything is quite safe with me.” You can handle it, it is just sewing. She'd shown you a few times before how to do the base alterations on clothing. In a week on the job you'd done perfectly well, fingers were an obvious asset.

“Thank you, Rightly, you're a dear. I'm afraid I didn't sleep too much sleep last night. Maybe I can now with such a strong handsome assistant around.” she didn't admit defeat easily, but no one could say that she won’t eventually do so with a certain amount of poise and grace. Pushing herself up from the table, she leans against you, one hoof to her barrel and the other tracing down the centre of your chest. All the while her wane smile and half-lidded eyes, tired as they were, regarded you in an enigmatic matter. The mare wasn't above tongue-tying flattery and mixed signals.

“I'll take the tea cup and clean up.” she'd worked through the night before, but this looked worse for some reason. Her tiredness didn't show self-satisfaction, accomplishment, it just drained her.

Taking the tea cup from the work table, you walk the proprietress to the foot of the curving staircase that leads up to her personal quarters. It was chivalrous, and Rarity adored those little things normally, but now it seemed to be a comfort that she dearly needed.

Why though? What she needs is some sort of dog not a knight.

You definitely keep that thought internalized. No bounce to her royal mane, head sunk low, a ponderous walk, even the steps seem like an obstacle as she takes them one at a time. You stay there, staring up with a smile until she was out of sight.

She had given you a look from the top of the stairs, part of it was worry, a conflicted expression, and something else that you couldn't quite place. A slight wrinkle of her brow, pursed lips, tight throat, and that awkward stiffness. It disappeared into an obligatory forced smile before the mare meandered back to her room.

The view had been awkward given the revealing angle, but ponies don't care and neither should you. At least, it's what you told yourself, but it wasn't what made you uncomfortable. Rarity's expression had been abnormal in that last glance before disappearing. Contemplation? No, it was something else. It came down to that mascara, those short batting eyelashes: something bothered her enough that some of her most basic universal rituals simply didn't kick in.

The teacup was quickly washed, dried, and put away “just so”, Rarity would be pleased. Really, the afternoon had gotten much more simple but you also did want to be quiet and give Rarity a chance to rest. This was abnormal for her, even in the realm of all the outright bizarre things ponies were capable of. It was no snit with Sweetie Belle, no mere 'mood' of her often pendulum creative spark, and no wailing lamentation for… well mostly fear mongering. This was different, and that last look she gave you looked like anxiety.

Shaking away some of the meandering thoughts you decide to start on the work that should keep you busy until the end of the day. Really, there isn't much to expect and you don't want to really do anything loud. Taking Rarity’s previous seat, you look at the pile of cloth strips that would have to become scarves. Picking up the first, you cast a glance around. Something did catch your attention after a moment, a crumpled sound at your feet near the rim of the wastebasket.

It really didn't look special at all, a newspaper. It was from Trottingham from the symbols you recognized. Checking the numerical dating system on the top right corner, it was from today. Unfolding it, the Trottingham Post was uncommon, but finding an issue so casually crumpled up on the selling room floor was unheard of. To say your employer was a neat freak everywhere but her inspiration room was an understatement, trash on the floor was enough to send her into a fit.

Right there, in black and white, was a picture you hadn't seen since you stumbled into Equestria: uniformed officers surrounding an amorphous shape vaguely covered by a blank sheet in the middle of a field. Squinting, you tried your best to make out the unfamiliar Equestrian script:

One …… ……: Unicorn …… on the ……!

You gave up in a few short seconds and inspected the monochromatic picture. It was blurry and dotted from an old camera, but that didn't hide the expressions of sickness and devastation on the faces of the Equestrians crowding around the shell-shocked and tense faces of the nearby Constabulary. Each looked on from outside the barrier of tape at that blank sheet. Behind it, smeared on a wall, was far more uncomfortably familiar looking characters:

Befæsten fífirúnwitan ic ánþing gebannum
fífincundnessa ond bréosthord
gebrogdene fífigéosceaftas bótum ætstalas
hwonne áne ácordaþ, sy ácumendlicnessa
Féower

You try to focus on your work, occupying your mind with thoughts of clothing and requirements. Slowly, and not without a great deal of discomfort, do you slip into a rhythmic stupor while tending the chattering sewing machine.

♣♣

The sweeping chop of blades and raking scratch of metal-on-metal rose as a great clamour. To see more than ten feet in any direction would have been miraculous for the hordes of warriors on the banks of the brackish river. The same waters turned a muddy sanguine shade in the mid-morning light. Heat beat down relentlessly, drawing up the putrid scent of offal and sweat as death reaped its terrible toll.

Just another rankled scream amidst that tumult wouldn't have mattered, nor would it have even drawn a lofted brow had it been from any other. The whinny of horses echoed, a body struck the blood soaked field with a wet squelch. The man's face was paper white, blood pouring from his nose to stain bright locks of white as his mailed hand dug into the dirt. It carved furrows through the soft earth while his other arm hung loosely at his side, split wide open above the elbow in a twisted mass of sheared off metal rings and torn fabric.

“Bright-Courage, this could have been avoided.” The imperious tone rang out as a foot struck the tall man in the back, driving him down to the ground again.

The Angle’s lord clenched his teeth and glanced back at the mocking raider. Amidst the hellish halo was the sweat stained face of the great Northern Lion. “Take your gold and leave you heathen whore-monger.” Byrhtnoth defiantly spat with contempt.

The sun was entirely obscured for a moment, a great hulking brute shouldering a dripping axe stared from behind his lord. “You're being too lenient with him, Olaf.” Though his face was covered in a mask of mail, the bull-like snort and slow reedy growl was evidence of a barbaric smile forming. “Should the great red bird soar? I think it should.” He reached down, grasping the fallen warrior's wounded arm and wrenching it viciously.

The scream passed in moments, the man fainted when his wound was twisted open. Pinning the man to the ground with a foot against the small of his back, the great axe was lifted high in the air poised for a final bloody strike. A restraining hand grasped the haft, “Sigvald, curb your blood lust for a moment.” It was a sharp, snorted command. Olaf, Lion of the North, looked past the bridge of his helmet as the massive warrior tensed his muscles beneath his thick armour, as if straining to keep such a command. “I have a vested interest in making sure he keeps his lungs inside his chest so he has breath to tell me what I need to know.”

Tacit approval was granted as Sigvald, Jarl of the Joms, eyed the fallen opponent one last time and grunted. “I'll take fifty and smash what's left of the resistance of the rearguard.” It got an approving nod from Olaf.

Through the rush and press of bodies, the green cloaked shield thane kept his own shield held overhead. Two barbed shafts were lodged near the dented shield boss. Ulf, bearer of the Raven standard, pulled him closer as the shield thane nodded his approval. “My lord they're…” Kolbjorn's breath faltered as he held up a hand in apology. Another deep gasp had him start again, “Apologies. They put up stiff resistance in the vanguard, but the right is ours.” He was cheery despite the warble in his voice; it was a tone of reserved jubilation.

Ulf smiled beneath his helm and nodded to support the shield thane's assertion, “It's true, my lord. See!” He pointed a hand axe towards the figure of a score of horses and riders galloping away from behind the enemy formation. Even now, the resistance, that once indomitable press of men and iron, was easing. Where once had been a lock of shoving feet was now a steady tramp around them as valorous warriors surged forward to bring their arms to bear against the yielding foe. The Angles were being thrown back.

The banner thane looked at the fallen form of the Angle’s leader who was slowly rousing from the horrid pain. “Bind his wounds, Kolbjorn. Ulf, next to me… I want Bright-Courage awake and aware.” Olaf commanded.

Kolbjorn nodded and knelt down, looking in his belt for a looped water-skin. Pulling his spangenhelm off, he laid it down at his side. Long locks of platinum hair rolled down like a greasy mane, his long face streaked in grime and sweat, pooling in the hollows near his jaw. Blinking the stinging sweat from his eyes, he pulled the water skin free and held it out for the wounded man after uncorking it. Bright-Courage looked at the heathen raider who just shoved the water-skin forward in a coaxing motion to say 'drink.' The leader of the Angles did just that while the shield thane ripped a strip of cloth from his own robe to bind the man's wounds.

“Get him to his feet, Ulf.” the banner was seized from the thane's hands, held by the warlord himself who surveyed the field, still standing taller than those around him. Ulf brought the man up, helping the taller individual stand despite huffing from the heat of the mid-morning and that of his cumbersome equipment. The banner thane had been commanded, thus he obeyed.

The Lion of the North placed a hand Byrhtnoth 's good shoulder and pointed at the cavalry. “That's your horse, is it not? And one of your riders?” Ulf tried to blow a breath into his own eyes, sweat streaking down painfully. Kolbjorn suddenly seemed in an enviable position; the elder shield thane kept his titular name-sake up to protect his lord and the prisoner. “Look there.”

Sure enough, the hedge of spear points was flowing steadily away. Horses galloped, and banners flapped then fell as the bellowed growl of the Bear carried on the wind. At that sight the man known as Bright-Courage sighed deeply. His strength seemed to ebb all at once as he slumped against Ulf’s shoulder. The sea-folk had put their foe to flight, soon there would be nothing but scavengers, carrion birds, and corpses strewn over the fertile plain.

The firm voice of Olaf echoed in his ear, “All this could have been avoided, all I want is the icon of Theophilus. Do not pretend not to know and do not insult my intelligence. I will warn you, but only once.”

Byrhtnoth the Ealdorman, commander of the Saxon host, prisoner, sighed then let his head loll forward in defeat. Every straining effort to stay upright and aware showed upon his granite features, carved from stone like a defeated ancestor of yore. The ashen face and hollow voice once more took shape, though without the venom and verve of moments before, “The nearby town; promise it will be left standing, its people unmolested… then I'll take you to the Icon. Though, it's not going to be of any use to heathen hands.”

“We'll see."

Author's Note

Not much to say about this today, I kept the French to a minimum but it still seems like Rarity would be the sort to really latch on to a foreign language too. Even so, it's just about the bare phrases you'd probably pick up in additional to the usual fair of curses and the like.

Anyhow, y'all take care now and see ya' next time, eh?

Act 1- Chapter 7: Symbols and Signs

Symbols and Signs

Proofread by TehSporkBandit

After some resistance the door and lock yielded in a flurry of metal shards and shattered timber. A kick moments later sent the broken barrier swinging wildly on its hinges allowing the small retinue inside unhindered. Dust motes were kicked up from the fallen paneling and floated about in great swarms like the gnats now congregating in nearby fields.

Two thanes, a warlord, and the Angle Ealdorman, took a look around while the latter of the four nodded his head, weakly urging the others onward. “The mint…” Byrhtnoth panted heavily, eyes rolling back in his head before snapping out of his sudden torpor. “The mint wouldn't be burned, no one would, we were holding the reliquary until the cathedral was completed.” It was the banner thane that nodded first, it made some degree of sense. Bullion, whether gold or silver, was the target of raiders from across the seas and across the strait. Licking his lips, Ulf was still the supporting Byrhtnoth, and for it he'd had to surrender his charge of the Raven Banner. The clandestine quest had demanded it. More than that, his liege had demanded it.

“Which way?” The Northern Lord cast his eyes about in the dimness of the gallery attached to the local ruler's estate. Stone floors, solid oak timbers, racks of sackcloth, and fixtures for scribes were all presided over by hanging banners and carvings. Each was the same, a great white wyrm that decorated the interior with great ribbed buttresses and vaulted roof. A crooked finger pointed the way to a door sunk into hewn stone that was hidden in a silent corner of the room. The shield thane ventured forward trying to budge the solidly bound door. Like the last, it had thick iron banding and stout timbers. Kolbjorn shoved his shoulder against it with a grunting strain before the door slowly swung open with the grace of a ponderous giant.

“The stores of silver are the other way.” Byrhtnoth bobbed his head weakly to indicate a door on the opposite side of the hall. Kolbjorn threw his weight against the door again, bursting inside as the other three quickly followed into a room that looked like the quarters of a scribe. There were half a dozen pallet beds and wooden table accompanied by the smell of tallow that abounded amongst the musk of the old building. Wooden slats on the roof, mostly in place aside from a few spots, let the afternoon sunlight spill through in lancing shafts which settled on the floor like islands. A hearth stood near the back wall, though there seemed to be no other entrances to be seen. “There.” the man indicated the yawning maw of the soot stained hearth.

Looking incredulous for a moment, the shield thane warily inched forward, searching for unseen assailants. “is it wise to be in such a place without proper defence? Surely Sigvald-”

“Sigvald would raze the town, pillage this mint, and cleave his way through half the countryside. No, better to leave him in charge of pursuing the broken army and spare the people. They have more uses alive than dead.” The Nornier were kind to him that day; Olaf only held a hand up to cut him off verbally whereas other lords may have used an axe to silence a voice that second guessed them.

“By the- he's right.” Kolbjorn raked the charcoal and soot aside, soiling his emerald cloak. Straining hard, he ripped an iron gate aside and pulled up on a loop. A few creaks and groans followed before it, too, was forced open with a gasp like the tortured souls of the dead. The iron lattice was lifted allowing the small retinue to creep forward towards the yawning mouth.

“Kolbjorn, get a torch.” An aged copper plate shaped like a shield bore an elaborate crest of a mitre and keys. On its verdigris stained surface were engraved letters above the yawning chasm of darkness.

Summus Ponti iussu Benedicti VII. Hic ponitur secundum quod stat sub magistris lapides tueri. Sit reserare secreta occultari aut die usque ad diem iudicii. In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.

Olaf spoke quietly, translating the message as Ulf and his charge looked on, “‘By the order of his holiness pope Benedict the seventh. This place is given to its masters who are to safeguard what rests beneath these stones. May it be hidden until the day we unlock its secrets or until the day of judgement.’ I'm sure you can guess the rest.” The discomfort could be felt as the stillness of the grave presided over the musky chamber and the yawning void before them.

♣

“Rightly… Rightly!” the severe outburst catches you for a moment, but you blink the surprise away as you are practically face to face with a none-too-happy Twilight. Her bangs were neatly cut, her fur nearly flawless, but her bright amethyst eyes glowed with an irritation that you really didn't feel you deserved.

The main room of the library was filled with the usual array of charts and piles of books, written in Equestria's mad glyph-like myriad of weird letters and alphabets. The light cast from the chandelier was surprisingly bright, the chamber smelled of fresh resin polish which showed off a honey-glazed sheen almost thick enough to mistake for caramel on the floor, and the fuming alicorn was magically ripping down another large parchment page from an easel.

Stepping back with a sharp clatter she exhales sharply, enough to know she had been chewing on carrots like an infant teethed on a pacifier to, well, pacify her. That wasn't good, and by the way she sucked in breath she was about to tell you why. “You're spacing out again, haven't you been getting enough sleep? I keep telling you it's the most important developing requirement for fillies and colts next to a good meal. Or is your mind somewhere else entirely?”

Leaning back on the chair, it creaks a little bit, along with your writing hand and lower back from being hunched over a sewing machine for six hours. Then you'd been here for an additional one and a half. “Twilight,” you stretch and try to suppress a yawn, “it's a hard system. The Royal Cipher is in hieroglyphics-”

“Logograms. The Royal Cipher, pending on proper rotation and placement, also gives the proper tense.”

“Twilight, you're proving my point. It's tough. How does a lightning bolt mean 'profession' but a so-called backwards lightning bolt means trying?” Every stupid glyphs acted like a qubit: each time you line them up they can mean practically anything depending on their facing and that changes everything around it to mean something else. A few dozen symbols alone are supposed to interact.

And those symbols tell a story, which represents a concept!

Something started to catch and take hold in your mind as headmistress Sparkle’s voice reached your ears, “It means acting upon, or more colloquially, 'doing' something, always in action. That 'backward' logogram, as you called it, is the circumflex. It means 'to bend around', and denotes the past. If you have performed an action now, it is an action. If you had done something, it means you attempted an action.”

“So-” you quickly look around the room and spot a theatrical looking flyer tacked up on the wall, “you're saying that this lightning bolt, a swirl, and a pair of unicorns means 'peers are seeking' because it's acting upon a nebulous thing by a pair of equal individuals, whereas if the lightning bolt was the other way, it means 'peers sought'?”

You got a curt nod and a flashing grin, “Correct.” You couldn't help but beam in triumph. Everything was starting to come together. “Alright, let me see your hoofwriting.” she paces over towards you and circles like some sort of shark that feeds on paper and anguish. Looking at your roll of parchment, ink stained hands, and the quill responsibility for it, her smile disappeared. “Rightly, why is half of it backwards and broken up? Hoofwriting is a boustrophedonic script. The… Filly… Jumped. It's one sentence, so keep it written together. Like a river, thoughts shouldn't break in midstream without a rock. There.” she added a small dot which, you guessed, was some form of parenthesis.

“That, well, works, but what happens when you run out of ink?” you look at your blue stained hands and stick your tongue out in disgust. It smells weird, like paint and fish oil.

“And I see you were really trying to do just that. All you have to do is pick up right where you left off, just continue on the line, even if it bleeds a little bit, you'll learn quick enough.” Twilight's frown softens as a small, vaguely disappointed smile replaces it across her muzzle while her neck muscles ease some. Ears down and a quiet sigh complete the transformation.

Taking a few measured paces back, she nearly runs into the unicorn statue that looks oh-so-like the cipher's glyph for performer, or magician. Collecting her thoughts and turning her back on you for a moment, her wings tuck in tightly against her barrel. A slow trot sends her pacing around you, circling again, "I know it's a difficult transition when it comes from being fairly educated to almost completely illiterate. I want you to fit in and I want to make sure that no one teases you for it, Rightly. I'm doing my best.”

“Twilight, you're a great teacher. I'm, I'm just a little tired today. Rarity didn't sleep very well and work with Applejack is always tough. Plus, I missed lunch so I wasn't late at the Boutique so-” a hoof over your mouth quickly shuts you up. Twilight shakes her head as if barely refraining from scolding a wayward foal. Yet she somehow seems vaguely pleased with that smirk, rolling eyes, and slight tilt to her head. Almost anyone could tell exactly what she was thinking, 'incorrigible colt.'

“Then go on, we're done for the day. Head on back to Sweet Apple acres and we'll continue this lesson tomorrow. Don't forget meals again, the mind works best when the body is properly fed, so you be sure to take care of yourself.” Well, she might have been a little bit patronizing but at least it was affectionate. Slowly, she rolls up and binds the parchment on the easel before breaking it down and stacking your various impromptu example materials. Arranging Twilight's quills and ink pots, you carefully store each away before striding towards the door.

The diminutive dragon stood right next to it, purple scales matching smooth, eel-like skin. He looked a little strange, but flashing him a smile got you a jaded smirk, “Lemme' guess: ten days and you still aren't fully fluent in a foreign language?” He held out a silver basin with a floating yellow sea sponge.

"Yeah.” you shake your head and wash your hands off. The smell was strong so it could be pine or some sort of deet oil. Whatever it was, it makes the ink run off your skin as easily as it had blotted on.

The dragon chortles, “The nerve-” mock indignation and an exaggerated frown crease his face. “Yeah, Twilight can get a little demanding.”

“I can hear you, Spike.” echoes the princess's voice from the back as he grimaces.

“In a good way. Just like a proper tutor showing that rapt enthusiasm for a subject which she knows well, and can teach so well to others. You're so very lucky to have a teacher like Twilight, she’s the smartest pony in town.” The sickly sweet voice drips with honey as his cheeks glow a faint red. He was a damned good sweet-talker, every inflection was just a few degrees from sincere, which perhaps only the most cynical minds in Equestria could catch.

“Yes, yes, I am very lucky. She does her best; alas, what can be done for a master potter using such a pitiful lump of clay?” your voice rings out in a theatrical lilt borrowed heavily from both Spike and Rarity, and getting a notable snort and suppressed smirk from the dragon.

Shaking your head you look over and whisper, “Spike, what's boustrophedonic mean?”

That smirk still didn't go away, “Alright, you've seen Big Mac plough a field?”

“Well, no, but I'm aware of how it works.”

“Yeah, basically it's that. When you're writing you just write one line straight across, then at the end of the line, you drop down and start writing the other way.”

It makes sense as a description but why not as a concept?

You blink as he continued explaining, “It means you don't lose your place when you're reading and you don't have to waste time looking over a large chunk of paper, so it speeds everything up.” Is he a mind reader or did he just see that dumb look plastered on your face?

“Huh… thanks.” Now it made sense why Twilight said you were writing backwards when you were writing properly in the Cipher.

“Here, you don't want to forget your coat.” the dragon held up the garment, newspaper sticking out of the pocket. “Oh, picked up the Ponyville Express? Trying to earn extra points with her?” he winks.

You chortle and quickly throw on the coat, adjusting the collar while still talking to one of the few other non-ponies in town, “Nah, it's the Hoofington Post. Rarity tossed it out and didn't seem to happy with it, so I just cleaned it up out of the trash. If you like you can take it back to her, I just didn't want her to wake up and stress out about it. Hey, Spike?”

“Hmm?”

“Do me a favour, check on Rarity tomorrow morning. She's been acting a little, well, weird.” it wasn't hard to worry about her after that day.

You barely take a chance to take a breath before he starts nodding like a bobblehead, “Sure! 'Tis only my duty to help m'lady any way possible. Oh, and no need about the paper.” He tapps his claws together, a smirk once more sliding across his muzzle, fangs poking out from between his thin lips, “I've got an extra copy here from the train station this morning. That way we can both get in good with Rarity, you for taking away that vile distracting paper, or maybe she won't notice, of course, and if she suddenly needs it, then, why, I, the heroic Spike, might nobly sacrifice my copy for her.”

He’s a cagey little wretch, no question about that. Giving him the slightest bump on the shoulder you mumble, “You devious-devious drake.”

His chortle sounds pleased but almost conspiratorial, “Yeah, yeah, see you tomorrow.”

He waves as you shoot him a quick salute, like the tip of a hat before adding, “Good evening, and see you again tomorrow, Twilight.” even half bobbing to allow for some degree of proper respect to show for her effort. With that, you shut the door to the Golden Oaks library and feel the first cool breath of the evening autumn air.

♣♣

Meandering home gave rise to thoughts from the day. Many were pleasant, like remembering to toss Applebloom her packed lunch as she bolted out the door from the house; others were relaxing, such as the gentle beams of sunlight lancing down from scintillating clouds of silver whisked across that lambent horizon; and others still turned that glorious hue into pangs of anxiety and fear. The night brought such dreams, such thoughts, and such fears. It was awkward to talk about, so far you hadn't confronted anyone about them and the dreams never seemed to fade.

Equestria in the daytime was wonderful, bright, and joyous almost without exception. The moment the sun descended, your body and mind being engulfed in the shadowy realm of sleep, the intruding realms of nightmares descended on you like an unrelenting monster. It was a horrid experience to awaken physically refreshed but mentally rattled by the passage of events that wormed through your unguarded thoughts. They affected your fecund mind like a ravenous parasite and, unlike most dreams, they left traces of themselves that remained fresh and vivid.

…Maybe that particular comparison is best left to another time.

It seems obvious while glancing at the overburdened saddle pack bursting at the seams with a cornucopia of mixed fruits and vegetables. You have enough time to pick them up just as the last stalls in the market were closing.

That amble back towards Sweet Apple acres was serene starting right from the time the savoury aromas of the open air market greeted you from the library's front door. Passing that notable landmark among equals, you could even take a moment to stare at the produce cart with a striped canopy of green and white. It was collapsed and folded up with a single intricately carved bracket, a half-dozen empty or near empty barrels hung off the side.

Standing there at the edge of the market square, outside of the towering spire and wrapping balcony around city hall, you look over the world around you. The sun was starting to sink low in the sky and bathed the world in shimmering gold light. It settled over everything with its warm brilliance as the last rays twinkled in a final reprise. It might have been just the natural order on earth, but here, it was the painterly gifts of Celestia herself each and every day.

The curtain descended upon the lands of Equestria, heralding the inexorable ascent of night. Entwined fingers and feathered clouds stroked the distant valley floors and forest boughs in the quiet caress of the crepuscular hues of dusk. A sudden breeze sprung up from the east, bringing with it scents from across the bounties of the countryside. The quiet trill of the nightingale, a thin breath of the west wind, gentle hoofsteps over loose gravel: none could sully the ambiance of the rural town. All around you was the indescribable joy of peace, plenty, and prosperity in the most mundane of events.

“Ya just gonna stand there till ya' sprout er are ya’ comin' along?” A swift band of straw hued hair hisses past your nose, causing you to shy back from the bullwhip-like snap.

Turning quickly on your heel you were greeted by the grinning face of a familiar mare. Soft autumn hues of sunlight warmed the brown stetson sitting on her brow while her mane cascades down from underneath in a care-free mop. It was gathered and neatly tied with a crimson ribbon which seemed slightly formal for the otherwise natural look she presented. Applejack shoulders the burden of the harness and pulls the light vending cart with nary a sign of discomfort or effort.

"Hmm?" the mare playfully shunts the cart over enough to bump your hip with the wooden siding to set your feet in motion.

The laugh is sincere but infectious, “So what did ye get there, hmm?” She points with her nose towards the saddle bags slung over your shoulder as you both set off down Stirrup street and towards the western bridge.

“Oh, just a few odds and ends I picked up for dinner. Hope you like rutabaga.” It was better to look at the mare than down the street, the last crowning glimpse of the sun was gorgeous and all but staring into it or anywhere near it made tears spring to your eyes.

“Ooooh, now, got some recipe for a special somepony, hmm?” she winks. The blank expression of confusion was evident enough on your face, so it took only a second for her to really start laughing before explaining, “Sorry, sorry, guess a place like Saddle Arabia'd be too warm tah really get Equestria’s vittles, huh?”

“You… could say that.”

What is she getting at?

Calming herself with a bit of a sigh, the mare shakes her head, “Rutabaga, neep, makes a mighty fine soup for weddin's and servin' tah couples an' the like. See, it used tah be a winter food in Northern Equestria 'cause it kept well. Serve it with silage'n it's sayin' ya want 'em to stay the winter. So just sorta became a way to say ya want to spend time with somepony.” She looks over at you again and even gives your waist a friendly prod, “Betcha' got a good look from that'n, huh?”

Damn it.

Now that you thought about it there was a bit of an impish grin on Golden Harvest's face when you picked it up. The proprietress had smiled, waved, and in retrospect, seemed too happy about things. Now it was starting to make sense. A seething breath hissed through your teeth, "Yup.” It deserved a long sigh as you massage your temples.

Applejack's bubbling laugh gets you to wince a little more until she hits your waist with her hoof, “Ah'm just playin' witcha. No need tah get all pouty.”

The slow journey back towards the edge of town was pleasant, but Applejack could be a good conversationalist so long as work wasn't the focus. Cool wind rustles by you, a quiet breath, enough for you to ask, “How were things today?”

It was still bright, with the sun right on the horizon, giving Applejack an almost dreamy looking gaze you knew was just a squint with her hat down. It was almost a full five seconds before she actually spoke, “Quiet.” It was weird, the time around cider season was supposed to be filled with a flurry of harvest goods and fare as the best fruits and vegetables from across the region were at their peak.

“I'm surprised, but you seem to have made fairly well of it.” There was a jingling of golden bits from inside a cloth bag looped around her neck.

“Hmm? No, ah mean quiet-like. Ponies talkin' 'bout the Vanhoover thing or nothin'. Most of the time it's nothin'.” She meant physically quiet. It was hard to gauge, aside from a few quick deliveries and pick ups, but Rarity was really the talker and you were just some serf.

“I guess that's something. I mean, Rarity was in a weird mood today and fairly shaken up, too. Does she always get over-excited?”

It seems to have a real effect on her.

“Hooooh', you bet! Ain'tcha seen 'er like that?” she quirks a brow at you while a smug grin creeps across her muzzle.

A faint twitch of your mouth helps you think. Rarity was a Grade-A drama queen, true, but she hadn't been that haggard before. “Not really. Hysterics sure, but not sullen.”

“Sullen?” the mare's tone shifts from self-assurance to concern rather quickly.

“She does seem awfully dramatic. I mean, it's not nice and comforting by any stretch of the imagination, but it's not like she's being stalked or getting strange mysterious letters. I'm just really surprised she's worried. Sure, it's sad but nor…” the word died in your throat: normal. A quick gaze over at Applejack reflected a look of incredulity as she was bewildered that “normal” was about to crop up in a sentence with that subject.

Is death, intentional at least, something so foreign that it's treated as the true exception to the rule? Was it so different, so bewildering, and so bizarre as to actually warrant incredulity? No, this isn't Earth.

Such a thought was strange, such a thing was frightening, it was enough to kill a conversation completely.

“Ah didn't realize Saddle Arabia was so violent.” Applejack says through a certain stammer of surprise. What could you say after something like that without sounding callous? In the end, it was better to say nothing at all rather than further dampen the spirit of your friend and companion.

Applejack said something; her lips moved but you didn't catch it. “Hmm?”

You expected her to shrug it off but instead she spoke up, “I'm gonna' put this thing away then go check on 'er. Maybe fix up some vittles tah make sure she eats somethin'.” Once she had something on her mind, you could bet that it was going to get done.

“The least I can do is go with you, then.” It was offer that might be accepted.

“Nah, ain't no real reason why she'd talk to ya about that any more'n me. ‘Sides, I ain't there just to talk, Ah'll stop by the library an' ask Twilight. 'Tween us, we should be able to take the fear out'a her, too. Make sure there ain't anything else to it.” Stubborn, but still smart enough and experienced to know what she was talking about. A nod was really the only response that would fit.

“Sure is a nice way tah end fall ain't it?” Small talk, but the cowpony had let the previous subject go. It gets a nod from you again as you look over the gilded rooftops and sparkling silver sheeted boughs. She was right.

Glancing over at the mare, though, she is genuinely trying to make conversation, but worry was etched on her brow. Her forelocks draped over her eyes, but even at that moment, the sparkling emeralds were looking far into the horizon, as if sorting something out there rather than being next to you. The gears were almost visibly turning in her head and she was trying to be polite. With a breath, you steel yourself and realize her pace has quickened almost imperceptibly, the faint squeak from the wheel you were now next to, instead of the mare, confirmed it.

“AJ,” you start off, realizing you hadn't ever used her nickname before. In that same realization she blinks and looks right up at you. “Go. I'll take the cart and head back to the farm. If you're right and Rarity needs something then your friend comes first.”

“Y-you sure, Rightly?” Bright green eyes and a slight tick of hesitation as the waggon slows makes you almost wonder who 'Rightly' was. However, It was a sincere question as it was a genuine favour. That intent stare made a lump form in your throat, though. Trying to disarm that awkward lull you all but snort and laugh.

“Yep, get a move on, you don't need me to give you a swat to get you moving, hmm?” Cavalier and devil-may-care came out more strangled and awkward.

“Ah'm a mite grateful. Owe ya' one for that, too. Say ah'll be home by mornin', an' be sure tah mention it to Granny at least twice or she might not ah heard ya'.” Despite that awkwardness that made you want to flush at just how bad the attempt at making her feel better had been, she flashed a bright white-gold gleam before she began unhitching herself from the vice harness. A few quick snaps and adjustments have her out of the restraint and reaching for a satchel just in the back amongst the empty apple barrels. Smiling again, she waits only a few seconds as you slip in to shoulder the tough fibrous bindings and bid her farewell with an easy half-wave half-salute. She returns the gesture before galloping down an alleyway leaving nothing but a few firefly-like dust motes in her wake.

Well, if Applejack needed a helping hoof you'd lend her a hand and hope that sufficed. Picking up the slack in the wagon's lead, you grunt as you give it an experimental pull, and listen as it wearily groans forward at a painfully anemic pace. Over the course of no more than ten seconds this had gone from an altruistic gesture between friends, to a potential trip to Ponyville hospital for a hernia.

Author's Note

Not really a ton to say about this'n either. I had to cut it down more than 2,000 words but most I just spliced into the next chapter. Didn't realize how long it really was. Anyhow, just added a bit when it came to Equestria as most of the world building around languages tends to get little lamp-shaded at times.

Act 1- Chapter 8: Miasma

Miasma

Proofread by TehSporkBandit

Your bones ache, muscles protesting against the recent ordeal, and your legs are uncomfortably stiff. It was really just like any other normal day but far more noticeable as you could barely drag your carcass up the steps to the bathroom after wobbling in the front door. The journey home had taken five times longer than usual so you'd arrived well after dark.

One could say that the whole ordeal gave you an even greater appreciation for the stamina and raw power of an Earth Pony, and one might also say that you could be proud of helping a friend. Even as your conscience gave you a congratulatory pat on the back, you wanted to swat it away like a meddlesome mosquito for it's efforts.

And with that, you groan and scoop more warm water from the basin with a splash, then stoop down to look in the mirror at your reflection. The face that stared back was practically unrecognizable. You were far more gaunt and haggard than you remember. Even after dabbing your face with a hooftowel you were flush while dark bags were starting to show under your eyes.

Maybe curling up on the cold, smooth floor will help.

Once more, you replace the towels and leave the basin for anypony else that wanted it. An uncomfortable hiss escapes your lips, the first weary sigh before resting against the wall. It was a long day, a hard day, and now you weren't sure whether you wanted to eat or just curl up in bed and let everything pass you by. Applejack wouldn't be at dinner, but spurning food could be construed as an insult and slighting one’s hosts wasn't a good idea. It took a notable effort to reach out for the wall of the tub to fetch your glasses.

The pale green wallpaper and white lattice decoration seems to fade back into your mind as if recognizing all the little things around the room for the first time. Well, your mind wasn't screaming at you to ignore the world, leave the light on, and flop into your bed at the end of the hall. So that had to be some sort of sign. Twisting the dimmer for the lamp, you ponderously lumber out the door and down the hall. If somepony did come up those stairs, you might very well look like a haggard troll.

Down the hall, descending the steps, and turning left brings you into the kitchen and dining area. Catching the scent of food, your stomach doesn't rebel, which was probably about as much as you could have hope for. The kitchen itself is empty, a surprise at first until a glance in the adjacent dining room shows two resplendent faces you'd come to expect. The laconic giant and the wizened elder glance up from the table set for five with a half-dozen covered bowls in the middle of the table under small pot holders.

“Weeeell h'aint'cha the latest early bird'a the bunch?” she frowns and smacks her lips, shifting her false teeth in evident irritation.
“Apple Bloom's not home yet?” That was a shock, she was supposed to be back before nightfall.

“Ain't seen a lick'a 'er. She she's pro'lly off wit 'er lil' filly friends.”

“Hmm. Well, sorry, I…”

She's going to be in trouble when she gets in

You shake the errant thought away, “Applejack's staying with Rarity tonight. But she said she'd be back in the morning. It seemed something was wrong, so she went over to check and said she was going to bring Princess Twilight along.” You take your usual seat.

“Hmm, ah guess it'll 'ave ta keep.” she prods the extra plate.

"Y'pulled that cart on yer own from town?” Big mac's thundering baritone comes as a bit of a surprise.

“Eeyup.” You smirk at him, and for the first time you could really remember, he broke into a quiet chortle. His freckled face beaming as he nods his reply, ‘fair enough’.

Deciding not to let the almost unique opportunity pass, you strike up the easiest kind of conversation while reaching over to start serving out the food. “Well, it looks like everypony's had a busy enough day, so what were you up to today, then?” Usually, food was served right out of the pots, but they'd taken the time to put them in the floral pattern bowls to keep everything warm; helping out didn't seem too excessive.

“Undertillin'.” The giant says as he smiles while you dole out a potato and carrot mash to the eldest individual at the table. “Everythin' goes back in the ground. Can't take care of us if'n we ain't takin' care of it.”

“Well, that does seem worthwhile. Anything else that I missed, Granny Smith?” She holds out a hoof, that was enough of one course so you start with another.

“Well, nothin' all that big. Makin' preserves, 's down in the cellar.” the word 'moonshine' comes up which conjures a smirk.

“Usual things for me, nearly fell asleep in class.” It gets some sympathetic chortles from the pair as you ladle out summer vegetables for everpony including yourself before sitting down to survey the bright, hearty fare. Looking at a small orange dinner loaf, it smells like carrot. A bite into it says it certainly was exactly that, carrot bread. “Oh, I picked up some extra vegetables for supper but I got in later than I wanted. I'll bring them in after, so we can use them for breakfast. Which reminds me, what do you actually do with rutabaga?”

“Why, ah remember when ah was a filly that auntie Applesauce had a new beau an' we had some sweet 'tater an' neep pah. Hooooh, well, 'tween that an' the hootenanny later on it was a good ol' tahm.” The elderly mare says to the sound of scraping wood against the rim of an iron cauldron.

“That's terrific.” She still hasn't answered your question.

Her crackling voice seems to regard that with some measure of mirth, “Why? Lookin' ta get hitched is ya'? Ain't many o' yer kind roun' these parts but ah'm sure some adventurous mare'r stallion might take a shinin'. See here, ya can make it inter a real naice mash; whoop up a bit-er the lilies on the top'n add a holly and mistletoe garnish.” That sounds a little less appetizing considering mistletoe was poisonous. “Or is ya thinkin'a making it up fer a special somepony eh?”

“No, just, you know, curious. It kinda looks like a turnip. Tis always best to expand one's mind.” you adopt a regal bearing, hand resting on your breast, nose turned up, eyes hooded and almost closed with that wafted look of arrogant displeasure on your lips.

It lasts a second before the almost yodelling laughter from Granny Smith, “Ya', ya' look just like Filthy Rich when ya' do that, pretty good, preeeeetty good!” The scowl this time is far more sincere. Rich and his 'Barnyard Bargains' were a big-city feeling blight on a quaint little town like Ponyville. You still wanted to see if the legitimately big cities, like Las Pegasus, Trottingham, and Manechester, were all like you knew back on earth.

“Real mash 's a good old Hoover family recipe. Mah pah wan'ed ta get out an' see little ol' Dodge Junction. Which use ta be a little town a'fore the train line came in from Pawnee. Now, uncle Settler and 'is ol' friend mister Hoover were a nice couple'a ol' codjers and they tried their darndest through thick'n thin ta make it a reaaaal nice little town. Uncle Settler wouldn't 'ave any part of it, ‘course he wouldn’t a’ had much tah do with anythin’ as he could get ornery when it came tah anythin’ new unless it really caught ‘is ear. ‘Course, uncle Settler was practically all ears anyhow. Which was strange ‘cause he was nearly deaf as a post, but Ol’ Hoover could talk the hind leg off a donkey.” She keeps talking from the kitchen, bouncing from one train of thought to another like a tramp in the dirty thirties.

A quiet shift in your chair digs the rough timber into your lower back but the food promises to make up for it. There is some slightly crisped stuffing, a bread salad of sorts basted with garlic, onion, some light salts, apples, mushrooms, and some other stock before being crisped. The rich flavour is surprisingly good as you glance over at Big Mac.

Did he make it?

You still feel he is standoffish but today had been a step forward.

Was this supposed to be acceptance?

No, probably not yet, but it was a nice gesture; you were making progress and nod your thanks, which got a slightly brighter grin from the giant. Yep, that was his contribution. Although, now that dinner was started, it seems like it was time to eat not to talk. Pity.

Taking a seat right across from you, back to the wall, you can't help but actually take a few minutes to look around. The fire-fly lit lanterns hanging on pegs near the timbers cast enough light; from the spun white and green place mats, to the off-white porcelain plates and more finished look of the softwood table you had seen it plenty of times before. Green and blue striped wallpaper is still mostly stuck to its namesake, though edges are peeling here and there around wooden timbers. You could feel the coarseness of the brown carpeting through your newly donned and freshly darned socks; darning which wouldn’t have been necessary if ponies could feel the fabric snaring burrs left on wooden flooring.

Turning back to face the matriarch of the Apple family, you catch a glimpse of a fleeting shadow creeping through the living room opposite the kitchen. A small figure that wordlessly ekes by all but unnoticed and heads towards the steps. Had it not been for the shock of red hair, you'd have never seen the filly in the dark, as she disappears without a word. “Apple Bloom?” The slow ascent wasn't fugitive, nor furtive; there was no urgency in those faint groaning squeaks of protesting planks but there is also no reply. A door closed upstairs left a definite hush in its wake.

“What's got in 'er bonnet? Ah better be'a seein' ta 'er.” Granny Smith rises from the table, Big Mac soon after, though he gives you a conciliatory nod to both say 'continue' and 'it's alright'. After that, alone at an empty table, the mood was dispelled. Tiredness, discomfort, strained muscles, maybe it is just worth it to clean up and go to bed.

♣

Awake, again. The slow racking groan of tortured lumber twisted and tested by the wind replaced the slow tick of clocks and the to-and-fro noise of cars outside from your life before. It had been months but it still hadn't quite entered your head to how that kind of existence was. It is hard to say whether pensive thought, overtiredness, or just the general awkwardness at dinner, had been keeping you awake. Perhaps it was all of them that created the tumultuous soup that taxes your mind; or it may just be the lingering pangs of night.

Sure, you are in the same room that you have been staying in for quite some time, staring at the same wooden slats just aside from the green canopy of the bed, but things don't feel quite complete. AJ is still gone, Apple Bloom hasn't said a word to you or even Big Mac. He'd tried to talk to her, but after maybe five or six minutes he'd left her room and talked with Granny Smith as the pair huddled in the hall. Muffled voices of worry carry through the open hallways and partially shut door.

Snoopy.

That moniker might have stuck if they knew you were actually listening to them. As it was though, that same drive to know was born out of a conflicting mass of emotions that you were starting to realize as genuine concern.

Apple Bloom had been one of the first to open up to you. AJ had been both cordial and pleasant, even insisting on being friends instantly and even shaking a hoof after Twilight's rehearsed introduction speech. It was as if it were any other simple request that just aligned with what she'd already decided. But it was the youngest Apple that actually opened up to you. Now, she is the one sitting in the other room, and for the life of you, you can't bring yourself to heave your somewhat tired body up and over to knock on her door and ask her what was wrong.

Somehow, all of that felt wrong. There was something there, like a veil pulled over whatever had happened. Apple Bloom had always-always been more than simply polite: she had been cheery, inquisitive, and friendly. It had always felt like that was something that should be repaid, and you tried in courtesy, kindness, and attention. So why can't you get up? Why is the muted grey planks of wood, half hanging from old hinges, presenting such a horrid obstacle?

♣♣

The countryside air was still fresh, but applebucking had taken precedence when it came to the attentions of the day. Apples, apples, apples… you were sick and tired of the notion of apples, even if the damned things still tasted pretty good. It was a miracle that it was the case at all. Break time, well, almost work time at the boutique.

Windswept trees and gathering clouds heralded the coming storm. It crew in mighty roiling banks of pallid slate-grey on the horizon. It wasn't hard to see that the day, which had started in a bright and beautiful scarlet, was winding down. For those that worked outside it certainly was. A last tumultuous breeze shook the boughs of the orchards and rattled the leaves that stuck on the emaciated form of near skeletal trees.

Laying with your back to a shade-bearing oak, you stared up at your hands. They felt raw, and there were small white markings like rings. Hadn't an orange mare set you out to fix some straps and eyelets? That seemed about right. At that moment in the break you really didn't want to move too much, feeling the delightful windswept evaporation of sweat from your body while a loose shirt fluttered and billowed in the gentle breeze.

You could really use a Stetson like Applejack's. Where did she get that anyway? A traipsing clatter of hooves headed down the path which spanned the forest fringe. With it came voices, each one eliciting a smile.

“Ah told'je, ah told'je! Ain't been any less'n a dozen tahms before, sleuthin' ain't sleucin'.” A frustrated voice meandered through the orchard trees.

“Well it's what Twist said!” a quick almost mousey tone indignantly squeaked.

“Oh, c'mon Sweetie Belle, it's Twist! It's just how she talks, so it sounds the same!” The youngest Apple's voice came across surprisingly sharply.

“How are we supposed to know what she's saying if it sounds the same?” a deeper raspy tone acted as some sort of devil's advocate.

“You ain't a total dodo, Scoot.” Sometimes it was nice to hear names, the cutie mark gifs only helped half the time in Equestria.

“Don't be so sure…” Sweetie Belle muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.” The diminutive Unicorn sighed again.

Three fillies slowly walked down the dilapidated path. Old dried grass, rotted leaves from tumbling around loam, and what smelled like pine resin was thick in the air and matted on their coats. Finally you broke the silence, face contorting to a grin, “Sweetie, dear, you'll be a diva some day, and Rarity will be quite chuffed.” Rather than just heaving yourself up, you pressed back and levered yourself into a better seated position.

“Rahtly!” Her distinctive twang was rich and filled with a sense of expectation. Darting ahead of her little group she didn't even give you time to rise, backing you up against the tree. Muzzle to nose, bright amber eyes glossy, and that lingering odour of pine sent as thick on the air as it was on the pink bow and red locks.

“Thank goodness, uh, we soooorta need some help.” Her two companions trundled over at a slower pace.

“You know I have to be at Rarity's soon…” those fluttering gold eyes compelled the injunction, “so what did you need?”

The grin appeared, then disappeared a second later, “Zoologists was a bust, bust-makers was worse, sculptors, painters, candlestick makers, none of them led anywhere either-”

“I thought the last one would work for sure!” Sweetie Belle warbled while her ears flattened back.

“Nurse Redheart spent most'a the mornin' tryin' ta get them stingers outta' me cause y'all thought it'd be a good idea ta just try'n take bee’s wax from a hive!” Apple Bloom huffed and 'humphed' aloud.

“Yeah, well… they weren't usin' it, were they? Ever see a bee use a candle before?”

“Well…” Apple Bloom mused on Sweetie Belle's logical question, “no.”

Your blunt interruption to that line of thought was as quick as it was sure, “If you're supposed to be getting a cutie mark for finding that special talent, is changing everything you really do going to work?” You shrugged wide, now surrounded by the pack of fillies who weren’t much taller than you even while you sat down.

Instead of coming to some grand epiphany, they stared at you like you had a frog squatting on your forehead. “Uh… how will we know unless we try out what we haven't tried to learn what it might be that we should try to make us fit who we really are?” Sweetie Belle countered dryly. Two wordless 'duhs' practically sat barely unsaid on the other filly's lips.

“Ah think ya' just don't understand, Rahtly. Y'ain't got one.”

“How would you know that?” The purple maned pegasus lofted a brow.

Apple Bloom's half turn and waggle of a hoof was dismissive, “Saw 'em in the bath.”

Your eye twitched but you let that go. It must have been mistaken for sorrow as Sweetie Belle's face turned even more dour, hooded lids and a creased frown hove around her. It disappeared with a loud gasp, “You know, if you could get one you could totally be in our club! What's the harm in trying?” The bright-haired sister of your other daily employer offered.

“Yeah! Wouldn't hurt, neither, sorry y'ain't got no cutie mark given yer… how old are ya?” The pale straw coated filly stopped mid sentence, stroking her chin and blurting out without a single notion of 'privacy'.

The pause and smirk you gave them gave each of the three faces a ray of hope. “Older than you, don't worry about that.” The trio looked crestfallen at the infuriating answer. “So, again, Apple Bloom, what did you actually need?” You straighten up though they didn't take a single step back to give you breathing room.

“If you could get one, we'd try to help you, too.” The three chimed in at once, “We're the Cutie Mark Crusaders!” It was a strange proclamation but they said it at once and firmly seemed to believe it.

“We can even make you honorary member if you like. You might not get a cutie mark, but that doesn't mean you can't find your special talent!” Sweetie Belle called out, the second last syllable ratcheted up with a raking squeak that made your ears hurt and left eye flick. An affirmative pair of 'yeahs!' echoed out as they looked in your direction with jubilant expectation.

You just smiled seeing that warm expression on their faces. A quick grumble, clearing your throat, allowed you to finally reply. “I appreciate that, too, but it's not exactly the same I guess. So what did you need?”

“D'ya know how ta pan'fer?” Apple Bloom's bright eyes lit up.

“What's a panfer?” You look at them suspiciously.

“Uh, fer gold…” The accompanying 'duh' practically spoke itself into existence.

Scratching a small itch just above your ear you thought about it and sighed, “I'd have to talk to Applejack about taking off a bit early.”

“She c'n manage it!” Apple Bloom grinned as bright as the blasted sun.

“And Rarity might be a little upset if I'm late…” you continue, the fillies were fine sloughing off work.

“Oh,” Sweetie Belle showed the same blinding white-toothed grin as her red-maned companion. “she's off with Fluttershy at the spa, it’s that day of the week so the boutique is closed up for a long lunch.”

You were rapidly running out of excuses. “I… well, we don't have any pans either-”

“We do at the club house.” There was a question of why, of course, but that didn’t stop Scootaloo, “Now we need to have you officially sworn in according to the creed and code of the Cutie Mark Crusaders charter.” She flapped her wings which sounded kind of like a hummingbird’s rapid flicker. She looks rather proud of that, nose tilted up and all.

“… Well, alright then. But the moment it starts raining, or any lightning, we're out of there. Right?” They all nod as it seemed they got exactly what they wanted. The grey clouds were starting to roll in though, turning the skies overcast. The small dapples of light that fell through the opened canopy of the orchard were slowly swallowed up and as the world seemed to still itself.

Following the trio, they talked aloud about their grand plans, stopping only long enough to make sure you were keeping up. It probably wouldn't last too long, but with so little time in Equestria it was nice to have friends regardless of the-

Rain is starting to fall, small blots of eldritch rain pattering down from the sky leaving trails of sulphur and brimstone. “Apple Bloom?” They keep walking, “Apple Bloom, come on, I-” a small droplet splatters down onto your forearm, but it feels dry rather than wet.

Looking at your outstretched arm there was a small perfectly circular hole. It's as if the raindrop bored right through your flesh without so much as a hiss. It left smoke, a growing eldritch rift that not only tore through skin and bone but through the air, showing nothing but a black band. More droplets of rain, even hail, streak down from the heavens like meteors.

A light sizzling thump echoes now and then, but even as you watch the fillies depart for their clubhouse, you feel the world torn away in strips no wider than a pencil, though the very air yields to the ethereal rain which is tearing reality asunder and leaving an empty void in its wake.

It comes back; formed from the errant wisps of immaterial smoke that snake from the deepest abyssal pits. Motes of dust danced in the ether, no land, no air, nothing but blackness. With a lingering torpor those scintillating motes congeal, suspended like starlight. Coaxed from their slumber, the clusters started to move and churn, circling the violaceous vortex like the great galactic arms. A cyclone slowly forms with faint glimpses of a faded light and rasping stone. A light re-emerged, and slowly, the dust settled to unmask the unfamiliar pall. An indeterminable shiver coursed through your disembodied soul… Something’s wrong… very wrong…

Footsteps echoed in the enclosed chambers and the incandescent glow licked rough hewn stone and well set timbers. There was no low groans of protest, no falling earth that would warn of a cave in that might befall them. This was no mine shaft, the vaulted roofs gave the party just enough space to pass under without stooping. Another bend to the right, a slow curl down, it was hard to tell just how far under the surface the party was now, but four souls ventured deeper. The breath of stale air reeked, sulphur built up with every breath, and the torch kept lit seemingly by the will of its bearer alone.

“My lord…” Kolbjorn's voice echoed loudly before slowly disappearing. It wasn't hard to see what the worry was from the first man in the group. He gestured forward with his hand axe, torch held up beside him to reveal the widening hall. Vaulted pillars split the passageway left and right, but right in front of them was an alcove carved into the pillar, a 'cruciform skeleton hung entombed within the limestone. Sun bleached bones as dry as tinder hung splayed out, a skull leering down with empty sockets at them. On its brow were carved two lines in rough lettering:

Carnifex possit, Si erit Custos

A ragged, pained voice whispered out in the fire touched hallway, “The demon slayer, eternal guardian.” Byrhtnoth grumbled openly.

“No.” Olaf said, holding up two fingers for silence. “Not quite. The executioner of the demon, now its eternal warden.” His angular face turned back to those behind. Bright blond hair and curled beard, hard eyes peered into the depths of the divided hallway.

It was Ulf who voiced the unasked question, “What is the difference my lord?”

“Maybe nothing. Maybe.” Once more they proceeded down the hallway. The great Northern lord silently gliding down the left hand side, sword in hand, eyes keen and darting to and fro like a natural predator. Ulf remained behind his lord, protecting his back, keeping the Saxon lord upright as his feet were slowly giving out and scraping the stone floor. The faint swish of chain was from Kolbjorn, holding the torch, and occupying the right as alcove after alcove passed.

The shield thane whispered quietly, “My lord, this is no hallway, it's a crypt.” A catacomb, bodies interred in slots, cemented in limestone and carved in Latin, or in Saxon. Dozens then scores of bodies were interred within the tombs that they passed by. The sulphur stink still hung thick on the putrid air. The light stopped, revealing the aged planks of an iron banded door in the distance. Torch light licked off of deep scars and carvings in the wood, etched marks, charms; from five point stars to byzantine crosses; but one, right at the centre dominated it all. Nine letters; from top to bottom ran CSSML, and intersecting it NDSMD. Below it was script, cut shallow and starting to slowly vanish as the wood wore away.

Olaf approached, and with a single breath, brushed the dust of ages from the shallow grooves. His eyes narrowed. “Light.” he ordered, and Kolbjorn approached. Ulf looked back at the crypts, less they be draugr that would rise from their stony embrace.

“What does that mean?” Ulf asked and pointed to the strange markings. When no answer was forthcoming, his voice turned closer to panic, “What does that mean my lord?” the great Lion of the North's hand gripped his shoulder like a vice.

“Ulf…” the great baritone voice said as clear as day. “Not another word.” The thane gulped down the rising tide of discomfort before the door. Olaf looked at it again, then threw his shoulder against the wooden portal which shunted aside with a breath of staleness as the torch guttered.

A few moments passed, wordless, soundless aside from the quiet murmur of the flame. Etched shadows crept in far corners, cobwebs hung from vaulted ceilings upon crests ten feet up. Symbols of the golden sun, a glazed moon, all shrouded as an aura of neglect hung over the round chamber. The stone floors sent up a flurry of dust as thick as soot from a fireplace at every step. Swaths of fetid cloth hung from the walls, wall sconces and metal braziers lay bare, lime washed walls and frescoes on the ceiling were chipped and faded as to be entirely unrecognizable. A single door loomed up in front of them, and on it was a carving of a five point star.

Daemonum est haec manet

Olaf's face went pale white. “Where have you led us Byrhtnoth? This is the lair of a demon-" he turned on his heel and grasped the man by his mail shirt, "The Icon, where is the Icon of Theophilus!”

“It's here…” replied the Saxon noble feebly just as his eyes began to roll backwards.

“My Lord!” Ulf said with apparent alarm, feeling the man's grasp start to dwindle. Shaking him gently, blood pattered down from his ruined arm to the floor. He shook, convulsing weakly as Ulf's nails bit into his clothing. The man finally held still with a last rasping rattle of breath.

Author's Note

In case anyone wanted to know, the writing is from the Saint Benedict medallion and meant to act as a ward against evil.

Anyhow, y'all take care now and see ya' next time, eh?

Act 1- Chapter 9: Offering and Offending

Offering and Offending

Proofread by TehSporkBandit

A serene hush fell over the barrows, one more soul departed while its mortal form lay in an ignoble heap. There was no elation, no mourning, merely the silent pall of the dead that latched on to the minds of the livings amidst the eerie torch glow. The thick oak and iron door was still covered in deeply carved sigils.

“Wards.” Kolbjorn's voice was cut short, choked with equal amounts of dread and discomfort.

“Warnings as well.” Olaf had recovered his deep calm and silenced any opposition among his thanes. Yet in the depths of the undercroft, hidden and secreted away from the rest of the world, they could all disappear without a single sign.

Ulf stayed back from the door, back turning to it as he looked at the gloomy corners of the room, peering over the body of Byrhtnoth. A faint 'click' had him turn suddenly, axe raised at the sound of the door opening with a languid groan.

Kolbjorn's shield still hung from his back, though he shrugged it more to one side and kept the torch raised up. The shield thane slipped in first, plunging the room he left in darkness. Olaf slipped in next while Ulf wasted no time in darting inside seconds later.

“Dear Gods…” There was no deep demonic growls, no lingering presence of the malicious fey, no horrid trickery or vicious serpent, it was peaceful. A room, not so different from the others, greeted them. The air was thick with dust, but the scent of sulphur was far more subdued than in the hallway or the chamber outside. The walls were covered, either in paintings or tapestries that were just as aged as those they had uncovered not moments before. There were small tables here and there, cushions, some straw-packed likenesses of heads initially taken as trophy skulls of fallen foes. Five such facsimile heads were arrayed before them. On inspection, two of them held something more beneath the blanket of neglect; it was enough to make the heart race. A pillager would have been senseless seeing baubles of gold and gems of bright blue laced on bangles and decorating crowns of interwoven gold leaves. But that wasn't what attracted the most attention at a glance.

Stretched across the room, cutting it down the middle, was a single great veil. It was white, once upon a time and translucent as a silent river. Now the ghostly fabric was stained grey with the heavy aura of the ages and dull as smoke. It stood as a barrier, a ruined masterpiece of gossamer threads, woven by the gods and put in place as if to differentiate their realm from that of man. The pair of thanes stood in awe of the temple like mystique, looking at carvings of a great sun and moon, etched with filigree of the most precious metals and carved from fragrant acacia. But the warlord stood transfixed; the Lion had been muted, staring through the massy veil at what could be vaguely seen as steps just beyond the curtain.

Olaf strode forward, heedless of the sanctuary that such a veil might offer. “M'lo…” Ulf’s voice trailed off as he took a single step forward before being interrupted. Olaf swept his sword in a single slash, ripping a great rent in the fabric which was shorn away in a great loose strip. It sloughed down from the touch, the burden of the cloth's wound tugging on the clean cut edges that slowly pulled itself apart. The mighty warlord, sword in hand, stood before the tear and drew a rattled breath. The two peers followed suit and gingerly approached the great rent.

Up five broad steps, each one growing progressively wider, was a great plinth. It was covered in script from a dozen different languages, spiralling up to a single lectern with a leather-bound manuscript and large brass bound chest. Walls on either side held murals and miniatures, great scenes of past glories now faded and subdued. The hidden monument of past glories sat relegated to ignomy as the dull claws of age ensnared it in its fold.

It was silent as a tomb and a tomb it was for so many. Olaf stumbled up the flight of steps, twisting and numbly walking as if possessed, seemingly entranced by the brass clasped chest. The sword dropped from his mailed hand as he reached out to grasp the unlocked latch. Kolbjorn scanned the room, seeing great carvings that leered towards that box. Heads of horses… no, heads of something that looked like horses. Stern carvings, manes to the side, horns twisting from their brows, and each ornamented and bedecked with finery as if the steeds of some great king of the sands.

Ulf gazed at the faded paintings, inching closer after his initial hesitation. “Is this your demon?” The banner thane 's voice was subdued as if afraid he could wake the dead from their slumber.

Paintings showed grand scenes of pastoral life and aged cities, one flowing seamlessly to the next, aside from the flourished etchings where the three walls met. Great feasts, and a humble man in grey habit, hands upraised dominated one central panel. His head was shaved, around him was a resplendent glow painted in flaked gold. Another stood beside him, all in white, but no aura was seen. Pouring over the details, he simply looked at the single, great scene in the middle that framed his own lord who clasped the chest to his breast. Behind him was a great white horse, wings unfurled, face lost amidst the peeled and chipped paint. Before the creature knelt the same habit clad man crowned in a nimbus of light, prostrate and humble.

“Demon or not… this must be the icon of Theophilus.” Slowly, he opened the box.

“M-m'lord…” Kolbjorn interrupted with a racking gasp, “the statues weep!”

Ulf recoiled, glancing around as if malicious sprites were seeping from the walls. Olaf gave a rattled breath, the box dropping from his hands with a clatter that raised the hackles of his two thanes. There was a low crystalline chime, a scraping sound as something bounced from the chest and down the steps. Kolbjorn swung the torch to illuminate the item that rolled to a stop against the gauzy material they'd slashed through.

Before them lay a single length of twisted ivory.

♣

Your heart pounds with an unrelenting haste and every breath came and went by its own accord. Seized in a fit, you are immobilized on your bed, skin clammy and face lathered in beads of sweat which trickle down your brow. Head back down on the sodden pillow, you stare up at the ceiling that seems to spin like a torturer’s wheel.

You weren't drunk and there was no nameless Lovecraftian horror crawling on your ceiling, so what happened? In a desperate attempt to answer that question, your mind frantically retraces your evening: you'd finished up supper, washed up, went back to your room, and climbed in bed. That was it. Sickness, was it something you ate? That would be a first here.

Clutching at your chest, it almost feels like a detached sensation when looking at your shaking palms and flickering fingers that twitch on their own accord. Slowly, carefully, you concentrate on your hand: the wrist, the palm, slowly, each finger. One by one they responded, and were willing to bend to your control again. Short, shallow breaths leave you feeling utterly exhausted. A panic attack, and a severe one.

How did that happen? It's psychosomatic, stress or illness, that has to be it.

The dream is still fresh in your mind, and while unnerving, like so many over the past months, it was just a dream. Using reason and logic to explain away your troubles had never been one of your better ideas, but the more you think about them, the more uncomfortable the pictures flooding into your brain were starting to become.

Slowly, your sense of the world expands: it starts with the careful but unsuccessful closing of a door. There is a distinct clack and groan as the portal yawns open, then the groan of floorboards under hooves. A muted curse proceeds that sound and this time a more firm bang as the old farmhouse door, with its rickety frame and old swollen timbers, finally closes for good. By now you are staring at the swirling ceiling and listening to the distant sound of tired hoofsteps dragging themselves wearily up the stairs. There was only one pony you knew that could try to gracefully surmount those stairs and fail miserably every time. Now she is home, and with a low groan you turn your head to face the window.

The faint rush of wind and clack of dry twigs and branches clattering against the window pane. It is dark, with only the faintest glow of an oil lamp on the road for some poor pony outside is all you could see. It’s well after nightfall and closer to the witching hour than dawn or dusk.

Your head once more hits the pillow as dizziness and a sudden intense sensation of vertigo overwhelms you. This sickness seems to ebb away, leaving a few moments of clarity. Slowly, Applejack returns to the hallway, and further down the corridor.

Three taps of a hoof echo down the hallway, “Apple Bloom? Sugah'cube?” Though laden with tiredness, she was still soft and caring. The croak of wood and old hinges grace your ears, and you wish the wind would steal away Applejack's quiet voice or the faintest sniffle from a filly. You hadn't been meaning to eavesdrop but there wasn't much you could do about that now. Turning over on your side, the nausea is starting to disappear, as is the shortness of breath. Wrenching your eyes shut, it still doesn't quite close your ears, or turn your mind off either.

Ten minutes, maybe twenty pass as you slowly start to fade into a restful trance right before one uncomfortable twinge grips you all too suddenly.

Need to pee... damn it.

Trying to slowly stalk out from your bed, you inch towards the door. A quick reach down to the foot of the bed snaggs your pants as you pull them on hastily and swing yourself out of bed. There are no proper pyjamas for you, no real bath robe in Equestria that would fit, and while they almost certainly wouldn't care how you looked, it was still uncomfortable.

Poking your head out into the hall, you listen and tried to mask your own footsteps. “...Ah know, ah know... ah worry about 'em too. I don’t want nothin' ta happen to 'em, so it's natural to worry about 'em if ya hear things like that. But ya'can't be afraid of everythin' all your life, take the bad things and turn 'em inta somethin' good, if ya can, and don't worry 'bout every little thing. How else are ya' gonna be happy spending time with 'em? If'n yer gonna try an' protect 'em all yer life you ain't gonna even get the chance to live it with 'em.”

A soft sigh, a filly's quiet voice breaks that uncomfortable silence “Ah' guess. But Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon said that monster is goin' round takin' Unicorns and gettin' closer. So Sweetie Belle and Rarity are just the next ones! Just bein' sensible.” Fright worms its way deep into her voice before a sob bubbles up, as if she was about to cry.

“Well if'n ah… Uh…” Applejack's voice halted at once. Her younger sister's sigh seemed to release most of its emotion and the proverbial floodgates with a racking breath and unsteady whimper. There was a creak from the bed, an adjustment, and then a soothing hush. When Applejack resumed talking, there was a softness there that you'd never heard before, “Even if they were frettin' about what might happen, it won’t help nopony even if it does happen. It's a long ways away and it don't mean anything. Sweetie Belle and Rarity are doin' just fine now. Trust me, little sis', ah just checked on 'em mahself.” Applebloom's subtle sniff and continuing simpering spoke volumes. She hadn't been totally convinced.

Applejack forges on with a far more cheerful disposition. “You ain't gonna' just lose 'em like that, but ah know, fear can make anypony think about the wrong things and miss out on the important ones. Even me…” The elder sister stopped for a few moments, letting that self-proclaimed vulnerability sink in. “We ain't gonna let a silly-filly's little worry scare off all the Apples are we? So let's make some memories of it while ya can! Tell ya what AB, we'll make somethin' ta really remember. How 'bout we get 'em up to the farm for Hearth’s Warmin'. Pull out aaaall the stops.” She is so jubilant, so sure, and so loud that you can't help but hear.

“Really? Ah, well ah guess that'll be somethin' ta really remember.” That‘s better, the bounce was back in her voice… similar to the bounce in your step as you slink down the hall, tiptoeing towards the bathroom.

Slipping past the door, you try to avoid the crack of light for fear of accused of eavesdropping. “Think they'd've lahked it too?” The young filly's voice crackles in a somberness unheard by your ears.

“Of course, suga'cube. Ya know mah'n'pah woulda been proud of ya for carin' about yer friends, AB. Ye’ won't lose them, even if ya didn't have too many memories of 'em… They'd have loved ya to bits, like all the rest of us do. Honest to goodness, if'n there's anythin' good out there, they'll be seein' or hearin' you now… and they wouldn't be the least bit ashamed of ya for it.” You, on the other hand, have a sinking feeling you shouldn't be there. This wasn't something that you could just involve yourself in either.

Inching by, you can see the oil lamp by the bed on, the soft green and white sheets, and the pair of bedraggled ponies laying on it. Apple Bloom tangled in the sheets, her older sister half resting on top, hoof stroking the filly's mane while curled up around her. The hat was forgotten, gold and russet manes both tangled, matted, and messy. The pink bow was out of Apple Bloom's hair, laying as a single limp strip dangling from her bedside table. The cheery little room, colourful paint, warm tones, and bright oil lamps didn't reflect that solemn air.

Applejack leaned in, planting her lips on her younger sister's forehead, closing her eyes for a moment. “Ah can't promise, but ah'll try mah very best so that nothin' happens ta any of our friends or this family.”

They're looking the other way. You take a moment and hold your breath before darting across the doorway and that shaft of light. Applejack's ears twitch back as you cross that thin beam of light, she must have caught a glimpse of you out of the corner of her eye. Now you were clear though, a straight line from you to the bathroom. Slipping inside, you shut the door much more quietly than AJ when she came inside. After twisting the knob to the oil lamp the tiny compact room was bathed in the lantern's glow so you weren't groping blindly in the dark.

♣♣

You had finished, washed up, and were properly dressed in the space of a few short moments. Every thought was tied to what you had seen not a minute before even when you tried to focus on the mundane. The water you used was replaced after a few quick strokes on the water-pump handle.

Taps are so much eas…

You look up in the small mirror that curved down, seeing a figure in the doorway behind you.

Whatever that impetus was to turn didn’t reveal any more than what the mirror had already shown. The golden mare stood at the entrance to the bathroom, just staring at you for a second or two. Blindly reaching for the hoof-towel you manage to only grasp the small ring that held it up next to the wooden countertop, “C-can I help you?”

AJ steadies herself and takes a deep breath, “Sorry ya had to hear all that. It ain't something ah always like talkin' about, so that's why ah never told ya before.” You had obviously missed whatever it was that she was apologizing for.

“I, well, had to go to the washroom so I didn't mean to actually eavesdrop on that conversation.” She holds up a hoof to staunch any other apologies that were about to come babbling from your now loosened lips.

When she spoke, there was still a caring quietness to it, “'S alright, 's alright. Ah understand. Mah… our parents died when Apple Bloom was still young. She never quite got over it, and ah think this whole Unicorn thing made her a mite-bit scared. She's a filly, and she don’t know any better than tah be scared of a spooky story. When she thinks she'll lose her friends to a monster, even if it’s half of Equestria away, it can be real scary. Ah have to admit…” she actually trots right in, head down, hair still a mess and stops right beside you. Rearing up, hooves on the faucets, she pours a little more water in the basin and splashes it on her face. It took her a full twenty seconds before she continued, “Seein' Rarity worked up, Sweetie Belle so frightened because of that there story, then seein' what happened, I started to get scared of it mahself. Silly, actin' like a filly and lettin' mah own imagination run right away. Ain't fittin', I know. But ah can see the worry.”

Nipping the inside of your mouth, you hold the towel out for AJ who accepts it wearily and dries her face. “It shows you care. I didn't think you two got along so, I'm surprised that it affected you that much. Twilight maybe, but Rarity?” You had always seen that antipathy between the two as something that seemed to be a divider.

When Applejack looks up, you see the red-veined and cloudy veil on those emerald orbs. But even that deep tiredness doesn't hide the half-horrified and half-baffled look that stretches across her muzzle, “Y'think ah'd wish that on a friend? That ah wouldn't be scared for 'er?” Incredulity was giving way to a rapid anger as she slaps the damp hand towel down.

“No, of course not.” You can't even claim that your horrid choice of words were lost in translation. Applejack would have helped anypony, anytime, but on earth that couldn't be remotely stated about so many people. Maybe Applejack was still the exception to the rule rather than the norm, but it was still Applejack. “I don't think you'd wish that on anybody, Applejack. That said, I thought that given your past bickering, it might have made Rarity unlikely to open up.” Yeah… the last part sounds stupid in retrospect, too, she'd spout her whole issue to anypony. You could blame it on tiredness.

A sideways glance at the mare shows that she is placated for the moment. Muzzle turned up, eyes closed, she sucks in a deep breath. “It's because of Apple Bloom. Ah'm probably better at talkin' to Rarity when Sweetie Belle's concerned, too. Not sure who's more of a filly, but they need a good bit'a reassurance now'n'then.”

Applejack shudders: her withers were tense, eyes closed, and hooves curved as she appears locked in the same place as before. Hair ties were gone, pretension wiped away completely, the older mare has finally run out of energy. Maybe she'd run out of the same confidence she had to display to Rarity, too “AJ, I'll protect the Apple family as much as I can, too.” If she was afraid of losing Apple Bloom but just never stated it, it could put her a little more at ease that you have no cruel or malicious designs and wouldn't just look the other way if it happened.

“What…” Applejack says as cold as stone. Rapidly you start to retrace your steps at that sudden rebuke. “Y'think that me and mah kin need protectin'?"

Oh, oh this is not good!

"AJ, AJ, look, that'snotwhatIme-" the rapid stream of babble went unheeded as you try to retract what you said.

The farm-pony snorts once, her muzzle turning up and approaching a snarl, "Think that we're what Rarity pretends tah be: some blushin', hah-falutin floozy who can't rightly put two hooves in front of the other 'less somepony else says it's safe?” she looks over, a glance that could split the same cold granite wrapped up in her voice. “Ah don’t need no help from nopony or no-body tah help keep mah family safe, ah done it for nearly fifty seasons and ah ain't no filly-in-distress neither!” Her voice rose a step or two and she'd turned towards you, poking her muzzle out as if to drive you back into the wall.

Applejack rears up, making you recoil, before slamming her hooves into the wall on either side of your head. Her dull emerald green eyes lock with yours like some horrid, furry medusa while her muzzle twitches. All she needed to do was wind up and smash even just a foreleg against your shoulder and she could probably shatter it beyond non-magical repair.

Something in those swirling pools, tainted with rage, catches your attention. A twitch of fear, the horror of loss, a steadfast determination to never show the same pain she had to safeguard others from. You can't close your eyes, and neither can you fortify your voice to be loud enough for your liking. Yet one word still made it past your lips, “sorry…”

The anger ebbs away from her and reason grips the mare. Those same vicious emotions are quickly replaced by a glimmer of self-reproach The farm-pony pushes herself back from the wall and settles on all fours. Unable to look you in the eyes again, she keeps her gaze down and wearily plods towards the entrance to the hallway. Her right forehoof is rested against the door frame to steady herself from swaying, interrupting an almost absent, ghostly movement that feels devoid of life at all.

Even as she disappears from sight you feel locked in that same state. Heart pounding, knees locked, but there is something so absent that you are as worried about Applejack as you are about your own safety in that last few moments as it replays in your head. The meaning wasn't lost on you but you had meant it merely as a 'if need be' scenario. Of course, you were no cavalier of old, no knight in shining armour, and no gallant hero. That was Rarity's little fantasy, the reality is quite different: Applejack was physically stronger, tougher, faster, and more capable than you. The need for such an incredibly clichéd and retrospectively insulting insinuation was non-existent. Again, that irrational anger was still making your heart pound and mind trace back over every word.

Slowly you make your way to the door and try to turn the oil lamp down. Your hands shake, breath rattles, and unsteadiness leads you to almost touch the scorched glass and burn your fingers rather than turning it off. Your legs want to give out from beneath you after that verbal rebuke you'd just suffered. You finally manage to get the light turned off and pull yourself into the hall. AJ had to be downstairs, the kettle was starting to pop and expand but the oil lamps were still dim as you leave her to her own devices and shuffle towards your room.

To say things could have gone better would be a woeful understatement. You didn't even check to see if the door had closed before inelegantly flopping out on the unmade bed. The first pangs of depression were already growing entrenched as the encounter was wrapping its tendrils deep into your mind, roots of sickness and doubt nurtured by the myriad of possibilities. They hadn't started off there, the mare had sown them, but damned if they didn't take root.

For five or ten minutes you think about the encounter: you could have said any number of things, and while you hadn't meant it in that fashion, you had settled on spouting the most conceited, patronizing, chauvinistic, outright ridiculous-

“C-can ah come in?” Applejack's voice echoes in the stillness as there another faint knock sounds at the door.

“…Sure.” It was her house, but you are already rubbing your eyes to fortify them against the few tears that welled up in the corners. Thankfully that same emotion hadn't choked up your voice.

“Ah acted like a brat, just… scared as ah was tryin' not ta be. Ah…” she meanders about for a second, door opening and the sound of rattling wood and metal was plain to the ear. She coaxes the oil lamp back to life and slips inside. The mare has a serving tray on her back with tea, a pair of small bowls, and plates. “Ah just wanted you ta know, ah appreciate what ya said. Hopefully you won't have ta' prove it, and even if ya only try then it'll be a might-bit more comforting to know it, too. Thanks. Ah, well, will ya accept a peace offerin'? Ye know, for gettin' all huffy?” she awkwardly scuffs the floor with a hoof and keeps her jaws clenched tight while waiting for your response.

You slowly look up, seeing your employer, your friend, red face and ashamed while appearing nervous. Slowly a smile spreads across your face, “Of course, I, well… AJ, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like it sounded and I've just been having some awful dreams so…” almost emotionlessly she edges closer to the bedside until finally the mare places a hoof over your mouth. A quick flash of a smile says you don’t have to apologize or explain any further. Yet there is still a lump in your throat. Aside from Twilight, you'd told no one about the dreams and she just cut you off.

Slowly she takes the serving tray in her teeth, tea-pot and all, and places it on the empty bed-stand. Quickly serving out the wooden tankards and uncovering the bowls she says, “Turnovers.” She points to the pastries laying on a plate. They smell good and with the faint white filling you figure it was apple and cheese. That momentary disappointment of being silenced passes, the midnight snack had become less about something to eat and more just a social thing with Applejack. The tankard was pushed to your hand by the farm-pony coaxing you to grasp the handle and cradle the vessel protectively.

The earth pony hops up, taking a spot that lay on your legs covered by the bed-sheet. She makes a quick and hasty apology, "Sorry, sorry, I get'cher legs? They all just sorta' lay out all funny, huh?” The mare awkwardly worms her way off them. It would have been strange but ponies did sleep curled up for the most part.

You wave her off saying it was 'fine' before trying a sip of the drink. Your eyes open, it's not tea but hot, fortified cider. It was strong, pulp still in it, and heavily spiced. The drink was thick already, like drinking some sort of apple concentrate but it wasn't sickly sweet either. “So…” she continues, “me and Rarity were talkin'. Seein' as the winter's comin' up, and work here ain't so common durin' the winter months 'side from a bit of feedin', how'ja like to stay here permanently? You know, as more of a guest and not just an extra hoof. Yer trustworthy enough.”

It couldn’t have been Rarity’s idea unless she’s just getting a morning’s worth of work in.

That wasn’t right, Rarity often had a lot of work but she was no slave-driver and your novelty had worn off. As you search her emerald eyes you found compassion, but you uncovered something recessed in a darkened corner said she didn’t want anypony or anyone to just leave. Her offer was generous, but your pensive stare made the mare nervously scuff her hooves against the floor, “Ah'm just makin' sure a friend of mahn has a place to stay for the winter. But if ya made other arrangements…”

“Yes. Sure, I mean, uhh… I mean I don't have any plans. This takes a lot off of my mind. So, what do you need me to do?” You flounder a bit but she gets what you mean within a second or so. Of course, even that was a bit of an overstatement but having a place to stay was always a peripheral worry. Twilight had set up a temporary residence and you probably could go about in the community without too much discomfort, so actually moving wasn’t that problematic. There had to be a catch besides feeding some animals, but after a second or two you realize it was Applejack, she'd do it to help anyone.

“Well, like ah said, there ain't too much: just help bring some of the feed 'round for livestock and help us make up a new room or guest room if'n we need it.” Well, there are some conditions but they are pretty minor. Beyond that, it seemed your term as their indentured servant was up.

The answer was a firm and clear, “yes.”

Seemingly comforted by that, Applejack lifts the next lid off with her teeth… It smells like butter gone slightly bad mixed with vinegar. Practically holding your breath, it looks like some thick cornmeal. Seeing you stare at it she lofts a brow saying, “Ain’t ya ever seen corn silage?”

She couldn’t have called it sewage.

Whatever silage was it smells vaguely familiar. Hesitantly, you raise the bowl to your lips and twitch an eye as you try your first taste. The scent and sharp aftertaste force most of the breath from your lungs. The mystery taste strikes you all at once: sauerkraut. Something else hits you hard as an aftertaste while warming your throat. “Alcohol?”

AJ just look at you, “It's silage.” She smiles a bit and shook her head. “Anyway, winter's gonna be a fun one for ya here, too. Ah mean, it'll be totally different from Saddle Arabia, but that means it'll be yer very first Hearth’s Warmin'! Promise ya, suga'cube, it'll all be great.” She shifts and smiles, seemingly pleased and in far better spirits than before.

Taking another nibbling sip, you just settle in a little more comfortably and let the fears of offense dwindle. "Is it Hearth's warming or Heart's warming?"

Author's Note

Hope ya' had fun and take care of yourselves eh?

Post Scriptum: decided to change the Gore tag, still need some feedback though.

Act 2- Chapter 1: A Quiet Muse

A Quiet Muse

Proofread by TehSporkBandit

Winter, not some paltry mix of rain and sun, and not some simple flurries to dust the street lamps and make drivers paranoid, but real bone-chilling winter. You expected the winter but not some of the oddities regarding how artificially it appeared. One day Applejack was saying that everything at Sweet Apple Acres was ready for the change in seasons and the toughest part was over; the next, a few Pegasi were scrambling around like they were late for a meeting with no other consequences. The 'winter soon' memo had seemed like the usual meteorological hocus pocus. In other words, it was completely wrong.

Then, somewhere, in some dark panel lit room, somepony flipped the calendar before flipping a switch. It was as simple as that. In the space of a day, cold migrated from the north and carried aloft on its frozen pinions came sheets of snow. In two days, Ponyville had changed from warm and blustery autumn, to cool and glorious winter-wonderland. It was spectacular.

Up until now, that was. Beetles from Hoofington were threatening local fruit trees. Needless to say, Applejack had been pacing for the past few days, mortified and almost witless until a blue Pegasi showed up to eat her fill and take half an hour to say 'all her problems had been solved!' The weather team was giving stern warnings for ponies to stay inside for a few days. It wasn't just a little memo this time, they were supposedly serious. Five days of bitter cold would stem the pests.

That much you expected, but there were a few things you hadn't been informed of: Sweet Apple Acres had ample stores of food, as did most of Ponyville, but through the winter, one pony in your circle of friends always seemed to need more. Fluttershy. She stayed hidden in her semi-secluded cottage and thanks to some fairly hefty requirements for her own 'line of work', warranted extra attention.

Typically that was Big Mac's domain. By virtue of strength alone he could haul a considerable amount of fodder on a sled through the forest clearings and outer orchards. Unfortunately, there was a bit of a snag that came with shockingly cold temperatures. While the farm was well stocked, they needed firewood which diverted the stallion's attention elsewhere. Applejack was unquestionably strong and humans could push far better than a pony could, which helped, but neither of you could drag a fallen live oak a mile and a half. Likewise, standing outside in those temperatures with a saw wasn't a reasonable solution either. So, while Applejack helped with the firewood, and Apple Bloom tended to the animals, you were left with courier duty.

Besides, laugh as they might, your sense of winter-wear 'fashion' was better than theirs. They thoughtwinter could be warded off with mitts, vests, leggings, hats, earmuffs, and scarves. It simply wasn't enough when trudging through three foot drifts. You, conversely, had on everything they did beneath your coat, pants, and shoes. The coat was a … ‘thoughtful’ gift from Rarity. It was a heavy gauge, blue cloth great-coat with bright yellow cuffs and lining. Tie backs, embroidered stitching, double-breasted with sunburst gold facings, you looked like some sort of French courtesan or maybe a Victorian era carriage boy.

Trudging through deep snow past your knees, while trailing a small sled full of bulky foodstuffs, turned out being harder than you expected. Going through Ponyville would have been good but it would take thrice as long. In thirty minutes, you had passed the Crusader's club house, cut through the north orchard, slid between some of the wildlife paths, and picked your way through the posts that marked the boundaries of the tended sections. The cinnabar sky hung in a dark and dreary sheet that draped the world and the air itself was painfully crisp and clear.

Most of the horrid temperatures were warded away by the motley assortment of accessories. What it didn’t help was your sight, every time you exhaled your scarf would trap some of that warmth and soon enough your glasses were fogging up. That, and the tight haphazard wrappings around your legs, was spoiling any proper image and lent an air of desolation to your garments.

As if begging to show you how much worse winter could get, the first few errant flurries trickle down from the skies. In the span of ten minutes the overcast skies began to unleash their stores. The rasping winds seize the loose powder and forms it into walls as abrasive as any sandstorm. You can't see more than fifteen feet through the denuded trunks of the northern orchard, enormous serpentine drifts undulate like waves and play havoc with the eyes.

A howling roar tosses the sled and shunts you aside at the edge of the tree line just as you glimpse the indistinct edge of the tree line. At that spot should be the point where an unassuming road splits the forest, but aside from a few drifts against wooden posts, it’s as blank and featureless as a sheet of paper. Across that should be a narrow footpath that leads to Fluttershy's cottage but finding it is as much luck as any test of memory. The snow storm shrouds the pathway, the bridge, and almost every recognizable feature as if you were meandering down a blank page from one of Twilight's journals. The only relief from the monotonous drone of the winds is the macabre audience of lifeless trees which clap and clatter behind you.

The red kerchief comes lose, a billowing bolt of crimson raggedly fluttering by as you clasp the material and hold it to your windburned face. It was as if you had been tricked into some starkly uncomfortable reenactment of Napoleon's retreat from Moscow. Worse yet, you volunteered for it… but on the bright side, this might have been more dangerous to a certain stubborn farm-pony you knew so this was probably for the best. Probably.

A small rise appears to your right. The bridge, it had to be the dip from the small footbridge that leads to Fluttershy's front door. Changing course and plodding on through the scouring winds, you drag yourself over the grey stones of the bowed bridge spanning the tiny rivulet. It was infinitely better than scrambling up and down embankments. Up ahead, like a lighthouse in the storm, you see the shimmer of a lantern in a window. Fluttershy's cottage.

You struggle up that incline, fighting every ice-slicked step of the way, then claw your way towards that inviting front door. Balling up your numbed fist, you brought it down hard against that featureless wooden portal.

It opens quickly, just a crack but was progressively forced open by the wind. “Urrer-shaw” You mangle her name beneath the protective scarves and pull yourself in quickly to avoid the winds stealing away the home’s warmth.

“Oh dear-oh dear, I'm so-so sorry! Oh my.” Her rapid apology was quaky and sharp as you drag yourself across the threshold. You were safe albeit frozen and weak. It was a most pleasant feeling to look upon that Pegasi, and it lasts only the briefest of moments as your glasses fog up from the heat and blind you completely. She struggles and pants to close the door while the wind screams in protest to her efforts. You haul the sled in across the wooden floor and slump down with a final scrape. Finally it shuts as you feel the minor wave of nausea at the drastic temperature change.

“Rightly?” she blinks, “ Rightly! Stay there, I'll get more tea and a bath, some soup, I just didn't expect anypony to show up on a day like this. I should put a stronger light in the window.” Self-effacing mutterings assault you from every direction as she darts around like a bee. At least, that’s how it sound as you still can’t see her. As you scrape and scratch at your outer garments, each finger, ear, and toe feels like they were being pierced by needles. Your limbs are already starting to swell from the horrid cold, worse yet, that damned itch was sinking in as the ambient warmth met your frozen skin.

Dragging your glasses off and letting scarf tails fall to your chest, you have to clean the lenses off three times before they finally clear up. Glancing around, the insides of the house might be a touch blurry but you could work your way over to the couch without too much discomfort. After brushing yourself off, you take a seat and fumble for the buttons of your coat.

The clatter of hooves meet your ears, but you are surprised to see a shock of purple and white. As you squint to be sure through the shimmering streaks on your lenses, Fluttershy was still wearing a fluffy bathrobe. “Here… take this.” She hovers in front of you, presenting you with a steaming cloth that you take and bury your face in. Fluttershy's hopes echoes your same thought, “I hope nopony at all is out in this.” A Pegasi could take the cold or the heat better than anypony else, but this was something different.

“There you go, I'll help you out of those cold damp clothes, if you catch a chill I'll never forgive myself.” Fluttershy's clinical demeanour was thoughtful albeit awkward.

“N-I'm alright.” You protest, thinking that you could at least have the decency to get your own damned coat off but it was proving to be a challenge.

Slipping right in front of you, she places a hoof directly over the top button. “If you don't get them off and catch a chill it's my fault. You were kind enough to bring something, and I have done this before.” Squinting but looking her in the eye, she actually looked worried. Were you in that bad shape? A nod of consent was all that was really needed as you stare at your nearly useless fingers.

Do hooves freeze up like this?

♣

Well, the bathrobe had changed hands and yet you had to admit, terry cloth felt terrific against skin. Sitting on the couch, feet in a pail of hot water and sipping tea from a mug, you drag out a languid sigh.

It wasn't hard to be thankful for this robe. Not only is it fluffy and warm, it‘s a comforting psychological defence against the wind’s determined assaults. They scream and rage outside, trying to worm or rip their way into the cabin in the most frightful dirge you can recall. But in this robe you feel cozy and nigh on invulnerable. Despite the continued wails of protest, you still do. In fact, the robe is the only article of clothing you are wearing at all. Fluttershy's maternal manner ensured that it didn't feel awkward. A sigh passes your lips as you take another sip of chamomile tea. All the while the Pegasus sat across from you with a tremendous grin plastered across her muzzle and a glowing radiance in her wide eyes.

That had always worried you about Fluttershy; she had so few visitors, and only a few close friends.

Is that a cry for help or is she just anti-social?

The tick of a clock echoes audibly around you from some darkened hallway away from the caress of firelight. It's quiet, many animals were hibernating, a few clusters of cardinals roost in the rafters. The house still has that wild odour, earthy rather than rank. Around the clustered corners of the homely little cottage were signs you were never truly alone.

Staring across that low wooden table separating you, it is hard to believe you had thought that about her. Was it so bad to appreciate the quiet? Is it some horrid abnormality to not cut in and proliferate your thoughts?

Why was sitting in silence looked down on?

Would it have killed her to bright it up? She had set a platter down, warmed tarts, a pair of bowls with chips of vegetables, and even sandwiches cut into bite sized sections placed out for you. That pony could be content to offer up a simple gesture of comfort, and feel rewarded in that alone.

“Thanks.” Your voice was laden with the last vestiges of tiredness from your journey, but you were sincerely feeling better. “Are you sure you shouldn't be taking care of some of your animals or something?”

She swiftly shook her head, “Oh I was looking after them earlier, extra food, more packed snow, some extra hay outside. They'll be just fine.” Quirking her head to the side, she sounds confident in her preparations. As bad as the weather was she knew her charge’s need. Well, that gives you more confidence in the soup and sandwiches at least.

Reaching for a square of a sandwich, it’s hard not to smile at its contents. Strawberries, peaches, pears, and a slight glaze of what looked like honey to keep it from getting mushy. A dessert sandwich. “It seems like you've got this all planned out, then. Does it usually get this cold?” The sandwich tastes weird as you take a bite, but it isn’t bad.

“Oh no, almost never. Or else how could anypony get anything done?” That was a good point, really, “Now hold still…” she reaches towards you, letting you wonder what exactly she was getting at, and wipes the corner of your mouth. It was a quick flick and a cooing smile, “There you go, all better.”

She could have just said something, I'm not an infant.

“So it's not something too natural. Well, I could get used to it, then.” You nod and finish up the mushy albeit sweet sandwich morsel.

“It must be difficult.” She starts off and stops.

“Hmm?” A moment of errant thought leaves you wondering as you sip the calming brew.

“Well,” she starts, Fluttershy was more forward with you than other ponies, “the cold and wind seems to hurt your skin, and it's so cold, where as I imagined Saddle Arabia would be warm. So if your skin isn't healing like your kind does, it must be difficult and painful.” Her reasoning was sound but you almost realize the cover you've had for months.

Whose skin wouldn't chap and blister at… ah.

Your 'troll' cover story nearly slipped away from you. With a racking 'ahem' to clear your throat, you reached for the drink, “Yeah, my kind doesn't always adapt the best, like cave trolls to sunlight.”

It was becoming harder and harder to keep up the pretext. It conflicted with her knowledge, some of her experiences evidently, and you were beginning to think she already knew the truth. However, confirming what she might suspect could cause issues.

“Well, I can certainly imagine. Even ponies grow physically accustomed to their comforts. And mentally it can be much worse. I'm amazed that you managed to fit in and grow so used to something so different. It's so-so wonderful.” Bright grin, shut eyes, head cocked to the side, she is genuinely supportive of that, though it didn’t sound emphatic. Working with excitable animals, like snakes, skunks, and wolverine meant that it was probably best she isn't as loud as some of her friends.

Thinking back to something she said, you take a breath and ask, “So ponies don't go out in weather like this, but it's been quiet anyway. Is it usually like this?” In the past two weeks, the town had been more subdued. You figured it was just the winter suppressing everypony's usually cheerful outdoor activities.

Fluttershy pauses and casts her gaze down at the low table before reaching for a bowl of soup. Resting the wide-brimmed bowl in her hooves, she gingerly brings the rim to her lips. The broth seems to fortify her enough to give an answer, “No, this year is a lot quieter. Usually there's some picnics, or snow ball fights, or nature rambles, the usual hustle and bustle, firewood collection, snow clearing, and other games ponies play.”

“Why is that?” You quirk a brow and look at her again.

She rises from her seat and quietly meanders towards a small corner of the room. She stops at a small mouse hole surrounded by cluttered papers and sifts through them. Picking up a single paper in her mouth, she returns to the table and flattened out the crinkled paper. It’s the Ponyville express. More tales from east of Vanhoover, a blood slicked sheet and four constables standing nearby. The big black letters seeming to jump out at you though you still couldn't really read it. You make out some of it, squinting at the blocky hieroglyphs and make out 'Unicorn' and 'two'.

Noting that your powers of Equestrian comprehension were still limited she translated, “The… the Crystal Empire constabulary found a fourth Unicorn, umm… two… are still missing. Ponies are afraid of it now. The rumors are getting bigger, scarier for many. If it's not worry for themselves…”

“It's worry for others.” You nod, following where she was going with it. Ponies stayed indoors and stayed together, away from the faceless fears. These ponies were simply bizarre; scared of something countless leagues away, while a pit of horrors rested on their doorstep.

So, the phenomenon doesn't stop at over-imaginative fashionistas and fillies.

You ask something that sticks in your mind, “What about you? I mean, you and everyone else in Ponyville lives right next to a forest with manticores, cockatrices, and needle fanged monsters of every type. I mean, just two weeks back Rainbow was telling tales about fillies and colts going missing in there and never being seen again. So why is that fine and this-” you jab your finger at the paper, “is weird? That's unnatural.”

“But it's perfectly natural.” Fluttershy responds flatly.

“huh?” You loft your brow, quite taken aback by her emotionless tone.

“Frightening predators are natural. That's because they're hungry. A cliff can be steep, or the water too deep. It's sad, but it's perfectly natural.” She sits back down, her tone not changing one iota.

She had to have seen your bewildered expression, so she continues with the smile of one who knows, “All those things are something to be aware of. It's something else, something out there that is cutting ponies lives short. Preying on ponies is ensuring that their special talents are never realized and never brought around to being helpful. Life is about giving and sharing your special talents with others in the world. It's not about getting, but providing. Most of the time, ponies know it but will just get swept up in the routine of that being normal.”

The Pegasus stops for a moment, looking up as if for inspiration, and finds it among the rafters, “I love Applejack, everypony does. But she can be… stubborn. Still, her heart is in the right place no matter how much she worries about bits or goods. She has to because of others, but it's only to provide for her family and the ones she cares about. It's enough to get by with some comforts, hoping those close to her always have what they need. If you asked her what comes first it will always be her family.”

You understand what the Pegasus was saying and internalized it after a moment or two of silence. It was a pervasive hush interrupted only by the crackle of the fireplace.

A quiet nod invites her to continue. “Now, take Rarity. Rarity gives of herself, so she's exactly like Applejack but in a very different way.” The phrase 'AntiJack' comes to mind. “Rarity, well, she is my best friend, but ponies rarely see that her talent is to enhance, to beautify, and to help others recognize their potential. It's compassion, to give ponies something worthy of themselves, not just good enough but something that can give them joy and a sense to say they're worth it. Her time, her effort, her creativity is a gift and the bits are just a means.” That seems decidedly philosophical for the introvert.

“But how does that really relate to death and this?” You gingerly point a finger at the paper.
Her expression makes it clear that she had thought you would understand. But that didn't elicit anger, or remonstration, she just flashes a smile and starts again. “Everypony, everyone, has a special talent. For them to simply not exist, to die, to have it all come to an end because something else decided is…” her voice tapered off as a tremor creeps up her spine, “unthinkable. Because they know better, because they should care. That's why this is so terrifying whereas that-” she points her hoof towards the outside world, “Isn't.”

“…Aren't you afraid of dragons?” You ask her again and she readily nods. Ponies.

Looking back at the window to which she pointed, darkness was beginning to fall, the white wall and deep cutting gales were turning to a sombre grey. It seems you would be spending the night, which was fine, though you hope it won't worry the Apples. Apples, “Did you start with Applejack for any reason in particular?”

Fluttershy just blinks. A thoughtful hum drifts across her lips and the edges of her mouth inch upwards in a curl, “I'll get some more tea and soup.” and thus avoiding the question completely. What the hell was that? “Rightly?” She waits for your small note of acknowledgment, “Thanks for coming all the way out here. Usually Big Mac stops by, but it's nice to have company I can talk too.”

The Pegasus’s sudden disappearance leaves you with plenty of time to think. Is she playing at something? Either way, part of your mind drifts away as she hums a quiet song from the kitchen. It's melodic warmth meshes with all the other hospitality she'd shown, not to mention the plush softness of the bath robe. But it wasn't the physical things, it was that warm glow from a smile and the kindness of her friendship and company that was the most soothing. Reaching over to fetch another sandwich quarter, you place it on the crumpled newsprint, dismissing the later from your mind.

♣♣

“What is it?” Ulf's voice trembled as he still looked at the statues embedded with carefully cut glass beads to look like tear drops. They couldn't be trusted, the mausoleum reeked of unfathomable curses laid deep in some ancient land.

Olaf dropped the carved box with a clatter as it tumbled across the floor. Approaching the twisted spire of ivory, he crouched with a muted air of dread. It wasn't undamaged; the base was shattered, but the perfect twist showed no pits, no carving marks, just a pure rounded spiral made of perhaps three intersecting sections terminating in an icicle like point. “An alicorn,” his voice barely carrying at all.

“M'lord?” Kolbjorn asked, not having caught it like Ulf had.

“It's an alicorn, the horn of the great southern Unicorn. It can cure diseases, purify poisons…” his breath was light and drifted off with a reverent stroke against the twists of his new prize. “I have head of such a thing before.” The warlord reclined against the broad steps.

Ulf glanced at the third panel of the wall. There was a carving, but all he could see were the unfamiliar words in the dull light:

Nu min wine gecranc
þæt ic hlafordleas ham siðie.
Wende fram wige,
ac me sceal leofne hors niman,
héo hæfde god geþanc
ne forhtedon na hire wordum.
“Ne sceole ge sinc gegangan.”

Befæsten fífirúnwitan ic ánþing gebannum
fífincundnessa ond bréosthord
gebrogdene fífigéosceaftas bótum ætstalas
hwonne áne ácordaþ, sy ácumendlicnessa

and þæs strangan stapol.
ac me sceal wæpen niman,
ne þurfe we us spillan,
wið freode and niman frið.
Gehyrst þu, hwæt þis folc segeð,
and þam wordum swealg
And mid friþe ic ferian.
Se sy…

The banner thane shook his head and returned to perusing the book that lay under the chest. Picking it up, the pages were musty and looked fragile. Ulf glossed them over, leafing over a few of the elaborately detailed manuscript pages, past an illustration of the mural, until he came to something vaguely familiar.

Squinting, Ulf took stock of the aged parchment leaf in the leather folio. Blowing across the noteworthy page, dust rattled free and rained down on the floor. Satisfied with that, he approached the pair on the steps.

There were great lines, pictures of animals, and the jagged lines marking abstract shapes. There were five small circles spread here and there, and names were written in a foreign language. Ulf's eyes still showed a sparkle of recognition: their home of the Daneslaugh, Vinland, Valland, Svíþjóð, and Angelcynn the isle of the Angles as well. “My lord… look.”

He crouched to present his findings to the warlord. Olaf's eyes moved from the ivory horn over to what was presented. A quick gasp and a slow smile spread, “A map. Ulf, a map…” he looked at a loss as to what he should do, but still clasping the horn to his chest he dragged a finger down the page. “Quinque duces inclinent capita sua regina reprobi… ‘the heads of five leaders bow to their fallen queen. The aspects of aspects are the common bond. May you find their voice and use it to unite what was split asunder. Do not fear the dream in the presence of a nightmare.’”
The inscription was in familiar Latin text, but the map was different. It was large, aged, but drawn with incredible precision. Olaf traced the borders, as if inspecting them for himself.

Five illustrations were present; perhaps they were symbols, and perhaps they were sigils. The great Northern Lion grumbled everything aloud in a low drone. His finger touched a great symbol like that of a key, “Rúmaborg”. A droplet surmounted the image. It may have been water, it may have been blood, but it was there. Others here and there showed similar decorations. A crescent and star of mystic Persiðaland bore the same decoration. What seemed to be of more pressing interest to their royal liege was finding those three that were not surmounted by the droplet, but small radiant crowns. A three-pointed flower of the Frankish king at the centre of Valland, and another beyond Persiðaland shaped in a similar way.

Kolbjorn found the third, “Are these cities?” he asked with evident curiosity. Olaf practically hung over him as the makeshift torch began to die.

“No. They're signets, signets of Kings.” He stated clearly. “Two slain. Three who still rule, when this was written…” he trailed off, finger tapping one. “No bloody droplet, these people here may have something. A unifier. They will tell me how to unite our lands under one banner.”
The warlord's tone grew more confident as he pushed himself up and to his feet, “If this is the icon of Theophilus-” he caressed the twist of broken horn, “they shall tell me how to unlock it. I will be king of one, strong, united Norseland.” The unquenchable fires of impetus blazed in those azure eyes.

“This is where we must go. I'm sure of it.” Ulf looked again, staring at a single symbol on a tiny island just west of the Great Island of the Angles. The symbol, a four leafed flower he'd seen growing on the river banks that very morning. A clover.

Author's Note

So, start of the new Act, it jumps ahead a bit but not too-too much. I had been mulling over whether to make this chapter 10 for Act 1 or Chapter 1 of Act 2, but I decided on the later becaue of the chronological shift.

So, y'all take care now and see ya' next time, eh?

Act 2- Chapter 2: To Be Informed

To Be Informed

Proofread by TehSporkBandit

“I should have been told Olaf.”

“I wasn't aware I had to tell anyone anything.”

“So long as you wish for my protection, then, in order to serve… I must be informed.” The Bear, Sigvald Jarl of the Joms, grit his teeth.

Looking out over the meandering river, dragging their ships to the sea, Olaf Tryggvason leaned on the bow and listened to the Jarl’s careful chastisement. Ever since Olaf returned, the rift between himself and his mercenary Jarl had widened. The few dozen crew and warriors stayed well clear leaving the small command retinue to deal with their lords: Kolbjorn and Thorkell, two shield thanes, stood side by side in uneasy silence while Ulf stood with the furled battle standard.

Jarl Sigvald cut a very different figure than the Northern Lord; one dressed in the barbaric garb of battle rather than conservative finery. “Olaf...” the Jarl’s bass growl waited for an acknowledging nod. “Where are we bound?”

The question hung languidly in the air. “Scilly…” Olaf said at last, finally gaining the attention of everyone in ear shot. “We head for Scilly. Then, we'll head for home.” Something in his tone changed. Sigvald nodded once and retired. Thorkell, a head taller than Kolbjorn, looked back at his lord. Ulf caught it, a small shake of his head before both strode to the aft of the vessel.

“Kolbjorn,” Ulf whispered to his fellow thane as the Jarl and retainer departed, “nothing good can come from this. Mark my words, nothing.”

♣

It had been weeks since you were dogged by the relentless hounding of dreams. Now they flooded back, stealing away your restfulness and sapping your strength. It was as if you’d done no more than lay your head on the pillow.

A loud ‘bang’ causes you to bolt upright. The blankets slip off your chest, and you can feel the intense cold in the room while your blurry eyes look out at the fuzzy pre-dawn gloom. Automatically reaching for your glasses, they were barely on your face when a rush of wind and rattle of ruffled feathers buffet you flat.

A harsh clap of hooves on wood slam down in front of you. The dark amorphous shape gives you no time to collect yourself or collect your bearings, “If you did a thing to her, then we’re going to go take a walk in the Everfree…” the insinuation was as harsh as the accusative jab of her hoof.

The cinders had burned low, the first few traces of light barely crept through the window, and the freezing hiss of winter winds sweep in through the open door. By that indignant 'squeak' in her voice, you knew exactly who it was. “Rainbow? What are you doing here so early in the morning?”

It was well known in town that she likes sleeping in, you didn’t have to be one of her closest companions to know that. Which was good, as she had been a little suspicious of you and somewhat guarded in answering. Suspicious or not, she had never been one to get up at the crack of dawn to jab somepony in the ribs.

Groggy, irritable, and barely coming to, the response was nothing short of indignant, “Don't play innocent! You and your kind are responsible for this, admit it.” there was a harsh shove that pushed you back into the couch cushions and would likely leave a bruise, “Admit it!”

At first you thought you were at home on Sweet Apple Acres, but the lower ceilings and wide open main room convince you otherwise. Her shrill tone must have woken Fluttershy. Memories eke back into your tired mind. Multi-coloured eyes barely sparkle in the darkness only a few inches away, lit by a snarl on the Pegasus’s muzzle. She was aggressive, impulsive, and her posturing had pushes you as far into the couch as you could while your neck was arched back even farther.

“Mind telling me what in Tartarus you're going on about?” This is ridiculous, she’d invaded her friend’s home, woken you up with a shove, and was breathing down your neck.

Another set of hoof falls echo from the adjoining hallway, “Goodness! R-Rainbow?!”

She was too close. Placing a hand on her chest you try to get her to back up with a slight press as you attempt to sit up. With a wobble and rusty ‘Woah’ the athletic Pegasi tumbles back, sprawling back over the low table with the staccato of shattered plates and a rolling bowl.

That momentary silence was nerve-wracking. “Rain-” with a snort of anger and speeding twist of a viper, she lunges back forward with a yowl.

She flings herself forward, slamming her shoulder and neck into your stomach. Bowling you backward, head over heels, your breath leaves you completely. Your stunted gasp doesn’t suck in any air. The world itself appears upside down as the couch becomes overturned.

An angry hundred-and-some pound Pegasus slams her hoof into your thigh, spasming the muscle, before setting her forehooves onto your shoulders. She roughly cracks your head back into the wooden floor. Flares go off inside your skull, breath stolen away, you thrash and try to right yourself.

A knee strikes something soft and yielding as she gasps. Something hard connect with the side of your head, sending you rolling over, glasses flicking off and skipping over the floor. Did she just strike me with the side of her head?

Your worrisome wheezing still doesn’t bring your brain any more oxygen as you flail a hand out and try to rise to your feet. Through the miasma you see a distinct blur that you vaguely recognize as the aggressive blue Pegasus. She'd rolled onto her side before bucking her rear legs. Turning aside, you couldn’t quite avoid the lightning-fast kick, but moving with it staggers you back across the living room floor. Dragging your heels over the wood, there is a scraping sound and bolt of pain as a splinter tears into your foot.

Finding your voice at long last, a surprised howl of anguish and deep hollow gasp rips forth from your throat. The sound was alien to your own ringing ears. Rainbow Dash hesitated in surprise before rearing up on her hind legs. Seeking to end it quickly, you roughly envelope her in a bear hug.

Fluttershy tried to say something, but the adrenal drip into your brain was saying ‘stop the Pegasus’. The athletic mare twists and turns, reeling from the grapple as she twists down and brings herself up hard. The uppercut misses your chin by a fraction of an inch with a sweeping rush of air.

Rainbow thrashes as you catch her in another crushing bear hug, her right foreleg trapped in an upward angle as she recovers from the uppercut, and is left pinned against her barrel. On two legs you were far steadier than her, and with that in mind you press towards her trying to overbalance the Pegasus. She snorts and flaps her wings hard to keep her upright.

“Rainb-” you only get that far before she cranes her neck forward before biting down, hard. Her flat equine teeth snap into your left shoulder, drawing blood and triggering the nerve bundles. Reflexively, you release her at once, hand shooting to your shoulder through a teary veil of pain.

There is a rough grunt of air and what sounds like a harrowed war cry before the thundering right hook strikes you. Torrents of pain radiate out from the lower-left of your back. It feels like you’d been stabbed. Sinking to your knees, clutching your lancing side, you only try to recover some sense of yourself. Naked, kneeling, wanting to simply flop to the ground, you can’t move a single aching muscle. Every breath brings a fresh tide of agony as if you were on fire.

For thirty seconds you stay perfectly still aside from shivering in pain. Soft arms enfold your trunk. Flinching away from the sensation, you’re sweating, and your mouth is open but no sounds are forthcoming.

“Are you okay? Dear-dear… hold on, keep breathing, and don't move. I'll get Doctor Goodall.” Fluttershy's voice was recognizable but the words were a meaningless mess to you.

Another more stable, but certainly agitated, tone calls from the doorway, “Rainbow, do you have any idea what you could have done?! That's where his kidneys are! If you hit those one of those too hard it might just shut down!” The clap of hooves mingles with a strained grunt before the couch was righted with a leaden thud. Strong hooves support your stomach and chest as you slowly feel the paralysis lessen on the left side of your body.

Still missing your glasses, a blurry face greets you as you looked up. Bright green eyes stared back with a gentle smile that imparts a deep reassuring calm. “Shush, y'all look like ya took a pretty good lickin’. Leeet's just getcha' to the couch, huh?” A weak and weary nod is about all you can manage. Slowly you and your 'heroic godsent' make it to the couch.

A blanket is passed over you, surrounded in a hazy mist of fuschia sparks, “Rainbow. A word in the other room, now.” The purple Alicorn trots by, making everything prim and proper, despite her terseness.

The cowpony next to you wraps her green and white scarf around your neck as well. Shivering, still in a considerable amount of pain, you were coming back to your senses. Perched on the low couch, legs crossed, blankets tightly tucked in, you look and feel like a hospital patient. The door to Fluttershy’s bedroom opens as the cerulean Pegasus trots in after a parting glare. She enters, Twilight a step behind, then the door is with enough force to shake the floor.

“What in Equestria were you thinking?! Or were you even thinking at all when you decided to come over here and attack our friend?!” though muffled, her first words are readily audible.

“Our friend?! Do you know that Twilight?! He lied, he's not some troll from Gallopoli, and if he is I‘ll eat my tail!” She snaps back. The Pegasus was serious, anxious, and indignant. Your mind is already comparing her tone to Charlton Heston in Soylent Green.

Your glasses are fetched by the helpful cowpony who trots over to you. Perching the spectacles on your nose, she nudges them forward to fit better. A broad wink follows that. “There, ya’ look as pretty as a fresh painted barn. Ain't never seen Rainbow take a bite out'a anypony like that before. Reaaaal humdinger of a love bite.” She looks at your shoulder before hopping down. The clatter of hooves is still quite clear as she retreats to the kitchen, “Cold enough tah chip a tooth on soup. Ya still like'n good ol' tea and honey or you want some’n real strong? There should be some extra in 'ere, 'cause neither of ya could drink that much in a evenin'.”

She keeps prattling on from the kitchen but you appreciate it, “Thanks.” She is being a little overly chatty but voices keep drawing your attention to the other room.

“…Oh you didn't think that was important enough to tell us?! Or literally anypony that we might have some mad psycho on our hooves here?!” Rainbow's indignant shout practically vibrates through the foundation, “You saw what he can do, my wing is still pingin! I'm telling you we have a right to know, Fluttershy might have been trapped in here for days with him. She bolted the first chance she got!”

“She ‘bolted’ to get medical help because you kicked him in the stomach, then pulverized his kidneys! And you just decided to come over here, by yourself, and deal out judgement like you were Celestia?” Twilight was affronted. Actually, it seems like she’s more offended than you are, though she sounds less confused.

For all you knew, Rainbow had been like 'that dog down the street' in every news broadcast: the kind of good dog, no problems, that turned around and bit a kid one day without any provocation. Of course, that little proclamation by Twilight had you gingerly rubbing the bruised spot on your back.

“Hmm, well seems we got a lot a good stuff. Ya’ll in the mood for a mite-bit'a somethin’ sweet or savoury?” AJ calls back louder than the voices with a lingering tone that tried to tell them 'hey, we can hear you in here'. Then the realization hits you, she was trying to drown out their conversation so you won't be insulted.

Does she know what’s going on?

Clutching the blanket tighter, you take off your glasses and polish the lenses on the material, “Savoury if you wouldn't mind. AJ, how did you find yourself out here with Twilight at this time in the morning?” The blanket kinda smudges the surface while AJ's scarf cleans it perfectly. It’s damned good, soft, and warm material, whatever it was. You realize your thoughts were just fluttering back and forth away from the howling racket in the other room. Why was it making you nervous?

“Oh, yeah, that. Ya' got some mail by dragon. So Twi came out to the farm, an' ah figured on takin' her here too. Y'know, shoulder the sled'n all.” Well, lying isn't her strong point so you figure she was being truthful.

“It had to be important enough to matter. What was it about?” You query again. That might give you some idea of it but the anxiety of Rainbow's sudden appearance coupled with some mysterious letter was becoming uncomfortable.

“Sorry pardner. Ah didn’t ask, but Twilight seemed tah be in a hurry and if'n it was from spike, odds are it means it’s from Princess Celestia, more'n likely.” There was the bubble of the kettle along with its pops and pings while the fire starts to crackle away, casting more light in the perpetual pre-dawn gloom that cloaks the living room.

The door opens again as the ashen-faced Alicorn ambles in from the bedroom. She is wide-eyed and uncomfortable, the narrow eyes of the Pegasus in tow showed no mirth but she had ‘won’.

There is no way that’s good.

Twilight plops herself down on the couch across from you, slowly taking off her scarves while Rainbow flicks her wings and sits down next to her. Looking at Rainbow, the squinting eyes say it all: ‘I’m watching you’. Twilight flitters through her saddle-bag with the sound of brushed crystal, producing a parchment scroll, “A letter from Princess Luna for you…” Her lilted and awkward tone meshes with the wide-eyed discomfort as she sits stiff as a board. It was obvious there was a problem.

Taking the letter you open it, “It came this morning and I went to get you as quickly as possible.” And sure enough, a few splotchy sentences had been hastily scribbled down on a piece of parchment.

As a course of official notice, We require that you attend to Us this evening at Twilight Sparkle’s residence. Issues have arisen. You may be required to undergo a journey, be prepared for this possibility.
~Noctum Regina

Blinking at the letter there was a flap of newsprint practically thrown in your face. You didn't need to see the print, you didn't need to read the details, what burned its memory in your mind was as plain as day in the flickering firelight.

A single enlarged photo, blown up and distorted, was plastered across the front of the Canterlot Courier. There, standing at the fringe of a small town in a stand of evergreens, was a large bipedal form. It was clad in a thick suit of mail, a wide nasal helm covered its face completely, a curling beard of white, and a thick cloak of blue with a cuff of bear fur around its shoulders. In his right hand he gripped a short axe, a sack cloth bag stained with crimson firmly clutched in the other, and around his neck hung a single twist of ivory.

Twilight’s rattled breath translates what you already suspected, “It’s the first picture we’ve had of the so-called ‘Unicorn Slasher’.”

Author's Note

And that's done-and-done. First, big news, TehSporkBandit has generously agreed to proofread, so many-many thanks for that! Can't say how much I appreciate it. :twilightsmile:

Secondly, I'm trying a slightly more 'cut back' style, really trying to get under the 3,500 ish mark and keep it there. We'll see how it works but it means I'll probably go back and editing earlier chapters to get them a little more concise. Nothing much, just a bit'a house keepin'.

Anyhow, hope to hear what you think and be seein' ya all. Take care now, eh?

Act 2- Chapter 3: An Examination

An Examination

Proofread by TehSporkBandit

Fluttershy’s house had been a flurry of activity for about an hour after the early morning incident. It was about that time that Doctor Goodall stopped by. She was pleasant, good natured, upbeat, perpetually curious, albeit still professional, which helped ease the awkward nature of the intrusive physical examination. In the end she hadn’t told you anything new: you had a healthy enough heart, healthy enough lungs, but you should try to avoid being kicked in the kidney anytime soon.

The cold wasn't gone, but its icy grasp had eased when the sun crept over the horizon. Twilight had ventured out into the cold to send a message asking for the meeting to be relocated to Fluttershy’s cottage. After the news broke, other Ponyvillians might need time to adjust so the sight of someone so close to the front page horror story was sure to be unnerving.

Twilight returned within two hours and with her was the bouncing ball of energy, Pinkie Pie. Fortunately, Pinkie had migrated to the kitchen to help Applejack. Unfortunately, it also left an uncomfortable tension lingering in the room. You sat at one end of a couch with Fluttershy, Rainbow on the opposite like a trial prosecutor, and the uncomfortable evidence of a black and white newsprint rested on the table between the two.

Cracks were already forming in your friends’ facades: Fluttershy is preening her wings, head down and unresponsive; AJ is mucking around in the kitchen by the sound of clattering pots and pans; Twilight is lingering in a corner of the room flipping through a red cloth-bound volume that looks uncannily like a court procedural book. Although the last one may be a bout of disquieted paranoia on your part.

“Oatmeal with clover, honey, chrysanthemum, but not on yours, Rightly, not after last time.” Pinkie’s prance in from the kitchen, balancing a wooden platter on her head, is enough to seem shockingly unconcerned. Slipping it down over the paper, she sets your bowl apart from the others. It has a happy honey drizzled smile and two patterned cookie eyes, all of it is rapidly sinking in the food and forming a maniac’s demented grin.

“You’re in a good mood this morning.” Nopony else was talking so you figure it can’t hurt.

“Uh-huh!”

You were about to prompt her but Rainbow cuts in, “Catch anything in the paper recently?” She motions to the newsprint now resting under the platter. The Alicorn shoots a glance that says she wasn't amused and won't brook instigation. The more you look at Twilight, the more you see the lines of red in her amethyst eyes and the drooping wings, you grow more convinced something might be wrong.

“Nope, who puts things in paper? Aside from fries, it’s not really the best thing for wrapping stuff. After all, they don’t have a bottom, or a top, it’s just a squiggly mess in between if it gets runny.”

The door sweeps open, quietly but notably. Tall, dark blue with a shimmering marking of a moon-like diamond dust, piercing teal eyes marred in the same way as Twilight's, stands Princess Luna. The dark cloak and ragged mane attests to a long night's work. Yet, instead of being asleep in the royal residence, she is here in Ponyville. The sour frown speaks volumes about how eager she was to be here.

You bow, even in your seat you can make the gesture as everypony else. There is a fleeting look on her muzzle, pursed and perhaps apologetic, "Please, do not stand on ceremony, for…” she stifles a yawn, “We… I, am tired.” Her voice crackles as if the switch from aloof to something more informal required a complete vocal shift. The door is slammed shut in a haze of turquoise sparks.

Stamping her feet one after another, you're still reminded of a typewriter when any pony does it, but it is particularly punctuated this morning. Luna’s marked amble is anything but regal, regardless of the heavy tap of her silver picked horseshoes or the wreath of silver and obsidian on her brow.

Everypony made way as she takes a seat opposite you, displacing Rainbow Dash to the further edge. “Black tea brewed at least six minutes, cream, honey.” Her voice carries, but to nopony in particular. With a blink, she seems to realize the mistake as well. There are no designated servants and she lowers her head, "M-my apol-"

“Ah’ll get that, Princess.” AJ’s voice echoes from the kitchen, from which she’d yet to emerge.

It takes a moment but she nods and collects herself. “To the matter at hoof.” Luna's stare is particularly intense, “What have you discovered?”

A question, you scramble for an answer but can barely fathom that she is speaking about something you should have apparently been doing. “I-I… uhm, about what?” Trying not to break the stare, you notice out of your peripherals there isn't anypony willing or capable of helping you.

“The dreams, have you made sense of any of them?” You blink for a moment and take in the implication.

“Sooo, that was you and not just-”

“Nothing from your delirious imagination, no. We-I, suspected it would be better to allow you to grow comfortable with the method first. Beyond seeing what happens and sorting them into a coherent order, there is little sense to be had in them. I was wrong before, you have an importance in your skills. So, pray tell, what did you understand?” She was serious; the princess's demanding tone requires information but it is also far softer and more hopeful than in your last meeting.

“Aside from a few country names and locations, not a lot.”

“Excuse me-” Rainbow Dash interrupts, “Princess, how do we know he’s not another one of them? They might have been from up in the frozen north and there could be marauding hordes of them just waiting to pounce! I say we hook him up to one of Twilight's crazy contraptions and try to take the stuff out of his brain. If she can't, Zecora can!”

Twilight looks aghast, but finally the Princess answers, “I brought him here. He may, nay, does know something important, even if he doesn’t know he knows. So-” she motions to you with a smile, leaving a somewhat puzzled Rainbow Dash thinking about the implications, “please, continue.”

Instead of just sitting there under the glare of a dozen inquiring eyes, you guess, “Well… I think it's a Viking raider. So, ninth-to-eleventh century. That would make it a thousand or so years ago. I have no idea how I understand what I heard, they should be speaking a totally different language. But I think-” you try to slide the newspaper out from under the tray, “that might be Olaf. Very similar clothing, similar likeness with the white beard, but that’s something he called the Icon of Theophilus. It kind of looks like a Unicorn horn.”

Twilight turns pallid, breath rattling in her chest. “T-that wasn't a dream?”

Does she know about that, too?

“I assure you, it was no simple dream but a memory. My sister and I felt it as well.” Luna assures Twilight who looks more uncomfortable than ever.

“I've been having nightmares for two weeks because of that! It’s the same voices waking me up when I try to sleep.” Twilight blurts out.

Luna called for calm with an upraised hoof. It is partially shattered by a cheerful voice, “It's Breaksert!” Pinkie canters out from the kitchens with a tray of small tarts on her head. A charming whistle and gentle glide has her place one down in front of everypony. “I call it the Breaksert Appletastic Cranberry-crimps and very-cherry torte! See, it's Breaksert because we're having it for breakfast and there's oats in it too. Breakfast-dessert, breaksert! Applejack made it, I named it. We make a good team.” She seems pleased, the others seem perplexed, and you realize how quickly the voices of discontent disappeared.

Smooth, Pinkie Pie, smooth.

Luna quickly straightens up and takes advantage of the lull, “We have had such a dream three times before, it took time to assemble the scattered pieces. Then, of course, I saw the horn, and since then Our rest has been more troubled than normal.”

There was still the obvious question to be asked, “What did you want Twila Smythe for, you never did answer my question last time… Princess… ma'am.”

“While the exact details were given to the constabulary, I can tell you that we have four unicorns who have been killed, and two that have not been found. We had assumed it might be unrelated until one sister was killed and another abducted.” the Alicorn rattles off the list like it was any other. It shocks the rest of the room with its callousness.

“No slave trade, no other trophies displayed, no theft.” It doesn't line up. What is Olaf planning that had so few hallmarks of the Vikings? Was your knowledge of them really that lacking?

“Nevertheless, the picture was released and it won't be easily contained. I was hoping to shield you from this Rightly,” she sighs, the tea arriving thanks to the courteous Applejack. She bows then takes a seat next to you. Luna continues after a less than dainty sip, “but Our usual channels were less successful. We would have usually kept such an issue quiet, there is no sense in frightening the plebeian ponies near and far. So this, no doubt, is going to cause you issues. I am sorry.” She stops and looks between Rainbow Dash and yourself. There is something else to that gaze that takes responsibility for your presence.

Rainbow Dash, slams her hoof down on the table, “Then it's settled, we'll just go and buck it to next wee-”

“No.” Luna's booming voice echoes out as she cuts Rainbow Dash's heroic, albeit impulsive, plan short. “We have Royal guards and constables for that. Your task is seeking out the purpose and plots of this monster.”

“Ahem, if it's not too much trouble.” Twilight’s twitching left eye betrays her thoughts, “How is everypony perfectly okay with this?! I mean, Rightly, you said it yourself that it was a thousand years ago, so shouldn't we start there?” The baffled pony rises up, forehooves firmly set against the table.

“Well,Twi, a lot of the stuff we have to deal with starts about a thousand years ago.” Applejack just rolls a hoof and looks to Luna.

“We have some fragments and theories, Twilight Sparkle.” Luna assures her. Steeling herself, she begins again, “But they are not arranged properly. It is getting more difficult as time passes, dream walking is an art, reinterpretation takes time. We have ideas on how this was accomplished, to a degree, but not why it was done. I will relay what I discover to our friend. Hopefully it will make more sense to him. For now, seek out answers from another source.”

“Zecora!” Applejack's excited voice echoes in the confinement of the room, eliciting raucous cries from a few jays as they scatter in a flurry of feathers. Sure enough it gets universal nods of approval. “It means a bit of a walk through the Everfree, but we're gettin' more used to that then the back of our hoof! Ain't that right gals?”

Princess Luna closes her eyes, then blinks them back open as if having just fallen asleep for a moment. In that space she speaks sternly, “Be careful not to grow complacent, there are all manner of beasts in the Everfree.”

“Many are either in hibernation, but some do the reverse, others get desperate for food. And the Timberwolves come out even more.” Fluttershy reinforces what the Princess had said. It strengthened Luna’s position and avoided the Cavalier manner of the other four.

“Who, what, when, where, and why.” Twilight nodded, seemingly convinced, “ Who: Olaf, a h-raider from a thousand years ago-”

She’d almost fouled up,

Twilight clears her throat and continues unphased by the near blunder, “What: the deaths of four unicorns and a further two that are missing. When…” she inclines her head towards Princess Luna to answer that. If Rarity was around, she’d know.

“Three months”

“Where.” Twilight continues.

“Vanhoover and most of the west coast. The second killing of mister Many Bags occurred north of White Tail Woods while the third was in Mount Vermin near Tall Tale.”

Unless I'm way off, that is a fairly big area.

“How…” Twilight trails off, trying to fortify herself while Pinkie up and leaves for the kitchen.

“An axe.” Luna explains, causing a universal groan of disgust and discomfort. Rainbow just stares at you long and hard as if accusing you of it. No, that isn't quite right. She is inspecting you, as if peering into your heart to see if you could do the same. After a moment, the Pegasus just slowly nods and smiles at you. You have the distinct feeling that she had come up with an answer and was satisfied with it.

Luna finishes her tea and experimentally extends her wings, “Rightly, the dreams must continue until you find the key. If there is anything you need, it will be provided. I, I am sorry for my mistrust… please, be wary, be careful, expect the unexpected, and when the moment comes, know that We have faith in you.” She stands and makes her way to the door. It is a solemn moment, silhouetting her in the rays that spill in through the cottage door. Shutting the door, sunlight still bleeds through the windows and settles on dust motes like fireflies. No one speaks for what feels like ages.

“Well, down the hatch an' we'll get'cha home. Yer lookin' a might bit tired an' we gotta' hoof it to Zecora's.” Applejack nudges the bowl of oatmeal. Nopony was really eating though Twilight and Rainbow were both feigning it, “Y'all lookin' tired. We’ll start out at noon an' get to her place 'bout sunset? Besides, have to get Rarity all caught up.”

“Well-” you try to figure out how to eat the thick porridge without a spoon, “best not let it go to waste at all. Thanks AJ, thanks Pinkie.” You call out and get a ‘Welcome for whatever it’s for!’ in return. Looking around you take in the looks and glances around you: tiredness, disbelief, and stress are etched on everypony's face. Hopefully this won't last too long and you can get a solid answer from the mystic zebra.

♣

The thunderous roar and meandering roll of the longship in heavy seas was nauseating. Scything winds and crackling pincers of lightning rent the sky which churned and boiled.

“Row, you milk sops! If the Nornar decide that you’re going to drown then stop acting like teething sons of whores!” Taskmaster Einarr's shouts almost drowned out the storm itself. Almost. The man strode the elevated plank down the length of the ship and turned back towards the thane loitering near the door.

“Thane Ulf! Tell our lord we've spotted land.” The grizzled man pointed towards a dull grey mass on the horizon, easily mistaken for a cloud-bank. Ulf ducked back into the small aft cabin that swayed and heaved as the ship slid into a trough between the sombre waves.

Three men hunched over a small table, gazing at a map. “Sit, Ulf, you don't look well.” Olaf waved him in and set down a tankard which promptly skimmed across the table.

Olaf sat opposite of Ulf as he entered, clad in a blue cloak and saffron tunic, Kolbjorn in the rough-spun grey tunic of a warrior, and Sigvald still stood in his hauberk, though his helmet was gone, showing his ruddy skin and deep cleft where he'd lost an eye. He spat on the floor, obviously queasy but not wishing to show it.

“My Lord-” Ulf bowed and closed his eyes tightly as the lurch of the vessel nearly flipped him on his side, “taskmaster Einarr wishes to say land has been spotted.”

“Then we’re making good time, the Bleaksea and[i/] Flind are still in sight. Preparations are set. Excellent.” The proffered drink was grasped and quickly quaffed down by the Northern Lion.

Sigvald grunted and grabbed for his helm which slid across the floor, he nicked the aventail before it spun from his grasp and landed at Ulf’s feet. “Olaf, King, I'll lead my Joms ashore and take the headlands before dawn. It shouldn't be diff-”

Olaf only had to hold up a hand, “We land and set up an encampment. Your Joms will provide protection during the night. If anyone happens to find us, take them and show them to my tent. We must find this king.” Such a mundane task no doubt rankled the warlike Jarl. The thane hesitantly picked up the iron and brass helm and held it out. It was promptly torn from his hands by the Jarl.

“Yes, Olaf.” Sigvald grumbled and stood up to retrieve his cloak and brave the tempestuous gale on deck.

“Ulf…” Olaf’s eyes still rested on the map, “you will take the first group and set up the stakes to anchor the longships. Einarr will control the ship, but you will act as my voice to the other captains. Find us good shelter, we have no idea where this king is. If it’s some Wendish chieftain it could take time.”

The Lion stroked his beard in thought, “If this is a ploy, it may be to slay me. Our fight in Valland to see their king failed, the Hebredesians tried to slay me on the beach. Kolbjorn-.” he looked up, bright eyes transfixing him as if by magic, “Ulf is my voice to our people and you are mine to whoever we find. Take my armor, my cloak, my helm. You could pass for me at a glance.” Kolbjorn swiftly did as he was bid.

In moments they were ready. Olaf gathered his manuscripts and papers which had guided them, stalking out behind his thanes. Fora few seconds that Ulf and Kolbjorn were the only ones seen; from warrior to taskmaster, they bowed their head in submission before Kolbjorn. The thane sucked in a breath, confused for a moment and yet evidently liking the sensation as they strode towards the prow of the ship. The warlord Olaf followed like a wraith, unnoticed by his own people.

A ragged crack of lightning pierced the sky nearby with the stink of burning ozone, hairs stood on end and the bone rattling crack caused many to seize. Far off to their right, Ulf glimpsed a single bobbing light up on the massive wave crest. The Bleaksea rode high upon a mountainous crest. Kolbjorn swiftly glanced to starboard where the Flind was supposed to be, but there was no sign of the longship.

Einarr screeched above the howling winds, “Don’t cling to the gunwales, row!” Another wave sent a deluge of water down on deck, soaking every man to the bone.

The vapid expanse of the storm racked skies loomed up before them. Howling gales swept cloaks and battered flesh, turning knuckles white, fear etched on the faces of the hundred souls aboard the Serpent. Riding high atop that great crested wave, they spotted the headlands and the great rocky spire. There was a light, a pinprick of white atop the highest jagged peak. The vessel sloped down amidst a great cry as the ship swung sideways and plunged into the abyssal trough. They were sure to capsize as the enormous shadow enveloped them. Many eyes shut tight, prayers to the old gods were given in earnest, the Nornar consigning them to the deep.

The deathly wave never descended, but split in twain around the floundering vessel. One soul said what all were thinking aloud, “by the gods…” the waters were suppressed in a glassy verdant sheen that glittered like diamonds. From the vessel to the headland a calm pathway divided the raging waters, leaving it as flat as ice.

Yet from the headlands, the small spark was no longer a simple pin prick of fairy fire; in its place was an immense vortex of spiraling colors and crackling lightning. The roar could be heard above the storm, a thrumming drone of a waterspout sizzled with eldritch light.

“No gods… a sorcerer.” Olaf said in a voice quivering in anticipation while others quaked in fear.

Author's Note

Not much to say about this one, it ran through pretty quick and just checking to see how the pace and such works with a new slightly quicker style.

Act 2- Chapter 4: Dark Visions

Dark Visions

Proofread by TehSporkBandit

Three ships were beached upon the sands of Scilly as tempestuous gales tore at any scrap of cloth visible. The tide surged up the shale beach as crews desperately hauled on water-slicked ropes to stop the vessels from washing out to sea. As the gangs of norsemen hauled their ships to safety the smaller delegation of leaders were already looking at where the figure on the headland had been.

Sigvald and six of his ilk prowled the perimeter like wolves while Ulf and the disguised Kolbjorn waited amongst the rocks. It was a long seeming wait, but Olaf gave orders under his breath, “If the sorcerer makes a move then defend yourselves, if not, we need them to tell us about the king. Or, perhaps, something about the Icon.” His eyes seemed to light up under the heavy burlap cowl.

Ulf quietly mumbled so the prowling Sigvald couldn't hear, “My l-” he checked himself, “thane. Perhaps the sorcerer knows the secret to such a thing as a demon's horn.”

“We stand on the precipice of something unheard of. A single unified land for Danes, Norse, and Swedes alike. If I have to get my answers from a hedge-wizard, soothsayer, or sorcerer, then I'll grovel for the moment and repay the insult later. This can not fail. I won't allow it.” He said, setting his teeth together.

The wait was interminable, and the winds roared and tore at them, chilling flesh with evident relish and heaping miseries on the sailors. Olaf looked around, still no one had come to greet them, thus they must have to seek out their host. Kolbjorn picked up on it and waved them forward while Olaf picked up his own shield and trailed after them. Jarl Sigvald issued a sharp whistle and another half-dozen of his Jom kindred hustled over across the broken grey shale to meet them.

The party, now numbering nearly a score, started off over the small hillocks flanking the headland and wound their way up the grassy slopes of the verdant bluffs. Slowly they were picking their way up the shelf and towards the great rocky overwatch when the first Jom gave a small mock cry of a gull. A shape had been spotted.

Silhouetted against the tumultuous sky and raging lightning storm, a cloaked form, huddled and bent, looked over the seas to the east. One by one the group pulled themselves up around the rear of the headland, and could have nearly bridged the full expanse of the path standing a pace apart from one another. The sorcerer, such a monumental force, was such an insignificant looking figure huddled in sackcloth and staring out vacantly at the waters.

The figure muttered something twinged in a tongue only vaguely recognizable as belonging to the Angles. It was no greeting, just a low self-addressed utterance. Kolbjorn held up a hand, showing he meant no offence or harm, but as was proper, it was Ulf's voice that broke the silence, “Greetings great sorcerer, calmer of seas and diviner of the gods. I speak on behalf of the great Lord of the North, Olaf son of Tryggva, who wishes-” the clap of thunder rocked the headland and a flash of lightning rent the heavens.

In the momentary flash of light the norsemen saw the figure hold its arm up. Fine purple fur from elbow to unpolished grey hoof, it was no human but some sort of beast like the healfhundingas. “You speak for your king, but not for the king that you would present to me.” It spoke in a vaguely masculine voice as calming as a song and sweet as honey. It was hard to tell if it was the bizarre appearance or the sorcerer's words which shook the party more. “Loyalty, hmmm. Reap the rewards of loyalty and spurn the wages of hatred.” It partially seemed to take a glimpse their way, showing what looked like a short muzzle and small nose, though its mouth still showed a faint smile.

To appease, or perhaps not test the sorcerer's patience further, Olaf stepped forward. Even Sigvald looked stunned, staying back, though his battle axe was firmly gripped in both hands, “I seek your pardon. It is not in my nature to deceive, but to test.”

There was another wave of its hoof, as if warding him away. They were greeted by a laugh rather than an incantation, “A future king has to be sure of both his advice and his safety for the good of his people. That will serve you well, Olaf.”

Slowly Olaf approached again, Kolbjorn and Ulf both joined him. Sigvald looked around awkwardly, not wishing to chance being nearer to such a creature. Closer and closer they crept, neither trying to dawdle or seem aggressive while the heavens shook from the raking lightning bolts and the roar of thunder. “I have come some way to seek your guidance and assistance. I seek-”

“The secrets within the Icon of Theophilus.” The sorcerer interrupted and waved a hoof again with a muted 'meh' as if it was neither a surprise nor of genuine interest. “Why? Is it control over anyone who would oppose you?”

The blunt question caught them by surprise, “Can it do that?” Kolbjorn ventured before he was silenced by Olaf's wave.

“Hmm, well, yes, but not in the way I imagine you expect. I would explain it to you, but I doubt you would understand, yet: Se sy þæs strangan stapol…” it halted, as if sensing the party’s confusion, “‘It is their foundation of strength, no death by arms, no need for slaughter, move to peace and receive peace.’”

The foreign words washed over them entirely as blank looks drew a long and uninspired sigh from the sorcerer. “‘See-si thas stran-gan’… Wait I saw that in the tomb!” Ulf exclaimed aloud, looking back and forth between the others.

“Oh? Hmm, is that so?” The sorcerer turned and tossed his head back. The hood came off amidst a shower of bedraggled hair: blue, purple, turquoise, wavy as the sea. A horn sprouted from its brow. It flashed a smile across a short slender muzzle while glassy sightless eyes seemed to skim over the gathering before settling on Olaf.

“What are you?” Sigvald's gruff voice spoke for all of them, though the horrid creature was obviously some spawn of Sleipnir.

“An alicorn.” Olaf still seemed shocked. Reflexively he grasped the twist of horn that hung on his neck by a length of silver cord. As the pendent grew nearer, the sorcerer clasped a flat hoof to the side of its head and winced as if in pain. Sightless eyes looked over at the sprig of ivory as the sorcerer snorted then clenched his jaws. As if sensing the sorcerer's distress Olaf tucked the priceless reliquary away.

Taking a few deep breaths the creature calmed itself. “Unicorn, actually. Funny how that works… but how much does that really matter? What I am is less important than who, and for now, you can call me Clover.”

“Clover.” Olaf's voice seemed in awe as Ulf drew a sharp breath. They both recalled the symbol on the map, their 'king' sat in front of them.

A trace of a tremor ran through the Unicorn again. “But you'll want proof, or you'll want results. I know your type, believe when it suits you or when it favours you. She wouldn't have minded as much… I tell you now as if you don't heed me you will never heed me. Olaf, future king, take heed if you wish to remain a king. You will do many things that people will love you for, you will harken in a new faith in new covenant waters for your own good and for some others as well. I see a chance in you, through struggle. You move as a pendulum swings, too far right, then too far left, it will take a long time, beyond when others see your use, before you find your perfect rest.” He sighed deeply and blinked once.

The glassy sightless eyes turned lambent, flames sparked from within and seemed to materialize like hovering dust motes that burst into existence in front of their faces. Fairy fire, it drew many uncomfortable growls and more than a few disbelieving cries of fear from the Jom bodyguard. Two of the hardened veterans fled down the rocky slopes to the beach. The sorcerer's voice echoed and reverberated as if coming from a deep well:

“Five things done in seven days,
none alone could change your ways.
leave these cliffs and find your thrall
vicious, treacherous, no group small.
Fall on you like winters wind,
with their spears you shall be pinned.
Bloodied, broken, near death's door,
to new god, shall you implore.
Born on shield with fever high,
set adrift you shall not die.
Saved at last, your vow uphold,
with clean waters crisp and cold.”

The sorcerer's eyes closed once and their glow faded. Olaf seemed stunned and quite unsure what to make of it. As they took in the prophetic vision a cry rose from the seashore. “Sigvald, see what's wrong.” Olaf commanded, but already the sorcerer sighed and lowered his head. “Ulf, stay here and guard the sorcerer with your life. Kolbjorn come with me.”

They departed down the headland, Ulf standing by the sorcerer's side as the creature sighed, “Foresight is a curse whether it's good or bad. The past is past, do not blame me; the future is tendrils, what will be will be.”

Kolbjorn and the rest of the Joms trekked back down to the beach as the first hurtled accusations reached his ears. The sorcerer shook his head as Ulf looked over; the first prophetic act was sure to come.

♣

The midday departure had been a saving grace. Escorted back to the farm house, you'd gone straight to your bed and fallen asleep almost immediately. You were plagued with dreams again, yet this time you could make sense of them. They were no simple figments of your imagination but something more tangible.

The scent of apple crisp had assailed your nostrils the moment your mind swam back to reality. After a quick dessert-like lunch you gave Apple Bloom's hair a ruffle and shouldered your pack. Then you and Applejack set out for the edge of the Everfree forest to rendezvous with the rest of the party.

That initial buoyant spirit of adventure quickly sank with the realities of the winter weather. Your blue coat had turned black from the moisture and that miserable dampness clung to you like a limpet. While the scarf over your mouth was smothering hot, every time you pulled it away the vicious frost nipped at your cheeks and cracked your chapped lips. There was no winning.

Thankfully, once you'd broached the edge of the forest the snow began to thin out. An oppressive veil of darkness swaddled the bleak woods cast by skeletal trunks and a snow laden canopy. The same gaps in the boughs that brought those few precious pools of light also brought the wailing moans of the winds that shrieked like banshees. It was growing damper, warmer, and the occasional deep 'crack' of breaking tree limbs and 'thump' of snow were startling.

You, Twilight, and Applejack share the vanguard of the company while the others trail behind. Even as you squint, all that can be seen are few islands of light, the thick trunk of massive trees, or the few prickling bushes emerging like talons through the dirty grey snow.

“Alright, girls,” you shoot her a quick glance that she seems to miss. She continues with a sigh and an unsteady wobble, as if about to fall, “how about a ten minute break?” Pinkie was already bobbing up and down before rifling through her pack. She produces a double-thick picnic blanket while AJ has something wrapped in parchment paper.

Seeing as others were getting set up for a quick rest you look at Twilight. She presses a hoof to the trunk of an hawthorn to steady herself. “Twi, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Terse, but not too strange.

You point off into the forest fringe, “I'm just… well I'll be back in a few minutes.” Not explicitly stating you have to go to the bathroom, but it got a quick 'uh-huh' as she massages her muzzle. There isn’t really a need to slink too far into the dark forest and it wouldn’t be wise to do so. After all, ponies had disappeared and were never seen again in this forest. Still, Twilight knew where you were going as you’d pointed out where you were going.

After two minutes of crunching through the snow you firmly feel like you are in luck. There is a small rivulet twisting through the forest with sharp banks and a wide pebbled spillway. Bare pebbles and clear snowmelt can be seen through the faint dappling cast by the skeletal trees. The air is thick and foul with the fecund stench of rotting loam, but at least it was warmer than it had been. That might make Ponyville’s pest control methods worthless.

Oh well, nopony controls the weather in the Everfree.

As you unbutton your sodden coat something pricks your ears. Snapping your gaze left and then right, an ice fog swiftly rolls in, obscuring the world in moments and cutting your vision to twenty or thirty feet in a haze of light grey. The mists roll down from the banks, building up in the gullies and ditches. “Uh, Twilight?” You yearn to hear that comforting voice answer and cut through the mist. Worse yet, the fog muffles your voice, even to your own ears.

Deciding that you really didn't have to go that badly after all, you start to head back towards the bank. There is a light pattering sound of crunching snow from the direction you came. “Twi?” There is no response. A loud 'thump' echoes as something slams down nearby, reflexively causing you to turn. Nothing, just shaking branches barely visible in a shaft of light that sliced through the suffocating fog.

Rotted loam again

A sickly stench of decay wafts into your nostrils. Turning back you see a shape meander between the trees at the very edge of your vision. It didn't walk or trot like a pony, it was a near silent lope.

You edge back towards the stream while trying not to lose sight of the apparition among the dull grey trunks in the gathering gloom. Your heel steps into the water, splashing back against your ankle as a large flat stone shifts and gives away. As you windmill your arms to keep your balance, the pack slips from your grasp and splashes in the shallows. It takes only a fraction of a second to steady yourself but your heart is hammering in your chest. Chancing a glance back at the visitor, it had already vanished.

Slowly, cautiously, you bend to pick up your fallen pack. There is another rustle in the undergrowth then the groan of snow and clatter of trees. You keep scanning to and fro. Hairs rise on the back of your neck, you're being watched and it's circling. The stink of rot lingers on the air. “Twilight… Applejack…” their names die in your throat.

A sudden realization chills you to the bone as you slowly edge back downstream. Not only is the creature stalking you, it was herding you… and you fell for it. Unless you start thinking and stop reacting, this phantom will almost certainly stalk you, kill you, and turn you into another cautionary tale of the Everfree. Start thinking, it was an easy thing to say but hard to do.

“Twilight? Girls?!” You call out loudly, but once again it sounds like you are being smothered.

A low, wet snarl echoes from behind you as you warily turn. Your eyes open wide; depthless teal pools like spinning vortexes fix you to the spot. It has a hulking body, twice as broad as yourself, twisted gnarled limbs, and rotting fens hang like scabrous mange from its back and neck. Its thick skin is dull and lifeless, gnarled bark and lifeless grey moss hang in clumps in sickly imitation of a living being. From its jaws issues a low growl, showing rows of nettles and thickets while sharpened stakes line its maw. Oh God… oh God, Timberwo- you back up one step and it lunges.

You screech as a sharp stabbing pain rips through your stomach. You are bowled over into the stream with a splash. A horrid thought grasps you as a hand pats at your abdomen feverishly hoping the beast hadn't ripped you open and spilled your entrails. Feeling ripped fabric and the thin trace of blood you shake and shiver before glancing down. It tore through the blue fabric with its claws, and your shirt was damp, but there is only two faint lines where it had actually connected with your tissue.

Damn it’s fast.

It had charged, raked at you, and darted back into the gathering gloom before you could shout. Reeling from it, you shove yourself back upright only to find you are still submerged up to your calves. Spinning left and right, you are a large tempting target out there in the middle of the stream. The fog has closed in everywhere and you've lost sight of the creature. As you twist to face it, you aren't even completely positive which side of the rivulet is the right way back towards the group. If you scream right now there is no guarantee they could get here in time to intervene.

Casting about for an escape, you dart towards the nearby bank. Your pounding feet shifts the loose pebbles before you jump at the overhang and scramble up the slick muddy slope. The wet snorting snarl merges with its dash across the shallows as well. You drop flat and lash out with your foot to ward off the beast. The monster’s claws dig furrows in the bank mud as it thrashes its powerful jaws and then snaps down on your shoulder. There is a ripping tear as you are grasped, feeling a wash of hot breath spill over your neck that smells like lavender before you are roughly flung aside by the beast.

There is a moment of sickening weightlessness as you are tossed like a rag doll and slammed shoulder first into the streambed. The shock sends your glasses flying into the stream while a sharp pain lances through your non-responsive limb. Trying to lift your arm churns your stomach and as you glance at it you can see why. A wooden shard at least two inches long juts out from your bloody jacket just above your collarbone.

Bloodied and battered, you try to spot the beast but can’t find it. Even if it would be a blur, the fast loping wraith isn’t there. There isn’t time to hunt for your dropped glasses. As you keep looking into the haze through tear-stained eyes, you spot something. Hoping the vague blurry grey shape is what you think it is, you dart across the stream bed and desperately grasp for the object. It is a gnobbled tree branch about five feet long and thicker on one side than the other.

A shillelagh!

You unthinkingly reach out with your damaged limb and weakly grasp the club. At least your shoulder isn’t broken or dislocated. The knotted bough is familiar enough to just use as a baseball bat.

The phantom shape appeared on the far side of the stream. It stands in full view, reeking of death, decay, and another bewildering scent that tripped your mind. The timberwolf snarls once and tenses as it locks you in a piercing stare. Its eyes… it plunges into the rivulet and sends up a great spray of water.

Your muscles tense for a second as you wind up the club like a bat. It bounds across the spillway in a few short motions and springs at you, its claws outstretched and mouth wide open. A single scream rips from your chest as you swing the makeshift club. The bough smashes into its face before you are slammed backwards.

You aren't dead and it isn’t gouging out your organs or tearing off strips of flesh. Your eyes snap open and flutter against the shower of rotted vegetation, dirt, and shattered timber. A quick gasp and terrified backwards scramble pushes most of the desiccated debris from you, though you still slide down the mud walls and snowy overhang. Your hands are frozen, your shoulder and arm scream in pain, and your makeshift weapon is lost, but the fear of the timberwolf reanimating carries you up onto the bank.

You claw your way free from the stream, you cough and feel a flash of pain as the wheezing sound meets your ears. Turning onto your back, you just hope that the beast wasn’t picking itself up. Instead, there was no sign of branches, not even little blurry grey specks, just an oozing stream of purple bile. The virulent poison winds its way towards the stream and is slowly washed away. You swallow and look back at the pile of kindling, it was gone. That wasn’t just a trick of your eyes. There was no hazy blots against the pallid blue-grey bank. You lay on the overhang in the snow, shaking from exertion, fear, and the claws of the winter chill that take hold of you.

“Sheesh, don't tell me you got scared and had to call for the most heroic pony in Ponyville to take you by the hoof and lead you back like a foal.” That obnoxious laugh echoes in the vale as you look up towards the sound. The azure blob flaps down among the white boughs. “Wow. What the hay happened to you?” Dash catches sight of the glare, but maybe the blood, or the splinter, or the torn clothing, or any number of things. She swoops down and lands next to you with a crunch.

She flicks your head to the side and looks at the long twisted shard jutting from your shoulder, “Ohmygosh, hang on, I’m gonna get you outta here in a sec-”

You reach out to grasp her by the withers as she gives a reflexive whinny of surprise. “T-timber… timberwol-” your chest is racked with a wheezing fit of coughs as you wave a hand in that general direction. “Glass-glasses.”

“How do your claws work, can you hang on?” She touches your hand, watching the fingers twitch and spasm of their own accord. There is no way you could simply ‘hang on’ and she knows it. “Ponyfeathers, stay there, I’ll be back in a flash!” Almost as good as her word, you can hear the air ruffle feathers as she recklessly tears off between the trees.

You rest your back against the a trunk and sit in the snow as you feel the vapid chill sink in. A few uncontrolled spasms cause your arms and legs to jerk as a headache slowly begins to swell in the side of your head. As you shiver in uncontrollable bursts and try to fight off hypothermia’s inexorable onset, it leads to only one question:

How long will that take?

Author's Note

Well, that's the first kinda fighty actiony sequence so we'll see how that is. Thoughts, questions, guesses, etc are all welcome per usual.

Well take care eh?

Act 2- Chapter 5: Finding Aid in a Quiet Glade

Finding Aid in a Quiet Glade

Proofread by TehSporkBandit

You were already shivering like a leaf in autumn when the rest of the group found you, but thankfully Rainbow had led them straight to you in mere moments. The galloping sound of hooves in your ears slowly translated as 'help' to your brain.

“You left him in the cold?!” Twilight snaps at Rainbow as you feel yourself effortlessly lifted up with the tingling buoyancy of magic.

“Yeah?” Rainbow responds, admittedly, her quick speed probably saved you from developing a much worse case of hypothermia, but you had been quite angry at her for leaving.

Twilight persists with her indignant fit, “On his own in freezing temperatures?!”

“Look, he's too awkward to move that quick and it probably wouldn't have been any faster than it would have taken me to bring him back. So I made sure he was huddled up and not losing too much heat.”

“What in Equestria were you thinking?!” There is the sound of dislodged snow from the branches of some nearby trees, but nothing that registers as much.

Several sets of hooves seem to find you all at once, "Hey, Rightly, you doin' okay, pardner?" Your chattering teeth and your uncontrolled twitches give Applejack her answer.

"Hugs always help, just scootch over…" you feel a warm body settle next to you, pressing against your back, "It's cold, silly." Pinkie's forehooves wrap around you, enfolding you in a hug and a surprising warmth. It isn't just some friendly gesture, and in a few moments you are surrounded by the furred bodies that lend you their heat. Nevertheless, it doesn't dissuade the lecturing going on a few paces away.

“I figured you get here, snap, bit of magic, and you're at Zecora's.” Rainbow admits readily as if saying 'hurry up and 'snap' to it’. The Pegasus had been expedient in fetching aid and her magenta eyes had reflected genuine concern at the time. In that light, Twilight's tyrannical tirade seems excessive.

Rarity and Fluttershy are still panting from how hard Rainbow must have driven them to get here, and that was more than easy to feel given the Unicorn was currently laying down at your head with her side acting as a pillow, "Y-you’re positively soaked… soaked the bone, dear. There must be something better in my pack." She is trying not to gasp, hack, or anything else unsightly.

“F-fine!”

Why was she hesitating? Hesitation isn't good, stop that Twilight!

There is still a strange aura around you, a clattering hiss, the smell of burning ozone as you look around, eyes shutting against the tracing flecks of incandescent scarlet. There is a flash of light, a hissing 'thump' that rattles your bones, and a lurching sensation followed by a painful prickling heat.

You are no longer surrounded by prodding hooves and comforting sounds of friends. “Oh no, I was off… I was off!” She hisses and seethes through her teeth like she was fighting off a migraine. With a simpering grunt of pain you fall back into the snow, splaying you out before you curl up and try to pull yourself upright on unsteady hands. “We're lost, I can't believe I missed it… I…” she growls again and you feel her bite your sleeve.

“C'rm ern.” She jerks her head, tugging you lengthwise onto her back, slumped over with your feet trailing along the ground and face nearly in the snow. “Have to see if we're close.” She can't manage a gallop, in fact she sways under the weight and stumbles forward a few feet.

The frigid cold bites into you, sucking in through the damp fabric as a dull heat burns on your back, but your extremities still feel numb. A small glow seems to prickle the back of your neck, casting a bit of light and showing a shadow of the Alicorn princess. “It's not much, but I hope this keeps you warm.” Quietly she mutters, “I'm sorry, I really am sorry to drag you into this… I thought I could do it, but you wouldn't have lasted that long. But now… now…” she gasps sharply, a sniff fighting back what sounds like a sob. “Please, please, please… forgive me.” Her chest contracts harshly underneath you and the first unsteady breath and simper breaks the silence moments after that.

You spot something, weak and blurry through the tall streak like trees, right against the wispy grey sky. It is a dark smudge, not much more than that, lazily billowing in the sky. “T-t-tw-wai.” Your lips freeze and don't make out the words as you point a shivering, almost spasming, hand towards what you see.

“S-smoke?” She sniffs again before it becomes apparent, “Smoke! Smoke!” the scent galvanized her forward at a gallop. She stumbles forward in mid stride after ploughing through a small serpentine drift. You weigh her down significantly, but even now your legs aren't responding. Instead, she grunts, looping her hoof around your arm and getting up with quaking knees before taking another strong lurch forward.

“Zecora! Zecoraaaaa!” She shouts out, her voice hoarse and crackling from nearly crying scant seconds before. She weaves through the trees, grey-brown trunks streaming by as a faint scent of woodsmoke enters your nostrils.

A voice hails you as you get closer, it’s rhythmic and punctuated, “Is that Twilight Sparkle at my door? Come in, come in, I've drawn a bath and more!” You are rushed inside what looks like another great home carved from a tree nestled in the mangrove-like forest. Painted faces, demonic and frightening, seem to skim past your nose. Maybe if you shut your eyes they will simply disappear. Such is the rattled thought that bounces around in your mind as you cross the threshold.

"Zecora, please do som-"

She is interrupted without a hint of the same franticness, "I have a warming tub to fight the chill and herbal tea so he will not get ill." Everything seems to have been prepared before time.

♣

“Rainbow, I know you don't get cold all that easily, but you don't have to be a doctor to know what happens when you soak a stallion and leave him in the snow! What were you thinking?” Twilight's very words seem to rock the wooden walls all around you, rattling clay pots and ruffling feathers on the Pegasus’s wings. She fumes, face flush, fur coat prickling up to release some of the heat that seems to want to melt her from within.

Over what? Rainbow Dash is the recipient of the barrage as she just lets her head tilt back as if to brave the furnace-like blast from the Alicorn's lungs. The Pegasus doesn't quail and she doesn't shrink away, her greasy, unkempt, wind-blown mop of a mane flattens out behind her before she blows a few tracing strands out of her eyes with a subtle puff of breath. “This again? I told you why before.”

You have to admit, she’s keeping any temper she had in check but you wager confusion outweighs anger at that moment. Hell, you are defending Rainbow Dash… how that happened was not particularly pleasant, but you had been told what happened in the few moments that you were left alone. Apparently, she shouted, tramped, and all but herded the others over when Twilight seemed to be light-headed and in the grips of some fainting spell. As such, they didn't pay her too much attention until she'd physically bit Rarity's tail and pulled her until the indignation set in.

Stripped down but settled beneath no less than three layers of blankets you are feeling far better than when you'd arrived. Zecora's freshly drawn bath had seen to you being slowly warmed up in those two hours before the rest of the party showed up. Rarity had been the one to find your glasses, and they weren't in too bad a shape aside from a single long scratch on the bottom of the left lens. Most of that awkward phase about being naked had mostly been leached away too.

Actually, it's kinda liberating.

Huddled into a sitting position in one of the alcoves of Zecora's hut, you watch the baffling spectacle: one pony seeming to be in a gladiatorial blood match and the other looking like she was standing in line to pay for groceries at the market.

“Scoozie!” Pinkie says as she edges past you and slips under the blankets to your left. Leaning against your side, she is still quite a bit warmer than you, and that was helping get rid of the cold. On the face of it, that is the real purpose as Pinkie keeps a hoof around your shoulders and seems to just take in the display for a second. “Soup's almost done. I said it would have been better to make some broccoli in hot garlic sauce to warm you up. Ever tried it?”

“No, can't say I have.” It comes out as a bit of a warbled croak that would have made a frog laugh and insulted pretty much any bird.

“Cut into florets, shake of red chili, vinegar, sugar, crushed pepper, a dollop of hot sauce, salt to taste, easy-peezy. Hey, Twilight!” It doesn't garner a response.

Twilight, still fuming, doesn't even turn your way when she calls out, “Rainbow Dash, it's not just a ‘turn your head and shrug’ saying everything will be fine, it's not always that simple. We nearly had a major catastrophe on our hands today.” She knows, but you can't help but get the feeling she was half chastising herself. She'd even turned away, staring blankly at the wall while Rainbow just keeps glancing around as if saying 'are you talking to somepony else?'

Twilight turned, her eyes streaked with red and raised hackles seem to keep the Pegasus silent. You almost feel bad that there isn't anypony else that can lend support, but you and Pinkie are the sole remaining ponies aside from the pair. Rarity is out ensuring that a silvered cauldron had no tarnish on it, lest it spoil the potion; Fluttershy was tasked with obtaining a feather from red kite; Zecora and Applejack are both out digging up some semi-rare root. Twilight is supposed to be readying the various accoutrements and setting out dilution containers for some elixir, while Rainbow… well, she was basically left to her own devices away from anything that needed precision rather than her brand of intuition. It left Pinkie as the one taking care of you. “So... ever tried stuffed peppers?” it got a nod.

“-It doesn't matter that you actually went out to get him before getting us to get him, the body will lose a significant amount of warmth, every moment is precious when it comes to hypothermia.” Twilight is still fuming, wings up, in some natural intimidation display. It couldn't have been employed against a worse subject than Rainbow Dash, who tries to hide a smirk, and that makes Twilight even more irritated as you can hear her grinding her teeth.

“Twiiiiilight.” Pinkie calls again in her lilting sing-song tone. This time it gets Twilight's attention.

“What?!” she snaps and huffs. Orange glows cast eerie shadows thanks to the tortured and contorted masks that line the walls, the baubles and certainly arcane looking talismans and books here and there. Sigils in wood and stone, alembics, and sets of mixing gourds are plentiful in evidence. The crackle of the fire as it heats the small cauldron of soup was soothing, yet Twilight's jaws are clenched as she glares at the bright blue-eyed pony during that interminable pause.

“Isn't it weird that a hippo can't catch hippothermia but we have it all the time?” She beams, and for once, Twilight's rage seems to falter in the face of what seemed like an inane and pedestrian observation. But the more you think about it, the more it makes you smile, and the more Pinkie's oddity seems to circulate and throw Twilight for some sort of logic-loop.

“Pinkie, look I just don't have time to deal with your antics. Not now,” the door creaks open as the late shades of the fading day make the overcast world even more dingy. Zecora and Applejack, both muddied and toting a heavy saddlebag apiece, stop at Twilight's tone. For her part, Twilight doesn't seem to remotely notice as she extends a hoof to appeal to Pinkie, “we're having a serious conversation on the dangers of overexposure to the elements to non-Pegasi ponies. Riddley could have died and she-” she points a hoof at Rainbow Dash “didn't recognize a clear and present danger!”

“Riddley?” Rainbow Dash waggles her hoof in her ear then flicks the irritated appendage as if she'd blanked out and just missed something.

“I said Rightly.” Twilight's face screws up in a look of confusion. “Didn't I?”

“Umm, suga'cube, you feelin' okay?” Applejack shrugs off the burden and quickly makes her way to Twilight, who looks like she is going to wobble and collapse. That speeds up the country-mare's steps as she slides to a stop as a support and crutch for Twilight.

“N-no, no I'm not.” Twilight finally admits and actually takes the proffered help. Pinkie hops up while you just keep the blankets clutched tightly to avoid Pinkie unintentionally absconding with them.

“See, you're just tired and need a break. Lets get you all warm and cozy-wozy so you'll be feeling like a regular smartypants by morning, 'kay?” Pleased as she seems, it is a soft and lilting tone that draws something of a weary smile from Twilight, who is supported between the pair.

Stopping for just a second, the Alicorn shoots Rainbow Dash a solitary look of desolation before sighing deeply, betraying her exhaustion, “I'm so so sorry, Rainbow, I just… I'm not sure what came over me.”

“Yeah, you have been sort of-uuuh, off lately, but hey, everypony has one of those days right?” She smiles, sympathetic, even if she herself is still smarmy enough to tilt her head up saying 'I knew I wasn't the problem.' In this case, she was right.

“What she needs is a long deep sleep. Don't worry, now, we won't make a peep.” The Zebra smiles and adds, “I have a potion to ease your mind. Your eyes are red, you need to unwind.” It lasts all of ten seconds as Twilight is guided over to another alcove with a small tuck bed in it.

Nopony seemed to say a word after that, the house was quiet amidst the sound of a crackling fire, or the occasional stir of a mortar and pestle at work. However, there were a lot of fervent glances and worried stares right up until everypony was certain Twilight had fallen asleep. You, on the other hand, were fairly sure she may have simply passed out.

♣♣

A fresh breath from the south sent the window shutters slapping against soft sandstone. Its echo bounced across the peaceful courtyard as a playful breeze carried with it the scent of fresh-cut grasses from summer fields stretched across the plains under the aegis of the settlement walls. A twisting leaf from a hawthorn settled on a small pool of dew that had collected on the window sill. Far in the east, dawn's eager fingers grabbed hold of the world to embrace it and lather it in the glow of another summer day. Soft shapes hove on the horizon as orchards waved and rustled far beyond the new red stone walls. It was a perfect summer morning.

“My lord?” Ulf tapped on the thick oak door and poked his head inside the room. Olaf stood next to the window, staring out over the realm, hands flat on the wooden window sill and leaning out to watch the sunrise. The great northern lord inclined his head for a moment, enough for acknowledgement as a smile crept onto his lips.

“Come in, Ulf, you're not disrupting anything.” The soft voice of the lord's newest vizier echoed in the quiet chamber. Clover was no simple sorcerer but some prophetic Seer. After the mutiny on the shores, the Unicorn had never been wrong in his predictions.

There was no meandering voice of a lecture, no bubbling elixir or stink of a poultice, just a calmness that permeated every surface from worn stone to soft cloth on the unkempt bed. Previously unseen in the dull cloth, the Unicorn was just laying on the bed, staring over at Olaf. The light scratch of a quill could be heard, it had no ink and seemed to be just scraping on the vellum of a manuscript folder. The seer's milky eyes still seemed to comprehend everything despite the assurance that he saw nothing. The strange Unicorn's ears twitched and rotated back and forth but not once did his muzzle show anything but a broad smile of contentment.

“My lord, the bishop of Canterbury has accepted your audience and will be waiting for you. Additionally, word has come from the other Jarls. A meeting is to convene concerning all Angelcynn. I thought you should be informed.” The thane bit his lip seeming ill ease.

Olaf looked back over to him and reared up. Despite his stiffened gait and lack of armor, he was still a tall intimidating presence. His chest no longer bled with the gouge of daggers and his arm had healed from the bite of the axe, but he was still not recovered. “And?” He'd seen through the hesitation. Olaf waved to command the thane to enter and shut the door, which he did in the space of a few moments.

“Rumour has it that the daughter of King Kvaren will be present and will be seeking you… an Angle Jarl named Alfvine seeks her. I thought you should know. Kolbjorn dismissed this.” His heart skipped a beat as the great northern Lord seemed to mull the news over.

“Kolbjorn was a Jom once. A Jom dismisses all rumour and heeds all superstition, you know their type, Ulf. Now, as for the daughter of the Dublin King. What of her?” He inclined his head to the seer.

As if sensing this Clover hummed and shrugged, “I assume that is some proposal. On one hoof, this may be a way to repay the desolation you met on the Irish isles. Even just an apology sows the seeds of reparation. A single nail starts to mend a fence, not enough to be called complete, but so long as you keep working at it then it will get done.” It got a smile before it turned to a frown, “On the other, don't go looking for bloodshed. Alfvine has done nothing to spite you, he shouldn't pay for merely being competition.”

That notion struck Ulf as intrinsically backwards. Olaf seemed no different as he leaned back against the wooden window pane. “So what do you foresee?” The edge of hesitation was readily detectable.

“I notice you didn't ask my opinion.” Clover sighed and shook his head, “It's a gift that comes and goes: I see what I see, do not blame me.” It had grown to be a common statement.

A long silence permeated the room: the Jarl rested against the window, the seer on the bed, and the thane lingering near the door. Clover took a deep breath of the fresh air, and as if in imitation, Olaf did the same. Such a simple act appeared to have calmed him and galvanized him into making a decision. “You may say we will be heading to the gathering. If a Thing is convening, I will not miss it.”

“Yes, of course. My Lord, what about the Bishop? What should I say?”

“Hmm.” As Olaf seemed to stall in his thoughts the Seer made a small inquisitive 'hmm?' sound in his throat. It spurred Olaf on saying, “Tell him this: Olaf Traggvyson will raid no realm, no village, and no holding of a fellow Christian. And to the Angles, neither myself nor my retinue will slay another so Lord almighty help me. We are one, and will be one.”

“And Alfvine?” The Seer asked, prompting his lord as well.

It only drew a deep resigned sigh, “Beati misericordes quia ipsi misericordiam consequentur.” The blank expression graced his thane's face while Clover just blinked in surprise.

“'Blessed are the merciful for they shall obtain mercy'. Huh, I'm surprised Olaf; I wasn't aware you spoke Latin.” Clover hummed about that and smiled a bit more.

“You learn many things in slavery Clover, many things. Not all of them turn out to be bad.” Striding over to the door, Olaf plucked up his coat and shoved his way past the oaken barrier. It nearly struck the face of the blond haired shield thane. “Kolbjorn?! How long were you there?”

“N-not long, M'lord.” He bowed low. Stammering and rushed he pursued Olaf who stalked through the halls, “If there's no more raids, how will you fund your expeditions?”

“We'll find a way.”

The pleading thane asked again, “How will you deal with the Jarls?”

Once more a gruff grunt as the man retreated down the narrow halls, “We'll find a way, Kolbjorn.”

“But… my lord, no more viking?! This is unheard of. We’ll all be branded Nithinger!” It wasn't the voice of indignation, nor even of displeasure, but of deep confusion.

Ulf stood by the door before darting across the room to fetch his Lord's sword belt and darted out. The last thing he heard was the seer and that shivering sound of crystal that raised his hackles at their unnatural act. “Better to be a good king than a great king. She knew well.”

Olaf nodded, “Let’s hope this is just the start, and Kolbjorn-” he stopped for a moment and grasped the thane's collar, “no man alive will call me a coward, so no one can think that of you.” Olaf released his thane and strode down the narrow hallway.

The banner thane heard and hesitated. The flap of a closing manuscript echoed from inside the room and Ulf took that opportunity to poke his head back in. “Clover the Clever…” he waited for acknowledgement.

Instead of pulling a look of resignation the Unicorn glanced up at the thane with a nod, “Just ‘Clover’ if you don't mind. Yes, Ulf?”

“I've been meaning to ask, you know when the quill is wet and when it's dry. Why do you write when there's no ink?” The sincere tone of bafflement was there and it did seem for a second like Clover wasn't going to answer.

Instead of getting silence or dismissal as a response, Ulf's question garnered a fleeting smile and then an answer from the elusive Unicorn, “I have some of my best thoughts when I thought I was out of ink. I might as well write them down where it won't matter for them in the morning. Besides, it confuses my students to no end, and that's worth it alone.”

Ulf smiled and nodded. No, he didn't quite understand, but it was enough to be at least graced with a smile, too. It was rare, but the sincerity there was heartfelt and worthwhile. The Unicorn was a puzzle, but Ulf still had to smile and restrain a hand from patting him on the head like any other prize stallion. Blind or not, it saw more than most and he always spoke true.

Author's Note

Another week another chapter. I guess I have to apologize for Pinkie's awful Greek joke too.

Oh well, take care and see you next time eh? :ajsmug:

Act 2- Chapter 6: Stillness

Stillness

Proofread by TehSporkBandit

By the time Twilight was settled you had recovered quite a bit. Nevertheless, the pony-powers that be decided you were supposed to rest and recover. In the end, Rarity, Applejack, and Zecora were all still awake while you were fairly certain Rainbow was awake but trying to sleep. The trio kept their voices down, but that hadn't quashed the conversation entirely.

“The potions I make can take some time, but the results are always sublime. If you are not cautious and precise, then the consequence will not be nice.” It is hard to tell if she means that they shouldn’t be pushing for a shortcut or that it was just a generality. She tends to the strange brew, leaving the cluster of creatures in council. You sit between Rarity and Applejack, ostensibly for some more warmth, but it was really more that it’s better to keep those two separated. You are just a nice proxy wall for them, and really, that suited you fine.

While Applejack and Rarity keep quiet, awaiting the Zebra’s return so they could continue the whispered conversation, you get to churn something over in your mind. You pipe up as the Zebra trots back into the alcove, “Zecora. I’ve got a question for you.”

Her muzzle turns into a bright grin, “What is it that you wish? Any answer I will furnish.”

You return the grin and ask, “How exactly did you know that we were coming? I mean, was that bath for you?” It seemed awfully convenient but you certainly weren’t about to question it at the time.

The Zebra just chortles, a short punctuated laugh with a knowing glimmer in her eyes. “You had a friend who had sent word before. That was how I knew, I will say no more.”

“Well, about that potion, just take yer time Zecora, but, uh, not too long, alright? We've got ponies’ lives at stake.” Applejack says clenching her jaws, she must be waiting for something that will placate her. You understand the same fears:

What if it’s some horrid distillation procedure that takes weeks or months?

Zecora shakes her head, jangling the charms hang around her neck and from her pierced ears, “The potion will only be ready when it is done, if you want it to work, I pray you have no objection. What exactly were you hoping to see? Your purpose here is vague and cloudy.”

“Well, uhh… 'bout that.” Applejack just awkwardly scratches the back of her head.

Rarity steps up to the plate, “We were hoping to see something that happened quite some time ago. Then, perhaps, we could understand what led to certain… events.” Rarity’s guarded and stilted speech doesn’t betray any information. The mare's eyes are still downcast as she’s occupied stitching up the rents and tears in your coat. There was nopony better to do that, after all, she'd made it for you. The great gaping wounds in the fabric are slowly and painstakingly being stitched together. The care and attention that goes into repair seems to be drawn out of the mare: the fashionista's mane is a wreck, her coat looks blemished and stained, and her eyes don’t focus on anypony at all. Even if she is absorbed in her world, her lips tremble and her breathing sounds choked.

Zecora glances back, “Oh, that much I can tell, that potion you know quite well. The Alicorn gift of hindsight is a powerful tool. Be careful of what you wish, for it can be harsh and cruel. Remember how it hurt her before? Please reconsider, I must implore.” The Zebra’s voice is firm and clear, but she never pushed too much and she hadn’t refused either.

“We'll be here for 'er, don't you fret.” Applejack looked towards the veiled alcove where Twilight rested with Fluttershy and Pinkie on either side of her.

Slowly, you get to your feet before wrapping the blanket around your shoulders like a shawl. Bare feet against cold floor is making you uncomfortable while the decorative masks hanging on the wall are having a similar discomforting effect on your mind. You try telling yourself that was the reason why sleep seems elusive, but the dreams were disquieting. It isn’t particularly hard getting used to a Zebra, even one that rhymed. “So, hold on, what exactly are we here for?”

The others look a little confused for a second. Rarity clears her throat and starts with a stammer, “W-well, Rightly, darling, it's a long story. It all started-”

She is interrupted by a torpid growl from Rainbow Dash as she flops over with a last huff, “Oh, for pony's sake, it's not that long. Twilight drank a mysterious potion where she saw the past and she had a bit of a breakdown. But she got better and that’s it.” She looks a little irritable as if to say 'was that so hard?' before laying on her stomach and glaring daggers at the group for the late night discussion that’s been keeping her awake. Moments later she rolls onto her side and pulls a blanket over herself while muttering darkly, being only a few feet away doesn’t give much space for peace and quiet.

“She actually saw the past? As in, what?” You let your eyes rove around the group but it eventually lands on Rainbow Dash again. After all, she had been the concise one.

Af if sensing your stare, she rolls over with an irritable sigh, “Luna’s banishment to the moon, Discord’s reign, at least that’s what she told us. Anyway, it turned out to be important at the time.” The sentence makes enough sense for you to not question it, thanks to headmistress Sparkle’s history lessons.

Rainbow sighs and chews on her lip in thought. As if coming to the same reasonable conclusion that she isn’t about to get any rest, she lazily rolls to her side then stands with a lithe stretch like a cat. Seeming to amble over towards the group, you miss the initial smirk as she snaps her tail behind your ear like a bullwhip.

In the space of a second you jerk forward with a rattled gasp and look back at her. Now it was her chance to chuckle and wink, “C'mon, old timer. If I’m up, you best stay up, too.” Even as you wrinkle your nose and mutter a curse she wouldn't likely understand you had to admit, the stiff shuffle and the shawl together probably make the image pretty accurate. It was stiffness from laying down on a hard floor, not cold, and certainly not age.

“I am up.” A petulant ‘humph’ ekes from your throat, sounding more childish than you hoped it would. “Well, Zecora, I guess I could try that potion.” You venture that one, really hoping that whatever might be behind almost ritualized decapitations would be hidden from the girls as long as possible.

How could it be any worse than those dreams?

Zecora gives you a smile and even pushes a small wooden gourd your way, “Brave words my interesting friend, your heart and spirit I must commend. But it is for an Alicorn to imbibe, then they alone may those events describe.” Taking a cross-legged seat at the table would have to suffice for now, even if your chin is practically on the surface. It isn’t worth complaining about.

“So it has to be Twilight?” the pause gets a few nods. “She hasn't seemed quite herself lately, has she?”

“She has been a bit snippy.” Applejack admits before looking at the others.

Rarity uncomfortably taps the table top with her hooves and nibbles the ends of her hair. After deliberating for five or six seconds she picked up where Applejack left off, “She did look tired. Though, I never imagined she was so exhausted.” The Unicorn chances a look over towards the veiled bed chamber. “It's absolutely horrid to see her such a state.”

“I thought she was just stressed. You know how she gets, so I was trying to cut her some slack.” It gets a bit of a shrug before Dash yawns and asks, “Got anything else to drink Zecora? Or eat? If I'm up I might as well be up.”

It is a little jarring as you sip the tea and growl, “Oh, come on, Rainbow…” you seethe to keep your voice from waking anypony up. “You're self-concerned but you can see there's something wrong, too.” You expected more from her.

“Hey, chill out, would' ya? Of course I'm worried about Twilight, she's one of my best friends, so if there was something I could actually do then I would. This isn't the first time that pony has stayed up for days with her nose in her books before crashing for a few days after that. Look at it this way: she'll get a whole ton of rest, and by the time she wakes up, we'll have a potion made and ready for her. Like I said, relax. Going hungry, moping, crying, or stressing out over it isn't going to mix a potion any faster is it?” She casts her gaze over to Zecora again, “Sooooo,” there is a silent wink passed between them that few others could have caught, “any chance of a snack?” At the mention of food your stomach rumbles. Her hoof points straight at you as she chortles, “Besides, he sounds hungry, too.” Staring down at your impertinent midriff that betrays your appetite, there was just one word for it, Traitor.

That was surprisingly insightful for a narcissist.

Maybe you don’t give Rainbow her fair due. You have a drink, now it just seems hypocritical as you stare into the drinking vessel. It’s some citrus tinged green tea, though there is something grainy against your teeth. Still, you are warmer, you feel better, and some of the damned itching from the cold is gone, too. Rainbow is right though, you are hungry.

“Consarnit, RD-” Applejack checks herself from her voice getting too loud, shaking her head and even biting her hat rim before muttering darkly, “I'll get'cha some vittles. The host ain't yer personal cook.” As the cowpony stands up, a wide grin etches itself on Rainbow’s face, it’s probably the result the Pegasus wanted all along.

The quiet crackle of the fire meets with the slow clop of hooves of a solitary pony darkly muttering as she meanders towards the single preparation table and a myriad of suspicious hanging flasks and bottles. Their contents shine dully in the wavering firelight under the simmering silver cauldron scrubbed and polished until it was almost a perfect mirror finish. “Zecora, there's something else I've been meaning to ask. When it comes to this ritual thing, why a silver pot?” You hope 'because it's magic, don’t ask' isn't the answer.

The Zebra ponders that for a moment. Her hum is accompanied by a light jangle of golden rings around her neck as she tilts her head to the side, “When you see something so pure, then the world is not as obscure. Stare into the bottom and then see what stares back. It could be another face, once you have the knack.”

“How? Wait, are you talking about the pot alone or its potion?” Doubt is slowly beginning to slip into your mind.

You get a cunning smile as the Zebra nods, “They are one in the same, for that I take no blame. An old silver cauldron may seem like a simple tool, but to ignore the reflection would make you a fool. It is attuned to a single individual or location, so it is not just a random aberration. To just follow one means you may miss the second, which would leave you more clueless and mindless than you reckoned.”

“Mindless?” A slight nervous twitch bolts through your hands.

“Like wandering lost in a deep fog. Lost forever, a poor epilogue.”

If Twilight was the only one that could perform this feat, and she doesn't know who or what is ahead of her, then that was a tremendous danger. You clench your hands around the drinking vessel and let them shake as they squeeze the hardened gourd to relieve some of that stress. This might not even work. Who were you targeting? Where were you aiming for? Did anypony know? While Twilight admitted to visiting your world you couldn't be sure she was familiar with it. “Is there any way to change that? You know, make it more precise?”

“What's the problem? Twilight knows pretty much everything about everything in Equestria.” Rainbow Dash's confidence would have been reassuring had that not been exactly what was at issue.

“Rainbow Dash, dear, Rightly is from Saddle Arabia, not Equestria.” Rarity points out and stifled a wide yawn. “Mmmm, pardonnez mois.”

Saddle… ah.

Rarity had inadvertently supported you. The cover returns, but not as swiftly as you'd like. “I'm from the Neighjd region, it's very remote, so it might be a problem.”

“Uh-huh.” If Rainbow is getting suspicious you might have to tell everypony soon enough. They are bound to find out at some point and the urge to tell them everything you knew was rising. It was becoming too complicated. It would have to wait, at least until you told Twilight about everything and could advise you. She would know how her friends would react, How your friends will react, you chide yourself.

“So… how are you getting along, Rightly?” Rarity smiles weakly as fatigue is starting to show. It was almost certainly to put your mind at ease or switch the topic.

Swigging down more of the tea, you can't help but only respond with a shrug before swallowing. “Eh.” You turn away from the table for a second, eyes straying to the slumbering Alicorn. Twilight's odd behaviour is on your mind, you watch her impulsively flailing a forehoof in the air and mumbling with a simper. I wonder if her dreams are any better than mine.

“Worried about Twilight?” Rarity asked.

A bob of your head answers that question. Still, you continue “I haven't seen her like that before. Hmm, I guess it is a little unnerving.” Your eyes rove the airy interior of the Zebra’s home, appreciating some of the exotic taste, except those masks. It isn't just some tribal decor, there was something else cultural, yet pragmatic, in its spartan nature. “But she could be in much worse company than… us…” your voice trails off. Something moves outside the leaded window at the front of Zecora's home. You had seen a vague shadow and caught a waft of an acrid stink.

“Is something wro... ugh, icky swamp. I don't know what that was but it's dreadful.” Rarity shot a glance at Rainbow who lofted a brow back to say 'what?'

The scent is on the tip of your tongue, but it’s not just the odour of methane from a bog. Zecora, though, is stern, looking straight ahead, “The smell after a flash in the sky. It is cold, stale, rank, and very dry.”

Dash looks bored for a second then audibly sniffs, “Oh, burned air. Huh, didn't hear any thunder.” She passes it off as inconsequential, but Zecora is still musing.

“Ozone?” It was that burning stench left after a close lightning strike, Rainbow Dash was right.

What is that doing here?

♣

The iron banded doors were flung open wide with a rattle and a bang. There were the distinct sounds of laughing, clattering clay vessels, and falling metal that skipped over the stone floor. Footprints echoed loudly in the unlit corridor; wall sconces sat unused, half a dozen doors left and right stood unattended. Cobwebs hung from the wooden beams and girders stretched out overhead. It was the light’s invasion of the dark, spilling amidst the sound of raucous jubilation from the crows outside which met and despoiled the solemn peace of the peaceful sanctuary.

Two figures entered the deserted hall; the first great figure strode in with complete confidence. Over his arm was cast a cloak of fine sable and ermine. Every inch of him, from bright purple tunic with gold filigree, to the coronet of gold that sat on his brow, glimmered in the crepuscular light. Passing figures, whether the menagerie of guests or guards, walked in front of the single entrance, momentarily blocking the sole source of light. It may have just been their shadows, but that second figure took no chances. Those scuttling shades, crooked and hunched in a mocking parody of man, were almost certainly dangerous in one way or another.

The first burly form called out in a bawd, lilting tone that echoed in the empty hall, “Clover, oh Clooover!” Olaf called into the darkness while Ulf trailed behind his lord. “I demand an audience with my seer!”

The sound of brushed crystal was quiet, and easily lost amongst the hustle and bustle of everyday life, let alone a party, but the further in they trudged, the clearer they could hear. There was a slight burst of sparks at the very end of the hall. A tired voice replied, “My king, what do you have need of?”

“Such formality. Has warm nights and good food shattered your will, my friend?” Olaf's voice boomed out in his mirth. The pair approached the terminal end, looking at the empty hearth, smelling the stagnant scent of accumulating dust, and seeing the dull burst of green sparks. There was a solitary tap of a quill on an ink pot, then the scratching of a nib on parchment.

“Sorry… sorry, Olaf.” The exasperated hiss of the Seer was evident. He didn't look, but the hunched over figure's hood slipped back in a haze of iridescent green that caught at the edge of the light, ears folding back to listen closely. “Is there something you wanted?”

Approaching amidst the quietness, the Unicorn half turned, deep features at home in the comforting embrace of the night and its silent lull with the scent of lilac and dust. Olaf preferred the day, festive and joyful thanks to juniper berries and woodsmoke, “We missed you at dinner.”

“I wasn't particularly hungry.” The Unicorn's voice was hollow.

“And people have been asking about you.” The monarch persisted, though now with traces of faint impatience.

“People always ask questions about me.” Clover seemed dismissive and looked back to his books.

“Gurdrun enquires about you.” By now, Olaf's voice held an edge of irritation to it.

“Send your wife my warm regards.” The quill began to scratch again.

“Hopefully they’re warmer than your chambers and your hospitality, Clover.” Olaf’s grinding teeth and the sound of cracking knuckles reached the Unicorn's ears. Ulf nervously glanced back towards the single source of light and slowly reached for his lord’s cloak in case Olaf took leave of his senses senses.

Silence once more pervaded the chamber and hung on the air like a smothering cloak. There was no scratch of a quill, no echo of footsteps, and someone had closed the door, leaving just a single shaft of light that fell on both ruler and thane alike. Much like the intrusion of the world into Clover's sanctuary, it stretched as a single uninterrupted line ending at Olaf's heel. Where he trod, the light followed in his wake as if constrained by some magic boundary imposed by the warlord king. Clover's chambers held three tables arranged like a horseshoe, a large window in front of him, untouched tallow candles rested as decorations in the corners while dozens of manuscripts and scrolls were placed to the side. Ulf finally hung over his lord's shoulders to look at what the Seer was writing in the dark while discreetly taking hold of Olaf’s cloak.

Clover, the clever seer of seers, counsel to the Lion, sat disinterestedly staring out the window with empty opal eyes. A silent moon lit the equally quiet harbour as if the Unicorn himself had set the world to be as serene as his abode. Trondheim, city of the Lion, was asleep. Masses of ships moored peacefully at theirs docks, the citizenry were abed in their humble homes, and tiny fires burned here and there amongst the hamlets below, yet it would never be noticed by the blind Unicorn. “If this is an invitation to dinner then I think I'll pass, thanks.”

It was respectful, but Olaf's reproach seemed to be hanging over the Unicorns head; it was as if Clover was oblivious to the rumbling growl emanating from the King’s throat. “Hospitality, safety, and purpose. I grant you all of these and you repay me by insulting my guests, my wives? Do not make me believe this negligence is a willful insult!”

It got a sigh as Clover finally turned and put the quill down with a flick. “Olaf, you’re drunk. I like you, I trust you, and I do my best to help you every day that I'm here. But, I'm not some attraction for your court; there's plenty of more interesting ‘things’ than me and I do not do simple magic tricks. Letting them poison a drink then having me unpoison it isn't just a parlour trick. Not to mention it's humiliating. Since you banned witchcraft in your realm, I don't even know why I'm here!” The longer he continued, the more his narrow chest heaved and nostrils audibly flared in suppressed indignation.

It wasn't the manner one spoke to a king, it was how a distraught friend spoke to another. That may have saved him, or it may have made Olaf listen. Extending a hand he patted the Unicorn on the withers and looked back at the door. The King's good humours had seemed so close to being banished and now they returned, laden with sympathy for his guide. “You are more than a performing fool, you are no ‘thing’, and you are no witch, but a true soothsayer and purveyor of dreams, interpreter of portents sent by God. Sometimes, people need to be shown signs to reinforce their faith, Clover.”

Such a proclamation drew a sigh, “Yes, I'm well aware of the difference between charlatans and the truly gifted. But what can be spoken to an axe in desperation might very well pass with spit during times of peace.”

“What are you getting at, Clover?” Olaf stroked his own beard and tried to sort through the Seer’s words.

“I'm saying I know about Raud, I know that you shoved a snake down his throat while burning said snake with a hot branding iron. I know you raided Jarl Hakon's lands. I know you've been backsliding on your own religious views Olaf. And more than that, I know that you're still so eager to have a unified people who you're willing to skip the part where they want to actually convert, to follow you, and be one in some grand blissful existence. What happened to mercy and tolerance? Those are the very ideals that your own faith kept as tenets!”

“Clover, all around you is proof that it works. In four years how much of this country believes as I do? How many acres of land have we settled and how many envoys of peace have we sent? Where are the raids to the Isles and beyond? As a king, I can't allow the same laxness to spread as when I was just a Jarl, I simply can't afford it.” He spread his arm wide, though the gesture was grand and well-meaning, it had no impact on a seer who couldn't appreciate the gesture at all.

“You know that lips will say many things to save the rest of the head! As a king, you can afford it more than anyone else in your lands, Olaf!” The shout of outrage died with a long and deflated sigh as the stallion finally spun to face his liege. Lines of anger etched across Clover’s face quickly softened and melted into resignation.

He continued moments later in a far more consoling way, “Yes, you've made significant strides. I just… I just don't want to see you undo everything. Look, there is more to unity than what you say aloud. Keeping your oaths are important but that's not the only measure. You're still not grasping the most important lessons. I'm not saying for you to be a great king you need to be good, I'm saying you need to be a good king to be truly great.” The Unicorn laid his hoof on Olaf's thigh and nodded before slowly rising to all fours and heading toward the light.

“Now,” he continued, forcing a smile, “I suppose I could take a break from writing.”

“Aaaah, now that's the spirit I was hoping for! I don't believe you've met my new wife, Tyra, yet, have you?” He spread his hand towards the door in a sweeping gesture before catching up in a few long strides.

“I'm telling you, she's trouble, Olaf.” The Seer grumbled as they got closer and closer to the hustle and bustle of a still packed royal hall. The pleasing sound of lyres, horns, and pipes were all heard with a drum beating a jaunty tattoo of a reel.

“She's a woman, that's what they do.” The thick-set king seemed to smile with utter confidence while Clover just hissed and brought his hoof to his forehead. The choleric warlord broke into a laugh and patted the Unicorn on the back to guide him to the door, “Come now, there's many things to eat. I ensured that there would be many things you would like, too, my friend.”

Ulf glanced back at the open book and quickly studied the lettering that he could see. Though it was just a glance, he caught some of the text:

…Her hope for the world is not yet gone and I sincerely hope it never shall be. A wish may be a wish, but her power is still here and so are we. What is left of us, anyway. Olaf is a recidivist at times, but he has potential, as do his people. Perhaps one day he might wish to see a place of peace and plenty. It is still too early to tell him.

“Come along, Ulf!” Olaf’s bass call echoes in the stone chambers as the doors were left ajar just enough to let him stumble back towards the light. All the while, he glanced back at that book.

Act 2- Chapter 7: Idea From a Puddle

Idea From a Puddle

Proofread by TehSporkBandit

The fresh sea breeze billowed past as the sun's cyclopian orb beat down from its precipice, couched in the unmarred powder blue skies. The slosh of water caressing the bow of the great gilded warship was accompanied by the throaty rush of water from the rowing crews.

Olaf stepped up on the forecastle of the vessel, the ragged raven banner now emblazoned with a single slanted cross fluttered behind him. Clad in a short red tunic and billowing white polar cloak, Olaf Tryggvason surveyed the seas ahead of him. The headlands jutted out on the starboard side, showing up like a cloud bank of soft grey and little else. Small fledgeling dots bobbed up and down in the distance. Not three, or four, but scores.

Ulf and Kolbjorn stood two steps behind their lord, in the midst of the small retinue that gathered aboard the Long Serpent. The glorious flagship towered over the lesser longships and vessels surrounding it. No one had spoken a word, only the faint flutter of the breeze disturbed Olaf. The stamp of feet up the steps leading to the forecastle resounded all the louder in that uncomfortable silence.

“Olaf, King.” Jarl Sigvald's gruff voice made Ulf tense, Kolbjorn stood aside to make room for the war chief.

“Jarl Sigvald.” the Bear was acknowledged as he stood among the makeshift council of war: Olaf, Ulf, Kolbjorn, two other thanes, and the Seer of Scilly. Below the forecastle was a veritable host of retainers, guards, and fluttering pennants.

The fully armoured warrior stepped in front of his Lord and peered out across the glistening waters. “A fleet?” He saw the bobbing shapes and blue sails.

The jarl was rewarded with a nod, “King Svein, no doubt, but how he amassed a fleet of that number I can't say. Soft-handed Danes, soft-hearted Swedes, it's practically a tribute force.” Olaf said with a croon of arrogant certainty.

“I take it your new wife's brother was not so happy. I heard he married your ex-wife as well, Sigrid.” It got an unhappy snort from the king. The thanes had doubtlessly avoided the subject, but it was clear in their mind as well, even if they wouldn't have voiced it. “Svein Forkbeard is still king of the Danes and the Heathen's flag-banner, with Haldor the Unchri-”

Olaf's growl was far harsher than Ulf had heard in months as he reached for a bow and nocked an arrow while turning to Sigvald, “Never mention that butcher's name in my-”

“Olaf!” The hitherto silent Seer interceded. It caused the king to pause and impassively blink at the equine. Clover stared right back, those glassy eyes almost locked with the blue of Olaf’s. The equine sat on the deck, clad in a soft grey habit and red cord cinched around his barrel.

It took a moment, a long moment, enough that Olaf had to ask, “Clover?”

“Olaf-” he started again with a far more amicable mien, “you are a powerful individual, but your temper blinds you. Conquer your passions and you conquer your own heart. Never mind the world, set the example you wish others to follow.”

Sigvald just vacantly looked at the creature, as if it had spoken an entirely different language. Olaf took a deep breath to steady himself and stiffly bobbed his head. The taut bowstring loosened with a creak, “If you say so, my friend. If you say so. Sigvald…” he stopped just short of offering an apology. Instead he swept a hand out, “Jarl Sigvald, Vikar here,” he patted the shoulder of one of the thanes that accompanied them on the forecastle, a tall raven haired man, “has counted more than three score enemy vessels.”

“Seventy one at last count, my lord.” Vikar's low growl was almost enough to match Sigvald's in depth but never in its vicious edge.

“Ulf and Kolbjorn, you shall be here with me on the Long Serpent. Jarl Sigvald, you shall stay aboard the Dragon with Captain Thorkel, just to our starboard. Between us is the Crane, where my seer shall be protected by Captain Einarr.” Olaf stood up, turning back to his assembled hosts that lined the decks of their vessel and those all around them. It was as if his voice stilled the breeze as it boomed out over the assembly, “Our foes will dash themselves on our bows like water crashing on the breakers! Lash the vessels together and ready yourself for battle!”

Amidst the cheering, clamour of struck shields, and hammering of spear butts on the deck, Ulf just peered to his left to look over the quiet seer. “Clover?” He asked, though his voice barely carried over the cacophony.

“Even the mightiest rocks are worn away by the relentless waters. More so if there are already cracks, whether you see them or not.” Clover’s monotone was far removed from the almost celebratory excitement. Among the upward thrust of a forest of spear points, the ringing crescendo of axes on shield edges, and the unceasing snap of pennants, they remained the sole void of uncertainty among the thong.

Ulf rested a hand on Clover's withers and gave him a simple assuring pat, “Don't worry, you'll be in the safest spot. Right between us and the Jarl, no man could step on those decks and not be cut to pieces or pierced through and through with spear and arrow.”

Instead of some warm look of assurance, or being pacified and placated in the sureness of protection, the Unicorn shook his head to say 'you don't get it'. Gazing up, Ulf was certain that he could read every single saddened crease on Clover's face. During that moment, his eyes said everything. Moments later, a small spark of white pulsed from the deepest depths and he spoke again, deep and hollow:

“Hard pressed on all sides by gallant foes,
the Serpent will reel from awful blows,
In the midst of the cross inside a tomb,
life is remembered and hope may still bloom.
The last act as a king, his final flight,
may not be his end in eternal night.
If you follow that cross, beyond a sign,
your leader will live and his dreams align.”

Ulf stared again at the prophetic message. The Unicorn’s eyes clouded and, slowly, the light finally waned.

♣

Dawn had long since come and gone before anypony was in a state to travel. Sure, Applejack was almost certainly up at sunrise, but in the Everfree that didn't mean much. By the time you'd awoken the restless mare had made breakfast, swept out Zecora's lodgings, furnished an account of your supplies, then reheated breakfast again. Fluttershy had awoken not long before you and was still preparing herself for the day. The quiet Pegasus just smiled from across the room at the jumbled mess of blankets that comprised a serviceable bed. Your blue coat and shirt rested upon your feet near the draping hoof of the slumbering fashionista who had evidently passed out as she finished mending your garments. It took Applejack to finally rouse you into sitting up, which jostled Rarity awake with a loud inelegant yawn.

By early afternoon you were growing a little worried. Everypony was up and had gathered in an alcove on the opposite side of the chamber from Twilight. Still, the Alicorn slept among a few fitful twitches and kicks, barely seen behind the beaded rush veil that Zecora’s donated sleeping quarters. You weren’t actually sure the Zebra slept at all.

“Is she going to be alright?” Fluttershy's timidity might not be an unusual tone for her, yet at that moment, the unsteady murmur reflects what is likely in the hearts of everypony present.

“It is not a sickness of the body but tiredness of the mind. With peace and quiet she may find herself rested and realigned.” Zecora’s reassuring voice carries with it ages of wisdom, but her worried scowl directed back towards the Alicorn lessens the effect of what she said.

What is going on in her head?

Her amber eyes narrow, her lips purse, and the cogs in her mind seem to turn. “If this affliction is from some other cause, it should be enough to give you ponies pause.” A slow understanding nod circulates around them.

A languid groan of discomfort drifts from the bed chambers. “Twi?” Applejack's voice is quiet to prevent herself from disturbing Twilight if she was still asleep.

When the veil is drawn back with a rattling swish the sight isn't at all pretty: the Alicorn princess's feathers are ruffled and some even look to be missing, her fur lacks any lustre whatsoever and sticks out at odd angles, her bedraggled forelocks are matted and tangled, yet there is something far worse than just waking up with a bad-hair day. Her head hangs low and she sways from side to side like a lumbering giant lilting in a drunken stupor.

“Gracious, Twilight!” Rarity sprang up and clambers over, as did everypony else.

“Whoa-nelly, you're looking awful bruised suga'cube.” Applejack hushes herself quickly as the Alicorn fixes her with a stare. It isn’t anger, you conclude, but the look seems angry because of her red-veined eyes and deeply bruised sockets. Unnatural purple bags swell under her lids and she squints and blinks in a daze.

Dear God, it looked like she just got hit by a car.

“Is it morning?” Twilight asks with a wet crackle.

“Uhhh.” Rainbow Dash jabs a hoof at the window. Actually, the gesture wasn't all that useful. The day is shrouded in mist and fog that belied the late hour, it most certainly is well past noon.

You dispense with stupid questions and deal with something more concrete, “We'll get you something to eat and drink. Why don’t you go wash up, Twilight…” you don't quite trail off but creakily kneeling down in front of her and looking in her eyes shares an understanding with her: you have something you need to discuss with her. She understands the look and glances at the others as if searching for something in their expectant faces.

“I’ll go wash up outside, I think I need the cold to wake up.” The sudden, simple, and efficient excuse is met with no opposition. “Rightly, I'll need to talk to you, too. Girls, do you mind if we talk over breakfast?”

“…sure, suga'cube.” Applejack smiled hopefully but her worry was there for everypony to see.

Opening her mouth, even Pinkie hesitates for a moment, “Sure, we'll make it a special breakfast with lots of bobs, bits, do-dangles, and sweets. They perk you up for a little bit and by then it'll be second breakfast so you can do it all over again.”

Huh, for Pinkie, that’s pretty restrained.

Their well-meant gestures are met with a nod before Twilight leadenly plods for the entranceway. You are in tow, shutting the door behind you and giving you two some privacy.

The icy breath of winter had descended on the glade during the night, leaving the covetous tendrils of the breeze to clutch at every scrap of fabric you wore. Between the twisting coils of mist and the thin blanket of hoarfrost that clung to every surface, nature’s silent white void enfolded the world in a deceptive embrace. Almost nothing looked the same compared to the previous day which felt disorienting. A small basin encrusted with ice rested next to the door. You didn’t know who put it there, but it probably attracted whatever prowling creature was around the dwelling last night.

But as you two meander around one of the roots, you can’t help but look at the window where you’d seen that fleeting figure the night before. It had been scuffed bare, but you do see some three-toed claw marks around the sill. They aren’t too big, certainly not paw prints from a timberwolf. Strangely, there is a pair of broad black feathers there, too.

Twilight stares into the icy reflection of the water like it was a mirror and recoils a few steps at the hideous reflection of herself. “Dear Celestia, I’m a mess…” she trails off, prodding at her puffy cheeks and letting out a squeaking note of distress.

There isn’t much to do but wrap an arm around her neck and pat her shoulder. “You’re still Twilight, still our princess, and you aren’t that bad… really.” That last part might have been a lie, but a well-meant one. “You just need some more rest.”

“I’ll rest when we know what we’re up against. So, what did you find out?” Her question could have sounded authoritative if she didn’t have to lean against your side to steady herself.

“I was talking to Zecora last night. It looks like we might have a proble-” the sudden crack of ice startles you as Twilight smashes her hoof through the film of ice on the bucket. “Problem.” You wait to see if you should continue.

Taking a sip before plunging her face in, she comes out spluttering and wheezing at the sudden cold. You hadn't put on your coat so the hair on your arms prickle up from goosebumps. “What kind?” She pants heavily to regain some heat.

“Well, Zecora said you need to either know the pony well or you need to know the location well for the potion to work safely.” That much isn't a secret, so you don't feel like taking any extra steps to hide what you are saying. Staring inside the house, you catch the faintest glimpse of the group of ponies chattering and working, but they still cast the occasional glance out the window.

“And? I know Equestria like the back of my hoof. After all, I've done this before. The Hindsight elixir might be uncomfortable and labour intensive, but the hard part is done.” She is a little more snippy than normal, but it could easily be excused because of the state she’s in, the cold, or because she’d just awoken.

What can't be excused was letting her brave the danger without the appropriate caveat, “Hard or painful?” She doesn’t reply. “You're an Alicorn, so unless you wanted Princess Luna, Celestia, or Princess Cadenza to do it, then it’s left up to you. Look, I'm just thinking here, so it's nothing concrete. If he had instructions from before he got here, then you wouldn't see anything, you'd be left to wander forever in some coma.”

Twilight pensively hums then shakes head, “Yes-yes, I know. But I will accomplish this. Princess Celestia has a kingdom to run, Princess Luna does as well, and no offense, she didn’t seem to like you-”

“Actually, she was a lot more pleasant than the first time we met.” It is true, Princess Luna might be warming up to your presence in Equestria after all.

Twilight snorts, not liking that you cut her off, but that irritation melts away as her ears perk up, “Really? That was nicer than the first time?” The Alicorn’s muzzle twitches in disbelief. Shaking that away, she continues “Anyway, they have their own responsibilities and Princess Luna left this up to us to discover. Princess Cadence is too far away. Olaf had to get his ideas from somewhere, so it stands to reason that he learned it from somepony here. Therefore, it shouldn’t be dangerous.”

“... eeeh.” You cock your head to say 'maybe'. After all, the statement is both true and untrue.

“Yes? What’s the matter?” Twilight turns towards you and nudges the bucket forward so you can wash your face if you want to. After the scuffle in the stream, you don’t want to see cold water again. The Alicorn’s bloodshot eyes says she wants answers, not opinions. Your breath freezes as it touches the air, but you watch it billow out from her nose and mouth in great white geysers like a dragon snorting smoke and brimstone.

“Well, I doubt that there’s any natural Unicorns on Earth.” You confirm with a shrug, to which she seems satisfied. “But most cultures have legends of something like them. And I know that I saw one Unicorn by the name of Clover the-”

Twilight's eyes snap open as wide as saucers as she surges forward to nearly bowl you over. “Clover the Clever?! This isn't a joke? Tell me that this isn't a joke.” She rears up, slamming her forehooves onto your shoulders to look at you face to face.

Your sharp gasp and watering eyes from her pounding the raw wound the splinter left sends her into a apologetic fit of “Sorry-sorry…” She winces and drops back down on all fours. At first, the Alicorn appeared angry, but now it seemed that she is spellbound by the idea as a slow smile reformed on her muzzle.

“Clover the Clever. He looks kind of like you, male, blind, some prophetic talent and sea calming.” Twilight does seem to blink as if in a fugue.

“Really?” She let her ears dip and twists her head to the side to regard you closely for a moment.

“Well, if the dreams Princess Luna said are actually memories then that's what they called the Unicorn. I haven't heard of him myself or any other Unicorns… well, that horn is called an ‘alicorn’ and can neutralize poison. I don’t know why the term was like that, though. I mean, in most of our legends, Unicorns are typically protectors or predators of maidens. That depends on who you ask.” You didn't expect to ever have to tell a Unicorn about a Unicorn. Some lines between history and pop culture seem to blur, but that’s the gist of it. “Some say they have cloven hooves, beards, lion-like manes. Oh, Chinese legend says that they are portents and heralds of important events.”

It all makes Twilight think and mull things over quietly. She is still leaning against you, the barrel of her chest expands and contracts rather quickly. Finally she concludes, “Hmmm. That would help.”

“What would?”

“I know a fair bit about Clover the Clever, I had to do some research when I played him during the Hearth’s Warming eve pageant. It’s frustrating, he just disappears from record not long after the three tribes agree to the founding of modern Equestria. There was still quite a number of records left that made mention of him, he was a student of Star Swirl the bearded, after all, before Star Swirl took on Princess Celestia as a protegé and eventually became her advisor.” She explains quickly and looks ready to continue before there is some sort of mental slip that causes her to flatten her ears back against her skull in concentration.

Taking your chance you nod, “So he could have told Olaf something about a Unicorn horn. He was his seer and, hmm, advisor. Maybe mentor is a better wor-”

“Wait,” Twilight steps back before eying you again, “you’re not suggesting that a monster like that was mentored by Clover the Clever, are you?”

“No, not quite. It doesn’t mean he told him to do everything that’s happened, but it could be something he misunderstood. I don’t know, I’m just telling you… wait, so you didn’t see that part of the memory?” It draws a confused blink and a quick shake of her head. “So, Twilight, what did you see?”

“All I saw was a ripping veil at first. It was a sense of creeping distress, unease, it was… scary. They just loomed up, shadowy wavering shadows like oily black spots from a nightmare. Then I felt a sharp pain here in the base of my horn.” She taps against the indicated appendage then takes a moment to gingerly massage the root with a wince. “Then I saw them grab at it, I couldn’t move, so it just sort of broke… then I felt like I was falling.”

So she didn’t see much and it sounds really indistinct.

She continues after a half breath, “I mean, I’ve had nightmares before, everypony has, but this one has just gone on for almost two weeks. It’s been hard getting any sleep.”

“Is that when it started?” Your curiosity could be construed as prying, but Twilight seems comfortable talking about it. Gently reaching over, you pat her withers again and give the ridge of her neck a squeeze of sympathy and support. All it does is elicit a tired groan that sounds like the simper escaping someone rubbing the sides of their heads while under the spell of a migraine.

“That’s when I had trouble sleeping most, yes.”

“Alright, well I don’t know all the details yet, but he did find a horn…” you look at Twilight to see if she’s following your logic. After a nod you continue, “so maybe he threatened to take his, too. Could they be just collecting Unicorn horns for some reason?”

A violent shudder surged from the Alicorn’s nose to the tip of her tail as if her muzzle had been touched by an electric prod. “I don’t know what that would accomplish. No, my mind’s made up. I’ll do it.”

“Huh?”

“I'll do it, I'll drink the Hindsight elixir. If that’s what he’s doing we need to know why. There is a chance that it might be harmful, but I just don’t see any other way to resolve this.” You are forced to agree, there doesn’t seem to be any other alternative. Even so, it’s a tremendous risk and doesn’t feel right. With a sigh, you give her another caring squeeze on the withers. “I know enough about Clover the Clever, so I should be fine.” This is the same Alicorn who had nearly teleported you both off-course, hopefully that confidence isn’t a facade.

“Now, if you don't mind-” she interrupts your musing, “I'll meet you inside.”

“Huh? But it’s cold out.”

Who wants to spend time out in this weather?

You glance around at the hoarfrost encrusted world and even scrape some of it off the window pane to show her.

“I have to use the filly’s room, so unless you have something else you needed to talk about….” By the time you show her the scraped frost she had already meandered back towards the back of Zecora's house where there was a simple unadorned outhouse.

Shivering and uncomfortable, you remember that flash near the window yesterday. “Actually, I kind of have to go, too, but I’ll wait over here… I should wash my face.” Twilight doesn’t turn, but she bobs her head in agreement. Ostensibly, the latter part is true, but you really don’t want a predator to snatch Twilight away. After your less than pleasant experience at the stream, that worry is still fresh in your mind. Suddenly, any royal guard job in Equestria, anywhere really, was looking far less glamorous.

You cross your arms and rest your back against the cold rough bark of the tall sycamore that made up the exterior of Zecora’s home. The passing moments let your mind wander. It was a real marvel that so many dwellings were crafted inside trees yet didn’t kill them. How they managed it was a really different question as wood had been cut, shaved, and shaped but none was heartwood.

People back home would be amazed at this. It seems to strike you all at once. Home. The very idea of it, the fact you still might not see it for more than a year felt like it finally hit you like a ton of bricks. The last little remnant of home you have is a cell phone and memories.

What day is it? What day would it be?

Family, friends, staring at that hollowed out sycamore, you realize that no one else would ever get to see it and if you told them about it there was no chance they’d believe you. Slowly, you fish your phone from your pocket and flick it on. It beeps a few times in protest, but there is still enough battery power left to tell you the time. 11:45 PM, Tuesday the 6th, 1 missed message, and no service. You tap the button and listen to the grainy crackle of your friend’s cell phone:

"Hey, bonjour, mate! Listen, I'm sorry about the other day, I guess I missed you, but C’est la vie, eh? Listen, I just wanted to make sure you were alright and not too mad about anything. You’re not mad, non? Mais bien, call me back when you can… it’s François by the way."’

There is a scrambling fumble then it goes dead.

That’s it, that’s all that remained of outside contact. How pathetic is that?

With a sigh, you slump down and stare up at the ecological marvel of the arbour home. It’s painfully apparent that there is nobody to really share this spectacle with. The ponies here see it as something ordinary, yet the smartest of earth's engineers, botanists, and other intellectual authorities couldn't manage it. Frank Lloyd Wright was famous for working so artistically with steel and concrete, but it isn’t like ponies couldn’t do the same, if the photos of Manehatten are anything to go by. Saying 'botanical architect' doesn't conjure up an aura of professionalism beyond laying sod and landscaping. Crafting something like this would require something akin to a biomancer.

Something buzzes in your mind about that: fame. You slowly make your way towards the other side of the tree, “Hey Twilight?”

“Still occupied.” Came the hollow sound of a voice as you shake your head.

“How exactly did you learn about Clover the Clever? I mean, is he that famous? Is there some Life and Times of Clover the Clever that I missed at your library, or is it just everypony saying what a great stallion he was?” From what Zecora said, she would have to really know Clover, and that wasn’t the same thing as knowing about him.

There was a moment of silence before she slips out from the outhouse. The posed question gets her to quirk a brow in confusion, “Like I said, there are a lot of books that mention him. He was the master pupil of Star Swirl the bearded and one of the first on the council of Equestrian seers. He is counted among Equestria's first reformers on equality and harmony, but most of his personal works were expunged from the Canterlot archives along with Star Swirl’s Mir-” her eyes sparkle and shine as a grin slowly creeps across her muzzle, “Rightly, you're a genius! C’mon, lets get back inside and tell the others! The Twin Sisters Library, that’s it! Why didn’t we go back after that?! Why didn’t I look?!” Twilight rears up and wraps her hooves around your chest before pushing you away and unsteadily galloping back towards the door.

“Yes… yes I am… Twilight, can you tell me why I'm a genius? Twilight? What’s the Twin Sister’s Library?!” The front door of Zecora's home slams shut with a loud echo, leaving you alone outside as the first flurries flutter down on their effortless descent. The raven’s plaintive note trails off into the ghastly forest as you make your way back inside.

Act 2- Chapter 8: Coward

Coward

Proofread by TehSporkBandit

“Hey, shake a leg! It's not getting any warmer out here!” A flap of wings and rush of air only makes everything worse as you bend your back and jog towards the nondescript gap between heaps of crumbled stones and clinging mosses. The dismal skies still disgorge sheets of fat lazy snowflakes that form a gauzy veil. It stifles the air and blinds the senses. Rainbow Dash’s voice is muffled from a distance of no more than thirty feet, and you can’t pick out anything but the most indistinct edges at a few hundred feet. As you clutch your rucksack straps, the pins of cold stab into your frost-bitten fingers.

Huffing and panting, the jog turns into a run as you lose sight of Rainbow after she swoops under a great dilapidated arch. Being in such a desperate rush to catch up, you only see the forlorn and wind-ravaged faces of the custodian statues on either side of what was once a marvellous gatehouse. There are subtle signs that the crumbling stone encrusted with frozen black moss had been something far more grand. The misty outlines of great pointed turrets dotted the ragged skyline as collapsed monoliths haunt the far reaches of the phantasmal winter world.

“C’mon, for Fleetfoot's sake!” As loud as she shouted, it still sounds like the blue spangled Pegasus is crying out into a pillow. Thankfully, following half a dozen ponies tramping through the snow wasn’t too difficult. A great stone edifice emerges from the haze, great granite pillars and tall buttresses reaching up to the sky as a staircase leads up to the front entrance’s arch. Dash is just up ahead, settled on the top steps, and holding a great wooden door ajar.

Darting up those steps, you shoulder your way inside and brush past the Pegasus. You loosen the rucksack from your back and let it fall with a loud 'thump' to the flagstone floor. “Aaagh.” You rapidly rub your hands together, the friction swiftly building up into an uncomfortable heat before cupping them around your mouth and blowing. “ It'ssssss cold. Look at these.” You actually show your fingers which feel pudgy and swollen with the cold. They didn’t look swollen, but each finger was a concerning mix of white and red. “If they fall off, I wouldn't be surprised.”

“Heh, somepony’s been spending time listening to Rarity… come on, it's not that cold.” She was still more than occasionally irritating, not to mention not to mention mercurial, but Rainbow Dash was at least getting more amicable. Taking your pack in her mouth, she tosses it over her back and trots off, “These are coming with me, because there doesn't look like any other way to get you moving short of giving you a kick in the flank. Then you'll probably just whine about it.” She half turns to shoot you a smirk and hurries off into the darkness of the inner foyer. Shifting shadows meander through abandoned halls as you realize it’s probably best to ignore the discomfort in your limbs and hurry forward.

“Sure, this is charming.” Your quip is accompanied by a bellied groan of discomfort. The molding depths of the interior had been swept and cleared but the patina of age and putrid neglect hung in the air. “Twilight said there's a library here, but where is she? It couldn't have been that…” you are partially distracted by the sound of a puff of breath and clap of steel shutters.

A glow radiated from Rainbow's pack as she stoops down to looks in what looked like a lamp, “Hey, you alright in there?” She gave the lamp a little tap which sends the small cloud of twinkling lights inside into small intricate spirals like dancing fairies. Rainbow chuckles and lends an ear, as if listening to a quiet request from inside, “Oh, him?” She looks in your direction, “yeah you guys are the tough ones.” She wears that infernal smirk like a badge of pride while your sullen scowl does nothing to combat it. The soft comforting glow accompanied by quiet taps of unassuming fireflies against the glass makes the dank hall more tolerable.

Picking up the lantern in her mouth, Rainbow Dash trots off towards a curling grand stairway that leads to the left. It looks like this was an audience chamber, there is even the raised dais for thrones at the far side beneath a pair of restored tapestries. But if it was a throne room any trace of the regal seats had been removed. Looking up you can see chipped plaster and faded frescoes stretched across wide vaults where the shadows still frolicked, played, and peered from the corners. This wasn’t a place you wanted to get lost in.

“Scoot yer boot, you two! Yer as slow as a snake in a sock.” That takes a second or two of thought before making any sense. A rumbled groan of irritation from Rainbow is her only reply before she takes off at a gallop, leaving you to surmount the curving staircase bereft of the light she’d absconded with. Thankfully, the steps are flat and broad, which made tripping over them far less likely. You can't quite match Rainbow, but you still manage to come in not too far behind as she turns on a bit. Rainbow leans into the turn without losing a bit of speed and gallops around the bend into the hall. Meanwhile, you were just barely cresting the top of the stairs.

Up those steps you come face to face with the cowpony who'd turned to look at Rainbow Dash when she hurtled by. You slow and smile wryly, “She doesn't take challenges well.”

“Oh, she takes 'em right good. 'Specially if ya tell 'er what she can't do, she'll just go right ahead an' do it.” The cowpony smirks, showing a clever gleam rarely ever displayed.

“Must be like looking in the mirror sometimes.” You trudge forward down the marble hallway.

There was an indignant mock-growl from the pony behind you, “You best be thankin' yer lucky stars that yer on mah' good side.” You can't help but laugh to the inevitable chorus of Applejack asking, “An' what's so funny?”

Coming down off that slight high with a breathy gasp, you turn to flash her a smile, “First of all, it wasn't really an insult.” Borrowing a page from Rarity, you continue with your head held high in an air of artful refinement, “Why, I only mean the finest and most determined pony couldn't help but see such a good stick-to-itiveness in somepony else. After all, the most exemplary mare could ever hope to see the occasional glimmer in Rainbow's personality as the imperfect virtue they themselves hold.”

A stolen glimpse back has her flushing and keeping her eyes down in a humble acceptance. Stetson lower on her brow, pulled over slightly flushed features, she starts quietly, “S-shucks, ah didn't quite mean tha-”

“And she took my saddlebag with her so I didn't have to carry it.” You finish, half cutting AJ off before she had to accept any compliment.

The bubbling laugh echoes down the tall corridors, unabashed and unreserved. “Hah! You've certainly been spendin’ time with Rarity, but, Hooo-wee, that's a right good 'un.” Applejack catches up to you and even jabs a hoof in your thigh, nudging you over, “But you're mighty trustin', given how many times that pony's lost good saddles'n tack. Yep, ah wouldn't count on seein' that'n again.”

“Seriously?” You ask as Applejack trots off, lantern now held in her mouth.

Ah hell, I bet she is.

♣

Shuffling around to clear spaces from tables and shoving spare cloths and brittle writing quills aside from the broad round table still doesn’t reveal the object of your search. “Seriously not cool, RD, where is it?”

Damn it, why does Applejack get to say 'I told you so'?

“Hey, it's around, just put it down to stretch my wings.” You glance back at her as if to say 'and?' but she pointedly ignores it, “I think I put them with the rest.”

“C'mon, RD, we need yer help in here for the high shelves!” You and Twilight's shared revelation about the importance of Clover the Clever had galvanized everypony into action.

But Ponyville's library wasn't enough, oh no, you had to go to some ancient facsimile of the library of Alexandria.

The thick stones of the massive fortress complex were scrubbed clean, but there are small web-like cracks here and there, and despite the dozens of curling staircases upwards, you had caught a glimpse of indoor meadows growing in the gloom. It didn't feel quite dilapidated but it was still cold and neglected.

“Look, if you still can't find it I'll help you look for it later, alright?” You don't have time to respond as she canters out from that small palatial chamber to the adjoining balcony overlooking the library below. Rows and rows of book stacks, at least five times the height of a pony, had only a few woodworm eaten ladders here and there to reach the tallest shelves. Naturally, Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash were exceptionally useful in the newest quest for information.

You, by comparison, were not as useful. Your Equestrian was getting much better, but it wasn’t about recognition anymore, it was a matter of time: others could skim books in a glance and flip through pages with practiced speed and accuracy. You can’t hope to remotely match that or even be certain you hadn’t missed something allusive. Looking for individual volumes of books on Clover the Clever isn't going to be something that you are tremendously helpful at. Thankfully, there were a lot of other necessities involved in staying in an abandoned castle.

Blankets were set down and a small lantern of fireflies buzz their happy choreographed patterns up and down in admirable contentment near a small cooking fire that was started in the hearth. The cheery little fireside glow chases away the chill and provides enough light to read a book in comfort. Yes, you’d set up the cozy little camp surprisingly well.

A final sigh of resignation pushes you to put aside the thoughts of finding your pack as you slip your phone in your pocket. Really, there wasn't too much in it: a few treats that you enjoy, a change of socks, a blanket, a canteen, and some oil you were using as lip balm against the winter chill. Rarity gave you the last one and it tasted like raspberries and mint so it does feel like a bit of a loss. Licking your parched lips, there was also a soft cloth for your glasses that would have been useful as they fog up much too often to give a rainbow-like spectrum when warm air met the cold glass. It was worth being quiet about your glasses fogging up, otherwise Rainbow Dash would be teasing you for a month about ‘seeing her’ everywhere you went. The traces of echoing voices drifts up from the library archives into the massive hall just outside the door.

The doors are closed, the single window is stiffly shut, and the old curtains are drawn, but it could never hope to contain all the heat in a stone room. There’s a small bundle of firewood in the waiting room that connects with the long corridor hallway, the space in which most of your friends had stashed their extra bags to free up space in the comfy palatial chamber.

Your friends are away and you are alone here. It’s a little creepy, but you were going to run out of firewood before nightfall. “Damn.” You look at the door leading to the hallway and away from the ponies. It isn’t just about the darkness, you had lanterns for that, it was about the cold. Squatting down in front of this warmth-giving fire now isn’t going to keep you warm tonight.

Attempting to steel your resolve, you look at the soaked footwraps and inspect your drenched shoes. At just about any other time you'd have tossed the ratty things out. The heel is separating, the arches are gone, the treads are almost smooth, and the neck is down to a small hard bit with no padding that would otherwise cause a blister in about five minutes. With a sigh, you pull the footwraps from the stone, knowing your old ragged socks were in the now lost pack, and lace them up with cord while slipping your feet back into freezing boots.

Grasping the lantern of fireflies, you take one fire-prodding branch that would have to do as a makeshift club. You weren't exactly scared… alright, you were. Who knew what could have crept over the walls to linger in the depths of these ruinous halls. It might be as simple was a bear or another timberwolf. Moving out through the opposite door, you look over the library from the gallery and staircase leading down into the pit of books. “Twi.” You spot the Alicorn looking through book after book, inspecting each tome then returning it with the rhythm of an automaton.

“Hmm?” she said, distracted but cocking an ear back as she quickly skims through one promising volume.

“I’m going to fetch some firewood. I'll be back in twenty or thirty minutes. I'm letting the fire get a bit bigger then I'll put on supper, alright?” You jerk your thumb back towards the other room.

“Uh-huh.” She’s disinterested and doesn’t even give you a glance to see the motion.

Shaking your head, you turn back into the chamber before closing the door so no heat could escape. Piling on a little more wood into the hungry flames, you slip out the opposite door and into the adjoining preparation room before entering the hallway. A single row of Corinthian pillars spiralling up to the roof where it supported the elaborate vaulted ceilings. It feels familiar, almost like an entrance to a tomb.

Just find some smashed wood and extra slats, nothing more.

Taking a right, you wave your lantern out in an intersection and listen to the ghostly howl of the breeze whistling in some shattered window. You decide on a simple pattern that won't get you lost. Left, right, left, right, the pattern is foolproof.

♣♣

Grunting, sweating, and straining with a constant stream of curses didn't worked at first. But after another ten minutes of effort and a mighty crack you could finally slump down against a broken table, mop your brow and feel accomplished. It had taken closer to forty minutes than twenty in total, but the fire wasn't likely to burn itself out.

The aged credenza lay in pieces in front of you. Long spars and splinters of hardwood of reasonable size and capable of being snapped lay in not-so-neat piles here and there. All that’s left is half a dozen gold knobs with pearl insets and an intricately decorated board at the top, carved in immaculate spirals and etched with motifs of ponies, thorns, and some sort of great garden. It’s pretty and thus far you'd kept it as a gift for Rarity who would probably appreciate it more than anypony or anyone else. Even if she doesn't, it’s another spar of firewood that you can use.

The room around you looks like a worker’s quarters of some kind, with a fair table, a nice bed frame with old, long, rotted curtains that disintegrated at the faintest touch. You had thought it could make for a good club, but it had proven itself more adept as a crowbar. The table you’re rest your back against had broken ages ago, it sagged and buckled long before you rested against it, and the thick layer of dust that clung to every surface was ample evidence of that.

The thought of looting the room had already occurred to you, and after a few moments of searching, there hadn't been even a single article that was of any use. Old stained copper mirrors were more green than gold, and paintings that hung on the walls were white with age. Gathering the timbers from the shattered furniture, the prospect of getting back to the fire sounds terrific. After stuffing the greenwood crowbar bough under your arm with a half-score of other beams, you set off.

Heading back with the first load, you stop at the sudden clap. A heavy weight had slapped against the floor before something else rolled around like a baseball. Looking back and forth, some of the jubilation is stolen away by that odd noise. It was an old castle and piles of cracked plaster lay here and there on the floor. You had seen a small sheet fall from the aged ceiling when you tipped over the credenza and it had made a similar sound.

The firefly lantern is grasped loosely in your freezing fingers. Left, right, left, right, you follow your simple pattern right back towards the chamber. Slinking through the night as a single lone traveller, you seek the warmth and company of friends and know you’re doing your part to help. 'Left' your mind reminds you again as you turn and see the long columned hallway. A silent 'hah!' is better expressed as a grin. You know exactly where you are now as the warm yellow glow of the fireflies reflects off the surrounding pillars.

A single apple rolls out from the open door and comes to a rest ten feet in front of you. Skidding to a stop, it just seems out of place. “AJ?” Something scrambles inside the room, scraping and softly padding around, quite unlike the substantial clop of hooves. Slowly, you stalk forward, the light of the firefly lamp gives away where you are while the tap of your shoe’s detaching heel betrays your every-other step. Slowly shunting up to the door, you poke your head through the entrance to gaze around the waiting room.

It takes you only a moment to spot the oddity. Among the cluster of saddlebags, is a short gangly creature that was picking its way through with unnatural ease. Long spindly limbs with wiry fingers and a whip-like tail curls as it rifles through belongings before shoving them back. A rough rawhide satchel is slung across its back, adorned by a brace of raven feathers near a bone toggle clasp. The creature half turns its head, flicking up a pair of sharp dog-like ears in your direction. Frozen to the spot, you just watch as the creature seizes a single scrap of paper. It is one of Rarity’s handbills from the boutique. Its note of satisfaction sounds like a gargling hiss as if it is about to vomit or hock up the linings of its throat.

Corded muscles and taut red skin stretches like weak canvas along its sharp skeletal frame, punctured by bony growths like spines at its elbows, knees, heels, and shoulders. Where neither that or the waxy red skin was stretched were scabrous black growths like bark dotting its hide.

You smell a strange but familiar odour as you edge back into the hallway for a moment. Gently trying to put the slats of wood down against the wall and grip for the makeshift club, you grope around but can't find it. Placing the firefly lamp down, then the boards, you steal a glance down to fetch your protective weapon, you find it and bring it up in front of your face.

Your wrist is caught and you find yourself staring into the glowing yellow eyes of the creature from the pits of hell that had noiselessly slunk out of the room. A fleeting twitch runs across its face as well, a rising shock, before its baleful eyes widened. For that moment, it’s hard to tell which of you looked more surprised. Then its lipless mouth peels back to show a row of jagged teeth dripping saliva and a seething forked tongue. It isn't even as tall as a pony but the spidery creature was unnaturally strong as skeletal fingers grip you like a constrictor.

The beast leans forward, its lambent eyes nauseating and hypnotic all at once, “You have come here to find your deepest urges…” Its hollow rasping voice sounding like it should have stripped its throat dry in moments. It steps on your knee as you knee down, letting the shorter being draw itself up in front of your face.

Its stagnant breath washes over your face as it continues, “Something which, until now, rested in the dark. The darkness. I see you, in a dungeon of black despair. Downward, plunge into a prison, one of your own mind, your own making. So, why? Why were you bound and chained to feeble strengths, to a fearful mind, limbs uncooperative, and tongue inflamed to stuff your hoggish maw and render you deaf, dumb, and blind to everything but me?” It keeps that loathsome smirk, sniffing through slit nostrils before tightening its grip.

It still snorts and hisses with a forked tongue, “I see you, I smell your fear, it runs down your leg, nithinger. So I'll release you in your own mires where you can only do more harm to those ponies than good. Even now, you'll bring down their kingdoms, brick by brick, and they will curse your name as mournful winds howl through the skeletal spars of empty cities and the whole land decays when the light goes out forever. And there you are, whether you know it or not, at the last toll of the daylight hour before the sun begins to set and the last glories leave this land.” Its depressing voice whispers some prophetic dread for you and for those around you while fiery orbs hold you transfixed.

Why did its words seep into your mind? It’s nothing but a taunt.

You can hear voices from the main room again, excited, happy, jubilant in fact. The rising warmth spreading through your limbs dispels the dispiriting pall that entranced you. The impish beast’s eyes flick from yours, breaking its persistent stare to look at your wrists.

Instead of dragging you down, its snarl of malicious satisfaction quickly drains from its leathery face. The timberwolf was more frightening, this was more surprising. The forest spirit was large, quick, and easily capable of rending you to pieces, so while such a demonic apparition should have concerned you, you’d made it away from similar baleful eyes, tearing teeth, and promises of rot and decay. The Imp's grip begins to slacken as it tries to tug itself away from you, though now you held on to it. The loathsome creature’s face contorts quickly, melting from contempt to surprise.

Finally, you found your voice, “I didn’t say you could go.” You swing your head forward, like a certain aggressive Pegasus taught you from personal experience. The crown of your head connects under its jaw, cracking its neck back as you stand and overbalance the impish creature.

Two bat like wings flap out to stabilize the creature, keeping it upright. Fight or flight, it seems to choose in a fleeting moment. The Imp silently lungs at you with its distended maw hanging wide open. Its rancid breath blasts past your face, but the beast never bites down as you wind up with a strong right jab. The distance is short and that robs you of some power, but the punch still connects with the creature's face. Your knuckle catches its mouth, chipping one of the triangular teeth and dragging a bloody furrow from knuckel to wrist. Your free hand grasps its satchel strap and holds the creature fast. “Hey! Girls, get out here!”

Its legs lash out and crash into your chest, shunting you away and using you as a springboard to launch itself backward. You wobble and fight to remain upright. It snaps its trap-like jaws at your hands, making you pull the limb away quickly to avoid losing any fingers. It squirms and reels back to the woodpile and lantern.

It stops and narrows its eyes in a malicious glare before a thin trailing rumble tears from its slender chest. “Go ahead… tell them, tell your friends, but you won't be able to say you saw me; no, you'll just prove you're afraid of the shadows and the carrion lords who will consume you at your ignoble end.” Its tail flickers out too far, striking the lantern and overturning it with a crackle of shattering glass. The light from the fireflies dims as they disperse in an airy cloud of sparks.

The beast chances a glance down at the sound. It is looking at the glass, not your balled up fist which thunders into the side of its head and flattens it against the wall. As you pull yourself up and raise a fist for a punishing blow, the creature snarls out, “Muninn!” There’s a loud flutter of wings building behind you. In what seems to be a seething mass, the noise grows in an instant as you turn to confront the rushing sound.

The creature takes that moment to kick off your thigh and scramble away from you on all fours. A small ‘oomf’ passes your lips, but you can’t hear it as a deafening screech and buffet of noise engulfs you. The raking peck of talons drives you to the ground as the black tide sweeps through the hallway, extinguishing the light completely as hungry beaks snapped up the few fireflies in an instant. Within moments it is gone with the imp nowhere to be found, leaving you in utter darkness.

The squeak of a swollen door greets your ears as the ruffle of feathers die. “Rightly?! Rightly… are you okay? Oh my.” A downy soft voice graces your ears as a new lantern shines light on a pale pink mane and soft buttercream fur. Fluttershy’s eyes barely glimmer in the dark, but the look of wonder can be picked out in the gloom amidst the dancing lights.

“Flutter-”

You’ve got wings, you can catch up, go catch it!

The idea sounds good as you starts but after a second or two, you can see the wide-eyed mare peeking from the doorway in concern. Expecting her to chase down a denizen of the fiery pits probably is asking too much. You are breathing hard but still your lungs with one last gasping sigh, “Where’s Rainbow?”

“Oh, she’s back in the library. Her and Applejack were holding a contest seeing what pony could find the Clover books first… what happened?” Already you drag yourself up off the ground from amid a bed of blackened feathers.

Right next to you, against the broken lantern, were shards of glass and a few splinters with a thin film of dripping blood illuminated by Fluttershy’s light. Looking at your stinging hand, you see the ragged skin and broken fleck of a tooth.

I can't prove you weren't here now, huh?

It doesn't matter much, you almost believed the demon at first. In had hurt itself and provided proof you weren’t mad. “Well-”

“Heyas! What’s happening? Did you find the wood? Are we gonna’ make a fire, make something tasty, not freeze, and get all huddled up and comfy with a marshmallow camp fire. I didn’t bring a reaaaally big blanket for that, just a standard Pinkie sized blanket and a spare. But it’ll still be good!” Pikie pokes her head out into the hallway.

“Are you okay? Is that...?” Fluttershy gingerly points to the broken edge of the lamp that only just stopped rolling back and forth.

“It's not my blood, it came from some red skinned wing-thing about yea tall.” You indicate its height by raising your hand just below your chest. You take a breath and nearly cough on the acrid fumes. It was that same ionized stink from a lightning strike.

“Huh, and sort of a hook beak kind of nose, sorta lumpy and skinny at the same time? Voice like a rusty gate hinge?” Pinkie smiles and cocks her head to the side as you carefully pluck the glass from your uncut hands.

“That pretty much covers it.” She sounds like she knows what you were talking about.

“Hey, smell that?” Pinkie gave the air an exaggerated whiff then stuck her tongue out in disgust.

“Yeah, so what is it? Not the smell, that’s ozone.”

“BOzone? I can believe it. Eeew, I can taste it too!” Pinkie scrapes her tongue across her teeth.

Fluttershy focuses back on Pinkie who waggles a hoof in her ear then snorts to get rid of the smell stuck in her nose. “I think it’s a Cloud Gremlin. I wonder what it’s doing way out here.”

“A Cloud Gremlin, what?” The husky voice and similar flap of wings asks as you pull your way back into the room. Rainbow Dash seems to just be making her way into the main chamber and shouts across the gap between chamber and hallway.

Why couldn’t you be here thirty seconds ago?

“Weren’t you supposed to be competing with AJ trying to find that book?” The trot of hooves never falter as the Pegasus appears in the doorway. Her answer was relegated to a dismissive shrug and a ‘meh’.

Pinkie smiled, “Oh, Rightly saw a Cloud Gremlin!” She was obliviously proud of that fact. “It took Rainbow weeks to get rid of the last two that showed up. Hey Dashie, does that mean he beat your record?” Is this normal? Shouldn’t they be concerned?

“Hey! I made the baseline so everypony can compete. Next time I’ll show you how to really do it. So, where’re their ugly mugs?” Rainbow seems indignant and by the way she scans up and down the hallways she was spoiling for a fight.

Not surprising, she sucker punched me when she found an excuse.

“Oh.” Pinkie waggles a hoof in her ear and then stares at the relatively clean nail before flapping an ear, “They’re gone.”

Rainbow’s sigh of resignation is muddied by a growl and irritable flick of her tail. “Yeah, well, nice job, kid.” The pushy athlete bobs her head in recognition but a double-take at your bloody hand got her eyes to bulge open, “Woah, did they do that?” She steps forward and fumbles for your hand, turning it over to look at the gash.

“Yeah, kinda'. I punched it in the face and I guess it caught me with its teeth.” The twinges of pain were finally starting to overide the spike of adrenaline. The wound doesn’t look deep, just long.

“… Cool.” She sounds genuinely impressed as Pinkie makes a hoof-punching gesture with a muttered ‘Ka-Poomf’ “Hey, why not go get that wrapped up and take a break? I’ll go see if there’s any more Gremlins creeping around. Hey, Fluttershy, you find something over there?”

The demure one holds up a single black feather to the light, “It’s from a raven.”

It must have been tailing us from Zecora’s. But what’s a Gremlin want with a clothier’s handbill? All it has is Rarity's name, cutie mark, and address.

♣♣♣

The ringing clamour of shattered steel mingled with the deathly gale of mortal cries as the blood of Northmen flowed into the waters like rivers. Fires burned through the empty ribs of longships that crowded around the great flotilla tied together end to end. Ragged sails were consumed in tongues of licking flames that slithered up from the charred decks, leaving nothing but blackened husks and a haze that passed over the waters.

A raucous cheer followed, ripping from the throats of countless hundreds aboard the tall gilt ships besieged by swarms of smaller craft. Bright blue fabric turned to heaps of ash as the once mighty Talon, flagship of the Swedish fleet, plunged into the icy mien leaving only the jutting spar of its bow. A smaller rowed craft departed, far outside of bowshot and thrown spear. Several dozen Swedish warriors raised their shields as one man stood facing the Long Dragon and its stubborn crew. A thin man with a ruddy face to match his rosy split beard glared daggers at those aboard the great warship.

Ulf dashed up the blood slicked steps, skirting around groups of wounded men who groaned as they were pulled down from the aftcastle and laid on the midship planking. “My lord! My lord!” He hefted his shield over his shoulder and ducked as another long arrow slammed into the wooden railing sending up a flurry of splinters. The Talon is sunk! King Svein flees!”

Up on the highest deck, he watched his liege at the tiller of the monstrous Long Serpent. He held it with such certainty, staring out over the main at the retreating vessel as if oblivious to the hundreds of enemy borders that flooded aboard the eleven ships of the King's fleet. “Yes, Ulf, I can see. But that is Jarl Hakon out there,” he pointed out to the swarm of vessels sweeping out from the headlands to the south, “and that is the Danish king's fleet in front of us. How is the rest of my fleet?”

“My lord.” The banner had been set behind Olaf, its trailing ends snapping in the hot winds that raked the decks and billowed the sails. “It seems that the Flind requires assistance on the port side, and the Bleaksea on the starboard. Both flanks are being hard pressed. Surely, if we send Jarl Sigvald-”

“He's not aboard the Bleaksea?” Olaf looked shocked for a moment. Ulf looked up at him from the staircase.

“W-well, no. He's aboard the Dragon.” The thane looked up at his armoured lord and watched the snarl form on his face.

“I ordered him to the Bleaksea half an hour ago. Kolbjorn, take the tiller!” The shield thane at the aft of the ship nodded, putting down his bow and darting to take over the helm of the vessel. Olaf made his way to the far side of the ship, “Ulf, get back to the forecastle.”

The Lion of the North's stride was sure and confident as he set his hands upon the bulwark of the vessel and stared out over the Crane to the vessel across from it. Sure enough, there were at least sixty warriors in heavy armour hefting two-handed axes, merely staring at the formation as smoke billowed from either end of Olaf’s battered fleet.

Ulf scrambled back across the mid-deck where the wounded were being checked and then quickly sent below into the hold. Dozens of warriors stood with shields held high, archers loosed arrow after arrow into the cramped decks of smaller vessels around them. The mighty Long Serpent towered above those lesser crafts, but even then, blood ran down the cracks between the wooden planks. Olaf just stared, “Vikar?”

“Vikar is dead, my lord!” Responded a warrior in the aftcastle crew.

There was an irritated grunt before Olaf responded, “Thorstein then! I sent two runners to command Sigvald to board to the Bleaksea. Were they both killed?”

The man named Thorsein answered swiftly, “No, my lord, I went myself. He said he would soon strike.”

It confused the Norse king as he remained silent while Ulf stepped back up to the forecastle. “Is something wrong?” One of Ulf’s companions asked when accidentally bumped.

“For us, no, for the jarl, maybe.” He blinked and looked back towards the sea. “The Danes have just circled, they didn't attack?” Ulf questioned of the forecastle crew. Several men shook their heads as younger warriors brought up more quivers of arrows for the bowmen who loosed shafts with that same rhythmic 'twang'.

“It seems the jarl has something to say after all.” Ulf was clasped on the shoulder and a mailed hand pointed at the score of figures crossing over from the Dragon to the Crane, and up to the sides of the Long Serpent.

Olaf could be heard calling from the stern of the ship, “What have you been waiting for jarl?!”

There was no immediate response until he'd pulled himself and several other men up to the deck. “Ah, King Olaf…” he started and bowed.

“Sigvald never bows.” Ulf muttered and took a sharp breath.

“This of course.” He raised a hand as a flaming arrow shot from back aboard the Dragon. It was the same moment that a bellicose scream tore from the half dozen Jom warriors on the deck as they brought their sturdy two-handed axes down, splitting apart chainmail with a contemptuous ease as across three ships confusion gripped the heart of the Northmen's fleet.

“Nithinger!” Olaf cried and drew his sword. “Oath-breaker, you… you!” He stammered, at a loss for words as the bear of a man just laughed and swung his mighty two-handed axe. The blade took Thorsein across the head, splitting his helmet in twain and the skull beneath it with a resounding crash of shattered iron.

Author's Note

Alriiiight everypony, heyas! First thing's first, I'm reaaaally sorry about the chapter length but it was actually cut down for this and the patterning works a lot better this way. You're gooonna have to trust me on that, but I figured it's also better than a really short chapter of 'not a lot happens'.

Third time's a charm when it comes to fights at least, oh and yep, they're Gremlins from the MLP comic. Tis good, I figured if they could use Blade Runner in theirs, I could use something a little different here :twilightblush: Still always happy to hear what you have to say.

Anyway, y'all take care now and see ya' next time, eh? :ajsmug:

Act 2- Chapter 9: Blank Space

Blank Space

Proofread by TehSporkBandit

Ulf took aim and threw his spear right at the neck of the jarl. At the same moment, a grey-clad Jom surged towards the aft castle steps with a bellowed roar. The spear struck him instead of Sigvald. The Jom's garbled cry of surprise disappeared as he clutched his ruined throat and fell to the deck with a spastic kick.

“Thane Ulf!” One of the forecastle warriors grasped the thane's sleeve and pointing with a hand axe out to sea. “The Danes are making straight for us and another fleet sails from the headla-”

Ulf grabbed him by the collar and pulled him forward, “Forget them, kill the nithinger! Kill him, butcher him, skin him! Leave none of his ilk alive!” From his position on the forecastle he watched as Olaf and his retinue defended the narrow staircase leading up to the tiller.

The thane grasped a fallen spear and made his way towards the bulwark wall overlooking the mid deck. Ready to heave the weapon against the hated traitors, he saw them rushing up the steps with their mighty two-handed axes as more of Sigvald’s Jom warriors spilled aboard. One of Ulf’s own kinsmen stepped in to block the way up the stairs, flaring his shield out and poising his sword for a short stabbing thrust. The onrushing Jom swung his axe, slamming the killing edge into the top of the shield and bearing the Norse warrior to the ground under the shuddering impact. Ulf's throw caught the traitor high in the chest and split the mail clean open with a flurry of metal links. The prostrated Norse warrior stabbed out with his sword, sliding it under the helm of the Jom before kicking the lifeless corpse down into the onrushing horde.

A dark cloud fell over them, along with the alarmingly sweet odours of woodsmoke and burning pine pitch. Turning back to the sea, Ulf looked on as the Crane was set ablaze. Its mainsail was already rife with flames that curled the edges and sent up a towering column of smoke while its forecastle cabin belched an oily cloud. “The seer!” Ulf called, knowing the danger that the blind creature was in.

“Juo-Daaaaan!” The terrifying bellow echoed out across the ship. Another Jom bulled over the Norse warrior guarding the steps, others clambered past like dogs baying for blood. Swinging his hand axe hard, it slammed into the metal cheek plate of the traitor rushing up the steps, knocking him back with the dull axe blade. The man recovered quickly and swung the great axe at neck height. Ulf ducked under the hewing edge and slammed his blade down on the Jom's unarmored foot. Sigvald’s warrior howled and tumbled back, leaving the majority of his foot next to the axe blade embedded in the deck.

Wrenching the weapon loose, Ulf unslung his shield and glanced back to the vessel alongside them. The Crane still burned and bellied lower in the water as a Danish longship slammed into its bow with the crackling buckle of timbers and planking. Then, Ulf saw the seer as he rushed from the smoke-spewing mouth of the cabin. The equine’s habit was scorched and streaked in ash, but the creature ducked and weaved, dashing blindly to the stern of the vessel. He looked left and right, in a blind panic that Ulf had never seen before. Clover placed his hooves upon the railing, oblivious to the carnage around him as a dozen of Sigvald's mens hacked through the Crane's defenders while others callously butchered the wounded laid out on the deck. Beyond them, the various vessels of Olaf's fleet were beset. The Bleaksea had been cut free from the formation and burned on the open ocean while the Trana’s forecastle spewed smoke and its decks were devoid of any sign of life.

“Ulf!” His lord's voice called over the fray. The thane flung himself to the railing and barely ducked an arrow that whistled overhead. Olaf and Kolbjorn defended the aftcastle, side by side, hewing down the mass of traitor warriors as they pressed up the narrow steps. They were all that was left, a pair of red clad warriors standing like a breakwater against the tide. The shield thane was bedecked much like his lord, encased in gilded armour and hefting a thick emerald shield which turned aside the stinging arrows that streaked out like gnats. Beside the protective thane stood the puissant lord cloaked in his finest polar furs. Olaf’s sword hewed down any Jom that surged over the precipice, the fallen warriors adding to the heaped pile of corpses that spattered and sullied the hems of the cloak. “Ulf, can you get to Clover?”

“No, my lord!” They were hemmed in as the sound of grappling irons echoed behind him. The Danes would be on them shortly and only by the Nornar were two of his remaining warriors able to contain the baleful traitors on the forecastle. They could barely hold their position, let alone break free from it.

Sigvald bulled his way up the steps and towards the pair of slender warriors who reaped a bloody toll at the top. The towering figure bellowed, “Juo-Daaaaan,” drowning out almost every other sound in a ragged roar. The massive warrior surged forward and swung his axe like a madman. Kolbjorn and Olaf ducked and weaved in the enclosed space to avoid the murderous edge. The Norse warriors cut and slashed, opening up small nicking cuts in the jarl’s chainmail. Olaf's sword thrust took the jarl in the leg, drawing another roar as he lashed his foot out and caught the king under the chin. Olaf was spun back, head cracking into the wooden bulwark. A second sideways slash skipped across the shield thane’s side. It glanced off the mail, but the veteran warrior yelped in pain and sloughed awkwardly to the side, hip almost certainly crushed by the blade.

With one last bellowed cry, Sigvald sent his arcing axe cleaving downward. Its edge slammed just wide of the king's chest, cutting through his heavy cloak and pinning him to the deck. Sigvald pulled the axe, but it stuck fast as Olaf flexed his grip around his sword and stabbed out. Sigvald was caught in the shin, under the fringe of his hauberk, splitting his leg to the bone. The jarl howled and loosed his grip on the embedded axe before taking a lamed step back.

“Olaf?!” Clover's cry pierced through the din. The frightened and confused Unicorn backed away from the raging flames that licked up the deck just ahead of the waterline as the stern rose higher into the air.

It drew the king's attention as Ulf watched, remembering the seer's words from that morning, “a choice,” he murmured. Olaf hesitated for a moment, torn between slaying the treacherous jarl or trying to save his seer. The king took his sword and slid it up near his own neck with a distinct ping, shearing both his cloak's clasp and the silvered thong holding the precious horn.

Olaf still had his sword while the jarl had nothing. The king used the wooden siding to rise to his feet, watching as the jarl’s hand shot out to grasp his weapon. Olaf called out one word, “Clover!” He dove from the aftcastle into the icy main just as the Crane's keel cracked and sent the rear of the vessel crashing down. It spat up a great plume of water which showered back down on the bloody decks of the Long Serpent.

“Olaf jumped!” Panic set in immediately and Ulf shook in horror, no man, not even one as mighty as Olaf, could swim in so much armour.

“Ulf!” Kolbjorn shouted. Ulf grasped the edge of the wall and looked towards the rasping voice “They won't have our king, they won't have our treasure!” Kolbjorn threw something that sparkled in the air, just as the Joms descended on him, axes upraised to finish their bloody work. Ulf reached out, snatching the silver thread, feeling the long sprig of ivory rap against his wrist.

The king was dead, claimed by the sea, and all around descended into chaos. Danish warriors pulled themselves aboard using limpet like grappling hooks while Jom traitors streamed up the steps and into the holds, slaughtering and butchering as they went. Ulf, and five other warriors on the forecastle, was all that was left aboard the Long Serpent. The Crane was gone, and Danish warriors swarmed over the decks of the Flind at their side. “Don't let them have our treasure...”

Ulf's panting rasp was the only indication that he steeled himself up. Looping the horn around the thong of his axe then took a running leap towards the sea. The thane barelled into a Danish warrior clambering up on the deck and sent them both hurtling off into the void. Ulf felt the sickening sensation of weightlessness and heard the howl of the wind rushing past his ear as he plunged into the bitter embrace of death. “I wish I was in a place of peace and plenty.”

There was a sudden flash, a painful burst of heat, and then nothing but the voracious darkness.

♣

“Here ya go! Chocolate chip and banana biscuits, ahoy, and honey tea!” A bouncy personality, happy smile, and even that oblivious spring in her step often made Pinkie Pie appear to be mocking the downtrodden. You consider how many times in the past you’ve watched her cavort and sing around the depressed and the infirm but it was hard to see how it could help. Nevertheless, something intangible chases away that darkness. Perhaps it was those wide eyes, her jovial warmth, or maybe it was just that confident half-cocked expression and unreserved smile that makes you feel like you were the only one who mattered at that moment. Pinkie Pie's oddities finally began to make sense as you stare down at the tea cup and serving plate in your lap. A hesitant sip gets you to blink and hum in surprise. Pinkie didn’t lie, but she had omitted that the tea had ginger, cinnamon, and a few other additives.

Pinkie, never change.

It was giving you a moment or two of silence to ponder the previous night. You had awoken in a sweat with a dizzying feeling of vertigo. Unfortunately, the belaboured breathing and rapid thump of your heart made it nearly impossible to get back to sleep. Each time you shut your eyes that sickening feeling returned. Then, as if by magic, you felt a pair of hooves wrap around your chest from behind. A quiet nuzzle had pressed against your cheek before a soothing ‘shush’ brushed your ear. That vaguely familiar lavender scent had calmed you and once more guided you back into a quiet and surprisingly restful sleep. Naturally, in the morning you weren’t sure who to thank. Worse yet, you couldn’t quite tell who it was either. Given nopony brought it up, it might be better to keep it like that.

Now you were sitting at the small table enjoying breakfast with Rarity and Fluttershy. Biscuits, tea, and a short, albeit accessible, table made the arrangement agreeable. “Thank you, Pinkie. Are you going to come join us?” Fluttershy lay down opposite you. Rarity canters up and down in the adjacent room, the only clue as to what she’s doing is the rustle of saddlebags and the crystalline hum of magic.

“Nuh-uh, gonna help Twilight. She's been staring at pages since sun up.” Pinkie concludes with a whistle which halts a moment later and turns into a hum when picking up a thick baking cloth in her teeth. She takes the hot kettle off the iron ring suspending it over the fire before setting it down on the stone floor.

Rarity’s sigh of relief is probably a good thing, “Rightly, dear, I found your pack. You know, those socks are positively dreadful. I’ll see what I can make up for you when we get back home. Anyway, hold perfectly still, I know exactly what I’m doing.” Even as you reflexively turned to look there was a gentle tap against your shoulder, “Ah-ah-ah, rester immobile s'il vous plaît.” It was something about ‘immobile’ so that was probably ‘hold still.’

The gentle clack of a tea cup on a serving plate is a little louder than you hope, but nopony seems to mind. “So where's AJ and Ra-”

There was a faint prick at the side of your head as a hair was plucked out. There was a quiet tutting voice, “Rightly, dear, stay still. I can't possibly get your mane straight if you keep twisting and turning like a, like a... hmm, J'ne c'est qua...”

“Squirrel eating a bag of caramel peanuts on a ferris wheel?” Pinkie’s offer seems right but bewildering. Still, she doesn’t break from gathering up some more biscuits, though that was the second batch of the day.

“I, uh, suppose that will have to do. Yes, like a, um, squirrel eating a bag of caramel peanuts on a… ferris wheel. Hah-hah..” Rarity’s feigned laugh of politeness doesn’t stop her from running a brush through your hair as small twists like a gentle breeze leave a residual snap of magical sparks.

You start again, “Where are Rainbow Dash and Applejack?”

“They’re still looking. After their silly little raid to capture a Gremlin last night, Pinkie and I found a few more books. Unfortunately, it was nothing that Twilight could work with. Naturally, that duo of hallions presumed they could find something that we couldn’t. Hmmph.” Rarity’s little ‘humph’ was almost certainly accompanied by an upturned nose.

Fluttershy chimes in, “They’re still looking. Applejack bet Rainbow couldn’t find something useful before her, so they’ve both been working like madponies to prove each other wrong.” her heavy sigh is enough to settle the conversation back into a few awkward moments of silence.

“What was wrong with it? The books, I mean.” You eventually ask, realizing that your thoughts are starting to form better with that gentle stroke of a hairbrush and Rarity’s soft lilting hum in your ear. There’s something about that dream that bothers you but you can’t put your finger on it.

Fluttershy answered with a quiet slurping sip from the tea cup, “She's looking for another copy. The others were ruined.”

“Ruined? Ho-Oww!” The quick reflex to straighten up met with a painful yank on your scalp as the hair bush tore a few strands free. Rarity chides with a simple tisk to say 'told you'. “What happened?”

“Hmm?" Fluttershy looked over, "Oh, nothing happened, it was just left open and the ink faded. Most of the books were just blank. Now Rainbow and Applejack are looking for any extra copies while Twilight has been staring at empty pages for the past hour. Poor dear, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so tired.” Languid lines of worry work their way onto the Pegasus’s face, weighing her down as she stares into her teacup as if trying to read the leaves.

“Rarity, this might be a weird question… but can a Unicorn horn alone cause teleportation?” It made sense how Ulf got here, you’d seen Twilight simply vanish in a burst of light and reappear on the other side of the room.

Ulf… white beard...

“How dreadfully macabre.” Rarity awkwardly squirms back, breaking that soothing rhythm of the hairbrush. “But I really wouldn’t know, Twilight is the mare to ask regarding that sort of thing.”

Ulf had a brown beard...

“Uh-huh.” You distractedly mutter as something begins coursing through your mind.

Pinkie obliviously transfers another batch of biscuits from the baking sheet to a platter, “Uh-huh, Rarity can’t even do that if she wanted. If her horn could, that might be a little insulting, don’t you think? Did you name your horn, Applejack named her legs, have you name anything, Rightly?”

It’s hard to tell who’s inadvertent gasp was louder, your sound of awkward shock at the potential implications, or Rarity’s breathless note of indignance. “I… I beg your pardon?” Rarity found her voice before you.

“Nah, that’s okay, you didn’t do anything.” Pinkie’s smile swallows up the tittering bluster of confusion from the fashionista.

There's a croak as the door slowly creaks open. Another Pegasus shoulders her way in, “Hey, I heard you were having cookies or something.” Rainbow Dash comes in with that same strut that she usually has, stopping only to snap up one of the biscuits and flop down next to the table. She gives you a simple wink as if to say ‘don’t worry about it.’

It left you confused and you can’t help but stammer, “A-aren’t you supposed to be helping find a copy of some book?” You ask as the Pegasus mare hums in interest and pulls the rest of the plate of biscuits over towards her. Thankfully, you have a firm hold on your tea cup that borders on possessive.

“Nope. Well, yeah, kinda’. I guess I'm supposed to, but it's not there, so it doesn’t count. I didn't see any other big creepy folder things made out of skin.”

“Skin?” ask three voices at once, including your own.

“Yeah, tough skin with a cord thing and papers inside. It was creepy enough to be in a museum with shrunken pony heads.” Her uncaring shrug coupled with a small huffing sound as she pops a whole biscuit in her mouth.

“I better go see Twilight. If this doesn't work we'll need to find another way.” You slowly rise and reluctantly leave the tea cup’s half-finished contents. “Here, on the house Dash. Oh, and I'll put on the water.” While standing, it is enough to just nick Rainbow Dash’s shoulder with a light jab for stealing the biscuit. Crumbs are strewn across her muzzle and several fleck down on her chest as Rarity’s look of shocked repugnance is probably good enough payment while the uncaring Pegasus looks as happy as a clam.

It didn't take more than a few seconds to empty a bucket of water into the small cauldron and place it back on the metal arm suspending it over the fire. Quickly stoking the flames again, you turn to your bedside right in the midst of six other sleeping bags to pick up your coat and socks. “Hey, Rainbow?”

“Yeah?” She calls back before loudly slurping the tea.

“Do you still have that newspaper? You know, the one with the Slasher on it?”

“Yeah, it’s in my bag, just on the inside left, next to the Wonderbolts calendar. It’s that one over there.” She waggles her hoof in the direction of her sleeping bag. There was only one emblazoned with the winged lightning bolt of official Wonderbolt merchandizing, so it was obvious which she was talking about.

“Rainbow Dash! You told me that you had gotten rid of that awful thing.” The Unicorn fixes her athletic Pegasus friend with a fiery glower.

“I did. I got rid of that one. That’s a new copy, I figured Twilight might need it.” It’s met with a growl as you stoop to rifle through the simple canvas bags. Popping out a glossy Wonderbolts calendar, you find the paper folded up next to it and look at the front image. Despite the hazy monochrome picture, the lurking ‘Unicorn Slasher’ did have a white or grey beard.

Ulf has a brown beard, or had a brown beard. Something's not adding up.

“Thanks.” You stuff the paper back and set off for the library, letting the door close behind you with a reverberating ‘clack’. As you head into the library it was hard to imagine any individual willing to stay in an ice box like this for hours on end.

“Ya’ sure, suga'cube?” AJ's distinct voice echoes through the empty chamber. “Well, alright. Ah'll be sure ta' put on a warm blanket. Why not take all of these upstairs? Ain't no use freezin' here.” There was no reply loud enough for you to detect. The tap of hooves say a lot as you hustle down the stairs.

You descend the marble steps and head straight through the first aisle. Other doors lead off to the right, two or three with the same great archways, but the focus is still the great shelves upon shelves of books around you which dwarfs everything else. Taking a quick left turn, you nearly slam into Applejack.

“Sorry there. Just gonna’ go warm up.” Her bright grin couldn't hide that faint stiffness of irritation. Evidently, nopony found another copy of Clover's works.

“Nothing? I thought after a challenge like that, Rainbow Dash would forge one to win.” You wink and get a bit of a chortle from the cowpony in return.

“Heh, yeah, someth'n like that. I honestly thought we were gonna’ find it. Ah guess we might have ta’ go right to the royal library after all. But if Twilight didn’t find it there last time, ah doubt we will next time, either.” You smile and give her chilly shoulder a pat.

“Go warm up, Applejack. Toss an extra blanket near the fire and I'll come pick it up for Twilight in fifteen minutes.”

“That ain’t a bad idea there. Right, ah'd best get that ready.” Applejack’s quick nod gets a second motion as she tilts her head and inclines it towards where Twilight is likely sitting. Keeping her voice down she whispers back, “And if ya can talk her inta’ seein’ some sense, ah’d be real grateful.” The farm pony trots right back past you, giving your hip a friendly pat to say thanks.

The sound of her steps fade ever so slightly as you make your way down the aisles. On either side of you is large twelve foot shelves with row upon row of dusty books piled on sagging boards. The streaming light from the dull grey outdoors still makes the immense hall an incredible sight. The shadowy light softly illuminates the top of the bookcases and rests on great banners of blue and white that hang from the walls. While many are still chipped and broken, paintings of figures from Equestria's history adorn frescoes on the tallest vaults in number and splendour to match the rounded caps and restored chapels of Italy. Intricately carved heads of various ponies protrude from the buttresses and tower over the hall like slumbering sentinels.

It would have been overwhelming at the peak of its grandeur but even diminished, it’s a tremendous sight to behold. Much had been simply abandoned and lay in ruins few could appreciate. That Gremlin’s threat seems to have some unpleasant gravity to it.

As you approach the nave you spot the great round table. A lone Alicorn still pours over the countless tomes resting in stacks a score high and spread over the entirety of the massive oaken surface. Candles burn next to her in soot stained candelabras as book after book is skimmed through with the flutter of pages, quicker than the eye can possibly catch.

This was Twilight's idea of a good time: books, a challenge, and the need for accuracy and detail. Sunken sockets and a deep frown cast a gloomy pall over the library. She flicks her ear every few seconds, then stops to rub her eyes before blinking and peering back at the dusty pages. Each time a book is scoured through without result, her wings slump a little more until the pinions reach the floor like the boughs of a weeping willow. She places another grey tome down with a resigning sigh and wearily reaches for a mug near one of the candle holders.

Stalking up behind her wasn't that difficult. While you are sure you are going to regret this in time, you will regret it for far longer if you don't. Shrugging your coat off, you drape it down around her shoulders which garners a whinny of surprise.

“Trouble with something? Well, anything close?” She still gazes at you through glassy red eyes as you drag a seat over and sit down. “Hmm, glad they have some decent chairs here.” Tthey were still a little small, like the furniture in a kindergarten class.

Twilight's long defeated breath made it sound like she was deflating, “No. I've gotten close but nothing in here related to any sort of relevant ritual. And no, I didn't find anything about looking back to what Olaf saw either. It seems there's a veil between worlds that nopony can cross.”

“It’s not Olaf, it’s one of his cadre named Ulf who was teleported here because of the horn…” Her blink was nearly unreadable. It’s as if she recognized you were talking but you had been spouting jibberish. “Can a horn do that? Oh, and you mean nopony but princess Luna and that mirror thing, right?”

“Does that change much? I don’t know, I suppose it’s possible for a horn to do that. But one question at a time, Rightly, please? I’ll ask somepony, maybe a friend at Pranceston University might know. Now, Princess Luna said she'd spent a tremendous amount of time just getting dreams through and even more trying to induce enough for your friend to write that note in her sleep.” Twilight’s lingering sigh isn’t encouraging as she drinks deeply from her mug.

Ah, that's what happened with Twila.

Well, it was still impressive in a sense. Luna didn't seem to be in the best frame of mind, and it was apparently a difficult task. “It has to have some bearing. Is there any reason to think that a Cloud Gremlin would know?”

A flick of her muzzle says she was thinking about it. “Why would they? I mean, theoretically yes, I suppose, but I don't know too much about them. They are a generally malicious and reclusive species that feeds on depression and despair. Really, they aren’t tremendously different from Changelings except they consume different emotions. Opposite emotions actually, now that I think about it.” Her pensive glance towards book-lined walls of the library makes it seem as if she’s about to start another search. Even in the dim light, her bloodshot eyes look terrible and her coat lost its velvety lustre.

“That's fine, don't worry about it. We'll send Rainbow Dash to rough one up and drag it out of them. Here, I'll help you take some of these books upstairs. You look a bit cold. Something to eat sounds pretty good, doesn't it?”

Instead of conceding the point, she just points to the biscuit and drink not far away. “I’m fine, really. I feel better than I did at Zecora’s.”

Twilight, you can be as stubborn as a mule.

You snort and try to keep the irritation out of your voice, “I mean a full meal. I bet AJ can make something and I'll help with those books, too.”

“We don't have time for that. Lives are on the line and every moment we delay is a moment that could be used to save somepony else from harm. It’s my duty and responsibility to see that we don’t waste a single second.” It is a good point but she seems to be having trouble just keeping track of which pile she skimmed through.

The stacks are an unsightly mess of black, blue, red, and green covers. Elaborate gold etch had come off most of them but they are in fair shape despite the physical size of the works themselves. There has to be between three hundred and maybe five hundred volumes spread out on the wide table. But a small group catches your eye, a half dozen manuscript folders. The old things were scorned and left on the other side of the table.

“Are those all the manuscripts?” You ask and point to the six leather-bound folios.

“Yeah, macabre, only seen one or two books like it in Canterlot and one, ugh, one had a face on it.” she grimaces in distaste. “But I suppose skin would keep the rain away from sensitive early papyrus print, they must have tried many mediums before moving on to waxed canvas, wood bindings, and proper paper. Frankly, I'm surprised that Clover the Clever didn't think of that one with his writings. But no, he used manuscripts whereas Star Swirl kept scrolls and a few early proto-books.”

“... You're telling me those manuscripts are Clover the Clever's personal documents?” Something about it makes your heart skip a beat as your synapses spark in one forlorn hope.

Twilight must have seen that glint in your eye, her quizzical squint and inquisitive ‘hmm?’ isn’t as guarded but still puzzled. “Yes. It's not going to do you any good, they're brittle and so badly faded that I can't read a single word. I tried all last night.”

“These are the hoof written documents of Clover the Clever... with no words..” You get up quickly and slam your knee on the underside of the table in haste. The awkward limp slows your pace, but you hurry towards the stack of neglected manuscript folders. It took only a moment to untwist the fragile gut string from around a small button loop.

It was easy to see what Twilight meant when you open the cover. Only the faintest writing in the margins was visible as the rest of the blue ink had disappeared from the brittle wager-like pages. The aged sheets would surely be priceless to collectors if they had anything written on them, but there was no trace of ink and no identifying mark except for a single three leafed clover on the first page.

“Biscuit!” You shoot your hand out, palm up and open.

It has to be, it just has to be!

“Here, I'm not too hungry any-hey!” You grasp the proffered biscuit and and roll it in your fingers as the tiny crumbs fall to the paper. “Those were still good!” Twilight’s protestation fades, though she still seems baffled.

Chocolate smears between your fingers, but most of the dry bread was pulverized. You flick the paper, sift it, and carefully shake the flat page. The fine crumbs had settled in a number of faint grooves, showing the old uninked glyphs of Equestrian writing that span the whole sheet. “Clover, you magnificent bastard!”

Twilight pushes herself up from her seat and ungainly lopes towards you. As she brushes your side, her eyes snap open wide and stir with a reinvigorated light as brilliant as the brightest constellations in the night sky. “T-there are… no… words…” An awkward chortle escapes her throat, followed by a giggle, then an all out laugh that rings to the loftiest vaults of the hall. She wraps her hooves around you from behind, ducking her head under your arm and looking at the texts with all the glee of a giddy schoolgirl. Admittedly, she is still clinging like a limpet, but at least she was a happy one. Another errant thought crosses your mind.

She's not the one from last night.

“Twilight?” A chorus of concerned voices call from the steps but there was no need for an alarm. In a way, Twilight was wrong, there most certainly were words. The first seven read clearly:

From the hoof of Clover the Clever
♣

Author's Note

Well, heyas everypony! Anyhow, this is the last dream chapter. Just one more not-so-little flashback chapter and that's it. And yeah, Clover is the entire reason I used that section break all along. I couldn't help it :twilightblush:

Take care eh?

Act 2- Chapter 10: In Hindsight

In Hindsight

Proofread by TehSporkBandit

The hectic chores of the day finally gave way to night’s quiet embrace. You had spent time collecting more firewood from ruined rooms with Applejack, been regaled by the tales of heroic resistance to the Gremlins by Rainbow Dash, discussed said Gremlins with Fluttershy, and tried to keep up with Pinkie Pie on her rounds that ensured everypony had what they needed. However, when you returned to the library it was as if nothing had changed.

Twilight still feverishly scribbles down everything from the Clover manuscripts onto scrolls so there was a backup record. Her penmanship might seem to be a little scrawling but it’s legible despite the blazing pace set by the reinvigorated Alicorn. Rarity sits across the little table, using a calligraphy brush and a small pot of liquid gold to catch the raised edges left on each aged page by an uninked nib. Those old documents that most people and ponies would probably toss out, were being transformed into a masterpiece that the Sun King of France would have been envious of. Four hefty manuscripts had been restored and reverently lay on Twilight’s pack.

“Twilight,” you lean over her shoulder, “you've been at that for hours. Don't you think you should take a short break?”

“You're the fourth pony to suggest that in the past ten minutes. It's only been about an hour, I'm still alright.” She further dismisses you with a wave of her hoof.

“Twilight, It's been all day. We missed supper.”

“It's okay, I'm not even hungry.” The Alicorn’s persistence keeps that wayward smile plastered on her muzzle and a frown on your lips.

“That's not the p-” you sigh and shake your head.

Why do I bother?

Twilight seems intent on finishing the whole collection in one sitting. Glancing over at the Unicorn fashionista, she had that inattentive gaze on her muzzle as she adds another flourish to the page. The two ponies most likely to enter work induced fugue sat at the same table, enveloped by their tasks.

You can’t help but break that awkward silence, “So… uh, have you learned a lot?”

“I haven’t heard of any articles written by Clover the Clever himself. It’s not just the way he writes, it’s in these notations and quips in the margin. See here?” Twilight lifts the yellowed page up to you, keeping what disturbingly looked like the same crumbs as before. “They’re like Star Swirl’s. There’s more about him in a page than in some speculative biography written by somepony else.”

You still wince and cringe as the shower of stale crumbs, “Twilight, couldn’t you have just made a rubbing? It would save you a lot of ti-”

Twilight’s gasp cuts you off, “A rubbing? On ancient papyrus sheets?”

Rarity pips up as if slipping from her artistic trance just long enough to aid you, “Lustre dust acts as a mild adhesive, it dries quickly, and stays flexible for longer to provide a shimmering coat that seals, protects, and looks simply fabulous.” That sounds like a commercial pitch if ever there was one.

You could see the glimmer in Twilight’s eyes and hear the tremble in her voice: it was the spark of excitement. That joyful flame defies her weary shell and drives her forward by sheer force of will. “We have to protect these folios. This might be the archeological discovery of the decade. It belongs in a museum!”

“So do you.” You smirk but she just smiles as if to say ‘true’. A pile of manuscripts and a stack of books rests at her side. “Is the Hindsight elixir even needed? I mean, it's still a risk, even if it's not as dangerous by the look of it. It seems that the icon, the horn itself that is, teleported Ulf here. Could the rest be just in here somewhere?” A quick tap to the leather clapped folio gets Twilight to actually take notice.

The Alicorn doesn't stop, but her ears do flick up so she has to be listening. “Teleported here? Hmm, a Unicorn horn did that? Well, it doesn't matter, we still need to find out why. Which means we’re going to have to go back and look for ourselves.”

“I'm not so sure, I haven't seen anything except how Ulf knew how to get here. That was through Clover. Are you sure?” There’s no help forthcoming help from Rarity, she was lost in her own work of embellishing the ratty page edges with gold trim before setting it aside.

Twilight holds up a hoof, “We have five major questions, the same ones as before: who?”

You answer at her pause, “Ulf, a raider from a thousand years ago.” Something still seems wrong, or at least odd, but for the meantime it was only a niggling issue. Twilight’s intent gaze doesn’t abate as she quirks a brow as if you’re forgotten something. “And Clover the Clever, a Unicorn from around the same time?” It sounds like a question as you hope you’re right in including the Unicorn seer.

She bobs her head, “What?”

“One magic horn, four dead unicorns and a further two that are missing-”

“More or less.” Rarity's voice wafts past causing both Twilight and yourself to pause.

“What was that?” Twilight's aghast expression held with it a small slumping note of disbelief.

“Hmm?” Rarity's blink and doe-eyed expression speak volumes. “W-well, uh, dear, some ponies go missing every now and then. It's not impossible that one of them may have found their way back by now.”

“But you said more or less.” You point out as Rarity shies back and nibbles her lip.

“I did…” the Unicorn sighs, “Well, there's always other accidents and… incidents. Perhaps we shouldn't discount them either. Should we?” Her voice creeps higher, hoping that you’d allay her fears and doubts.

Twilight's mouth opens with a gasp of breath, then she halts as if changing her mind. You pick up the slack from the Alicorn, “Are you, maybe, aware of something we’re not?”

“It's almost certainly nothing,” she uncomfortably brushes her forelocks from her face with a gentle breath, “but a friend of a friend in Canterlot is overdue to return from a long vacation on the west coast. Somepony got worried when she didn’t show up for a bed and breakfast appointment. You know how some ponies are, flustered at the silliest little abnormality. It's nothing but a silly little macabre thought… forget I said anything and go back to your, uh, thing.” Her cavalier facade came across transparent as cellophane.

“When.” Twilight's continuation ends any prospect of further interrogation.

“More than three months now.” You look over at Rarity who doesn't issue any correction.

“Where.”

You think back and nod, “Most of the west coast, north-west, I guess.” It takes another few moments to realize that she wants you to answer for Clover as well. Rarity didn’t know humanity’s details and putting two and two together wouldn’t be difficult.

You know I can't answer that, Twilight.

Twilight's winces sheepishly at your silence. Unwinding one of her scrolls, she adds an addendum, “Clover’s journal mentions that he was near Saddle Lake’s north shore in the Unicorn delegate’s pavilion. Right here.” She holds out the scroll and you look across the flourishing descriptions of green valleys and glassy water transcribed in Twilight’s chicken-scratch, “It's different from Star Swirl’s writings, but there's no mistaking it. It makes reference to the new 'Canterlot' project which, I can only assume, means the construction of Canterlot about fourteen-hundred years ago. Which I guess I should have mentioned concerning 'when'.”

“That is something of a gap.” You felt the urge to ask an uncomfortable question, “Can Unicorns live that long?”

Twilight’s gentle tap on her chin and inclination of her head makes the question appear to be pondered in some deeply philosophical manner. “Well…” she pauses for another moment of deliberation, “If they take care of themselves I suppose it could be possible.”

Twilight continues her string of questions after shaking that question of mortality from her mind, “Why?”

You open your mouth but say nothing, teleportation was ‘how’, not a 'why'. You still don't know how or why Clover was there in the first place. It gets a silent nod from Twilight who likely anticipated the lack of an answer. “Which is why we still need to go through with this. If we can find the reason for one pony’s teachings, we may be able to find the reason for the other’s actions.”

Twilight continues the now one-sided conversation as if for the sake of completeness, “How: with an axe. We still don’t know how Clover got ‘there’ either.”

“You don’t think Ulf is using the same magic in the horn to teleport around, do you?” It is a sudden and discomforting thought.

Trying to pin someone down that has teleportation is like trying to pin down smoke.

Twilight pensively hums. “I doubt it. Teleportation is difficult and requires a lot of magic. I suppose it is possible, but it’s highly improbable. It must be some abnormality, hmm. No, I’m fairly certain that it is something different. Anyway, we at least know he got here though magic, so there’s no reason to think the Hindsight elixir should behave differently.” After a few moment’s silence, and no forthcoming contestation, Twilight continues, “Excellent. We’ll just finish up here and get everything ready for shipping to Pranceston University. Then we should be prepared.” Despite being exhausted, a happy foalish glimmer of amazement sparkles in her eyes.

Something else catches your eye as you look over the table where several fairly hefty tomes are by the mare's side. “What're those for?” You ask with a bit of a twang that sounds odd to your ears. Evidently, it sounds odd to hers, too, as she just smiles a bit.

“You said you wanted to make sure that this was as safe as possible, these could help. But I doubt you want to hear it.” Twilight’s grin and canny smile make it seem like a challenge.

You pull up a chair with a noisy scrape, “Try me.”

The Alicorn’s smirk twists into a cheery grin. “I guess it is time for a short break. Okay. Most of this doesn't seem related I just… well, I had to be the first to get this copied down. Anyway, Rightly, I think we found it.” Her trembling voice borders on jubilant. “Clover the Clever spoke a lot about his mentor, Star Swirl the bearded, and I think I can figure out how to bypass some problems.” She looks around for a few moments, eyes settling on Rarity at the far end of the table as she was carefully sifting the golden dust.

“Hmm?” You lean in a little closer so a whisper would suffice.

“For the elixir to work one must have a detailed knowledge of either the location of the event or the personage included in it. Otherwise, it can be potentially dangerous. But I have learned quite a lot about how Clover thought, felt, and acted. More than that, we know where he started writing this journal. So, the only issue is Ulf and finding out how Clover got from here to there.”

“So, how does that help us?” It was probably going to get complicated, but there were few better teachers in the cosmos, let alone Equestria.

“Do you remember when you first came here and I mentioned Star Swirl's Compass theory?” She halts, as if afraid to get ahead of herself.

“Not really, but go on.”

“Alright. Eight words. Transpatial displacement and localized non-euclidean homological algebraic topology.” Seeing your blank stare she holds up a hoof then reaches for a spare quill and two sheets of parchment. “It's not a complex theory, the math is and some of the constants are, but it just sounds confusing. Watch.” Folding the two pieces of paper, she smiles and starts with clearing her throat.

Wait, another lecture? Isn’t that two in one day?

“Star Swirl theorized that the best method of accurately understanding the nature of various phenomenon, from the mundane to the fantastic, lay in recognizing similarities and differences. Like apples and oranges, or two pieces of paper.”

She swiftly scribbles down a few symbols and lines before folding the edges of one paper, “See? Both are different. Most would look at them and say 'this one is apples and this one says oranges', which are their identities. This is convenient, but it's also factually incomplete. The better way is to start with the differences between them. Look at the gaps, then see how the space forms around them. By understanding these shapes, we begin to understand what is pushed aside. These unchanging logical and spatial gaps can act as anchor points for determining exact points to the others, and then we can make logical assumptions.” She indicates what she meant by not measuring the impression left by the ink, but all the spaces around them starting at the corners.

“In our example, not only are apples different in relative space than oranges but also different in the relative shape of the paper.” she holds up the pieces of paper in a haze of fuchsia sparks, illustrating the shadows and lines as they overlap, “They are proportionally larger compared to the paper. If we were to say they are the same in size and the difference is down to the words ‘apple’ or ‘orange’, we miss the specific details in what actually creates their identity. Which brings us to our second point.”

There’s more?

She smiles and sets the paper down, much to your chagrin. “This is made all the more difficult by the exponential nature of space. Think of it like walking while looking at a compass. It doesn’t point the direction you want to go, but it will give you a reference point. From that you can find another location.”

“Let me get this straight. You want to use the knowledge of Clover’s location to get close, watch, and hope to glean something about Clover’s personality. Then you hope to follow Clover to Ulf and use that to find out about Ulf and where he learned that ritual thing from?”

Twilight emphatically nods and lets out a chirping ‘hah’ of delight. “Yes! Exactly! Ulf had to learn whatever horrible thing he’s doing from somepony, and if you’re right, that somepony is Clover. Why don’t you gather up everypony else? I should be finished by then.” The Alicorn takes a few breaths to calm herself down, letting that beaming grin stay on her lips. After a moment she reaches across to pat you on the shoulder, “And no matter what happens, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.”

A crystal thrum of magic alerts you to something before your coat is levitated back around your shoulders, arms quickly slipping inside as elegantly and gracefully as if a butler had aided you. “And thanks for that too.”

♣

“Now where is it… Ooooh, don’t tell me I left it at Zecora’s. I was tired but not that… Ahah! I knew I brought it.” Twilight had been muttering to herself for close to three minutes and looking in every bag to find the Hindsight elixir. You know she packed it, everypony did, and you had checked to be sure that the Gremlin hadn’t stolen that either.

“Twilight, darling,” Rarity had been getting a small nest-like spot ready and gently pats it with a hoof, “are you sure you are okay with trying this here? We can always go back to Zecor-”

“No. Right here is fine.” She looks around at your expectant faces, finding the masks of hesitant approval glossed over with fallacious smiles. Well, everypony but Applejack, who lofts a brow and watches Twilight like an inquisitor.

“Yer sure now? Zecora’s is safer and we have ta’ go back that way anyhow.”

“Nope, I’ve made up my mind.” Twilight puts her hoof down with a clack, though her voice is still pleasant, soft, and almost consoling. “I don’t want to forget a single detail about Clover the Clever. It’s all fresh in my mind, so we’ll do it now. I can do this, but thank you for your concern. Thank you, everypony.”

You sit between Pinkie Pie and Applejack at the far end of the small little table, watching Rarity primp the cushions she’d lain out for Twilight. “I reaaally-reaaally hope it’s not like last time.” Pinkie whispers out of the corner of her mouth. “That wasn’t really a great show, even if Twilight was totally convincing. But we’ll be here in the audience, watching, aaaall watching, right there with you, Twilight!” She brings her hoof down under the table where she’d laid her saddle bag, pulling out a small little handcrafted flag saying ‘Best Princess’ with a cloth cut out of Twilight herself. It’s a cute little pennant, Pinkie is fairly good at her arts and crafts projects, but that isn’t the gift.

The gift is that quiet chortle from around the table that dispels the masks of fear and feigned confidence. A single waving triangle of purple cloth cut from an old tapestry manages to lighten the mood and dispel some of that anxiety.

Pinkie, never change.

“We’re here for you, Twilight.” Fluttershy’s soft intonations is only the first of a general crescendo of support that indistinctly blends together.

As inaudible as it sounds, you add your voice to the throng, “Hey, if anypony or anyone can do it, you can.”

Twilight smiles, looking at each of you. Despite the red-rimmed eyes and tiredness, a twinkle of light escapes from some inner reservoir. Twilight seems to be fully aware of each and everypony’s support, including your own. Perhaps she’d given that same look to every one of her friends, or maybe that was just for you. Even so, it buoys your spirit. Twilight Sparkle, if there was any individual who could pull this off, it’s her. A short nervous sigh leaves your lips despite that assurance.

The elixir is opalescent and constantly swirls in some sort of convection current like it was nothing but a liquified cloud carrying flecks of mica which burst like stars in the warming light. Twilight takes the bottle and exhales once to steel her nerves. “Alright, I’m ready. I can count on you, all of you, and I know it.”

After licking her lips, she upends the potion and drinks half of it before closing her eyes. It lasts only for a second before they spring open with a burst of radiant white light streaming from seemingly empty sockets. A high pitched ethereal note crescendos, pulsing in the sides of your head like the first pangs of a migraine and causing colourful spots to explode in your eyes. Through the burning gaze you swear you can see Twilight smile, a giddy look like a foal, happy for a moment and no more. Her expression sinks and her head rears back in distraught confusion.

The other five ponies in the room watch as roving beams are swung over them like spotlights as each pony shrinks back in turn. Rainbow even lifts her wing like a blind. When they sweep onto you, you know why. The light was hot, just shy of scorching fur, fabric, and feather alike. Twilight twists and suddenly lurches to the side.

“Hey, Twilight, it’s alright. C’mon, we’re right here-” Rainbow races forward to slip her shoulder under Twilight. It draws a confused glance, causing the Pegasus to turn her head aside and grimace at the heat.

Twilight heaves and shakes as if nearly convulsing before letting loose a howling shriek that shakes the stone and extinguishes the fire. The only lights in the room are the roiling pillars of flames flaring from her eyes and a churning mass of alabaster fire that boils inside her mouth like a furnace. It lasts for several long seconds before the lights flicker like headlamps and die.

You can’t hear a thing, the shriek had come as a physical shock that buffeted you aside. You feel the room spinning and yourself slowly tilting to the left against Pinkie Pie, who leans back against you. The shriek snuffed out the blaze in the hearth and plunged the room into abject darkness, but the last thing you hear is the heavy ‘thump’ of the senseless Alicorn slumping to the floor.

♣♣

“Twilight, darling, put your hooves up and be sure to breath. You've had quite an ordeal.” Rarity's cooing tone could have been mistaken for patronizing but the worried creases at the corners of her eyes and the furrow of her brow tell you the Unicorn is being genuine.

The fire is lit once more, thanks to Applejack. “H-how is she?” Applejack’s voice rings shallow and indistinct thanks to the residual hum left over from the scream.

“I can’t… I can’t tell, I, there’s n-not enough light to be sure. Please-please Rainbow Dash, be alright...” Fluttershy’s prayer dissolves into a few indistinct gasps that hold back a sob. She coos and strokes Rainbow’s mane while keeping herself nuzzled against the fellow Pegasi’s side. A stark chill runs through your veins as you heave over the motley mess of cyan blue feathers and a mop of prismatic hair. You brush through Rainbow’s hair too, but it has nothing to do with some notion of comfort, and everything to do with holding her flicking ear steady to get a better look.

“Pinkie?” You quickly call out, “You got a soft cloth anywhere? Rarity, how’s Twilight?”

A ragged ‘whoosh’ whistles by your ear as a soft kerchief is tossed your way. The white lace and velvet material will have to do. Rarity’s terse tone was more certain than Fluttershy’s panicky plea, “She’s coming around. Rightly, dear, could you come over here?” It held an edge of impatience.

“Go ahead, pardner, ah’ll take over here.” Applejack gives you a quick pat as you lay the kerchief over Rainbow’s ear; the white material turns pink almost immediately.

A nauseated groan coupled with a simpering whimper escapes Rainbow’s lips, “I’m g-gonna’ be sick…”

“Awwww, Dashie, getting sick? Sick isn’t any fun, anything I can do? Hey, Applejack, any kind of super-duper farmpony potion you know?” Pinkie keeps close, even leaning her head down to Rainbow’s muzzle.

“Pinkie, ah think she might’ve burst an ear drum. She probably can’t hear ya’ so well.”

“Should I talk louder?!” It only gets a whimper from Rainbow Dash before a hacking wheeze as she narrowly avoids retching.

“P-Pinkie?” It doesn’t help Rainbow Dash, but Twilight’s raspy moan can be heard as you move from one unwell pony to the other.

Kneeling down beside the Alicorn, you join Rarity, who fusses about the edges of the blanket. “Too tight? It's too tight, isn't it? I'm sorry, but please, don’t get up too quickly. You might go into a dreadful faint. Just tell me if you need anything, anything at all.” The mare in the midst of it, Twilight, lay down with dark rings around her eyes and a shallow wheezing.

“Well, let's get ya' home as soon as ya' can move. Bit a' rest and relaxation'll fix ya up better'n oil on a saddle sore.” Even Applejack's upbeat nature feels suppressed as she gives the Pegasus a pat on the ribs.

Twilight quietly sighs as you pass into her view. She struggles to say something but swallows hard as her thick tongue and parched mouth give rise to a raspy question, “What do you know about Theophilus?”

You blink and shrug, “Just the name from the dream. Why?”

She finally gets up, turning her front half to lay down, though her hindquarters seem unresponsive, “How about Mephistopheles?”

“I… what? Mephistopheles?” You search your own mind and try to come up with some information about a familiar sounding name. “Isn’t it something from- hmm. I don’t know, Paradise Lost? Maybe one of those legends, Faust, Faustus?” It draws a blank look from Twilight, or as blank as her already belaboured expression can get.

“Did you find something, dear?” Rarity’s smile might be forced, but it was infectious.

Twilight falters, shattering some of your hopefulness, “I don’t know… I’ll tell you. Maybe something else will make more sense to you. Paper… papers, please?” With a last pang of reluctance, you finally relent and pass her a quill and parchment.

Author's Note

Convoluted? Iiit's convoluted. Sorry. :twilightblush: Oh well, there's not much metaphysics or stuff like that, this is I think the only time. Anyhow, it's also my least favourite chapter of the whole story thus-far but I'll live with it! So, next week is the last chapter of act 2!

See ya' then and take care eh?

Act 2- Chapter 11: Only the Blind

Only the Blind

Proofread by TehSporkBandit

Twilight found herself in a darkened room. It had the patina of a bygone era as munton grills covered the tall windows and sent starlit dapples in the shapes of moons, suns, and diamonds streaming across the floor. The last glow of moonlight illuminated little. A small stone table decorated with a curious jade rune lay below the window, a brass wash basin rested upon a chipped stone dais, and a low bed was covered in a grey duvet and draped in yellow down blankets. It was mostly quiet, but something twisted and turned beneath those soft sheets.

The Alicorn crept towards an agitated murmur, “... Mmm, I to become Job? … under the yoke of corruption, then claim it’s sacrosanct? Have I kept something covetously?” The Alicorn’s quiet hoofsteps didn’t disturb the tossing figure. “... Mmmph, give the cloak off my back if needed. Have I plotted malice and cruelty? Whose soul have I crushed under oppression? Have I not stayed true? Gimme a sign, any sign… any sign!” The last note died with a loud gasp as the figure’s head snapped upright.

It was a Unicorn stallion only slightly older than herself, which fit the rough depiction of the woodcut she’d seen of Clover the Clever. His mauve coat was covered in a thin sheen of sweat and his bright green eyes rolled wildly. A burst of fuchsia magic pulled the blankets up and around his shoulders like a rudimentary cloak.

Twilight looked around, but all she could see was the stallion’s cutie mark carved into the headboard of his bed:

“It is you...” She stood in stark amazement; it was one thing to read the works of a writer long since remembered only as a woodcut, or paraphrased in the footnotes of aged books and plays, but to see them and their idiosyncrasies was something else.

The Unicorn started at the sudden sound and burst of white sparks near the window, leaving a small roll of bleached papyrus scintillating on the table. A pale haze of magic encased the scroll, prompting Twilight to lean forward as the note was unfurled.

Clover, I'm sorry to disturb you, as you must be busy with the other members of the Unicorn delegation, but I need to speak with you. It’s urgent.

Clover leapt from his bed and narrowly avoided stumbling over the trailing sheets. “This had better be important, otherwise Star Swirl will have my cutie mark.” The unicorn fetched a deep blue cloak from a small heap of clothing, swung a satchel around his shoulders, and was out the door in moments. Twilight squeezed behind him as he shut the door but was shocked by the world that unfolded before her.

Down a narrow bluff, nestled against the starlit waters, was a large encampment of bell tents, marquees, and pavilion structures surmounted in pennants. Yet, framed by the full moon, an incomplete spire jutted into the sky. Countless workshops nestled against a crowded river bend, shaping tons of hewn marble while teams dragged the monolithic blocks to the nascent city. Canterlot, or what would be Canterlot, rose from the rugged slopes of the mountainside.

Twilight’s vision blurred before a jarring staccato crackle engulfed her in a flurry of white noise.

♣

Twilight picked herself up from the ground but her legs felt like jelly. he saw part of a small alpine clearing near a small group of Unicorns, two of them stallions and three were mares. A stream flowed down the rocky shale from the towering heights above and stands of pine surrounded them on every side.

The center of attention wasn’t the scenery, but the steadfast figure atop the outcropping overlooking the snow-capped peaks. Crisp alpine breeze tussled her vivid auburn locks around a long twist of ivory and rustled her ashen wing pinions. “I… what?” Twilight mentally reconciled the figure with what she knew. It wasn’t Celestia, but there was some vague similarities. Of course, there were a number of Equestrian Princesses but Twilight didn’t recognize her. Whatever words of wonder Twilight spoke were lost as she looked at self-sure and determined smile on the pale Alicorn's muzzle. An intrepid spark glowed within those virescent eyes. Somehow, she looked beyond the rugged mountains and saw more than just landscapes. Twilight circled around to see the alabaster features more clearly while the small knot of Unicorns mumbled amongst themselves.

“Is she serious?” One of the mares rasped.

“When is she not when it came to making plans? This is not good, not good at all.” A stallion shook his head and cast a sidelong glance up the rocky spur.

“You’re unhappy about it? Why? Sounds right up your alley, trying to snub your nose at uncle Swirly and all that.” A tawny effervescent mare quipped, unafraid of how far her voice would carry.

“No, I don't like it. And would you stop calling him that, Sugarwoods? You’re not even related. Besides, we don't even know if Star Swirl's theory is right. I mean, you know I'm not above lending a hoof to somepony in need, but we're not talking some-pony.” The same stallion twisted to look at the others present.

The first mare interjected with a snort, “Pffft, please. You've had the same dreams and the same nightmares. If what Star Swirl said was true, then she might be right. What if that displacement thingy really is something we can use and understand-”

“Do you honestly believe that fears and pleas can make it across some veil where, and I quote, 'the mind converts these things, both good and bad, into something we can understand in our reality. Wherein the best and worst of another possible world becomes the echoes we hear in the night'? Is that what you are honestly, truly, and seriously suggesting?!” The stallion’s echo trailed off through the copse and up the screen slope.

“Yes, precisely.” Clover finally spoke.

The other stallion blustered for a moment then snorted, “Well... okay, so long as we're on the same page.”

Sugarwoods hummed, “She has other friends, why did she just call us? I was reaaaaally hoping that Smart Cookie was going to be here.”

Clover spoke with a bit of a sigh, “Why is it that can Pegasi walk on clouds? Because it's their special talent. This teleportation needs to work flawlessly and then, then we can call our other friends. What good is a compass if you have no reference with which to use it?” He lent her a hoof and patted her withers. “Understand?”

“Yeah. It’s still not all that fun. Like I rosined up the bow ‘n got no place ta’ go.”

“Clover,” the last mare piped up, “where do you stand on it? I mean, you are her oldest friend-” it got a bit of a snort from Sugarwoods who mumbled 'oldest' with a suppressed giggle. Ignoring it with a cough, the older mare flicked her tail and regarded Clover again as if scanning words on a page to find her lost spot. “As I was saying, you are her oldest friend and she trusts you. So what do you really think about this? Oh, and be honest, or I'll know.” she punctuated the last word with a poke of her hoof.

Clover looked over the expectant faces of ponies around him. “What do I think? You’re honestly asking me what I think of ‘finding the font of dreams and nightmares to give them the gifts we have’? Well, I think that it's ostensibly overly-optimistic, practically packed with plenty of perils, and doubtlessly doomed to disastrous dismay. Aside from that, I see no problems with it.” He sighed and looked up at the Alicorn, “But it's for her, so I'm in. Besides, how often do we get to test Star Swirl's more insane theories?”

“Well, more often than is probably safe.” Sugarwoods laughed but her voice crackled and seemed to disintegrate.

“Wait-wait-wait, how?!" Twilight’s voice was stolen away as her stomach churned and the static flakes consumed the world around her.

♣♣

The sun's setting glow cast long fingers across the still crowded alleyways and stretched across the awnings which dappled the streets in gaudy shades of red, green, and blue. The sound of the busy human world was nothing new as merchants hocked wares from crowded wooden stalls. The wafting aromas of wood smoke and cooked meats was carried on the dry southern wind from amongst the many taverns lining the great road. Those same smells mingled with the sounds of bawdy bands. Pipe and lyre players sat in the shade just inside the open aired shops and taverns while people, both noble and common alike, listened on the streets outside. Others seemed content to purchase the freshest grapes, measures of barley, or strings of fat fish, then rejoin the faceless masses.

“They did it. They actually did it.” Twilight just squinted against the last rays of sunshine that lanced down upon the alien world.

Lords held the folds of their flowing robes while their retainers stood about them with ledgers, purses, and other accoutrements. Amidst them and amongst them seethed the multitudes of commoners which thronged like a colony of ants and choked the dusty causeway.

It was amongst those same people that a solitary brown habit-clad form walked and the masses parted for him. The figure held a shepherd’s crook in hand and a plain goatskin satchel swung under his arm. From swarthy sweat stained labourers to fair-skinned nobles, all showed him a respect and many bowed in his presence saying “Good day, archdeacon”.

“Good evening.” The archdeacon replied each time, his voice barely matching his lips.

“Magic?” Twilight pondered to herself and redoubled her pace so she wouldn’t be lost in the crowd. She trailed another figure stalking the man. Clover lingered on the edges using every trick he could muster. His own robe trailed wisps of black and grey and he looked like little more than a fleeting shadow cast by errant clouds. Twilight, on the other hoof, slunk around unseen and unwatched amidst the crowd. It took her a conscious effort to recall that these were simply memories, no matter how clear or real, and were mere echoes of what had been.

The forgotten souls huddled in hidden corners didn’t lift their hands up for offerings when the man passed. Rather, each figure merely bowed their head. The man drew two golden coins from his satchel then shuffled across the street to a merchant stall. Twilight and Clover both watched as the archdeacon silently purchased a measure of barley, handed over both coins, and returned with the sack to the crowded masses before placing it before them. He held up a hand, placing thumb to his pinkie in some sort of blessing then departed.

“That’s him…” Clover mumbled to himself, while Twilight just cocked her head to the side, hoping the shadow-cloaked Unicorn would explain more. Clover darted past the mass of commoners that descended on the grain sack, moving as silently as a wraith while Twilight took wing to follow.

The bells of a nearby church began to peel. The sound should have brought with it feelings of joy, but the weathered face of the aged archdeacon were creased with regret and worry. His bare feet trod the dusty stone, faltering now and then as if burdened as greatly as the mason slaves who carted blocks of hewn stone. He steadied himself against the staff and pressed a hand into his small satchel.

His fingers clutched a single piece of parchment but kept it in his palm. Starting ahead again, he crossed the open yards of the merchant bazaar and stared at the steps of the church. A palanquin was tended to by a dozen red robed bearers and four purple clad soldiers in copper scale armour, their shields bore the symbol others seemed to respect:

☧

A willowy man emerged from the church, clad in stark white robes, a mitre upon his brow. The coffle of clergy followed behind him in solemn reverence. A portly robed figure heffed a satchel that audibly clinked with purloined gold. The leading figure lifted up the bejeweled staff of authority and, with a great show of regal presence, stepped into his awaiting palanquin.

The archdeacon was one of the many to bow, his hand still fixed on his staff and other clutching the simple note. His scowl deepened and eyes dimmed as the palanquin was born away. The man finally looked down at the broken wax emblem and read the opening lines again, lips moving as he went:

“‘Brother Theophilus, archdeacon of Adana, my most trusted servant. Your application of the bishopric has been met with my personal enthusiasm as I can think of no one more suited for it. It is, thus, with great surprise and sadness, that I must inform you of the cardinals’ decision’...” The archdeacon crumpled the letter and held it to his brow with a long rattled sigh.

♣♣♣

Theophilus remained in his room within the cloister, closely watched by the Unicorn concealed behind the crenelated roof of the commoners’ tenements a stone’s throw away. Clover would have been alone except for the spectral Twilight who haunted his hoofsteps. “Let’s see what they’re saying... ah.” There was a quiet chime of magic and a faint thrum before the air shimmered like a mirage. The enchantment was woven and Twilight hesitantly swooped across the street into the open window.

Theophilus knelt down, a revered tome lay open beside him in front of a dull, dented, and aged copper mirror. There was a knock at the door, which made both Theophilus and Twilight start. The Alicorn looked back over her shoulder. A muffled voice called from the other side, “Good morrow… Father Theophilus?”

“It’s early, neophyte. Is there something wrong?”

“The bishop will be making visitations to the local churches and will be preaching about the importance of unity, as well as the need for volunteers and tithes.” The hesitant neophyte spoke with increasing confidence.

“Importance of unity, for volunteers, and more tithes… why is that.” it didn’t really sound like a question, which might have contributed to the momentary hesitation.

“T-To fight the Ostrogoths in Italy, of course. As He wills.”

“As He wills… and what does our new bishop ask of a mere archdeacon?”

“He believes you would be the best to energize the people. After all, they look up to you, they respect you, they listen to you. Surely you know this?”

“I do. Lord help me, I do. He wants someone popular to make them turn out their satchels to pay for a new glorious war halfway across the world. With an administrative fee tacked on, no doubt.” Theophilus rubbed his brow and hissed before closing his eyes.

“F-Father?” The neophyte’s reedy voice peaked in surprise.

“‘No man can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other.’” Theophilus’ sigh deepened as the other individual fell silent, leaving only the quiet breath of the nocturnal breeze and hiss of burning tallow. “Never mind me, thank you and good morrow, my son.” The footsteps that left were somewhat hurried but soon the man was left alone.

Theophilus rested his hand on the aged tome by his side then planted his palm on the mirror. Slowly his head lolled down to his chest and his voice passed in a whisper, “Am I to become Job? Shall I be forced under the yoke to testify to the corrupt and claim it sacrosanct?” Twilight recalled those exact words, spoken in fits by the dreaming Unicorn. “Have I kept something cov-” a pair of sharp arcane hisses disrupted his lamentation.

Clover and Sugarwoods stood in the doorway, surrounded in a cloud of fading sparks. The mare just smiled and cleared her throat, “Peace. Not once hath thee withheld from others, thou would give the cloak off thy back. Not once hath thee stole mirth from a heart; loyal to goodness and true to thyself, thou art. From thy lips spews not malice nor cruelty, thine is not a sigh of contempt; all the lands ring with thy praises, wherever thou art or thou went.”

Theophilus just blinked as a light ‘tap’ emanated from the railing behind him. As he looked back again, Twilight did the same. A large figure stood perched on the rails, cloaked in aged sackcloth, with wide feathered wings outstretched. A single spire protruded from her brow and dark red locks coursed down her neck. Twilight recognized the other Alicorn as a nimbus of unadulterated white light radiated outward. Theophilus took a ragged breath and crossed himself.

A feminine voice broke the stillness, “Peace, we bring assurance and good tidings.” The Alicorn’s astral pitch was otherworldly. “We have heard your plea and seen what you give to others: kindness, generosity, honesty, loyalty, and joy. For it, we bring you a gift of knowledge to cement what you already know...”

♣♣♣
♣

Billowing yellow clouds choked out the lights and coiled up in thermal tendrils. Twilight blinked as she was dropped into the raging inferno, feeling the dulled sensation of suffocating heat. She looked left and right through the crowded inferno licking through the hallway. “Clover?!” There was a rattling crackle and a burst of sparks as the Unicorn slammed through the door of one of the cloistered rooms. Fiery tongues scorched his blue cloak as he wildly tried to shake them free with a panicked whinny.

Twilight noticed the flames rolling along the ceiling before extinguishing into a sulphurous fog. “Dear Celestia. It’s a backdraft!” She recognized the danger as Clover stumbled through the hallway, one hoof over the other, and careened off either wall. The cacophony of alarm bells tolled only a few hundred feet away.

Raised voices could be heard amongst the clamour of falling timber and the licking flames that howled like encroaching wolves. Twilight saw Clover reach for the door, “Clover, Clover, watch the smoke, watch what it’s doing!” She pleaded with the panicked Unicorn who shied away from the flames as yellow and brown bands rolled across the ceiling. The Unicorn pawed at the wood and pushed but the door held firm.

Locked, who... who would lock this?!” Clover slammed his forehooves against it.

Twilight listened to the rough crack of the door as the Unicorn threw his physical bulk against it and whinnied in fear as the heat grew even more oppressive in that smoke choked hallway. She inspected the latch for a moment, “You’re not thinking clearly. It pulls open. It’s only hot here, it’s not burning, there’s not enough air for complete combustion. Don’t open that door!” But her fervent cries wouldn’t affect the shadows of the past. The Unicorn slammed his shoulder against the portal again, causing the wood to crack as a whistling scream emanated from the small gap. “Don’t!” The Unicorn closed his eyes and threw himself at the barrier. The door exploded outwards into kindling before a torturous geyser of fire raced through the now opened doorway in roiling torrents like water from a burst dam.

Bouncing and tumbling down the stairs in an awkward jumble, tongues of flames burst from the second floor and flared out the tall arched windows into the night sky. Twilight took each stair at a time, impervious to the flames and searing heat that swept around her like a wave. She reached the bottom where the Unicorn lay in a senseless heap.

Twilight stood protectively over the fallen Unicorn as if urging him to rise but the strangled shouts from down the darkened corridor distracted her. Clover slowly got to his hooves, eyes closed tightly and breath ragged as he meandered back and forth like a drunk. His fur coat had been scorched in places and his cloak hung in sloughs that smouldered on his skin leaving red burns and weeping flesh.

“...ereby stripped of your station by edicts of the Bishop of Cilicia. You have one last chance, repent and you may still find salvation.” The stilted voice brimmed with anxious anticipation.

“I’ve nothing to repent for.” Theophilus retorted in a flat confidence. Twilight watched the bobbing firelight of swinging torches down the long hallway.

“W-what?!” Excitement gave way to stunned incredulity.

“We have the chance to do something universally good: there are five fundamental elements that we know of, all we have to do is find the sixth to benefit every living soul!” Theophilus pleaded.

There was a scuffed noise as if the man had recoiled, “‘Benefit every living soul’? The proof of corruption stands before you! Do you deny-”

“You heard 'em, drop it and back off!” The raspy mare’s voice was astonishingly similarity to one Twilight knew well.

Twilight charged full speed past the alcoves and empty rooms, past the vaulted icons of splendid gold shrouding the sanctuary, and finally skidded to a stop in the nave. She peeked out from behind the low wall encrusted with gilded paintings, portraits, and figures. A group of two dozen armoured guards, bearing shields marked with that revered glyph, surrounded four individuals. Two Unicorns stood behind the robes of Theophilus with their backs to the altar, while the aggressive Unicorn mare stood directly in front of the older man, snorting and pawing the ground.

Theophilus cast worried glimpses Twilight’s way, fearful but insistent. Twilight wondered if he somehow saw her, but then realized he was looking at that shrouded room behind her. Before the altar and its low dividing wall was a narrow aisle separating dozens of pews stretching to the obscured corners of the hall. Tapestries hung from the wall and others were suspended from the wooden rafters as the group stood beneath a golden dome.

Despite the horrid swelter of heat and choking coils of smoke, a cold sweat swept over the Alicorn as she looked at the ring of faceless figures behind torches and tall imposing shields. Each of them passively watched their leader. The one in charge didn’t look any different from the others; no crown of darkness, or filed teeth, not even a grand symbol of command. He was just one of many. “Time is short. You say you’re looking for six things. Well, there are six things God dislikes, and seven he abhors. You’re here, and we know there’s five of them which makes six, but where is our seventh? Where is that demon, ‘That-who-loathes-light’? Where is Mephistopheles?”

“You, praetor, will you take the Stone to Vatican hill? Or merely cast it in the presence of righteous Saul?” Theophilus kept his crooked staff near the aggressive mare's shoulder to say 'stop', which she did with a reluctant snarl.

The leader hurled his torch to the foot of the tall tapestries. The flames took hold of the fabric and raced up towards the roof, turning into roiling sheets and sending cinders raining down upon those below. “You can keep your lives and maybe your soul. I’m not unreasonable; in honour of Balaam, I'll even let you keep those talking mules. That is, if you tell me where it is. I see four of you here, that’s at least four for one. It’s a good deal.” the tapestries lower half sagged as the flames licked at the wooden spars supporting the roof.

Theophilus closed his eyes tightly in concentration. Something crossed his mind and his mouth trembled for a moment. After that silence he let go a single long breath as a glitter in his eyes spoke of a devotion that was assured. “Do you twist words from His mouth, or is this from the bishop?”

Incised by the rebuke, the band’s leader cried out and lunged forward, throwing the room into confusion. The armoured group raced forward as the Unicorn mare turned and kicked. A hoof connected with a loud bang as it struck the lower corner of the shield, biting into the man's shins and dropping him to one knee. A second straight kick slammed into his helmet and snapped his neck back before he collapsed in a heap.

Clover meandered out from the halls and glanced up. A horrified gasp ripped from Twilight’s chest as she saw the seared fur and flesh leaving clear red tissue and glassy white eyes. “Clover!” Sugarwoods scrambled out from under the pew where she’d been hiding.

“Stop!” Theophilus waved his crook, trying to ward off hesitant warriors who faltered at fighting a priest. Theophilus didn't lash out, but he had to deflect a pair of half-hearted sweeps before a single plunging stab tore into the man’s hip as effortlessly as a pin thrust into a cotton bail. A cold sweat sprang to his face and his knees shook as a slow red stain oozed across his side.

Twilight half turned at the sound of clattering hooves behind her. Three of the armoured guards roared and mantled the dividing wall. The bright mare, Sugarwoods, slid to a stop next to Clover before a glowing white figure thundered by like a comet. A pale nimbus enveloped the guards, causing the scaled armour to almost float for a moment before the men were wrenched from their feet and thrown like rag-dolls. They crashed into pews, weapons and shields ricocheted like stones before they were lost in the penumbral gloom.

The auburn-maned Alicorn spoke once, “My little ponies!” getting their attention as all but the priest’s protective mare flocked to her. The Alicorn kept her head down and protectively spread her wings. Shimmering pools of green turned to purest white as spears of light streaked down like sunlight through water. The light from her eyes started to blaze and build like the fires of a furnace as an eldritch whorl of energy spiraled around her. A slow yellow crackle erupted from the horn in electric arcs. Several of the soldiers made a distinct sign of the cross, others fled towards the door casting aside shields and torches in their mad flight.

Theophilus was dragged several paces by the protective mare as his crook fell from numbed fingers. A sanguine trail wept down his side to the floor, smearing across the ground in front of the altar. “Go, I got 'em!” the mare bayed.

Twilight hesitated between the two groups, unable to help either. Her breath was rasping and choked, watching as a torch was thrown at her. It merely whisked through her like a cold chill as she flinched. Twilight finally slipped towards the protective aura of the fellow Alicorn. Nevertheless, her eyes didn’t leave the guardian mare hovering over the priest.

Clover dropped to his knees and started to roll over as the slighter mare tried to prop him up. The stallion was going into shock. They both seemed unaware of the fire that raced from tapestry to tapestry like wind through a wheatfield.

Not all the arresting guards had fled. Even as the static hum continued to build into a bending arch surrounding the equines, several broke ranks with a ragged cry. As quick as lightning, the protective mare snatched up the priest's crook in her mouth and tripped one of the onrushing figures. Soon enough, she was pushed back a full pace and could barely avoid the buzzing snips and strokes of the probing scimitars. Four of the human warriors stormed through the breach as the protective mare tensed against the onslaught.

It was sudden, Theophilus pushed himself up and pulled the Unicorn down. Pushing his back out and covering her completely he cried out, “Lord have mercy,” though it was muffled by the Unicorn's mane. He shielded her from the wickedly curved blade even as the wielder tried to turn its lethal edge aside. It descended wide but it still caught the man's back and parted flesh with unerring ease. There was no ragged gasp, just the opening and closing his mouth for a moment before he whispered something inaudible meant for his equine protector who merely shut her eyes.

Amidst the last death-rattle of a gasp, Clover and Sugarwoods were almost bowled over by another warrior. It charged from their blind side and thundered towards the Alicorn with blade held high. “God be with us!” It bellowed and swept its scimitar down in a glittering arc.

The metal blade pulsated once and rattled as if slowed for an instant before it crashed down with the sound of shattered crystal. That building wave of energy throbbed once as the world plunged into silence and, for a moment, time stood still.

Twilight watched in horror as that single length of ivory bounced across the floor. Her own breath left her lungs in a shriek as images flashed before her: memories and thoughts of Celestia, Luna, Cadence, even herself, as well as images of that nameless mare in front of her seemed to fade and waste away in front of her eyes. A blackened shade crept over her with a vicious laugh that grew until it deafened her.

The eldritch ribbons around the ashen Alicorn deteriorated and flickered. Within the blink of an eye there was a cascading bloom of light accompanied a cataclysmic wail of agony. It burst into a wall of searing white and tore Twilight’s reality to pieces leaving only a static hiss.

♣♣♣
♣♣

A snow-like static haze still surrounded Twilight. Fear, discomfort, and apprehension surged through the Alicorn's disembodied form. “No-no-no-no! Oh Celestia please say I'm okay. I'm not, I didn't-”

“She's... she's gone, they took-” Clover's voice in the indeterminable expanse made Twilight sigh in relief. But there was no warmth and no comfort forthcoming, she was still engulfed in an ocean of black and white static flakes.

A soothing voice silenced Clover in that endless mist. “They took her, I know. I know.”

There was a long silence before Clover took a rattled breath, “Sugarwoods, I don't know what to do, I mean I, she was... she was there and when it wasn't her it was Sta-”

“Clover, c'mon now, don't do that. Here.”

“W-what's that?”

“A last memento. Keep it hidden, keep it safe. Clover, please promise me, if they come for you, give them what they want and leave as quick as you can.” There was a few moments of stony silence interspersed with sniffing gasps. “Hey-hey, it’s okay. Buck up and smile! I got you some of that kon-kod, uhh, the weird wine that you like.”

“T-thanks.” the uneven breaths mingled with a fleeting snort.

“Welcome! Oh, I made a few changes. Added a bit of art, few nice wall hangings, just kinda tidied up down here... ” there was an artificial crackle and hiss which distorted her voice. “It might be best if we were all away from each other for a while.”

“I don’t even know where I am.”

“Pretty much the farthest corner of that map. Oh, and I made a bumpy map with cutie marks so you know where we all are. If you move, just carve in a spot so we know where you went. Just keep hidden, you were always good at that. I promise, I'll see you again Clover. Maybe her dream is still alive, after all. We all just need to keep looking...” Sugarwood’s voice waned as the white flakes began to fade, leaving inky blotches of abyssal darkness.

♣♣♣
♣♣♣

You sit there and try to piece together what Twilight had told you. She had spoken of humans but not by any particular name and neither had she mentioned Earth. While the others might not understand much of what was said, you aren’t entirely sure what you can glean from it either.

Twilight still isn't looking at you or talking to you, not directly anyway. She recited her tale but closed her eyes several minutes into it while the others watched in fascination. They had crowded around though, embracing their friend while you linger in stony silence.

Even Rainbow, who was still having trouble standing, hangs on to Twilight's right side. The Pegasus’s close embrace allows her to slip onto the edge of Twilight's cushion.

She’s got the nicest seat, probably just doing it for that.

The thought dies almost as soon as it emerges. Rainbow gingerly nuzzles her friend's shoulder to kept her supported despite her own unsteady breath and shaking hooves.

Every other glance keeps going back to Twilight: her dark scraggly hair, hollow cheeks, and deep sockets mar her face. You don’t notice it, not until seeing her next to her friends for longer than a glance anyway, but Twilight had lost weight. She had been healthy and even a little plump when you first met her. Now, some of her ribs are showing through a dull coat that looks as if it’s nothing more than a canvas stretched over a carpenter's frame. That torturous movement draws your eyes to hers. Twilight’s cracked lips tremble as she reaches a hoof out to you.

The proffered gesture surprises you and it takes a moment to respond. In that time, Applejack and Fluttershy shunt aside to give you room to sit as well. You crawl over and feel the princess’s hooves wrap around your neck before her chin rests on your shoulder blade. You feel the gentle tremors pulse through you as you return the embrace. Her fur is dull, but still soft, though her bony shoulder blades jut out above her wing joints. The little puffs of breath have to be from something else. She quietly sobs. Even her quickened heart rate and uncoordinated breath on your back feel like she is in physical pain. “If that's how it still is where you’re from, then I'm sorry.” Twilight’s breathy apology is barely audible, “ I'm so-so sorry.”

Why is she sorry? She saw what those people did, she should be frightened or terrified, why is she sorry and comforting me? Should I be the embarrassed and apologetic one?

Twilight doesn’t let go for five agonizing minutes. She finally sighs and separates from you, patting your shoulder as you look her over. Tears carve a channel in the fur of her cheeks and there is an inelegant wetness around her nose. “Id’s okay… I’b fine. Bud, righd now, I don’d feel very good. Could we jus’, jus’, “ the congested mare noisily sniffs, “ged packed ub and head back to Ponyville?”

Twilight's plea lingers before the dependable cowpony steps in, “Alright. We ain't done yet everypony. All y'all heard what the mare said, let's get this 'ere waggon a' rollin'.”

Pinkie’s happy nod and chipper tone clears some of the gloom, “Good thinking, Applejack. It looks like we're going to need a wagon for two ponies and about a kabillion books.”

Author's Note

So, the final flashback, a few OC sorta things, and a whole lot of little legends with bits of Byzantine culture around. Hopefully it's not too bad. Anyway, it's a long chapter but as the final chapter of Act 2 I thought it was worthwhile. :twilightsmile: Now we return to your regularly scheduled ponies already in progress.

I must admit, I'll miss writing in past tense too, but the whole 'write in present tense' was one primary reason I decided to write this in the first place. Clover's cutie mark is the actual 'Clever Clover' mark from G2. I looked it up, traced it out and basically vectored it in photoshop. Frankly I really like it. TehSporkBandit and I decided that it was probably better to just outright show what the cutie mark looked like, and I figure 'hey, better to do that with a Chi-Rho glyph too'.

Oh well, take care now, eh?

Act 3- Chapter 1: Leviathan

Leviathan

Proofread by TehSporkBandit

“‘Dear Princess Twilight Sparkle,

The Pranceston University Medical Sciences department regret to inform you that your question regarding the foci of any species, Unicorn or similar, can not be conclusively answered. Doctor Pastern has surmised that at the point of magical discharge it might be possible to focus and capture the accumulated magical energy into the horn itself, much like a capacitor. However, he also believes that it could just as likely result in something more catastrophic. The greater the magical accumulation, the greater the possible damage-’ Hmmph, brightest minds my croup. Tell me something a filly couldn’t figure out.” Twilight’s growl of irritation echoes in the quiet cabin of the train car.

You look up from the smooth surface of your cell phone and across the narrow aisle at the bench seat facing you. Twilight keeps that pouting expression of stolid petulance even as you disdainfully let your glasses slip down the bridge of your nose. Shifting back and forth on her purple cushion, she lapses into an uncomfortable silence. “Yes, princess.”

You’ve only told us thrice in as many hours.

You’d gotten back from Zecora’s early that morning and had slept for two hours while on ‘guard duty’. You were supposed to look after the mountain of neatly stacked books at the back of the car, and from your rearward facing seat, you could do just that while staying near the stove. You and Applejack had spent an hour in the cold waiting for the train, and several more ferrying books from the platform to the de facto private train car. Twilight had gone off to write out a letter while everypony else accompanied Rainbow Dash to Ponyville Hospital. Applejack went as well, after you offered to stay behind. Of course, you subsequently fell asleep in front of the small wrought iron stove at the front of the train car. Twilight’s prattling had awoken you from your slumber moments ahead of the shunting train’s departure. You hadn’t even been informed that Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy weren’t joining the party to Canterlot until after Ponyville had shrunk in the distance out the window.

‘T-tap, t-tap’ you suck in a breath and listen to Twilight’s hoof rapping a tattoo against the wooden bench in time with the click of the railway ties. The irritating staccato sound matches the ringing chime of the bells on Rarity’s blue and white striped scarf. That strip of bejangled fabric was hung out to dry on the overhead emergency brake-line.

I think I made that damned scarf.

You content yourself to look out the window and watch the scenery race past. It hadn't even struck you how dissimilar the land looked until now. There are no warm colours or feeling of pastoral bliss you experienced on the last trip; autumn’s beauty disappeared under winter’s stark pallor. There are no bright blue skies and no comforting cheer of a vibrant sunset that should be setting on the distant horizon. Instead, a haze veils the land, turning it oppressive and morose.

That mood isn't lost on the others. The grey pall hangs over the car and blots out any remnant of conversation or cheer. The weather might not be the only factor, or even the biggest, but it’s hard to look across the aisle at the empty seats without missing Rainbow Dash or Fluttershy. Glancing back over at the second cause, you watch Twilight scan the letter again, “Twilight, why not get a little slee-”

“I said I’m fine.” Her stern refusal bounces around the inside of the car. The scratch of a pencil on parchment roll stops. You look over Twilight’s shoulder, seeing the group of three other ponies lift their heads and stare in your direction. The pencil in Pinkie’s mouth droops a bit before they all sheepishly hang their heads and go back to their game. Applejack gets up and trots down the central aisle towards the stove. Still, she furrows her brow and purses her lips to wordlessly ask, ‘do you need help?’ You aren’t entirely sure.

Twilight’s sullen demeanour sinks everypony’s spirits, as does the constant drain of fatigue, and the knowledge that Rainbow Dash is laid up in a hospital bed in observation after doctors repaired her burst eardrum. There is no kindly pat to bolster your spirits, and no infectious bluster of confidence to set you to the task. It’s lonely. A parable springs to mind as you sigh and look out the window as the world disappears in the pale distance. :

'The shepherd grieves over a single lost lamb in a flock'. Oh great, now I'm all melancholy. Must be the damned weather.

“Oh, for fillies’ sake, listen to this!” Twilight’s snarl breaks the silence again, “‘With regards to the list of Princesses, we can furnish a complete list of Equestrian Princesses of the Classical, Regency, and Contemporary eras, but Pre-Classical is steeped in- Gah!” Twilight crumples up the letter and roughly tosses the crinkled ball aside with her hoof. “Myth and folklore, that's what this is being called now? The most important area of reclamation study and we're filing it under myth and folklore?!” A yowl of impotent rage pierces the silence of the cabin before she finally curls up in the bench seat.

“Tea, Rightly?” Rarity quietly pads over, interjecting the moment Twilight’s head hits the pillow.

The Unicorn's voice comes as a surprise, but you flash a smile and pull yourself up. “Love some.” A glance cast in Twilight’s direction reveals that her eyes are open but every languid blink leaves her lids sagging lower than before.

Rarity's smile changes from pert politeness to a relaxed sincerity in moments. “A bién.” The fashionista’s ears perk forward as she ushers you a few seats forward on the opposite side of the aisle and seats you facing forward this time. “Oh, Applejack, be a dear and put the kettle on please. You’re already there after all.”

“Yes, Rarity, anythin’ yer highness asks.” Applejack’s answers as blasé as porridge but a smile forms on her lips before she ducks behind the wooden seatback. Applejack takes that extra second to place the crude iron kettle on an armature that will keep it from sliding or rattling. It is just a little bit peculiar how the train has hot water and a stove but no bathroom.

That thought is washed away by Rarity’s pensive hum. “It shouldn’t be long until we reach the Saddle Lake bridge. The view is simply divine. Granted, most of the time the sunshine adds the perfect accent, sparkling off the snow like an exquisite blanket of diamonds. You haven’t done much traveling in Equestria, have you? Why, we simply must do something about that. Spring time, perhaps?” You reply with an errant 'hmm' and an equally unenthusiastic nod. Trying another tactic, she gently rubs your knee with a hoof, “Well, dear, two bits for your thoughts?” She cranes her neck, re-emerging into view while you stare at the little basket that Applejack shuffles through.

“Sure, Rarity.” You look over Rarity’s shoulder at Applejack, “AJ?” The mare turns, holding the cord of a small tea strainer in her teeth like a tiny silver bell. She makes a murmur of acknowledgement before you continue, “Is there any coffee around there?”

Without putting the strainer down she calls back through clenched teeth, “Yuh bed’ja par’ner.” She doesn't like coffee, but she seems fine making it, “Wud'ja wan' in’id? Cream? Suga'?”

“Yes.” You reply without really thinking. “As in I want sugar and cream in my coffee. Not… replying to…” It’s enough to make you smile and Applejack, still holding the tea-strainer, returns the grin.

A thin ‘hmm’ and a dainty laugh draws your attention back to the Unicorn. She purses her lips while the corners creep up into a knowing smirk. You narrow your eyes and return that smirk, “So… Pinkie beat you in tic-tac-toe again, huh?” The grin morphs into a petulant frown.

“Knowing the mind of that pony is like knowing the thoughts of a mountain. You can be almost absolutely sure that it’s not thinking about anything one moment, then find yourself second guessing that the next.” She feigns a sigh of distress and settles back once again. “We'll probably stay in the royal archives for quite some time. It is rather large, so I’ve been told, so we might as well make a quick stop and pick up something more comfortable than a few sheets and pillows. Again, maybe we can stay in the royal suite. Although, there’s far too many ponies for that. The royal residence is simply divine, amazing, positively unparalleled in its glamourous comforts.” An airy note passes her lips.

“Yeah, I’ve been there. It’s nice, kind of like staying at the Ritz”

“The Ritz?” Rarity parrots, “do pray tell.”

You internally seethe and quickly change the subject , “It’s a sorta famous luxury place. Anyway, I‘ll settle with something to eat...” you can hear your own voice trail off as you catch a glance of movement over in the seat behind you.

Twilight has evidently not dozed off after all and is reaching for her copy of the Clover diaries and its related appendices. The actual leather folio is in her satchel, but she reveres those like they are holy books and to never touch any of them unless she has to. Slowly leaning in, you whisper to Rarity, “I've got a few extra bits, so, if you're offering, would you mind getting Twilight her favourite dish or something? Just something to snap her out of her bookish trance.”

“I heard that, Rightly.” Twilight mutters back as you wince and bite your lip. Ponies have frustratingly good hearing. “I'm fine, stop fussing. If you really want to be a help, come look through these other references.”

You give Rarity an apologetic nod as Applejack looks back over her shoulder at you while putting the last few touches on a heavily heaped tea-tray. Rarity winks and you can see her silently mouth, 'I'll see to it darling'.

Another voice hails you with a familiar peppy cheer, “Heya, Rightly! Just found my checkerboard. Wanna play?” Pinkie’s vibrant beam feels slightly artificial, but it’s a welcome relief. The mare kept the set up game board balanced on her head, though each fine movement impels the playing pieces to slough back and forth like shuffleboard pucks. To her credit, not a single piece fell.

Turning her down isn't easy to do, but you bet it won't be too much longer. “Sure, in just a little bit when I'm done helping Twilight.”

“Oh-okay.” She takes it well but there is a bit of a deflated look to it. Pinkie aimlessly looks around, staring at every pony in turn before sighing and taking a seat again, curling up to stare out the window at a bank of darker clouds.

You cross the aisle to Twilight, once more taking your rear facing seat as she’s stretched out over most of her seat. Without prying her gaze from her book, she levitates a weighty volume over to you. “Good, start on that one. You're from the Gallopoli linguistics department so you should be even better at helping me with this. It's not all that different from Griffonic.” You obediently glance at the book only to find yourself staring at some illegible scratchy print.

Princess, ma’am, I can’t actually read this stuff. That was a lie you concocted.

“W-woa, little weird one there.” Pinkie mumbles.

“Twilight, you okay?” You ask as she keeps her gaze downcast at the book and sniffs.

“Fine, Riggly, fine. Just start on this one.” She sniffs again and rubs a hoof across her eyes.

“G-girls?” Pinkie’s voice squeaks a pitch higher than normal.

“Hold yer horses, girl, gotcha' some tea 'ere too, honey'n cream.”

Riggly?

You reach across the aisle and tilt Twilight’s chin up with your fingers.

“What?” She asks as you recoil with a gasp. Her left eye is completely red, not bloodshot, but solid red. A blood vessel must have burst.

“Oh, shit…” Twilight cranes her head back as your voice rises. “Applejack?! Get over here… please?” you pass a finger in front of Twilight’s face, but her eyes follow your digit’s every move.

The teatray clatters to the ground as Applejack gallops back and skids to a stop in that small gap between you and Twilight. “Woah-there.” Applejack's face pales as she casts a fugitive glance in your direction.

“Girls!” Pinkie’s apprehension inflames her nervous gasps.

“Not now, Pinkie. What, what is it? What's wrong?” Rarity pads over from her seat, stopping in the middle of the aisle instead of crowding the farmpony.

“Hold on!” Pinkie's warning is brief as you only catch a glimpse of the fuchsia blur. Pinkie yanks down hard on the emergency brake cord.

There was a sudden squeal of metal-on-metal as the sudden shock pitches you backward like a discarded toy. Your head snaps back against the padded seat, bringing stars to your eyes and a few stabbing jolts of pain to your neck. At the same time, the jostling and smashing tea-service sends a lash of boiling hot water over your fingertips, scalding them as you flick the offending fluid away with a yowl.

The chugging huff of the steam engine is heard more than felt, but you are only vaguely aware of motion as you gingerly paw the back of your head. You blearily stare at your fingers and see a smear of red.

“Pinkie you… you!” Your mind is still fuzzy and the ringing sound in your ears swallows up any immediate reply she may be saying. Rarity had tumbled backwards and collapsed in an undignified heap while Applejack braced her hooves on your seat and pressed herself against Twilight to keep the Alicorn from stumbling forward into the aisle. As it was, the farmpony’s hat lay at your feet.

Applejack let go of Twilight when it was safe and stoops to clutch her hat. Dusting it off, Applejack glowers at Pinkie, “Consarn it, girl! This ain’t no game, we have a serious-”

A loud bellowing snarl is loosed in the distance, rattling the panes of glass on the far side of the car and instilling a hush among the ponies. The wet growl had been conjured from the darkest depths of the primordial world and makes your body nearly numb. Pinkie slides open the window and pokes her head out to look around. After a quick double take towards the front of the train she screams, “Everypony out!”

Pinkie sprits across the car, just skidding to a stop and slipping her muzzle under Rarity's haunches to force her to her hooves. The Fashionista’s haughty and undignified squeals of protest fall flat as a second cavernous growl rumbles outside.

Wrapping one hand under Applejack's stomach, you lift her to her hooves. Errant screams tear from the front of the train moments before the locomotive shudders, sending a tremor through the floor.

A fleeting red figure zips past the window. Its leathery wings and red body is covered in black bark-like growths and treacherously hooked maw shows jagged teeth. You recognize it in a trice, “Cloud Gr…” your voice leaves you as a shadow falls over the cabin.

A massive muzzle hovers into view; its slate grey skin is smooth and oily from its turned up lips to the base of its thick corded neck. Snagged and overlapping teeth the size of steak knives stick out from the sides of its mouth like a crocodile.. A single metal band slides over its face showing a bulbous protruding sphere pitted with holes that makes the beast look like an enormous fly. Those spherical blinders scrape against the glass as a steely blue eye the size of a soccer ball roves and darts wildly to peer inside. Its pupil narrows into a cat-like slit before a blast from its nostril clouds the whole bank of windows.

A tapping sound on the roof makes the monster recoil. Applejack whispers hoarsely, “Go on, ah’ll take Twilight and meet ya’ll outside.” Rarity and Pinkie nod but stay frozen. “Go, now!” The harsh rasp sends them both galloping down the aisle and towards the back door.

In a fit of jitters you dumbly look back and forth while Applejack struggles to heave a squirming Twilight onto her back. “I'm fine Appleja-”

The world explodes into noise as the wall next to the stove disintegrates in a flurry of wooden splinters and glass shards. The leviathan’s massive muzzle thrashes as it bursts through the gap. Applejack reels back with Twilight into the booth-like seats behind you. You recoil away from the sweeping jaws, stumbling and falling flat on your rump while kicking the silver tea tray away from you and towards the open aisle. An unbridled scream tears from your throat.

“Rightly, Rightly!” Applejack’s cry drags your mind back from the brink. “We’ve gotta’ get to the back of the train!” The titanic creature’s breath washes over you like a stream. The rank smell of rotting vegetation causes your stomach to churn as it snorts and huffs to gets its jaws open further.

Looking around, you find a simple spar of wood that was once the window sill with a pane of glass still set in it. You snag it quickly and hold it close to your chest. The blindered monster's thrashing stops as suddenly as it started. Keeping its head still, a blue and black forked tongue slithers out with a sibilant hiss. The beast’s probing tongue inches closer and closer to the pair of ponies in the next row as its massive jaws start to unhinge like a serpent.

You nerve yourself up by taking a few deep breaths before wildly swinging the broken pane of glass. The impromptu axe misses the beast’s snaking tongue by a matter of inches and buries itself into the creature’s upper lip with a dark spatter of blood.

The earth-shaking roar deafens you completely as the force physically numbs your fingers. Its thrashing head whips from side to side, splintering the back of the seat and dashing you to the floor. You keep low and scramble across the floor, hearing the crackle of what was left of the teacup and saucers beneath your palms. The beast gnashes its teeth, shredding the material of the seat and gouging the solid wood before pushing it back and wedging you between the two benches.

The monster suddenly swings its head sideways towards Applejack and Twilight, perhaps tasting them on the air. They fling themselves flat as the beast tries to muscle itself into the enclosed space. Its thick neck stretches across the aisle and its nostrils touch the roof. You seize your opportunity, scuttling beneath its arched neck and near to the ponies. In a second, you watch as the beast yanks its head out, pulling two long wooden planks from the wall and disappearing from sight.

“Go!” You hiss breathlessly and dart down the centre aisle. Applejack springs out from her hiding place, galloping ahead of you to the back of the car with Twilight on her back.

Applejack swerves around several small mounds of debris and even jumps one beam laying half detached from the wall. Twilight’s senseless complaints momentarily ring louder than your panting “Put me down, I can run and fly myself!” The petulant princess was either unphased or unaware or the dangers around you.

Three claws drag against the wall to your left, ripping huge furrows through the wood and sending splinters spitting off in every direction like chaff. Applejack is almost at the back door, but the beast was too. Out the shattered windows the beast's charcoal-grey back crest undulates and moves like a river.

A sudden jolt pulses through the floor as the woodwork groans like an old farmhouse door. A sharp metallic ‘ping’ heralds the severance of the couplings. The train car tilts up under your feet, sending the mountain of books sloughing towards you like a mudslide. The wave of paper and parchment strikes Applejack and nearly engulfs her. Twilight slams against the wall as the car lists to the side.

There is a final crack as the wheels shunt completely from the track before the whole car slowly heels to the right with a cataclysmic groan of distress. One-by-one, the heavy benches ominously slide as you drop and cover your head as a shower of dust and wood shavings rains down. The stink of smouldering fabric reaches your nose as you see the open stove suspended in the air by the bent chimney, spilling most of its cinders onto the debris below. Coughing and hacking, you are surrounded by a half dozen chest high piles formed from dislodged seats and broken bits of wood.

“AJ!” You call out while extracting yourself from underneath the twisted deterius. Crawling between mangled wooden rails and ripped cushions, you squeeze through near the top of the heap.

Swinging your head around like a drunk, you spot the half covered orange mare pinned between the book stack and half of an overturned seat. The rear wall of the car shudders as several more tearing gashes rend the planking. “Go, get Twi and git!” Applejack grinds her teeth and arches her back against the dead weight of the shattered seat. Straining amid grunts and groans, you lurch forward, barely keeping your footing among the uneven refuse littering the floor.

Twilight is unsteadily rising to her hooves as if trying to power one leg at a time. You grip her around the barrel and heave the unsteady Alicorn to her hooves. "Twi, go to the front and try the door!" She stares blankly at you, "Twi?" She doesn't respond.

Don't just stands there!

You give her haunch a sharp slap to get her moving before darting over to Applejack. The farm-mare opens her eyes at your instructions to Twilight, “Didn'ya hear me? Git! Get the Princess outta' here!”

The beast snorts and butts its head against the ragged holes it tore in the back of the car. Finally it lunges and smashes through with a roar. It's enough to snake its head in, but its shoulders are constrained by the ratty edges and few last skeletal support spars. It pulls its head away again and rakes the planking around the ruined door to make a bigger entrance. You hop down and grasp the side of the shattered bench pinning Applejack.

“By Celestia, ah’m never gonna forgive ya' if ya’ don’t-”

“I didn't ask for forgiveness, you stubborn-stubborn ass! And I'm not about to abandon you, so shut up and push!” You grasp the edge of the overturned bench and heave it upwards. The heavy furnishings groan as you strain and heave until your fingers ache and jaw clenches hard enough to hurt. With a last croak, the bench shifts a fraction of an inch, just enough for Applejack to pry herself free with a snarl.

Freed from the jumble of broken furnishings, you feel the pile of debris shift underfoot like sand. Applejack slides back down and disappears from sight. You claw your way towards the top as Applejack flings herself from the tangle of lumber that trapped her moments before and lands near the top. Stretching out a hand you miss her hoof by inches as she backslides down between the heaps.

A fragmenting blast disintegrates the back of the car as the beast barrels inside. It ploughs through the first mound, sending sharpened spars flying like spears. But even with its tremendous bulk, it bogs down amid the refuse heaps like you and Applejack had. However, its scything claws gouge at the base of the heaps, sending them tumbling back towards its snapping maw as whip-like strands of saliva spatter on your back.

Hurriedly pushing yourself up the slope, you crest the top and tumble down the far side. Each jarring bump on the way down stuns you and stretching your hands out only scrapes your palms in your inexorable descent to the bottom of the refuse heaps. You strike the bottom with a disorienting bang and listen to the glass panel crack beneath you at shift in movement. Even as your glasses lazily hang from your ears an uncomfortable heat flashes across your face. Reflexively flicking at your ear, your fingers felt a burning pain from scattered coals that had spewed from the open stove onto a cushion

There is a screech and a responding bellow which shakes the car as you see the massive serpentine crest undulate from behind the pile. It strikes you, Applejack isn’t next to you, she hasn’t made it over the mound. A moment's reaction has you scoop up some of the cinders with the sleeve of your coat and scramble up the pile. As you reach the top, the full measure of the repulsive beast dons on you. It‘s long and broad with coils that spill over one another like a nest of vipers, all covered in oily grey scales. Two massive forelegs as thick as tree trunks propel it forward.

Its flaring crest ripples down its spine as that mottled tongue flickers out. Once more, it homes in on Applejack’s spot as she slips down the detritus pile with a quivering note of unease. Lunging at once, you cry out in horror as its slams its foreleg into her lower back. Flipping her over, it carves two bloody furrows in her flank.

Applejack’s torturous cry is the only sound resonating in your mind and galvanizes you into action. The beast’s muzzle opens wide to devour the mare, showing its cavernous black maw trimmed in a hedge of fangs. With your sleeve full of coals, you hurl the guttering yellow sparks at the creature’s open mouth. The incandescent cloud of sparks pelt across its rubbery skin and scorch its twisting black tongue. It rears, smashing the roof and crushing the left side of its visor, flattening the colander-like armour and blinding the beast on one side. It recoils violently in its vane throes while clawing at its gullet. Every motion shakes the cabin’s unsturdy frame as you descend the slope to reach the mare.

She is heavy, but you are able to wrap your arms around her forelegs and kick back to scramble up the slope in desperation. The roof, which until moments ago had been the train’s right side, splinters and bellies inward. There is the lone tapping sound somewhere outside, “Here-here-here! It's like tag, trust me, you'll love it!” Pinkie's taunts were frightfully far away.

You make for the door at the front of the car in a desperate hope for escape. The whole car’s frame is bent and slanted, wedging the door shut. “Twilight?” You look around in sudden panic, “Twilight?!” It’s just you and Applejack.

“Applejack, Rightly, up here!” You glance back over your shoulder towards the front of the car. Rarity pokes her head down from the large open hole near the stove where the beast had first ravaged the cabin.

“Where's Twilight?”

“It's okay, I saw her outside. Come on!” Rarity holds out a hoof while magically binding bolts of cloth, cushions, and other material to the hot stove pipe.

You take a few gasping breaths to settle your shaking hands. Applejack is your first concern, her left haunch is a mess of red and you don’t want to look too closely at the wound. “This isn’t going to be easy.” Muscle, sinews, and ponies in general, can be very heavy. “AJ, put your forehooves on the wall and you're gonna’ have to excuse me.”

She does as requested. It couldn't be anything but awkward as you push her rump up much to her whinnied surprise. Keeping her slightly propped forward, she keeps reflexively lifting her injured limb every time her hoof taps the ground. Grasping her by her weakened limb, you lift it up and duck your head between her legs so she sits on your shoulders in a 'piggyback'. Her forehooves are pressed against the walls as a stabilizer, but you still wobble while trying to stand up straight.

Rarity reaches out for Applejack’s forehooves, “Grab the pipe if you need some stability.” You strain against Applejack’s weight and lower your head before planting both your hands on her rump and pushing as hard as possible. Finally, Rarity manages to pull the Earth-mare clear. You’ll almost certainly be yelled at for that later on, but right now there are worse things to worry about.

There is a zipping snap as a gargoyle-like harrier swoops by the jagged opening. Setting your knee against the insulated chimney flue, it groans and shifts against your weight but you scramble up the crooked length towards the exit. Kicking off the chimney and dragging yourself up, you grunt, groan, and thrash before finally pulling yourself up. Rolling onto your back, you look up at the grey sky and listen to the panting from you and Applejack who lay sprawled out a few feet away.

“Back! Back, you churlish ruffians!” Rarity’s seething growl is matched by a repulsed whine lodged in the back of her throat. She swats at another bat-like figure that you only glimpse out of the corner of your eye, but that stink of copper was back.

A whistling zip tears overhead with a palpable rush of wind from leathery wings. As you slowly stir, a demonic face looms up over yours. It backs off with a wide-eyed stupor of fear and a confused warble. Looking over at Rarity though, it steeples its claws as several electric sparks burst from between the jagged tips. Its palms began to glow, but as its hands reach chest height with a roiling mass of electric energy coalesced between its fingers, Applejack lashes her hoof out as swift as a lightning bolt. It catches the Gremlin in the hip, sending it flying through the void as an uncontrolled arc of lightning scythes from its fingers into the sky. “S-still nothin' wrong with Kicks McGee.”

Rarity grasps you around the arm and pulls you up as another Gremlin wheels overhead and dives. Rarity’s shriek is loud and disconcerting as she sweeps her head from side to side, tossing the Gremlin off. Another three or four wing past like a darkened cloud, snipping past your ear tips but always giving you a wider berth than the others.

From your perch atop the ruined train car, you cast a quick glance around. Of the four cars, only the final two looked unscathed while the first had its roof peeled off like a tin can. Thick billowing smoke pours from the cabin of the engine while the crumpled smoke stack speaks to the ruin met out upon it by the beast. It could have been worse: the engine stopped not far short of the Saddle Lake bridge.

You look at the engine, spotting a strange waddling mass that you think might be somepony limping away. It isn’t Twilight, but a hunched form, bent almost double under the weight of a voluminous black cloak. A raucous raven croak breaks the silence as you watch the cloak start to writhe and roil. Beaked heads poke up from the huddled mass as the shape lumbers forwards.

With nothing to strike at the flock of Gremlins, you take off your blue and yellow coat and swing it at the fiends. One is struck and sent spiralling through the air to careen into a snow drift.

“Where is that thing?” The malevolent beast has vanished. A more pertinent question flashes through your mind as you spastically search, “Where's Twilight?!”

A bloodcurdling roar breaks any semblance of peace as you look over the rear of the train. You catch a flash of the leviathan’s crest as it emerges from behind the caboose. Arcing your head out and trying to see it again, you glimpse a bright fuschia shape bounding through the snow with remarkable speed. Pinkie is alone, carefree, as if prancing through any other field and heading away from the train. The titanic beast bellows and surges forward into the pristine white blanket of snow. Its powerful forelegs kick up huge white plumes as it snaps at the infuriating mare.

Turning toward it and backing off hoof by hoof, Pinkie springs, ducks, dodges, and weaves well enough to put any professional boxer to shame. She waits, letting the beast stamp forward before darting through its legs and letting it trip itself up amid its greasy coils.

Pinkie was doing fine, you have your own issues as you spot a delusional looking pony wandering on the other side of the engine. “Is that her?!” You point. It may be any dark coated pony at a glance. Sure enough, Twilight drunkenly meanders to and fro for a few more steps before dropping to her side.

You shoot a gaze at Rarity muttering, “How could you let her go?!”

The fashionista’s eyes swell with tears. “S-she was here a second ago and you and Applejack needed help!”

The black huddled figure points a crooked claw at you as the living cloak disperses into a cloud of ravens. They spiral and swarm in a great onyx vortex as you leap from the top of the train car and into the snow. Picking yourself up, you dash forward towards the prone Alicorn. With a single unified croak, the ravens descend on you. The raking slices of talons and peck of sturdy beaks drives you to seek safety between the train cars as you throw your arms up to protect your head. The vicious carrion feeders latch on with their talons, tugging you off balance and harrying your every move.

“Take her, take her!” A familiar rasping voice echoes across the snow-fields. There is a clatter of tin above you, causing your head to incline. A gangly impish figure leers down at you from the roof and flashes a broken-fanged grin, “I see you, I smell your fear, it runs down your legs, nithinger. You can only do more harm to those ponies than good.” It is the same creature that stalked you in the castle. You can hear Twilight’s plaintive cry, kicking your legs into action, you dart forward. The black winged cloud spews between the cars, driving you to the ground before they disappear altogether.

A sharp cutting wind begins to blow, rasping your face with a billow of sand-like snow. The clouds begin to bubble and roil in a tumultuous black mass like a tornado’s downdraft. A massive black shape glides through the oily cloudbank overhead, blotting out any semblance of light as its shadow covers the whole train. It was as large as a tall ship and gives off a deep reverberating rumble like thunder as it streams across the void. Its angular beams and thick trusses ooze noxious vapors but, for a moment, you think you see a ghostly human shape in the mists.

Scrambling through the snow, you duck out from the train cars and look towards the spot Twilight had been moments before. She is gone, as is the winged host as a sudden rush of a tempestuous wind sends the snow scything sideways into you in a great obscuring haze. The ice fog scrapes the open expanses to your left and right, deafening you with its noisy roar and hiding all the creatures as they dissolve into the worsening squall.

“AJ, Rarity, get down-” a faint whistle from the engine triggers something in your mind: It was a steam engine with the lack of proper venting, freezing cold, and freely buring fuel. Curses don't help it at that moment as you barely hear hooves on the metal rails behind you. Applejack and Rarity are barely visible as you rush towards to them and cast your coat over Applejack's back. “Take this and get moving as quick as you can or we're in trouble!”

They listen, but Rarity calls out in a huff, “Rightly, I don't mean to sound rude, but we're already in trouble up to our withers!”

“Alright, I misspoke. What I mean is: we'll be dead!”

She doesn't balk at the statement. Instead, the Unicorn throws her side against Applejack so they can redouble their efforts in hustling away. Ponies have a difficult time in the deep snow and Applejack is in no shape to 'spring' like Pinkie could. Even as the wind erases the divot where Twilight had lain, it was plain to see there are no hoofprints radiating from that spot.

Please say you teleported to safety Twilight, pleaaase.

You look around for a few seconds before cutting back on a tangent to warn Pinkie. A harsh crackle and splash in front of the train had you glance back towards the engine.

As quickly as it started, the snow squall and grey skies clear leaving a smoking mass of black pouring from the damaged steam engine. It’s gone, all gone, no massive creature, no gremlins, and no sign of Twilight.

“Pinkie?” There is no response. “Pinkamina!” With no idea if she can hear or not you cup your hands to your mouth, “Pinkie get as far away as you can, the boiler might explo-”

The world seems to go blank amidst the unearthly roar of the cataclysmic explosion. An enormous bursting plume of white geysers into the air while a great roiling wave knocks you flat on your back. Fragments of wood and splinters whiz past a hair’s breadth from your face. Slow arcing trails of twisted metal blaze through the frozen air above you like meteors, leaving beautiful feathery streaks in their wake. The kiss of the faint wind freezes your nose as the thumping beat of your heart fills your ears.

Slowly, the thrum of the explosion fades, your vision clouds, and the world softly ebbs away.

Author's Note

I actually forgot today was Tuesday, aaaalmost missed posting it :twilightsheepish: . Sorry about that, but hey, I got it!

I fFigured it was best to start off with a bang too; trains make such a tempting little targetdon't they? Anyhow, thanks for making it this far and welcome to Act 3!

Act 3- Chapter 2: A Wake Up

A Wake Up

Proofread by TehSporkBandit

“Doctor Barnyard to operation room three, doctor C. Barnyard O.R. three.” The words that lilt through the still air are meaningless, nothing more consequential than a buzzing gnat. You linger on that restful verge of sleep, trapped between the boundary of wakefulness and the realm of dreams, coddled and comforted by a dark velvet blanket and the aromatic scent of lavender. Slowly, you roll on your side and crack open an eye.

Beyond a small bedside table holding your glasses, a mug of water, and your slab-like cell phone, you can see the murky grey void. Staring out the window, thick powdery snowflakes drift by like ash, though your blurry vision may be aiding that illusion. Outside, you can squint and see the muted grey slate tiles as well as the vague outline of the Royal palace’s grand turrets rising against the mountain cliffs. As you stretch out, your soles touch the metal bedposts, sending a shudder of transitory discomfort up your spine. Just curling up beneath the blankets and shrinking away from the cold feels like a good idea.

The patter of hoofsteps echoing down a hallway and the jabbering din of more announcements seem to cut to the quick as your surroundings start to sink in.

I’m in a hospital? How’d I get here?

You close your eyes with a muffled groan and try to recall your most recent memories. You vaguely recall plodding along racks and stumbling as your numbed toes kick the railway ties.

You have to be in Canterlot, you had gone too far to be back in Ponyville, and it isn’t pretty enough to be heaven. Gazing about the closed interior of the room, the tall white veils are drawn up between you and everypony else.

If this is heaven, then Rarity’s still alive, this place is too tacky and bland.

Blinking an eye open and looking at the foot of your bed, you see a peculiar banner strung between the two bedposts. Painted on plain white canvas and woven between two small spokes are seven pastel faces. Each bright smile has a corresponding name tag and there is even a stick figure of a dragon with the same treatment. Big happy grins painted bright and cheery with dripping edges mingle with the depiction of a spiral armed sun. In the bottom it read:

Do you remember us?

Leaning your head back against the pillow, you actually start to laugh and cover your eyes before those other emotions can takeover. There is no question who’s responsible for it; Pinkie and Pinkie alone could have made that. A bright red and purple bow trimmed in gold thread is wrapped around the base of the flag: Get well soon, mon cherr.

“What's so funny, hmm?” A familiar accented voice says while cursing about 'dadnab' things under her breath. Applejack sweeps the gauzy white privacy curtain away, but the pendulum motion brings it back in front of her face. Her bedside table has the same glass of water, but there is also that musty stetson hanging off a corner.

The cowpony's hair ties are taken out and the lengthy scarlet ribbons set aside. “AJ? You okay?”

“Don't you fret none, ah got most’a mah bits ‘cept fer some fur.” She dips her head to indicate the large swaddled bandage over her cutie mark. Two faint pink lines remain on the sterile white gauze. “It got me good but ya' know, you can bruise an apple, throw an apple, even get it a bit soggy or rough 'round the edges, but an apple is still an apple. Don’t worry, ya’ got all yer bits too.”

“I hope that’s a euphemism and not just saying nopony stole my wallet while I was sleeping.”

Applejack quietly guffaws, sniffing a little more like her nose is clogged. “Nah, yer alright. Every piece is still in the right place, doctor was worried about yer... hindclaws? Anyhow, after a lukewarm bath and all, you kept ‘em.”

“Well… that could have been pretty embarrassing. Anyway, we’re still here and we didn’t get eaten.”

“Yeah, cuttin' it close though. Ain't afraid to say, ah was shakin' in mah horseshoes.” She sighs and props herself up before craning her head to sip at the glass of water.

“I wasn't.” You rub your eyes and reach for your water to hide an involuntary smirk.

Applejack’s uplifting chortle still can’t remove that damp suffocating aura that snuffs the life from the room. It seems permeating, like the suffocating mass of clouds enveloping the Royal city outside. “Sure, sure, suga'cube.” She looks over at you with a wane smirk, “Ya’ better be ready for some kind'a Pinkie attack. Rainbow's probably gonna have a chip on 'er shoulder, but ya’ weren’t the one to leave 'er behind.”

“Hmm, Rainbow's here?”

“Yep, sure is.” Applejack nods and slurps more water from the straw.

“Twi-” you don't need to finish to see Applejack's smile falter and her eyes well up with unshed tears. Her jaw tenses and she swallows hard before shaking her muzzle. Robbed of speech, you feel that same clutching despair sink in. The mare doesn’t look at you. She fiddles and fluffs the pillow, keeping her muzzle close to it as you see the gentle heaves and shocks grip her chest. “Who's told the princesses?”

“Nopony’s got a summons yet.” She shrugs.

“What summons? Aren’t you the Element of Honesty? Who needs an invitation to see the Prin-wait...” a wave of incredulity washes over you as you eye the mare in bewilderment, “are you saying that the Princesses don't know Twilight is missing?!”

“Cool it, suga'cube. They know, sort’a. Ah was waitin' outside four’r five hours before ah got carted off. Rarity sent letters ta’ everypony she knew and the Princesses, callin' in favours. Fluttershy was tryin' ta’ wait outside in mah place, Rainbow... uh, that mare nearly put herself back in 'ere flyin' up near the castle towers and carryin' on like that. Every time, well, every time but Rainbow, we got back the same answer: the princesses ain't seein' nopony. But they keep wantin' fer Twilight anyhow. Ah think they're, well... Ah hate to say.” She scrunches up her lips and bites down hard. You weren't going to get anything out of her like that.

After settling back and staring at the blank chipboard ceiling with its inbuilt light panels you nod. “So we wait for a summons? Is that it?”

“Princess Celestia is gettin' a bit ornery.” Luna would have made sense, but Celestia had seemed like the rock upon which Equestria was built. “Been sendin' letters to Spike, an Spike's been givin' 'em to Rarity.”

“Spike's here? Where?”

“Givin' 'em to Rarity.” Applejack repeats in the same tone.

Alright, stupid question.

“Alright then, I gotta' ged-up.” The Apple family twang rings thick in your words as you try to push yourself to a seated position. It works as you glance around for your clothing and, more importantly, something to put on your feet.

Coat be damned, freezing feet are the real enemy.

Applejack's laugh says she takes the accent as a compliment. “Woah there, suga'cube, ya’ ain't goin' nowhere ‘till the doctor has a look at ya’. 'Sides....” she lets that hang in the void for a few moments.

A sideways glance at the bed-ridden mare reveals a pensive expression couched in solemnity. “Listen, ah appreciate everything' ya done ta get me out. Guess ah can be a might stubborn there, too, and ah don’t blame ya’ for Twilight goin’ missin’. So, Rightly…” she pauses. It lasts for a second or two as those impassive green eyes seem to swirl like her nascent thoughts. With a quick shake of her head she swallows and that uncertainty begins to clear, “Yer a good pony in mah books.” She beams; it’s a shimmering smile despite unsightly welts, lumps, bruises, and the patch over her cutie mark.

“Oh,” Applejack’s interjection interrupts your rumination, “but ah'm still gonna whoop ya fer that 'stubborn ass' bit.” The mare winks. “And if yer gonna go grabbin’ me like that again, you better hope you can outrun a rainbow.”

I’m not familiar with that phrase, but if it’s rainbow of the ‘Dash’ variety then no, and if it’s the rainbow of the ‘instant’ variety then no too.

The door latch clicks open as you hear ponies enter. “I'm aghast, simply and entirely aghast, dear. Whoever heard of the Princess refusing all her summons? I even contacted Shining Armor and got a form letter back. A form letter! It's dreadful... not the letter, obviously, that was impeccable, but I'm telling you: something's rotten in Equestria.”

Pinkie Pie merely hums, “I don’t know. I can't smell it. Are you sure, Rarity?”

“Yes, Pinkie, of course. Knock-knock, everypony decent?” Rarity quickly admits herself and Pinkie into the small enclosed space.

“C’mon in, Rarity, Pinkie.” Applejack waves them both in, though the gesture isn’t seen by the two in question.

Pinkie takes a deep, sucking breath as she sees you sitting up. Swallowing it down, she purses her lips and gallops the two body lengths between you before skidding to your side and bracing her forehooves against your bedside table. “I knoooow you're supposed to be feeling baaaaad, but can you remeeeeember who weeee are?” The long drawn out words would be patronizing if it wasn’t Pinkie Pie. The mare is being completely serious, right down to the tears welling up in her bright blue eyes.

Looking around at the others as if saying 'you are seeing this, right?' you are met with one fretting look from the Unicorn who is holding a stuffed bluebird doll with shiny black button eyes and a gold thread beak. The bright words 'Get well soon' had been sewn on to its breast in intricate filigree. She bites her bottom lip as her eyes turn slightly glossy. Instead of slipping forward, she recoils unsteadily.

“Yes, Pinkie, I know exactly who you are.” It’s probably too mean to toy with her. Besides, you doubted it would improve your mood either.

She throws her arms around your neck with a loud, “Hah!” and almost swings you from the bed in a loop, though the wobble back and forth in the cheery hug speaks volumes. “I am so-so-sooo happy to hear that! After they said you had brain damage-”

“What!”

“Pinkie cuddid' out girl. Ain't no point'n makin' a fracas over a ruckus.” Evidently it gets Pinkie's attention and holds yours entirely. Looking to you with a hoof up, Applejack shrugs, “It was a bit of a concussion, that's all.”

Well, it’s better than brain damage, but still not great.

A hesitant touch passes across your back. The Unicorn gulps, trying to keep her voice from collapsing into a whine, “I-I-I got you this because…” she sniffs and lets out a fluttering breath.

Glancing back and locking eyes with the fashionista, you can see the tidal blue eyes barely holding back the tears. A harsh, vicious, and demanding voice repeats itself in your mind:

‘How’d you let her go?!’

It is your voice, your frightened worry being directed squarely at the mare. The memory sticks in your stomach, causing it to churn uncomfortably. Twilight is gone, taken, and nopony wants to talk about it.

You stretch out a hand, uncomfortably patting her cheek, “Rarity, I…” you lick your lips and stop short. “I’m sorry, it not your fault. I shouldn’t have said that back there.”

Friends, you are there for them and they are there for you. Looking at Pinkie, you flash her a smile and make a little pointing motion with your chin towards the fashionista. Pinkie Pie gets the hint and takes the chance to enact it. Not even taking the time to trot around the bed, she simply crawls right over it. You suck in a harsh gasp as Pinkie’s bony knees and legs press down on your shins. Shimmying across the sheet, Pinkie enwraps the Unicorn in a half hug as the magic haze falters around the tiny bluebird doll and letting it fall to the bedspread.

You gently clutch the little bluebird token, knowing that she’d altered it just for you. Several faltering breaths escape Rarity’s lips as she mumbles, “T-Twilight…”

“Awww,” Pinkie gently pats her friend’s back, “There there. Auntie Pinkie Pie will make it all better.” But there was nothing but a ungainly silence permeating the room. You even expected a song, some sort of quiet tune to make you forget about things too. Instead, you found your gaze tracking towards the window and the dismal grey haze shrouding the rooftops.

Something feels wrong.

“Rare, ya know that it'll get better. Sun's gotta come out some time. We'll find 'er, don't you fret none. Twi's as stubborn as a mule when she needs ta’ be, an' tougher than a timberwolf's tooth, too.” Applejack’s reassurance sounds genuine, but there is some hint of it that seems reserved. If you were more cynical, it would be easier to believe that she is just trying to convince herself. Rarity nods dumbly in response without glancing up.

“Hey.” A raspy female tone rings out obliviously before the screen was thrown open again. Without fanfare or pomp, it’s a surprisingly jarring entrance for Rainbow Dash who just awkwardly looks back and forth between your bed and Applejack’s as if not being sure which was the gallery. Trotting up, she goes to your side first, she reaches a hoof out to ruffle your hair. “How’s it goin’? I heard somepony took an explosion to the face then walked it off.”

“Yeah, I'm fine, just a concussion, or might be a concussion. You?”

“Yeah, like always.” She flips her forelocks from her face then blows the same offending hairs out of her eyes when her mane settles back the way it usually does. “Nothing permanent, right?” She stiffens some.

“Hmm, me? No. You sure you should be up here after all that?” She could still have an inner ear problem, and if that grounded her it could explain her whole guarded mein.

“Nah, took harder knocks from walking into doors at Sugarcube Corner. Tore a bit in my ear from somepony shouting down it, got sick and disoriented, so they stitched it up with some paper.” She shrugs her withers as if to say 'no big deal' and takes a half hopping flap back to skip five feet instead of walking. The downward wingstrokes neatly knock over Applejack’s glass of water and sends the hanging stetson tumbling to the ground. But it's purpose had been clear, 'I can still fly', so it was something else.

Rainbow winces apologetically and quickly skips over to pick up the hat in her mouth. She brushes it off then plops it on Applejack’s head, setting it straight then giving it a flick to tilt in a jaunty fashion. “You good, cow-belle?”

A sigh of mock irritation passes Applejack’s lips as she rights the hat to disguise the smirk, “Yeah, Rainbow, thirsty, but ah’m fine.”

There is still something wrong, nopony said a single thing about what actually happened. Well, not in the presence of anyone else and Applejack had skipped around that, too. Chewing on your lip while still stroking Rarity's mane you finally blurt out, “Alright, so then what was it?” The chorus of confused or sedate 'huh's are as clear as mud. Looking around as the lights buzz above you in their noisy fluorescent glow, you ask again, “That thing. The one that trashed the train. I saw something like it on a flag once, they called it a wyvern. So what is that to you?”

A soft dulcet voice speaks with evident surprise, “Well, a wyvern is a winged sea dragon. They tend to make their nests off chalk or limestone cliffs and settle in the small divots in underwater grottos. They’re common in Saddle Arabia and in some of the islands off of Horseshoe bay. I'm surprised that you haven't seen them, Rightly.” Glancing up at the ceiling and stroking her chin, Fluttershy had slipped in unnoticed.

She might have gotten you almost pegged down as a non-Saddle Arabian, but there is no time to worry about that. Even as she slips over to give you a quick hug and a low coo of sympathy you start, “It was sort of a rubbery grey colour, underbelly was a little lighter. It kind of had scales like an eel, strong forelegs, no hindlegs, just a long twisting tail. About as bulky as a train car overall. Oh, it had a sort of fin-like-crest with a few spines on its back. I had a shorter neck but a head as big as a pony with a mouth full of sharp teeth.” You partially mimic all of the characteristics.

“How many heads?” Fluttershy asks.

“Huh? Just one.”

“It could be a young hydra. Maybe a mountain hydra if it was grey, but if it smelled-”

“Like rotting leaves?” You cut her off and slowly nod. It was starting to come together.

“Like rotting leaves.” Fluttershy nods with a certain smile. “Hydra, almost certainly. Most are born with two heads, but more or less isn't impossible and some sprout more over the course of a typical hydra's life.”

Don’t hydra’s regenerate like trolls? Huh, convenient. If it’s just pretending to be a hydra, we’ll be even more alike.

You shrug, taking her at her word, “Alright, so we've got a hydra. We've also got Cloud Gremlins for whatever that's worth.”

“Yeah, that sounds like them if they've been snooping around.” The prismatic pony squints while making her way to the window. She rests her forehooves on the sill, but it’s nice having a pony who believes you. “I didn't see anything when me and Fluttershy were flying in. Saw the train, though-”

“And she rescued Applejack’s hat!” Pinkie hollers.

“Yeah, yeah I did. You owe me for that one bark-bumpkin.” A smarmy grin blossoms on her face as she flashes that grin at Applejack. Rainbow doesn't continue after that. She stands at the window, scratching her name in the frost coating on the sill. Meanwhile, Fluttershy's eyes find yours. They were partially worried, but they also say 'we need to talk'.

Is this going to be about my disintegrating cover story or was there something else?

“Now,” you start and sit up straight, “how do we get her?” Rarity and Pinkie both shuffle to get more comfortable, causing the springs of your bed to groan.

“Twi?” Applejack lofts a brow.

“Sapphire Shores.” But the snippy sarcasm fades away like morning dew and dissipates in moments. “Yes, Twilight. We need to have something of a plan.”

“So you know where she is?” Rainbow asks while still trotting up and down in one place. She drops into a wider aggressive stance with a snort, “What are we waiting for? We’ll go out and-”

“No,” you reply, which prompts the Pegasus to grumble, “but I think I can guess.” Something slowly occurs to you, moments ticking by as you ponder if it’s worthwhile to really mention all your dreams. Many of them could wait, but with a newfound grin you hear the calls.

“Well, for pony's sake, ye gonna tell us or sit there like a frog on a toadstool?”

“Oh, oh, a guess! Let me see, west, nope north, deeeefinitely nor-south! Yes, final answer, it's definitely east!”

You nod slowly, “You were right the first time, Pinkie. I have a feeling it'll be out west. It has some swamps and some mountains. Right? Cloud Gremlins-”

“Stay in cloud banks and other high-up spots where it's dark.” Rainbow finishes your sentence for you.

Giving her a snap of your fingers you beam, “Exactly.”

Pinkie voices an ‘ooo’ of amazement at the gesture. “Oh neat! Noooow I see why she likes them.” Pinkie lapses back into her musing phase. It is almost possible to see her thinking as she taps her hooves together with a sound not unlike the tick of a grandfather clock.

It doesn't stop your train of thought, in fact, its rhythmic meter helps you think. “I didn’t say it before because I couldn’t be sure, but I think I may have seen Ulf. I saw him for a moment during the attack, he was up in the clouds… and I just realized how ridiculous-”

“Storm barge.” Rainbow cuts you off.

“Huh?”

“Storm barges, they’re part mechanical and part meteorological. Cloud Gremlins use them for long distance traveling. Some have some gadgets and junk on them, but if a troll stood on the metal frame they should be fine.” Rainbow’s explanation is surprisingly helpful and forestalls any lingering doubt.

You smile in thanks, but try to keep it subtle enough that the Pegasus can’t croon about it. “Good to know. So we need maps, we need information on where things have been happening. Basically, we need a plan.” The direction given to the others, that straight confidence repaid to both Rainbow and Applejack, is rewarded in spades.

“Yee-haw! Now that's what ah'm talking about! If this is all related, then what’s next?” Applejack says as a grumbling clearing of the throat comes from a patient on the far side of her curtain. A patient that you promptly ignore as does everypony else.

“Alright, we'll need time to discuss and formulate everything. We need to make this into a single coherent plan then follow it. Kind of like a cake, if we don't get all the ingredients just right, it's going to fall apart, go sour, burn, or get too runny. So here's what we need....” you take a breath, most of it was bound to be spur of the moment, but you had a rough idea in mind.

Pointing at Fluttershy first, she makes a gasping creak and recoils like you just accused her of murder, “Fluttershy! We need maps, we also need to know all the patterns, traditional, and nontraditional stamping grounds of Hydras and Cloud Gremlins. We don’t want to be surprised. We also need maps of the west, particularly coastal regions and mountains. We don't need to go knocking on doors and asking everypony if they've got a Gremlin under their bed. Got it?” You smile as brightly as you can at her saying 'it's alright', which contrasts bitterly with your tone not two seconds ago. She mouths ‘Okay’. “Good, you should be able to find that out at the library, not too much of an issue.”

You turn to Rarity next, “Now, dear.” You wait for her to sniff and dab her mascara stained eyes. “We need to know every little detail on those cases related to the slayings. Use every connection you have, find out names, cutie marks, where they were found, where they lived, and where they were going. More than that, find out what ponies have gone missing. I need a fashionista's eye, I want everything. Every. Little. Detail.” Grinning through the haze of wallowing misery, she says nothing but mutely nods.

“Pinkie!” Hearing her turn come up, Pinkie rears her head and salutes. “Last time I left Canterlot, it was without a book, one I think we very well might need. Princess Celestia kept it but it could be anywhere. It's called an Anglo Saxon Primer... never mind, it's a green and white book with funny writing. I’ll draw it out for you.” You look through your night table, hoping to find something to write on. You growl a bit, finding absolutely nothing but a spare clip board. Thankfully that had a pencil attached by a length of string.

“Pinkie, chart.” You point at the hook at the end of the bed. Reaching over with her mouth she grabs the bundle of medical charts and tosses it to you like a frisbee. You catch it and rip off the second page before thinking and quickly writing down 'Sweets Anglo Saxon Primer 9th edition.' You hand it back to her. “It’s green and white. We can ask for it in our summons, but if Celestia doesn’t say anything then we’ll have to find it ourselves. So it might be in the archives. Get it. I don't care how, but for Twilight's sake, get it.”

“Yes, Sir!” Enthusiastic, happy, motivated: Pinkie’s bright confidence is a welcome addition.

The indignant Rainbow Dash starts, “Hey! What about-”

“Rainbow!” You cut her off and she perks her ears up. You bite your lip some, bracing for what came next even though it was starting to feel like a mistake, “I heard you played commander Hurricane in the Hearth's Warming pageant.”

“Huh?” She cocks her head to the side.

“You're running the whole operation as soon as it starts. You can fly the fastest, talk the fas-uh, second fastest, and see the most of anypony here. That means you'll be relaying messages and keeping an eye out for us. Everypony listen up: if Rainbow sees something and needs to make a call, it's hers to make. If she gives you a message or command, do it. She's our eyes, ears, and in a snap decision she makes the call. Rainbow Dash doesn't fail, not when somepony is on the line.” Her ego practically balloons and that cocky grin spreads to every corner of her muzzle. Head back, smirk full, eyes narrow, and feathers bristling, she looks as puffed up as a grouse.

“Applejack!” You call out at once. She smiles, almost worming in her seat. “You stay here and rest.”

That smile instantly disappears, “Uhhh, pard'n?”

This is going to require some tact.

“You're our quartermaster and logistics. It means I need a full list of everything we could need and I need a mare who knows exactly how to keep an eye on it. Nothing left to chance. Medical, mechanical, food, everything. We'll need you to be in charge of planning the actual route, too, and finding any possible rest stops along the way when we find out where we're heading. We all need your honest assessment of everything. You might be the muscle when it counts, but you've got more no-nonsense brains than the rest of us combined.”

Applejack slowly smiles and nods, “Sure as sunshine in summer time!”

“Umm- if you don't mind me asking. Where will you be, Rightly?” Fluttershy sweeps her hair back.

“I'm going to have to go and see to princess Celestia. Twilight w- is my guardian after all. So you've all thrown yourself at the door to be heard, I'm going to try it, too. Tell them what happened, send some help, just the usual things. It's important that they know...”

“Well, I was just there, and that’s what I wanted-”

The patter of feet catch your ear, not hooves but claws. It is no surprise to hear a puffing breath. You preempt him, “Hey, Spike, great timing. Listen I think we've got-” His nails scrape across the floor as he throws himself back against the door and darts in the curtain, genuinely out of breath.

“No time, the Royal Guard are already here! I tried to hold them off and get a message up, but I couldn't stall them very long.” He huffs and puffs, thick banded chest expanding as if he is going to have a heart attack. Sweat beads between scales and plates before dripping down as he must have sprinted up every flight of stairs from the ground level.

“The Guard is here?” It is an odd and foreboding statement, “Why?”

Spike simply produces a parchment bearing a blue and lavender wax seal, then a smaller number of white and gold tethered scrolls. “Princess Luna called for you immediately. Princess Celestia has been writing almost non-stop, but honestly, it stopped making sense this morning. She keeps asking for Twilight.” It isn't just a summons, not with the royal guard being called. It was an edict, the closest thing to an arrest. They would be here at any moment. You break the wax seal of Princess Luna’s solitary scroll and unroll it. The print is shockingly scrawled:

Thy dreams are thine own now, We I have little left to give. We I shall tend to our nightmares. My precious domain, gone in a reflection. We see a face not Our own, and now in Our mind’s eye it remains. He asks. Stronger than before, stronger than ever. Black clouds hang on the verge of night, and herald in a new morning.

I prattle, I apologize. Mind yourself, news travels with great haste. My sister knows, but wishes she did not, and chooses not to.
~Noctum Regina Princess Luna

“Which is what I was trying to tell you.” Fluttershy’s voice finally catches hold and draws your attention, “I was waiting for Princess Celestia all morning and afternoon, she’s been acting a little strangely and keeps asking for Twilight. She’s been told, but I don’t think she really knows.”

Tapping your teeth, you sweep your legs out of bed and give Spike a pat on the arm before getting dressed, “This doesn't change anything. We're still going to do exactly what we set out to do. Spike, I'll almost certainly need your help. Follow Pinkie and she'll fill you in on the de-”

The doors sweep open to the tune of heavy hoof beats and scraping metal plates. The curtain is swiftly drawn back, leaving you with a view of a dull blue wall, but more importantly and far more uncomfortably, four large stallions. Each is armoured in thick brassy plates and two at the door heft those deceptively deadly spears. “Rightly, ward of Princess Twilight Sparkle?” The lead guardpony’s voice resonates in the enclosure as you struggle to get dressed. Admittedly, it isn't really much of a question as you gulp down the answer, button up your pants, and grab your shirt.

“Come with us, you have been summoned by her Highness.” No doctor's sign off, no extra checks, the Princess summons and you must obey.

Act 3- Chapter 3: The Summons

The Summons

Proofread by TehSporkBandit

Throngs of ponies mill around the tightly shut doors of Canterlot's Royal Palace where a thin white line of Canterlotian Solar guards stand protectively around a small cabal of scribes. The Royal Guard number only twelve, not even a twentieth the number of the massing citizens.

“When will the skies clear up? The weather team hasn't said a word other than they're 'working on it.'”

“What's happened to the train? Is it true that the Express line is gone?”

“Why is it that nopony has gone inside the royal chambers for days, except one or two maids. Is there something you're not telling us, Kibitz?! Equestrians have the right to know!”

More agitated cries ring out amid the confusion. News of the train must have come about rather quickly, you weren't even sure how long you were unconscious but some uncertain pall had been cast over the Canterlotians.

An elderly Unicorn in an immaculate scarlet uniform looks up from a lectern overburdened with scrolls and parchments. He peers impassively at the crowd through cool blue eyes, “The Princesses shall hear your petitions one at a time when it is suitable for them to do so. Not a moment before.” His haughty tone carries over the masses and he returns his gaze to the papers.

“You said that yesterday and the day before yesterday!” calls a female from amongst the mob. It draws a scornful eye from the stallion trying to instill order. Kibitz twitches his moustached muzzle, ignoring the prompt completely. His steely demeanour separates him from the masses far more than the decorative golden braids of his garments ever could. Two scribes hesitantly glance back but a new wave of paperwork levitates from the stallion's station to their smaller compact desks on either side of the pale white doors.

You briskly walk through the crowd, hemmed in on four sides by the guard detail. Despite their bulk, their armour, and their station, you watch as they have to occasionally bull their way through the shouting crowds. Ponies aren't looking back to notice them, which also means they aren’t recognizing your large frame.

Ponies have good ears, better than yourself, but you can hear the sharp gasps when you pass. Whispers and chatter changes as you pass by, “By Celestia! That's him, that’s the Slasher!” You tense and look for the speaker as a thumping noise reaches your ears. You barely catch sight of a young grey-maned mare as she wobbles and faints.

A more collected voice mumbles, “Oh, calm down, it was here before.” As a myriad of other ponies twitter among themselves, your entourage takes advantage of the momentary attention.

“Make way.” One of the stallions grunts, sending several Canterlotians scattering. Others still shout at the front, but many other ponies are skittering, or at least trying, to part for the four guardsponies as they make their way towards the little enclave posted outside the throne-room.

“Senechal Kibitz!” The formation's leader calls just as a particularly large Pegasus steps back from angrily tossing a scroll at one of the lesser scribe. The muscled Pegasus pulls back sharply, slamming into the corner of the royal formation and knocking one of the guardsponies flat. Another of your detail shoulders you aside while rushing to intercede.

The mass of confusion and raised voices breaks up the little formation you had: two guards shunt the Pegasus away from their stunned companion while the last tries to help him to his hooves. The citizenry tries to scuttle away in a miasma of pastel coloured bodies that move aside as best they can, but often one runs into another, drawing reproach or equal shoves back. The murmurs around you turn from surprise to indignation. You feel the first harsh shove push you towards the small cluster of royal attendants guarding the door. 'You saw that?' a few shocked dissident voice trill out.

“Right, enough!” Kibitz stamps a hoof down, signalling the guard to do the same. The single stamp elicits six more concordant stamps from each of the enclave guards. All activity in the hall ceases with an unnatural stillness. You could have heard a pin drop in the stony silence that pervades that hall as you and your entourage shuffle forwards into the ring. The closest display you've witnessed before was riot-police rattling batons on their shield edges.

Finding your way behind the thin white line, you look over to the red-clad Kibitz who scrawls out a memo and passes it off to one of his scribes. The escort leader clears his throat, “Senechal Kibitz, we have the ward of Princess Twilight Sparkle here.”

Kibitz holds up a hoof as you hear a quill flick and scratch across a scroll. It is a few more moments before he glances back at you. You remember seeing him in passing the first time you were at the castle, but now he turns his full attention to you. “Very good. Rightly, if I'm not mistaken. Understand, Her Majesty has accepted no summons in the past three days and she hasn’t answered any calls to court in five. Were it not for her direct urging, you would not be permitted either. Relay that to your bellicose Cloudsdale compatriot. See this door?” He taps the wooden portal firmly with a hoof and waits for your answer.

“Yes?” You answer despite his impassive glare. That disconcerned look resembles the whole demeanour of Princess Luna when you had first arrived. In fact, the chilly impersonal manner is nearly identical.

“When it opens, the citizens will not be pleased, because it means another opportunity to be heard will also be rejected in favour of somepony else. I've told the princesses of our problems and Princess Celestia insists on speaking to Princess Twilight Sparkle and yourself. She expects both.” He sighs and you feel the haze of magic flatten your hair back, straighten your collar, and otherwise primp and preen you for a royal audience. “Remain formal, wait until you are beckoned forth, and bow once you reach the first step. Keep your sentences short and to the point when speaking, and for goodness sake, if you have bad news then couch it appropriately. Never, under any circumstance, are you to upset the princesses. Our Majesties have been sorely taxed as of late.”

His scribes keep talking with ponies, writing down their various petitions: the weather was too poor to grow any crop, the reserves of coal and wood used for heating was dwindling, train service had been disrupted, and information was not forthcoming. Each complaint is dutifully recorded on parchment, then sealed, notarized, and stacked beneath the lectern in pigeon hole racks. It was like any other bureaucracy.

Kibitz looks to a surcoat clad mare lingering near the back. Her mantlet is quartered and bears numerous heraldic insignias of Equestria. “Belle Canto,” she stands up straight and waits for Kibitz’s direction, “announce our visitor as the one the Princess has summoned, the ward of Princess Twilight Sparkle.” His specific instructions sound significant.

“Open the door.” Kibitz orders two of his guards while the herald draws an unsteady breath, as if to prepare herself and run through what she is supposed to say. As the tall double doors creak open, ponies begin to mill about and surge forward again prompting the Solar guard to press back in an inadvertent shoving match. You quickly swallow and slip inside along with the herald.

“Is she in there?”

“Can anypony see them?” The inquisitive voices are quickly silenced by the thick door. It let only a quiet ghost of a mumble escapes from the crowded hall outside the splendid throne room.

The mare trundles forward, the quiet clop of her hooves sound out in the dreary silence of the inner court. “Your Highnesses, supreme Lady of the Light, Lady of Shade, may you ever reign. In accordance with your summons, w-we present thee with the ward of Princess Twilight Sparkle.” Her nervous tone stammers with a lick of her parched lips. It’s as if the herald is surrounded by darkness, placed before some indeterminable abyss, and stands alone on the brink of darkness.

Her voice trails off into the deepest recesses and reverberates back as mocking taunts. As if to make itself known, winter’s breath whines outside, rattling the tall bank of stained glass windows that line the wall. Various brass braziers in the corner of the room blaze with light, but their warming flames are dimmed by the hazy grey pall that listlessly pours through the windows. The loftiest vaults are the playground of whispering shades rather than the domains of twilight or the borders of shifting sunshine.

That long red carpet spreads out from your feet to the steps of the marvellous Alicorn throne. It resembles a seat of judgement, of power, to parcel out demands and proclaim edicts. This is no comfortable little study with a single table and warm arches of arcades where individuals could sit and talk, or even the informal bedroom of a castle tower, this is different. There are two dark cinder-tone guards with the sun-guard regalia standing beside the throne platform, and two more on the broad platform above the floor where petitioners could be recognized. Despite the size of the throne room, you can see one or two maids scuttling around the row of tall colonnades like spiders. There are no plaintiffs, no petitioners, and no advisers to be seen.

At the end of that long hall is that enormous throne with Equestria's ruling diarchy. Celestia sits enthroned, encircled by decorations of twisting brass and scarlet pennants. On Celestia's right side is her younger sister, ensconced on the smaller utilitarian throne fitting a steward. “Greetings and good morning. And where is Twilight?” Celestia's voice chimes deceptively fleeting and lofty. Her voice holds neither her regal elegance nor her theatrical presence, but it still seems bouncy and light.

The herald doesn't respond, instead, she backpedals with a bow and promptly bumps into the door with a nervous squeak.

Yeah, thanks a lot.

You adapt a prim and proper demeanour, bowing in front of the pair, “Your highnesses, I have come as you specifically requested of me.” There is no immediate response other than a pensive hum. Every step closer brings more discomfort as you see the rulers in more and more detail. Celestia's mane drapes around her shoulders in a glorious iridescent mop while her sister's falls in gangly strands as dark as coal. Luna's wings dip, folding against the floor as she strains to keep her head up.

“Come, come!” Celestia beckons joyfully. Taking a few steps up to that first plaintiffs’ platform, you wait for her to start again. “And where is my faithful student, Twilight Sparkle?” Her voice is still upbeat, but being this close leaves you with little room for doubt: her veined and bloodshot eyes calmly regard you with a flickering glimmer of recognition. Her ribs are showing, just like Twilight's. Every single motion, from her beckoning wave to the stretching of her neck, carries with a trace of nervous energy.

“Your highnesses,” you bow low as the pair remain quiet, “there was an incident on the train to Canterlot. Twilight Sparkle was abduc-”

“An incident? Where is she?” Celestia looks about as if this was the first time she has heard of it. Luna's letter echoes in your mind:

'My sister knows, but wishes she did not, and chooses not to.'

Celestia's appearance still looks strange: her gorget, sandals, and crown are faintly tarnished or mussed so that they reflected poorly. In fact, no surface seemed very shiny or reflective at all.

Celestia's somewhat happy, albeit untidy, look is a mere oversight compared to her sister. Luna's mane hangs in ratty tangles, slicked down flat over her shoulders in kinked braids of grey and pale blue. Her stance is wider, as if spread to keep herself from collapsing forward, and her wings aren't even folded against hher side. The proud dark plumage droops to the ground like a carpet of fallen leaves. Luna's chin slowly sinks to her chest, but her eyes remain unsullied. The bright teal spheres beam out from a desiccated form that speaks of a soul buried deep within.

Celestia stamps her hoof down, “Where is Twilight!?” She gasps, surprising herself at the resonating clatter that echoes like a shot around the room. Her neck shakes and her eyes widen, “I-I'm sorry. I'm sorry, my dear subject. I didn't mean, I didn't, I didn't...” like a broken record, she slowly tapers off in a repetious murmur.

“She was abducted, my Princess!” You drop to a knee, hoping to appeal to her more imperious spirit, “But we have a pla-”

“Abducted?! My favourite student has been abducted?!” Each rising word brings with it a force like a hurricane which drives you back several inches and leaves a ringing in your ears. You chance a peek only to see that Celestia had bared her teeth and narrowed her eyes into pinprick slits.

Alarm bells went off in your head as you backpedal, “Yes, but we're almost certain she's perfectly fine...”

Oh, oh that didn't come out right.

“Almost?!” Several tremors course through her body, causing her to tremble and rise. A slow pulsating throb of magic pops your ears as it crackles and fizzes around you. Twilight and Rarity's magic could feel like bubbles of dish soap, but this feels like the prick of an electric shock. Celestia climbs down the steps towards you. “You were on the train, too, yes? Did nopony else intervene? Are you, or are you not, one of her friends?” Her voice is as firm as iron.

“Yes, yes, of course we did!” You call out in surprise, trying to recover. “They surprised us and had some kind of mon-”

“Of course you are her friend! You are her charge, like Spike!” She reverses herself immediately, beaming brightly as a swelling glow forms behind her in a scintillating halo. The nimbus slowly flares, showering you with rays of sparkling sunlight radiating from behind her and illuminating her dishevelled mane in a silhouette of magnificent madness. The sheer brilliance makes you bow low and raise a hand to shield your eyes from the glorious aura, “I shall gather the Royal Guar-”

“T-thou shall not!” Luna's unstable bellow momentarily dims the radiant aura like a flickering lamp.

Celestia draws in a deep breath and turns on her slighter sister, “Mind your place, dear Sister. Twilight is in danger, captured, and we, as the bearers of the elements of harmony-”

“We no longer wield the elements! You have responsibilities, duties... Who t-t...” she wobbles while trying to stand and collapses to a knee. It is a pathetic and painful sight as Celestia bolts back up the steps to assist her struggling sister. The Princess of the Sun cranes her head down, driving Luna up by her ribs in a soft and caring way. The impetus to charge off at the head of an armed host swiftly drains from the solar regent as her mind clears and reason takes hold once again. Luna finds her voice once again when properly returned to her seat. Her exhausted huffs and labouring breaths belie her state, “Who told me I had to lower the moon? That it was my duty, despite it feeling insignificant at the time? Who told me that my place was here, in Canterlot?”

Celestia's pause returns the hall to its former oppressive silence. In a glittering flash she dispels the light, leaving only the shimmer of diamond dust and a faint glow of the golden symbol on her hips. “My apologies. Of course you're right, my sister. I’m merely worried about Princess Twilight’s safety. Her friends are more than capable of looking after themselves, surely they’ll find her. We will remain calm and focused to ensure the safety of our people against this menace. Many of the royal guard will be sent to safeguard my little ponies across Equestria without sparking a panic. We can not let fear and anguish overwhelm us.” She ponders something and lets her gaze descend upon you.

Luna spots the look and quietly continues, “We must not go. But we may, perhaps, send another in our stead. Might we pass an edict to name a champion, a familiar face to Twilight...” she trails off.

“A protector, a ward,” Celestia takes over from Luna who bobs her head at her sister's fledgeling proposal, “somepony to find and recover Twilight Sparkle... That Unicorn must have gotten herself in some trouble.” She was drifting, but Celesta has already been properly steered by the notion.

“You, stallion, step forward.” You look around for the indicated male. “You.” Celestia intones again before fixing her stare on you. Slowly and cautiously, you make your way forward to the step beneath her raised dais. The eyes that lock with yours seem to radiate that same nervous energy. You are being inspected again, much like Rainbow Dash had done that day in the library seemingly so long ago. A small glow of pure yellow light catches your attention as Celestia drags over a ruffled sheet of parchment.

The quill pen weakly scratches across the page in an uncoordinated scribble. Nevertheless, it rolls up and touches your shoulder like a baton, “Henceforth you shall be under my aegis, an exalted squire of the Royal Court, charged specifically with recovering Twilight Sparkle. My senechal shall garb you in the royal raiment of battle, so you shall go forth at once! Return to this royal city once you find my prize pupil, and return to the splendour and honours that await you. Take this to my senechal, with my hopes.” She releases the scroll into your outstretched hands. “Listen, listen how Our people cheer you.” She rests her head back with a bright smile, peaceful and sublime, while you can hear the frightened cries of inquisition from outside. The Solar regent closes her eyes, dozing off after a few moments.

As you step back from the throne, something bumps against your heel. Turning to look down, you see a small undecorated scroll resting against your foot. You stoop to pick up the item and glance back at Luna who shivers and shakes. From that bedraggled appearance, you might have otherwise guessed she was suffering from some terrible illness. A sudden shocked gasp draws your attention back to Celestia. Her eyes rove the room, peering at every corner with a fleeting anxiety, “He’s not… he’s got…” A trickle of sweat forms on her brow and the crystalline haze of magic slowly starts to coalesce around her like a blanket.

“Be at peace, Sister.” Luna coos and stiffly reaches out to settle a becalming hoof on Celestia.

“I saw, I mean, I heard that he had her. That monstrous-”

“I know, I know.” Reaching the door, you look back for a moment and see the sisters in a mutual embrace of support. You quickly slip out the door and pull it shut it behind you.

It’s probably best their kingdom doesn’t see them in this state.

From the moment the doors creak open you can hear mob outside baying for answers as they press forward. “Is the princess alright?”

“What did she say? Is there something wrong?” A myriad of other enquiries hurl your way as Kibitz and the rest of the guards take up the same ringing position around you.

“Kibitz?” You get the Unicorn's attention. “Celestia said I was to give this to you.” You produce the scroll that Celestia bestowed upon you.

Senechal Kibitz looks at you, then the edict, and then you once again. “Raiments...” he shakes his head and looks up in confusion. “You are to be given the raiment of battle from the royal armouries, but you are also to be escorted from the city by an honour guard and a watch is to be posted for signs of your return. With ‘miss’ Twilight Sparkle, of course. These instructions, as dubious as they are, mandate that you are to be seen to the gates of the city.”

Your mouth hangs open, “Wait, so I'm basically banished?!” That doesn't sound anything like what Celestia had said.

“I think that's putting it rather well on a technical level. It's all in the details. Still, I must follow my instructions to the letter. You aren't to be readmitted to Canterlot but you are to be equipped and provided for. Given your more peculiar frame, I should think that could prove to be an uncomfortable and fruitless challenge to squeeze you into battle plate. But, I'll have it delivered. You are allowed any material that may be required, so I will give you a number of royal writs of requisition. You just need to fill in what you need, the vendor will counter-sign the cost, you add your signature, and they are reimbursed. You're only to be readmitted when you return with Twilight Sparkle, then we’ll put on the fanfare, parades, confetti, and all the guff. But, in the meantime, I believe I can make this as comfortable as possible.” He whistles sharply as the somewhat recovered guardsponies gather into formation around you. Even as you are jostled aside with three stallions in tow, you have to quickly button up your coat. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch the fleeting conversation between the senechal and the leader of your detail.

“If you don't mind, we'll take a back route, it might be faster staying away from the crowds.” One of the Unicorn stallions comments dryly. You silently nod, still getting used to the idea of being 'banished' in what was supposed to be good way. Hopefully, your friends won't come up empty-hoofed. With a sigh, you unroll the parchment that Luna had given you:

He was ignored before,
now we hear him gloat.
He has found a way,
And we hear Her as well.
A Carrion Lord yet bides his time,
while the lord of carrion hunts.

I shall try to stay my sister's hoof,
I was wrong at first: you have more uses than even you know.
I did my best to prepare you,
goodness go with you,
and grace be in your stride.
My hopes and deepest trust goes with you,
even when my dreams have died.

Farewell, Squire of Equestria.

Thank you Princess Luna, for being so damned cryptic.

With that, you find yourself guided into the secretive passages in the bowels of the Royal palace.

♣

The winter winds twist and turn, howling like the world itself is enraptured in its own torturous lament. A thin layer of frost covers everything as you proceed out from the hightown quarters along the old cobblestone streets. The bright blue and golds of the tiled roofs and painted domes mesh with the bedazzling sparkle of the bejewelled city. Yet the fantastic opulence and colour are muted by the frost and the dour skies.

Ponies aren't stopping to fritter away their time in the Equestrian capitol; many of them are quickly scarpering about, trying to avoid the chilly temperatures, while you and your entourage trot through the barren streets. It’s worth keeping up a quicker pace to speed the blood and give you some deluded notion that it will warm you up rather than freezing you to the core. It isn't as cold as Ponyville, but it feels more dismal.

Thanks to the heavy ceremonial armour, it looks like most of the guards have frostbite. Their noses are a surprisingly festive red and their ears show the same pained treatment. Had this been some prisoner detail you could surely make a break for it. With the slight slickness frost lent to the cobblestones, it was more likely that they couldn't catch up. But really, it is miserable enough without becoming an honoured fugitive.

Taking a turn into the main thoroughfare, you look at the denuded branches of the trees lining either side of the boulevard. But now you can see your destination, the open city gates. There is a single bulging gatehouse with a large swinging sign that reads 'The Gatehouse' in swirling Equestrian script.

That's a bit redundant.

Your escort hustles you along that last expanse, towards the open portcullis gate. Passing beneath the great stone arches, you feel a hoof on your back, directing you towards a small door reading 'The Gatehouse' as well. “C'mon, squire.”

A burst of warmth surges through you as one of your guards coaxes you to enter with a subtle nudge. A quiet tune from a flute or woodwind of some kind pricks your ears as you enter. It isn't some dreary stone guardhouse, you find yourself at the top of a landing with a row of coat racks, overlooking a homely little tavern.

Looking around in surprise, the lanterns illuminate a fairly large lower floor festooned with tables and packed with ponies as well as a smattering of other creatures. A motley looking gang of griffons is congregated in one of the back corners, half of them playing cards while the others hold animated conversation. There are even a pair of buffalo only a few paces in front of the foot of the stairs on the other side of a spindled railing just near the entrance itself. Scores of ponies gather around long trestle tables on the far side of the room, illuminated by the blaze of the hearth.

The aroma of cooking vegetables, brewing stews, and fresh bread catches you at an instant and injects you with a newfound joy that had been stolen away not long before. A large staircase leads upwards at the back of the room beside the hearth, but the front is dominated by a large oak bar table to the right of the small staircase.

The guard detail's leader smiles at you, “It's not the high-class place that Canterlot's famous for, but it's warm and pretty fun. Besides, this is technically outside the wall, so long as you stay in this half. Since most of these ponies here are probably waiting for the train, you'll know as soon as there's news. Oh, and your friends will get the message you're here, too. I'm sorry about all this. It's just, you know, technicalities. C'mon, let me buy you a drink before I go back on watch.” The taciturn stallion gives you a lighthearted pat on the back before heading down the steps.

“Sure... why not.”

That sums it up nicely.

You shake your head and make your way down the steps as well.

Act 3- Chapter 4: Incidents

Incidents

Proofread by TehSporkBandit

A dreadful sigh of irritation passes your lips and you gingerly rub your forehead. The onset of a migraine pulses through your temples as if your head was caught in a vice. “No no, take it all back. It's not going to fit anyway."

I have no idea what Celestia was thinking, and I don't think he does either.

The prissy Unicorn stallion simply snorts in frustration, “Pardon me sir, but you still have to sign for it." He places a hoof on the oilcloth wrapped bundle inside a large white oak chest. The material slips, showing the perfectly burnished brass and silver champron headpiece for an Alicorn or Unicorn. Carved sigils, decorative etching, and reliefs adorn the plate of metal armour that would encase an Equestrian's face. It is too big for you, and the plates that run down their neck would reach to your mid back.

Of course, the wide-eyed fascination from other ponies at seeing the bright plumes and regal outfit weighed heavily on you as half the tavern oggles the outfit, “This is the last piece I have to sign for, right?”

“As before, sir, you have to sign here that you returned it to the armoury vis-a-vie me, and I will inspect it and countersign that it is in full working condition with no damage or faults." There are more than a dozen components to the regalia that had taken the same prolonged procedure. Worse yet, the pony hadn’t cut corners by allowing you to just sign your name on every sheet of parchment or let you go with just one affidavit affirming that you would take care of the armour to the best of your ability.

Behold, pony bureaucracy.

You scribble a signature at the bottom of another long strip of parchment affixed with royal seals. “That's it, then?” It gets a swift nod. “Good, then I'll just be over there and give you more space to work and pack up. There’s, um, no spear or anything else you’re holding back, right?”

The stallion blinks, bright magenta eyes staring into yours as if asking 'are you serious?' “I'm the armourer, if you want a weapon then you should talk to a bladesmith or a spearwright. I can furnish a list of reputable artisans, if you wish.”

“Thanks.” You move on after swiping your drink, leaving the pony to pack up. The tavern door creaks open at the urging of the winter winds where it clacks against the stone wall loud enough to draw your attention. Three ponies enter, two Unicorn mares and a stallion, trailing strands of fashionable scarves and cloaks puffed up with layers of faux-fur. It isn't who you were hoping to see, but the reaction has become reflexive.

As you sigh and settle in to a seat by the wall, you flip out your phone and covertly check the time. The clock was still more than seven hours off, but you haven’t bothered to reset the only link you have to your home. It has been almost eleven hours since you had been ushered into the royal throne room and then all but shoved from it. You have come through relatively unscathed, but your friends are still out there somewhere. The voicemail message cycles again:

Every single band of patrons that wandered in dashed your hopes even further.

Dashed', huh? Speaking of which, where is she?

The other four aren't incompetent, Rainbow had seemed trustworthy enough to get things done, too. Something had to have happened to delay them.

Please don’t be in prison, I don’t know how to bail you out, and a bribe on a royal IOU might look suspicious.

You sit in a low chair at the back of the tavern, watching over the proceedings and nursing your Blackstrap Special in front of the warming flames of the cozy hearth. The local drink warms your gullet and helps to relax you. The deep chocolaty coloured liquid is light and frothy with a touch of cinnamon, and the distinct taste of buttered rum. All of it is thanks to molasses, milk, and not a whole lot else. It’s a weird idea, but surprisingly good.

A deep sigh sweeps over you; it conjures feelings somewhere between nervous anticipation and irritable malcontent. It’s hard to feel the real camaraderie that so many of the ponies display. It had been fun watching them as a distraction, but like the bloom on a new apple, it was polished off quick enough.

Great, now I'm sounding like Applejack.

Well, it’s better than just cursing like an old codjer in the park. Given how long you've spent with these ponies, and around the Apples in particular, something was bound to rub off. Staring into the deep dark depths of the mug, you take another sip as the door bursts open.

“What the hay is this? We're out busting our chops and you're here relaxing?" The sudden accusative rasp sends the drink down the wrong tube, leaving you spluttering and coughing. Thumping your chest to clear your lungs, you glare at Rainbow Dash as she bulls her way through the door. Her eyes narrow, her nose wrinkles up, and her forelocks hang down over her eyes as she peers down her nose at you while cantering over. Her frown quickly begins to falter around the edges.

“Where were..." a fit of coughing interrupts you along with the amused chortle of the Pegasus.

“Found 'em!" Rainbow shouts back over her shoulder and quickly taps the table twice, “Hold that thought, champ, I'm going to get a drink. Spot me ten bits and I'll tell you about the daring, dashing, and otherwise death-defying tale of how I, the greatest flyer ever, pulled off the perfect plan." She leans nonchalantly on the table, staring at her hoof and dusting her chest off like some '30s gangster.

You swallow and smirk before pushing over a slip of paper. Rainbow eyes the scrap of parchment, looking it over and quirking a brow. “It's a writ of something-or-other. Just take it and give it to the bartender then tell them what you want, it's on the Princesses’ tab. You can get what you want because I, Squire of Equestria, say you can... so long as you give me all the details.”

“Hah, anything? Sweeeet, box-seat tickets at the aerodrome for life!" Rainbow snatches the script up in her teeth and bolts off. The rest of your group tumbles forward through the open door with a chilly breath of the wind at their backs. With a warble and a shiver, Rarity glares daggers at Rainbow who blithely blurts out, “Took your time with all that junk, huh? Hey, you want anything? Rightly's got a tab.”

The irritable Unicorn keeps her stony glare, “Well, you could have helped us carry some of that 'junk', you know.”

“I was hopping around all day getting everything ready and what kind of thanks do I get?" Rainbow's mock-hurt display by the bar is enough to draw some attention.

The fashionista blinks, “I just said ‘thank you’ ten minutes ago!”

“Yeah," she bobs her head towards you, “but he didn't hear it. That's fine, I'll just have to tell the whoooole story over again. Bam," she slaps the script down as the bartender, a mousey looking Earth-pony mare, stares at the mostly obscured slip, “I’ll have whatever he's having with some crunchy marshmallow things.”

“Oh, thank goodness you're here. It’s really getting cold outside and I’d hate for anypony to be left out in the snow." Fluttershy is the last pony in line so she quickly closes the door and darts back to rejoin the quartet.

Pinkie is the second down the stairs as Rarity lingers by the stairwell. The upbeat earth-mare smiles and makes a beeline towards you. The last few steps are covered by a single springing leap, “Ooo, so where were you? We looked everywhere, well, almost everywhere. In fact, sorta nearly lots of places, I was hoping you didn't have amnesia and wandered off in a daze, wandering the streets of Canterlot, only to be lost in a deep dark magic cave beneath the city streets, transporting you to a magical land of fairies and evil enchanters, from which you could see no hope of escape ever agaaaaain!" Each building point draws towards a practically screamed crescendo before she beams and switches to her natural bouncy tone, “So we kept looking.”

“Oh, you were worried?”

Pinkie blinks, “Worried? Are you kidding?! Those are how all the best stories start! I was going to be jealous if that’s what happened.”

“Oh… well, who told you about me? Did the guards find you?" You cock a brow as it doesn't seem like coincidence that brings them here.

“Spike told us." Applejack shakes her head with a chortle.

“Speaking of which,” you blink and quickly look around, “where is Spike?”

Rarity had lingered by the stairs, apparently just unbuttoning her chiffon cloak and hanging it and a pair of scarves on a coat peg with a huff. “Last time we spoke, he said that the train would be ready soon, but not by tonight. Never fear, he'll turn up soon.”

“Huh, well, that's alright, then." You tap the mug which makes a light musical chime. It doesn't need any extra incentive to look appealing to Pinkie. With a bit of a grin you ask, “So, did you find the book?”

“Uh-huh." She follows the mug intently as you move it back and forth.

“And you brought it with you?”

“Yep." She shakes her head with that same bright grin. A faint flop of pages catches your attention as she shakes loose a small green and white pocketbook from beneath her mane.

“D-did you just hide that book in your hair?”

“Yah-hah." Pinkie scoops up the book and places it on the table, warranting a bit of an absent blink. “Where else would I keep it, silly? Ponies would expect a book to be in a book bag after all, and this is a secret.”

It’s impressive either way. “Have fun." You push the treacle drink to her as she takes a seat.

“So, why are ya' stayin' here instead of some fancy hotel?" Applejack hangs up her green and white scarf but keeps her hat. The farmpony's stiff legged limp is noticeable as she ambles towards your table. Burden down by a saddlepack, it isn't too heavy looking yet as she eases into a seat she hesitates, standing again before her hind leg quickly gives out. A quick gasp passes her lips as her bandaged leg reflexively kicks, scraping against the floor. Amid her pained breathing you can see everypony staring.

You fold your hands and give her a quick quirked brow, “AJ, are you-”

The blue Pegasus slips in next to you with a bump of her hip, “Shove over. Sooo, guess who made sure the whole plan went off without a hitch?" Rainbow asks with a smugness that belies any answer while setting her drink down with a loud 'bang'. Still, she cuts you off and her hardened glare says 'don't bring it up'.

Applejack smirks, “Rainbow somehow managed to cobble it t'gether." She turns to fetch something from her saddlebacks.

“Gee, thanks, AJ." The Pegasus scowls and flicks her tail with a snort.

“Yer welcome. Now," her sarcastic monotone subsides as she takes advantage of the lull. Unfolding a long parchment scroll she leans over the table, “here we got just about everythin' that a pony'll need fer a week." The list is exceptionally long and itemized by name, quantity, then weight. Looking the list over, it’s obvious you'd made the right choice putting both Rainbow and Applejack in charge of their respective tasks. Sensing your hesitation, Applejack continues, “'Course, if'n we stay longer the list'll get a might bit longer, too. Gets more complicated takin' care of ponies.”

“Um, if you don't mind me asking, where have you been all day, Rightly?" Fluttershy's voice barely punctures the noisy ambiance of the gatehouse tavern.

“Oh, well, I went to the palace to speak with the princesses as planned.”

Rainbow quickly cut you off again, “She give you any hints? Are we waiting for some royal guards, or Crystal guards, or maybe some sellswords?" Rarity makes a distraught 'eeugh' at the prospect of sellswords.

Rainbow, that's getting annoying.

You collect yourself and start again after clearing your throat. “Ahem, and I was promptly told to return Twilight Sparkle and I'm now a squire of the royal court-”

Rarity draws a short surprised gasp and beams, “My-my, a squire? That's absolutely fanta-”

“In temporary exile." You interrupt Rarity just like she did to you.

“Exile?!" Four voices ask at once.

You shrug and quickly try to phrase it properly. “Sort of. I'm not supposed to come back to Canterlot until we find Twilight, but this isn't technically Canterlot. Celestia wasn't well, Luna was even worse when I saw them.”

“... Worse than Twilight looked?" Fluttershy poses the question hovering on everypony's lips.

“Yes." Your friends exchange a number of concerned and confused stares.

“Fluttershy, " you begin, which snaps the ponies out of their glazed stupor, “did you get the maps?”

“Oh, well, yes. At least, I hope so." She trails off as your expression falls at the delay. She reaches into her saddlebag and retrieves a half-dozen folded up maps. Opening them up, you take them in at a glance.

There aren't just the usual boundary maps and survey maps, but a topographical map, and a weather map with conditions and precipitation with an attached list that looked like a full schedule. “A weather map? This is all, nicely done, very nicely done, Fluttershy.”

“Oh, it's nothing." Her false modesty was expected, but given the volume and detail of the information she's just provided, it’s a little irritating. “Rainbow Dash did a lot of the work. And she got the weather map from the Canterlot Weather Bureau.”

The approval and support seemingly gave Rainbow license to keep her cocky gleam. “Well, I saw her hanging around one of the book tables, couldn't make a good move, so I decided to, heh, upset their book cart." One pony needed to be at the centre of attention, the other avoided the spotlight at all costs. As such, everything got done.

Grinning from ear to ear you know Pinkie had come through, as did Fluttershy, Applejack, and Rainbow Dash. It leaves one critical area left. “Rarity, did you find anything?”

“Indeed, I did." Rarity cringes despite her proclamation. She quickly rifles through her bag for a moment before tossing two manilla folders across the table.

You open the far larger first folder and peruse the files, prompting Rainbow to peek over your shoulder with that obnoxious slurping of her drink. Rarity hisses, “They're ghouls. Every one of those so-called detectives. All of them start by saying that it was something they couldn't talk about, but then their real interest peeks out. Suddenly, they have an opinion on every every drop of blood and every horrible-horrible photo. It was awful, simply terrible. I do so hope you appreciate the effort it took to get these. I don't think I'll be able to sleep for a month.”

“Alright, lets see." You begin to scan the pictures with a breath in your ear; Rainbow's cursory interest in the morbid pictures is certainly there. But there is a nervous little hesitation as you flip to the first picture: a ragged cut and a torn-off strip of flesh near a pony's spine exposes some of their innards. Rainbow flinches and looks away, keeping her eyes averted, which you really wish you could do. Knowing that it’s a thinking, breathing, living individual capable of reason and every other faculty makes the species difference non-existent. The dry anatomical charts and reports give way to more macabre photographs. Each photo has a relative date and location.

“Vanhoover, Vanderhoof, White Tail Woods, all west, but moving east." You keep looking through the pictures. One catches your eye, matted hay and dim lights illuminate awkwardly daubed on glyphs. Whatever it is, blood, paint, or dye, it dribbled lightly and is applied carefully but imprecisely. You had seen it before:

Befæsten fífirúnwitan ic ánþing gebannum
fífincundnessa ond bréosthord
gebrogdene fífigéosceaftas bótum ætstalas
hwonne áne ácordaþ, sy ácumendlicnessa
Féower

Upon meeting Celestia for the first time, she’d handed you that scrap of paper: ic ánþing gebannum. That phrase was written somewhere else, too, now that you think about it. “You got the right ones, Rarity.”

It was in the Alicorn crypt that Olav found.

“Thank Celestia." She remarks. Casting a glance up, Rarity's shoulders slump in relief. Even her brow seems to relax as if she had just left an incredibly stressful outing which it no doubt was if she had to hear and look over the pictures, too.

“Wait." Switching two pictures around, you'd assumed it was different angles but it isn't quite right. “These are separate crime photos." Your eyes start scanning the pictures again. “There are three here with ‘Féower’ but only one with, 'An', ‘þréo,’ and 'Twá'. Who would leave the same note six times with only one repeated?”

Your question is, at first, answered only with silence. “Different warnin's?" Applejack finally breaks that awkwardness with an absent shrug.

A twitch of your mouth gets you to ponder that while voicing a non-committal 'hmm'.

“Once or twice maybe, but three times with so little difference?" Rarity interjects and looks over. At least it’s stimulating some thought.

Rainbow Dash shifts in her seat and pensively adds, “There's also a lot of easier ways to make a warning.”

“Yah-huh! Like, well, biiiiig big letters, or a big flashy symbol, or a big flashy symbol with letters." Pinkie is right about that, too, “why write five funny lines instead of just quickly drawing a skull?”

“She's got a point." You turn to the most magically talented individual at the table, “Rarity, could it be part of a spell?”

Rarity takes a moment to ponder that while daintily biting her lip. “Well, this isn't my exact area of expertise, of course, but I could guess. Magic is written down so a user can learn it and comprehend it. A spellbook is like any other textbook. I can't recall ever hearing of a spell requiring something to be physically painted. Hmm, is that the only difference?”

A thin 'hush' from Fluttershy garners both your attention and the Unicorn's, “Maybe we shouldn't talk about this here. It might upset the other patrons.”

You mutter a quick 'sorry' as does the fashionista. The pictures might be disturbing, but Fluttershy is right, talking about something that sensitive is bound to cause problems.

“It’s too late to be dinner, and too early to be breakfast, frankly I’m at a loss as to what to call it, but whatever it is I’m sure I can find us something delectable for our repast. Likewise, the accommodations might be a pedestrian but it shall have to do. Never fear, I’ll make all the arrangements." Rarity reluctantly stands.

Hoping to stay in the royal palace, right?

Pinkie quietly groans while looking back towards the fire, music, and patrons talking and having fun. There isn't much to be done until Spike comes with any word on when the train will be back on the rails.

“Actually, it's all paid for, Rarity. Nice thing about being a squire by charge of Celestia. No point in you going upstairs already, Pinkie, or you, Fluttershy, Dash, Rarity." You look at each pony in turn. “If you want something to take your mind off it, we'll talk and get the most important parts down, then you can go back into town. I'm sure there's enough distractions. Plus, we'll need to send out for everything on AJ's list. I'm sure if we go out for it though, it'll be paid back later." Maybe shopping will provide a good distraction.

Reaching for your pocket, you fish out your grey canvas sachet and listen to the slight jingle of bits and crinkle of paper. “I don't have much on me besides these, but this will go towards it if they don't take this." You scatter a handful of bits on the table then hold out the strips of promissory script. It isn't a significant pile, no more than twenty or thirty bits and a dozen slips of paper, but the golden coins would be worth a fortune back home.

The white Unicorn almost seems to shy away from it, then nods with a sigh, taking the money reluctantly. “I'm sure I can make it go a fairly long way and I'll have a chat with the bartender. We'll let them keep one of these and just write up an account of anything we need tonight and tomorrow so we can keep just one script for that, then another two for train passage.”

There are a few awkward pauses before another clatter of coins falls to the tabletop. Pinkie just smiles, “Just make sure there's a few tasty things in there, too. ‘Kay?" It gets a wide-eyed smile from Rarity. It only takes a few seconds before three more rattles scatter a few more collections of coins to the ever growing pile. Rarity has enough to get the best provisions and equipment now, even if all the script runs out.

Looking around though, you know what the first worry on earth would be, and you don't want it to be an issue here either. “Rainbow, would you mind going shopping with her?”

“Huh? Why?" A blink just gets her to look wide-eyed in your direction, as if wondering what you know that she doesn't.

“Protection. Well, and we need the strongest pony to help give her a hand with everything, don't we?" Stroking her ego might as well be leading her around by a leash. That puffed-out chest and bright smile says she likes what she hears even if she'd have rather stuck around drinking, eating, and getting up to whatever mischief she could with Pinkie.

“Yeah, I guess Rarity might need a bit of muscle. Just no window shopping, get in, get out.”

“Fine." Rarity reluctantly concedes that with a conciliatory murmur, “It's too cold to stay out for long, anyway.”

“Applejack, if you want, you can go upstairs and get some res-”

“No can do, suga'cube." She waves her hoof, casual and stubborn in the same speck of time, “Ah'm fixin' ta get this all ready. And ah'm gonna' do just that.”

“Alright, need help to get upstairs?”

She finally glances back, revealing a moody flare in her narrowed eyes. “Ah ain't no inv’lid." The cold and commanding tone is enough to split stone. Rainbow's attempted warning really was fairly well-meant after all, “Ah'm stayin' here for a little bit anyhow.”

Verbal acknowledgment dies in your throat as you gather up the folders and tap them in a pseudo-professional mien. “Okay, Rarity, tell us when everything's set up. I guess just meet here and leave a message for Spike. But you're staying here, right, Pinkie?”

“I'll stay up and wait for him." Pinkie grins and tips the rest of the mug to get every last drop.

“Of course." The snow-white Unicorn bobs her head and sweeps the collected bits into a small silk pouch before leaving with Rainbow Dash in tow. “Now, Rainbow, dear, it's not really window shopping if you have to get the absolute best; it's wisely pricing out the best and ensuring that everything is just so.”

Rainbow's sigh of frustration melds with a mumbled, “I'm already regretting this." She unenthusiastically shuffles towards the door, biting her scarf and tossing it around her shoulders.

I'm not regretting it one bit.

You smirk and flip open the green and white handbook. “How hard could this be?”

♣

“What in Tartarus am I doing?" You grumble and scratch out another line of hastily scrawled text with a piece of charcoal which snaps and spits up a cloud of black dust. Sucking in a ragged breath of total frustration, you barely keep from growling at each and every little problem which builds up inside you. It’s like a mosquito, that high-pitched whine always hovering around your ear as one thing or another comes up in sequence and sends your mind off track.

You are tired, and the atmosphere of a tavern with music, not to mention Pinkie organizing a line dance, had been counterproductive to actually learning. You wanted to head out towards Vanhoover and get to the bottom of this. However, the puzzling primer isn't unlocking as many mysteries as you had hoped. The primer itself isn't entirely helpful; it’s just telling you how the language is put together in thoroughly unintuitive academic terms.

Some progress has been made, but you are no Twilight Sparkle and neither are you Twila Smythe. With a pencil in hand, spare parchment rolls under your elbow, and the splayed open primer on your lap, you try to decipher the language. All that effort results in seven pages of discombobulated notes and a dozen crumpled balls of paper.

Another reflexive glance up towards the door doesn't help matters; Spike still hasn't arrived. Applejack might be right next to you, close enough to hear the puffs of breath when she snorted after finding another dead end path, but she had her back to the door so you are stuck on sentry duty. Pinkie is curled up in a cozy little ball near the fire, an empty mug rolling in front of her each time she lets out a breath.

Shaking your head, the only sound is the crackle of the fire lapping at the edges of the hearth and the occasional hiss of a tallow candle in front of you. Rarity and Dash aren't back yet, either. Fluttershy's quietness makes her easily overlooked and her forehead is already resting on the table; each steady breath is too rhythmic and calm to be awake and her ears occasionally twitch with a snap or crackle from the otherwise quiet tavern. It is well after midnight, you probably should sleep, too, but the primer practically mocks you as you glance at the almost meaningless exercises and linguistic babble. You can probably understand it all in time, but time was something you can't afford.

Looking closely again you sigh and cover your face with both hands. “Hard work, suga'cube?" Applejack must have let the pencil drop on her foreleg so you hadn't heard it.

“Yeah, it's tough. Really tough. Worse yet, it's just the old version of a language I speak too. It’s just, well, all weird." The language was supposed to be English, but it sounded German:

Add in a few 'mein herr's' and I bet most people wouldn't know the difference.

“Well, why not focus on the cases?" She hisses and made to move before you pull your chair over to her instead. A swift smile of gratitude lights up her face before she extinguishes it and sets her hat aside. Her intent stare towards those folders prompts you to pick them up and quietly shuffle them in front of you so you could both see them.

“Alright," you begin and look at her intent gaze as she stares at the folders and shifts in her seat to favour her uninjured flank. “Lets see what we've got here." you open the folder and quickly breeze through its contents:

Whistling Hills, Vanhoover, 53rd of Summer:
1 instances of murder, 1 instance of kidnapping, 1 instance of assault.

Reports indicate that the Glow family just south of Vanhoover was visited by relatives who found the scene. The premises had been entered and the door left open. The scent of decay was reported to the local constabulary. Constable Long Arm and Constable Silver arrive and discover the body of Golden Glow at the top of the stairs. The Pegasus mare sustained two deep gashes to the face and one to the left withers before succumbing to blood loss. A Unicorn mare, Willowsway, is discovered in the inside upstairs bedroom with a severe contusion to the head consisted with a twisted metal hinge from a dislodged door.

Witness reports that the doors were not barred. Golden Glow went to investigate the front door. Willowsway was told to get Winsome Grey and head upstairs, to which she complied. A struggle erupted downstairs and several screams were heard. The upstairs door was battered down and a bent metal hinge struck her in the side of the head, piercing the skull. Willowsway is expected to make a full recovery. Winsome Grey has not been found and the witness can give no description of her assailant.

A message is found in the downstairs hallway several feet from the door:

Befæsten fífirúnwitan ic ánþing gebannum
fífincundnessa ond bréosthord
gebrogdene fífigéosceaftas bótum ætstalas
hwonne áne ácordaþ, sy ácumendlicnessa
þréo

The daubing compound is found to be a mix of liquified west coast red clay mixed with blood.

Willowsway is described as a middle aged, thin framed Unicorn mare with a russet coat, curly emerald mane and tail, and teal eyes. Her cutie mark depicts a mortar and pestle. Golden Glow is described as a middle aged, medium framed Pegasus mare with a golden yellow coat, wavy grey mane and tail, and emerald eyes. Winsome Grey is described as a young, heavy framed Unicorn colt with a grey coat, straight platinum white mane and tail, and blue eyes. His cutie mark depicts a pale crescent moon.

Prairie Dale Park, Vanderhoof, 1st of Autumn:
1 instance of murder, 1 instance of kidnapping.

Initial reports were filed for a pair of missing sisters on the 79th day of Summer. Chiffon Quilts and Paisley Quilts. Later, the body of Chiffon, a Unicorn, is in the open several yards from a walking path where visible signs of a scuffle drew a passerby; there was no attempt made to hide the scene or move the body. She was killed with the single stroke of a heavy bladed weapon. Paisley Quilts has not been found. Inspector Brackish makes notation that the bladed weapon had a great deal of cutting power and might be from an axe. Inspector Keenly dismissed this as axes lack the thin cutting blade and suggests a large Griffonic butcher knife or perhaps even a sword.

A message was found written on a nearby outcropping fifteen feet from the body (refer to Whistling Hills case for similar details):

Befæsten fífirúnwitan ic ánþing gebannum
fífincundnessa ond bréosthord
gebrogdene fífigéosceaftas bótum ætstalas
hwonne áne ácordaþ, sy ácumendlicnessa
Féower

Chiffon Quilts is described as a younger, medium framed, Unicorn mare with a pale green coat, curly golden mane and tail, and magenta eyes. Her Cutie mark depicts a ball of yarn and crossed knitting needles. Paisley Quilts is described as an older, thin framed, Unicorn filly with a raspberry red coat, curly golden mane and tail, and russet eyes. Her cutie mark depicts a quilted clover leaf.

The Hoofington Post has learned of the incident and several others in its wake despite the files being opened only to senior detectives by royal decree. The murderer has been dubbed 'The Unicorn Slasher.'

North Run, White Tail Woods, 45th of Autumn:
1 instance of murder.

Running of the leaves contestant stumbled upon brambles near a wood shed. A wounded Unicorn mare named Many Bags was found with multiple deep contusions on her neck. A series of superficial cuts were initially determined to be from an animal attack, but a single deep wound between her shoulder blades is the evident cause of death. Fragmented iron flecks found in the wound indicate it was from an iron device and the depth and width are consistent with an axe. The victim dies in transit to Vanhoover south hospital.

A single message is found written in the dirt not far from the scene of the initial attack (refer to Whistling Hills and Prairie Dale cases for similar details):

Befæsten fífirúnwitan ic ánþing gebannum
fífincundnessa ond bréosthord
gebrogdene fífigéosceaftas bótum ætstalas
hwonne áne ácordaþ, sy ácumendlicnessa
Féower

Many Bags is described as being an older, medium framed Unicorn mare with a dull orange coat, pale grey mane and tail, and magenta eyes. Her cutie mark depicts a pair of chiffon and canvas bags.

Mount Vermin Park, Tall Tale, 56th of Autumn:
1 instance of murder

A sightseeing pony named Shutterbug finds body of Unicorn stallion in tulip field due to a distinct odour. The victim is a local named Highbrow who lives with his new wife Sea Gold. There are no signs of a struggle but it is apparent he was pursued for a distance of perhaps thirty paces. Highbrow was killed with three to five blows to the neck resulting in massive blood loss and physical trauma to the spine. The wound dimensions are consistent with a blow from an axe. Several superficial hooking lacerations found on his flanks. Local wildlife are expected to be cause. Time of death may be as early as the 40th of Autumn. Sea Gold returned a week later on the 63rd of Autumn after a vacation to visit family.

Inspector Brackish finds a message near the original site of the pursuit (refer to Whistling Hills, Prairie Dale, and North Run cases for similar details):

Befæsten fífirúnwitan ic ánþing gebannum
fífincundnessa ond bréosthord
gebrogdene fífigéosceaftas bótum ætstalas
hwonne áne ácordaþ, sy ácumendlicnessa
Féower

Highbrow is described as a middle-aged, heavy framed Unicorn stallion with a deep blue coat , curly smoke grey mane and tail, and green eyes. His cutie mark depicts a black top hat resting on a silver cane.

Vanhoover Central, Vanhoover, 2nd of Winter:
1 instance of murder.

A local earth-pony, Prospect Peat, discovers body of a Unicorn mare in alleyway. The victim, Hail Bop, was left in plain sight and died due to multiple blows to the back of the neck. The debilitating strike may have come from an ambush but there were signs of a struggle. The body was found promptly and there was little time for decay or contamination, but several raven feathers were found at the scene. Next of kin have been notified.

A message was written on the alleyway wall in the victim's blood (refer to Whistling Hills, et. al, cases for similar details):

Befæsten fífirúnwitan ic ánþing gebannum
fífincundnessa ond bréosthord
gebrogdene fífigéosceaftas bótum ætstalas
hwonne áne ácordaþ, sy ácumendlicnessa
Féower

Hail Bop is described as an older, medium framed Unicorn filly with a deep violet coat, curly grey and white streaked mane and tail, and fuchsia eyes. Her cutie mark depicts a single telescope.

A bounty of 500 bits has been offered by the Gentlemare's Axillary of Vanhoover as a result for any information leading to an arrest.

“Hmm." You show Applejack the images every time, and while she looks unsettled, she does look them over with a cursory glance and a wince. You shrug, then just point out, “It's weird.”

She nods then points at the other folder, “Where's that one?”

“Hmm?" You look at it and quickly open that folder with a 'ah' of recollection, having passed by the rather small folder in comparison.

Ice Wine Farm, Vanhoover North, 41st of Summer:
1 instances of kidnapping, 1 instance of assault.

First responders were called to a home north of Vanhoover after reports of screaming came from a seasonal home. Constable Outreach and Inspector Maple were dispatched from Vanhoover North Precinct. Entering the home, they made their way to the basement and were ambushed. Constable Outreach was severely wounded in the altercation and suffered a debilitating wound to the back, leaving him paralyzed. Constable Outreach claims he saw another pony in the basement and that they were attacked by a large giant, perhaps a minotaur. Constable Outreach has been admitted to Riverview Institution in Vanhoover for observationon. Inspector Maple has yet to be found, though the presence of blood suggests there was an altercation. Writing was found on the basement wall near a work bench:

Befæsten fífirúnwitan ic ánþing gebannum
fífincundnessa ond bréosthord
gebrogdene fífigéosceaftas bótum ætstalas
hwonne áne ácordaþ, sy ácumendlicnessa
án

A second nearly identical message was found written on the opposite wall near the stairs

Befæsten fífirúnwitan ic ánþing gebannum
fífincundnessa ond bréosthord
gebrogdene fífigéosceaftas bótum ætstalas
hwonne áne ácordaþ, sy ácumendlicnessa
Twá

Constable Outreach is described as a young, medium framed Earth-pony stallion with a light blue coat, straight beige mane and tail, and green eyes. His cutie mark depicts a pair of hoofcuffs. Inspector Maple is described as a middle-aged, medium framed Unicorn mare with a taupe coat, slightly curled grey mane and tail, and blue eyes. Her cutie mark depicts a single red maple leaf.

“So, that'n should come first." Applejack firmly points at the kidnapping and assault file. “'Cause it happened first.”

“It should... huh, guess they were more focused on the murder links." You shrug and reorganize the file.

“So look at what's different in each'n. What's the thing's that don’t make a lick of sense, and what sounds true?" Applejack gives you a firm tap on your forehead with a hoof and a hoarse whisper, “that'll knock some sense inta' ya. Besides, that's fer that grab on the train.”

You rub the tender spot in the centre of your forehead, “Ow.”

Author's Note

Alriiight, another week, another chapter. Well, decided to go and make 'thought' into its own paragraphs. I'm actually really liking the effect, so I'll probably go back through and change those up in the past chapters too. It just makes it cleaner. The case file 'quote' thing is really solitary in that respect but it's a neat little feature. Admittedly this whole Author's note section now sorta looks like a case file :twilightblush:

Anyhow, hope it's alright and I'll see you next time!

Act 3- Chapter 5: The Plan

The Plan

Proofread by TehSporkBandit

An, Twá, féower, þréo.

What the hell is that?

You repeat it aloud with a last sigh of frustration, “An, tway, fe-o-er, uh..." You flip a few pages looking for the pronunciation chart, “Thuh-ray-o..." The strange accent is hard to get right. It goes on for about a minute as the words blend together with the sound of a tapping hoof.

“Suga'cube, ah said look at the things that don't make sense, not 'keep repeatin' the things that don't make sense.'" Applejack shakes her head in mock-despair.

You skip through the primer, letting the pages flip through your fingers with a less than satisfying patter, “Yeah, well, that's the only thing that's really dif-" you stop and look. “The 'combination of numerals: ordinal and cardinal.'”

“Well, ah' don't think you mean the bird." Applejack says as she looks over again.

“I don't think they mean the bird either. 'An, Twá, þréo, féower.' It means one, two, three, four... counting, it's counting something. Of course it's counting!"

The sudden outburst draws a groggy gasp from Fluttershy who was resting with her cheek against the table. You quiet yourself as she nuzzles the tabletop and settles back to sleep.

Licking your lips, you lean closer and whisper, “‘Fif’, ‘fif’ was in that message, too. Fifirun... oh, maybe that's not... hmm," you look a little more closely at your scrawled message as Applejack cranes her neck towards you to see the paper as well:

Befæsten fífirúnwitan ic ánþing gebannum
fífincundnessa ond bréosthord
gebrogdene fífigéosceaftas bótum ætstalas
hwonne áne ácordaþ, sy ácumendlicnessa

“So, we've got: 'fífirúnwitan, fífincundnessa, fífigéosceafta.'”

Applejack just lofts a brow, “So what's a 'Fiff-er-oon-white-an' or 'fiff-i-cund-ness-ah'?" Each word is spoken slowly and with care so her accent wouldn’t interfere.

“I’ve got no idea." Despite that blockage, you still can't erase the smile from your face, “But now we know there's five of them. Oh, and maybe 'ánþing' is 'one' of something and 'áne' too. The whole phrase just gets strung into a compound word if it's one 'thing'. Kinda' makes sense actually.”

She twitches her muzzle, “Maybe it means fifth?”

It sounds plausible so you investigate further, “Maybe." Looking on the rest of the page you point to the aged yellowing paper, “No. If it was it should be 'Fifta' with a bar thingie over the 'i'.”

“Over the 'i'?" Applejack repeats as you realize she doesn't understand English in much the same way you hadn't understood Equestrian. In fact, there is no direct translation given they just had sounds in their language.

“Yeah, it’s… just trust me on this one." She nods and you keep reading while flipping over the six photos that capture the scrawled phrases.

“So you understand it now?" The mare ventures quietly so as to not wake the sleeping Pegasus beside you.

“Well, I still don't quite understand the sentence: 'like neuter nouns, they are sometimes adjectives, but left undeclined and govern the genative.'" You had been reading about some of it previously, but the actual sentence still felt as thick and academically impenetrable as a PhD thesis paper on particle physics.

“That more 'fancy' talk?”

“Apparently not. I'd have to read more to be sure. Ugh, Twilight would love this, I just know it. It's like an equation and she knows the math." The ensuing silence draws only the faint crackle from the fireplace and the squeaking sound of a glass that the bartender dutifully dries.

After a few moments, Applejack pipes up, “Is that all that's different?".

“Uh... pretty much. 'Befæsten fífirúnwitan ic ánþing gebannum,' it means ‘with five-”something” I one-”something”.... something... I don't know. I'm just guessing at this point, but it's a start. It has to do with five.”

“So why is 'three' mentioned three times?” She taps her hoof on the three pictures containing the phrase.

“I haven't got to that, or the full translation."

Applejack pauses for a moment then looks over asking, “Well, he’s been after Unicorns, right? Maybe he’s after five particular ponies?”

“Yeah but what f…” you blink as a rumbling voice rolls through your mind:

‘The heads of five leaders bow to their fallen queen.’

Of course.

You beam and she just pats your shoulder with a hoof, grinning all the while. You stare into her emerald eyes, they reflect the warmth of accomplishment as if happy to see you succeed. It’s surprisingly supportive-

“Ahem, missing something, are we?" Rarity, Rainbow Dash, and Spike stand at the open door, framed by the faded glow of the streetlamps outside. Blinking and looking up, you twitch your nose and lips as if to say 'huh' in defense. Rarity, the lead of the little expedition, slowly lets a smirk spread to the corners of her muzzle. “My-my, that's a lovely shade of rose ‘à votre visage’.”

R-rose? No, I'm not blushing, why the... oh hell, am I?

You swiftly look at Applejack who just smiles. There was no answer in those honest emerald eyes, just a reflected kindness. Again, looking too long would surely draw even more snide remarks from Rainbow or flippant suggestions from Rarity, so you turn to face at Rainbow. She smirks and starts chortling while that insipid Unicorn canters inside, followed by Spike who staggers in under the weight of an overladen mountaineering pack.

Rainbow Dash's cackle doesn't abate, “Y-heh, you look like a frog that swallowed its tongue." Still laughing, she kicks the door closed. The resonating thump shakes the frame, sending Fluttershy bolt upright with a gasp while Pinkie rolls onto her back and kicks a leg out with a snort.

“I wasn't red, was I?" You ask while turning from the bleary-eyed Fluttershy back to Applejack.

“Uhh, no?" It carries unasked question 'why?' Frantically glaring over Applejack's shoulder at the Unicorn, you can't help but grind your teeth and purse your lip.

Thanks, Rarity, absolutely wonderful. You're just screwing with my mind now, aren't you?

“Good mooor..." Fluttershy's greeting swiftly dissolves into a yawn.

“Look, I just didn't know you were there, that's all. I didn't want to wake Fluttershy or Pinkie Pie." You make a quick gesture to both ponies in question as if to say 'see what you've done?'

Pinkie rolls over, cracking one eye open to survey the world from upside down. Moments later, she drags herself to her hooves and unsteadily meanders towards you in a sleepy daze, “But you knew I was here, right? Oh no! Did you forget?!" Her voice cracks in alarm as her eyes pop open and her hoof shoots out to touch your forehead with an overly enthusiastic 'clock'. “Is all the pain and wooziness coming back? Need a bucket?”

Pinkie's tongue pokes out from the side of her mouth, inspecting every single reaction as she pokes and prods your face. Gingerly warding off her probing hooves you nod, “I'm fine, Pinkie. Yes, I knew you were there.”

The oblivious Unicorn must have seen the look because her smile softens into something less smug, “Sorry, dear, it was just too good to resist.”

“Resist what?" Applejack looks over as the pair of ponies and the dragon cross the quiet tavern's main floor towards your table. Rainbow Dash is the first to heave herself down with a sigh.

“He just looked like he fell asleep with his eyes open for a second. That’s all" Spike remarks before joyfully smiling at you. His spikes dip, his eyes aren't glowing, and his breath hisses out in belabored wheezes as he lets go of the overfilled bag. After mopping his brow he limply settles into his seat, “Did you find any more clues?”

“Maybe. It's hard to say but we figured out they're-”

“Pssst." Fluttershy gestures around the quiet but not entirely deserted tavern, “I really think we should talk about this upstairs. It's not, well, nice to frighten the ponies out here." You nod and gather up the photos.

“Oh c’mon I just sat down.” Rainbow grumbles and crosses her hoovers over her chest with a petulant scowl. “Aaach, fine. Hey, Spike, pick me up a Blackstrap Special, would ya?”

“Cut a Dragon some slack, I've been working my claws to the bone all day.”

A snort and a dismissive flick of her tail is the only response. You loft a brow, “Blew all your bits on some wonderbolt stuff or something?”

“Pah, I wish. Rain cloaks and some warm clothes for when we're supposed to be freezing." She scoffs. “Seriously, you've seen the weather maps, right?" Rainbow interjects with a hazy tone of indignation. A less than impressed groan from Rarity garners nothing more than a murmur under her breath.

Pinkie yawns again and stretches in a few almost feline moves before picking her way toward the bar, “What did everypony want, It's still, like, seven hours ‘till breakfast. Or five for you, Applejack. Laaast call at the trough."

That sounds tremendously unappealing, Pinkie.

“Blackstrap Special." You rattle off.

“Oo, so that's two then." Pinkie looks back over her shoulder.

“Three." The young dragon flicks up three claws and drums on the table.

“I asked for it first." Rainbow replies with a flutter of her wings as she looks over a pair of mountaineering packs and a dreadfully overladen saddlebag practically bursting at the seams. “This junk is going to take up a ton of room.”

“Ahem." Rarity narrows her eyes at hearing the items called 'junk'. The gloomy stare doesn’t deter the Pegasus who sets about preening her pinions, “Pinkie Pie, I happen to know you can get a fairly pleasant iced tea with carob. I think I'd fancy that with a salted rim and a sprig of mint… for a nightcap, of course."

“That actually sounds really good right about now. Two, please." Fluttershy nods.

“Hmm." Applejack muses, “Cherry cordial with a sprig of mint, heated up, topped with real orange juice, pulp and everythin'." You blankly stare at Applejack, having expected some sort of mulled cider or the like.

That came out of left field, but I guess an apple farmer might want something different if she's out.

Everypony began packing up, taking the purchases upstairs. “Spike,” you get the Dragon’s attention, “did you see the Princesses?" He might have been the only other individual to have any contact with them.

He cringes a little while reluctantly getting to his feet again. “Nah, not quite. I’m not sure I want to, they sure were trying to get a letter to Twilight earlier, though. Ugh, Celestia's writing is-”

“Yeah." You nod, knowing exactly what he means as he waggles a claw and adopts a pained expression.

Looking over at the genuine wince of pain from Applejack, you reflexively offer some help, “Ap-" You feel mare's gaze silence you as she tucks the maps away. That stubborn, hard-set, and stern jawed expression speaks for the farmpony: 'don't you dare patronize me.' “Apparently, uh, we have a time where we can take the train tomorrow. Right, Spike?”

“Abooout that. Uh, I guess we can talk about it upstairs." He nervously swings his pack on his back.

“Last one up's a rotten log." Rainbow smirks and scarpers off up the steps with a clamour, leaving you and the others with the heavy items.

“Rainbow, darling, I got us rooms six and nine… she probably didn't hear a word I said." Rarity shakes her head and levitates one of the other mountaineering packs and her own saddlebags, leaving you, Fluttershy, and Pinkie with one massively oversized rucksack. “I couldn't get individual accommodations or one large enough for seven. My apologies." The Unicorn mare smiles back over her shoulder, “But that shouldn't be too terrible. We can fit up to four ponies a room and all our accoutrements with room to spare."

I don't think I like that grin.

“Spike, I've got a question." You shoulder most of the pack with a grunt, nearly overbalancing as the incredible weight shifts.

“Shoot." He smiles, seemingly happy to be of use.

“Seriously, when's the train getting fixed?”

“Weeell..." the dragon starts then pauses.

‘Well’ what, Spike? That lingering note isn't encouraging,

“We don't know. Nopony does. Celestia and Luna haven't approved all the repair efforts yet, so it's being done locally. The Express sure did a lot of damage when it exploded… you were there right? What was it like?”

You twitch your mouth, “It was cold, painful, loud, and disorienting.”

“Oh.” Spike sounded disappointed. No big fireball?” you just shook your head. It was just a solid pillar of steam and shrieking shrapnel. The dragon picks up where he left off, “Anyway, the track past the Unicorn range to Vanhoover is still blocked, and the Saddle Lake line could take anywhere from a few days to a few weeks to fix. Depending on the weather. Sorry." It can't be that hard for him to detect your deflated look.

“We're stuck here? Wait, the Unicorn Range tracks are out? That's north! Since when?" Alarm bells ring in your head.

“Yeah, there was a rock slide. That was the news, like, a few weeks ago when you first showed up." He lofts a brow, “Remember?”

On second thought, it did sound vaguely familiar. It was one of the last headlines you recalled before the Unicorn Slasher story became popular. “That was weeks ago. And it's still not all cleaned up?" It gets a shake of his head. “So is any line working, or is Equestria at a standstill?”

“Oh no, it's just the track here." Spike scratches his head as you all make your way towards the stairs as a rough conglomerated group with Applejack taking up the rear to avoid being seen limping. “There's other lines, we can even take the train from the point just past where the Express was wrecked. I heard they’re making a temporary shack and station there. The tracks there are fine, so it's only a walk in the snow, then we can take the train from there back to Ponyville.”

“And on to Vanhoover.”

It catches the dragon by surprise, “Since when are we going to Vanhoover?"

“We'll talk about it upstairs." Plodding up the stairs, you linger back; half of that was to make sure Applejack is alright and half because the rucksack is awkward and heavy. Pinkie's hoofsteps grow closer as you decide to wait.

The upper floor's walls are all wood with a closed-in utilitarian look of bare timber. Really, it isn't too different from the upstairs hallway of the Apple family farm aside from the fact that this was wider. Looking at the oil lamps and drip pans for any emergency, it all seems like a fire hazard but it holds a rustic patina like a medieval castle.

As Applejack passes by you call back, “Need a hoof, Pinkie?" It only just occured to you how many wooden tankards there would be.

“Nah, I'm good, thanks. Oh, but you can take yours if you're in a hurry." She trots up the steps balancing a tray of steaming wooden mugs on her head.

“I... have reservations about spoiling the balance of a tray of hot beverages perched on a pony's head. No thanks, I'll wait." The bag you're toting is heavy enough.

“Suit yourself." She smiles through a tired but still perky exterior. You and Pinkie form the rearguard as you enter room number 7. You are the last to slip in and take the time to make sure the door is firmly shut behind you. There is a twist lock which is secured as well, the 'click' seeming to draw glances from your companions who settle in.

The room is spartan: a round wooden table dominates the center of the room with four cots, one on each corner with a small chest. Sturdy timbers support the roof along the rear stone back wall which has an elegantly arched window with panels of green and red glass. A candelabra lights the middle of the table while smaller lanterns hang near the four tuck beds. With everyone present and gathered around the table, you let Pinkie set the platter down then take a seat with your back to the door. Seven sit around the table, a veil of silence falling around you as the windows rattle and shake from the buffeting zephyr outside.

Despite the many 'thanks' to Pinkie as she parcels out the drinks, you can see that look of eagerness, anxiety, and anticipation glowing from within. Those same eyes all eventually fall on you, well, all but Pinkie, who sighs contently after taking a swig of her drink. It is a weird way to begin, but it actually settles your nerves to see that some things don't change.

“Ladies and gentlecolts," you begin and place down the photos of the various messages, “the order of what happened officially is wrong. Applejack used her head and figured it out by suggesting this seemingly unimportant case came first. An: One.-" you flip down the first image of the 'possibly related' cases, “Twew: two. Threy: Three. Fey-or: four." Each time you set the pictures down on top of the other. They all crowd around to look at the images. “Rarity, it you would, could you look at these." You pass her the three photos that had poems ending in þréo. Taking them, she scans each one in turn with an eye like a hawk.

You continue, “Applejack pointed out the times, this 'related' file was the first one to occur that had a murder. Vanhoover has been focused on capturing a murderer. This 'Unicorn Slasher'. It's true, he's after Unicorns but I don't think simply to kill them. Look at the gap in days. There is no pattern in the abduction cases-”

“Pardon me, dear." You smile and let Rarity interject. She daintily taps her hoof near a few smudges and crooked letters, “Is that what you were looking at?”

“One of these things is not like the other, one of these things does not belong." You chime happily as Rarity returns the photos.

Every individual waits for the fashionista and artisan to weigh in. “These two are crooked. Besides, they weren't written with a cloth like the last one, it was with a brush, maybe a feather brush. Something to make the edges ragged and not smeared." She held her head high and nodded once, quite confident in her assertion. You were confident in her too, having seen the same signs. .

“Hold on a second, you're telling me there's more psychos out there?!" Rainbow slams her hoof down against the table, causing most of the wooden tankards to jump and slosh.

Taking a breath, you sip the sickly sweet drink and smirk as if to say 'think about it'.

“Maybe the brush got all gunky and gross!" Pinkie offers.

“Look, number four happened last, it's still using-" you are interrupted again.

“The same cloth daub." Rarity confirms it as well and smiles. She must have an inkling where you wree going with it, a similar smirk from Applejack says she does too.

“May I see?" Fluttershy's request gets you to hand over all the pictures. She keeps them in their proper order, but looks at the picture as a smile forms on her face. “It's a big feather, but not a pony feather.” Fluttershy ponders aloud. Seeing as everypony else looks at her, she continues, “It looks like it’s from a Raven. Maybe they’re a lurking predator. Some use fear if they're not strong or fast enough, then they'll try to frighten their poor prey into making a mistake.”

Rainbow strikes her forehead with a hoof, “Yeah, yeah, I got it. Storm Gremlins. Storm Gremlins just lap up worry." She sighs in consternation.

“Fluttershy, that's great and all, but who's the prey?”

Silence greets Applejack's question, it is an impenetrable sensation as you still don't know who the target is, exactly. “If we play our cards right, it'll be Ulf. I think he may be after five Unicorns. Five specific Unicorns: so far he has four: Winsome Grey with the crescent moon, Paisley Quilts with the clover leaf, Inspector Maple and a maple leaf…” you slap down a picture of each, then flip through the pictures looking for the last two symbols.

He’s on four, there has to be four here.

“Where’s the other one?” Rainbow blurts out, “And why kill the rest?”

“I don’t know about the killing, but… it’s got to be here. Hmm.” You look at the cases and tap the Ice Wine farm report. “There were two here, so it has to be somepony else we haven’t seen yet. Look, if we can find those out and find what we’re missing, then we can lay a trap for him and beat the Slasher at his own game." You grin and emphatically strike a fist in your open hand, “Bait! Bait, that just so happens, to be quite safe." Looking at Rarity she flinches and rears back, “Rarity, how good are your makeup skills?”

She slowly sips her drink while eying you skeptically, “Well, I'm sure I could manage something fairly decent. Why, pray tell?"

“Because you're the only Unicorn we all know and can be completely trusted. We'll simply cover your cutie mark and add in another to fit." You brace and listen to the inevitable backlash.

“Oh, no, hold on-" Spike interjects, “It's way too dangerous! You've seen how many ponies have been killed and you want Rarity to act as bait for this monster?!" He snorts smoke, narrows his eyes, and bares his serrated fangs like a vicious dog.

“Spike’s right. No. Uh-uh. It’s too dangerous." Applejack nods in complete agreement with the Dragon.

“Not at all." you stop and sip your drink, letting your friends take that in. “We'll be the ones in danger, not Rarity. After all, Rarity will be essential to him. It's the last piece of the puzzle. He'll fight like mad to take her away, and likely, right to Twilight."

“How do you know that?" Spike jabs a claw at your chest.

“I don't, but Twilight is alive, and you know that, too. It's a risk, but I think it'll be safe for Rarity, maybe not us. Besides," you shrug and flash him a smile, “we have to go to Vanhoover anyway.”

“Uh, why's that, suga'cube?”

“Oooh, oh, I know!” Pinkie bounces up and down, holding her hoof up and supporting it with the other as she waves it energetically for attention. You nod to recognize her, “Is it 'cause we only have three of the five cutie marks because that file didn't mention the last one? So unless we go over eeeevery missing filly flier in the past who knows how long, then we're gonna' have to find a way to make five minus three equal two, equal one!" Pinkie smiles as you snap your fingers and point at her. She nailed it.

“And there's only one individual who might know what that last cutie mark was: the wounded constable in Vanhoover's Riverview Institution." You fill in the blanks, getting a breath from Rainbow as you skip the file over towards her.

She tosses it right back as if to say 'I believe you.' There is a long, unbearable silence that greets the plan. It’s broken at long last with a clearing of a throat that sounds like a nicker, “So, lemme get this straight." Applejack leans on her elbows and stares at you, “We're goin' ta’ travel to Vanhoover-”

“On hoof!" Spike adds with a snort.

“On hoof, in winter, then get Rarity dolled up to trick a maniac inta' tryin' to nab 'er, pick a fight with him, a gaggle of Storm Gremlins, and a hydra, then force 'em to release Twilight?" Applejack's incredulity does seem to have some merit when stated like that.

You falter, then go through with the truth, “And release four other Unicorns, but yeah, pretty much. We need to go. Spike, I absolutely need you to stay with the prin-”

The shocked Dragon snorts and flares his nostrils, releasing small wisps of flames, “Oh, no! There is no way I’m staying here-”

You quickly raise your voice and push through the interruption, “Princesses because you’re the only one capable of ensuring their messages get through and are responded to! If Celestia sends you a dozen messages asking for Twilight, like you said she did earlier, then I’d guess that would probably put you in danger, us in danger, and slow everything down."

“Yeah, well how are you going to get messages through?! I’m the only one who can do something like that. Face it, you need me!" He bites back sharply, leaning closer towards you with curling tendrils of smoke wafting from his nose and a blaze of anger in his slitted eyes.

“Do you really think Celestia and Luna are going to be coming to the rescue if they get any worse?" The dire question halts any other conversation for a moment. Taking advantage of that, you scan the faces of your friends, seeing a motley group of confused and uncomfortable individuals, “Does anypony have a better idea? Honestly, we could use one.”

Applejack shakes her head with a lengthy sigh, “No. Just seein' what we're gettin' ourselves into.”

“I was thinking about that snow problem." A soft but hopeful voice of intelligent speculation hesitantly begins while tapping her dainty hoof against the table. Nominally, it’s a tap of thought, but it gets everypony's attention and focuses it back on Fluttershy instead of what had nearly ended in a shouting match. “Angel bunny walks really well on the snow.”

Pinkie gasps as if she'd clued in to Fluttershy's plan, “Fantastic, so we'll get a sled pulled by bunnies to ferry us across the snow at bunny blitzing speed, around Timberwolf packs, all in a desperate gambit to reach Vanhoover alive! It's cute and super effective!”

“W-what?” Fluttershy blinks in surprise. Despite Pinkie’s unfaltering grin, she continues, “Well, that's not exactly what I meant. I mean bunnies travel well on snow because they have big feet.”

It gets a swift snort from Rainbow, “Yeah, well, our hooves aren't getting any bigger.”

You hold up a hand to Rainbow, something working its way over in your head, “Hang on, I think she's got something here. Fluttershy, you're saying make your feet wider and shallower, right?" she nods, breathily wisping her pink locks out from in front of her bright blue eyes. The smile matches your own, “Then you travel right over snow easily: snowshoes." You sigh and settle back, the image of the antiquated things make some sense. The Pegasus nods at the idea, confirming that you are indeed on the same line of thought.

Applejack looks around the table before shaking her head and taking a sip of her drink before looking at yours and Fluttershy's to see if she was somehow missing something. “Ya' know, all we've gotta' do is walk around Saddle Lake back to Ponyville, then get a message ta’ one of the other towns. Ah reckon we'll see if they can spare a train right through the Smokeys to Tall Tail then right on up ta’ Vanhoover. Well, that'r take a Canterlot train ta’ Raven's Nest pass'n hike over that slide. Either way, we ain't gettin' through without hoofin' it.”

“I don't have to hoof it." Rainbow snidely points out on cue.

Applejack ignores it and looks back at you, “Couldn't we just get a heap'a help from other ponies? Ah mean, Big Mac can wallop any Gremlin, Rainbow can easily rustle up some help from her weather team, Royal guards ain't no slouches neither, can bet yer bridle the constabulary'd help, and about any good pony'd want to help ta’ get a princess back.”

Her logic is sound. Taking a breath and another sip of the sweet drink, you mull that over amid the general hubbub of agreement. “That might do. But it means tipping off anyone watching our plans. Besides, hiding any other ponies would be compounding the chance that we'd get caught. If we face them straight up, who knows how many Gremlins or Hydras he has, or who else he has with him. If we trick him, we might get him alone or with just a few others. I figured we’d have seen more signs of Storm Gremlins and Hydras before, but because Twilight was on a train with a lot of other ponies around. He must have pulled out all the stops. If we force a confrontation over our bait, it's putting a lot of ponies at risk. Besides: setting out a plan like this will get the Princesses involved. Celestia and Luna aren't themselves." You settle in, leaning forward towards Applejack and fixing her with a stare, “Can we afford to risk Celestia, Luna, and Twilight?”

Devil's advocate or no, the question hangs unanswered on the air. Nopony answers at all for half a minute. “No, ah don't reckon we can.”

“And if we get a group that wouldn't go to the princess, then we would be even more conspicuous to everypony else." Rarity pinches her lips and casts her gaze around the table. “Both plans are dangerous, maybe we should put it to a vote?”

“Sounds fair, write something down then put it in a hat, X's and O's, juuuuust so nopony feels pressured. I’ve got a perfect hat for it!" Pinkie pokes her head into her own pack and, with a flick, opens a collapsing top hat. Parchment and pencils follow and in moments you were ready for your vote. Rarity precisely folds and cuts the sheet of parchment so no shape could betray who voted for who.

“Alright, so X's are Rightly's plan, O's are Applejack." Pinkie smiles, but until then, it doesn't sound like you are in some sort of argument or competition. It feels like both, but she goes around the table, starting clockwise, which means Spike is first and you are next. He scratches down a shape and places it in the hat, you do the same thing. Even as the pink mare trots up to you, giving you the pencil she is balancing on her upper lip like a moustache, you have to take a moment to weigh out the decision.

'If you recklessly endanger our subjects, intentionally cause harm, or otherwise try to corrupt or destroy what serves this realm, then you will leave me no choice but to banish you.'

Celestia's far more reasoned, calmer, but imperious voice reverberates through your mind as you make your decision. One put you and your closest friends in immediate danger, one could put the royal sisters and thus the whole realm in danger. The greatest good of the realm, the sisters, and many Vanhoover citizens versus the risk to yourself and a handful of others.

With a resigned sigh, you make a mark, fold it up, and put the parchment in the hat.

You don't even want to glimpse at Applejack, you bury your face in your hands and avoid facing her or anypony else. There is no way that decision, either way, would have been satisfactory. The scratch of pencils, one after another, is enough.

In moments the voting is done, Pinkie counts out the results, “Well, we've got two O's and five X's. Rightly's plan it is!" She seems to be happy enough with that before saying, “Oh, wait, I was just supposed to say whose plan takes the cake, and then I went and thought about cake, and then I said it anyway... sorry." She neither looks nor sounds sorry, but really that was alright. Although, it does leave you with the tightening feeling that your friends have all just thrown themselves into the face of danger. All of it based on a stupid plan you came up with.

As long as it’s not terminally stupid I guess it’ll do.

“Aaaw yeah! Now we can get up close and buck 'em up personally! After all, you sounded like you almost had them last time, so with me here, they might as well just roll over." So, it seems Rainbow's vote isn't all that secret anymore.

Cutting any further inspection off, Rarity yawns and stretches, “I think we'd better get some sleep. I'll get up early and see about making these snowshoes. Or at least draw up some concepts. But right now I'm simply exhausted." She doesn't need to feign tiredness, the exhausted Unicorn is barely sitting upright and her eyelids keep drooping with every passing moment.

“So, who's bunking where, hmm?" Rainbow looks around the table.

“You know, if we push aaaall the beds together, might be big enough for a slumber party," Pinkie grins, “and it'll be warmer, too!”

“I think it might be best to wait for that, Pinkie." Rarity just glances around, but she must have already decided, “There's only one possible arrangement that would be proper. Just a single course of action that would ensure everything is decent and proper; something to keep everypony quiet, and refrain from being up all night." She smiles and looks at you.

What?

♣

"I guess I should warn you, I snore." Spike straightens the sheets of his bed across the room while you listen to the creaks as he fixes up the bedspread. Staring up at the ceiling, you blindly fumble for the knob of the oil lamp on your bedside.

“Yeah, figured. Hey, Spike?”

“Yeah?" He looks up as you roll your head over, seeing the bundles of supplies crammed into every corner of the little room.

“You're not mad about all that, are you? I mean, staying here and taking care of the princesses.”

“If you're asking if I'm happy about it, then no, of course not. I think this is ridiculous, but everypony else seems to have their minds made up, I guess." His irritable mien returns, cold and removed from everything else at hand as the constant sound of adjusting sheets finally stops.

“I just think you've known Twilight and the princesses the longest, and your... uh, talents as a letter communicator might cause problems from Celestia if she keeps sending messages. That's got to make you sick, right?”

“Yeah, I'm sure I'd mess something up." He sighs in resignation and dims the oil lamp on his bedside table.

“Well, not you, like I said, Celestia is... not thinking so well. We need you for this too. You're just as important in making sure they don't jump the gun." You settle in some more and tuck your arms behind the pillow.

“Jump the what?”

“Never mind. Really, you're our home-base commander, keep everything calm and we'll get some messages back when we can. If you hear anything important, which I’m sure you will if something big happens, just have some plans ready to call in the cavalry."

He dismissively snorts, “Yeah, yeah, sure.”

“So… we good?” You ask the last with a bit of a nervous nibble on your inner lip.

The silence weighted down on you like an oppressive cloud. It was a full ten seconds before he answered, “Just take care of Rarity and we will be. She’s special you know.”

“I know, I know. And yeah, I will." You sigh and nod again. There are quiet whispering voices on the other side of the wall, a tossed pillow and more harsh growl was followed by a giggle or two.

“So..." Spike breaks the silence, “Did you think you were blushing around Ap-”

“Goodnight, Spike."

Damn it Rarity, I'll have my revenge.

A ragged snort like a wild boar causes you to bolt upright. You twitch and perk your ear up, listening closer to the other room and hearing a wheezing whinny and creak of a cot followed by a few indistinct murmurs of annoyance.

Then again, maybe I won't have to.

You drop your head back to your pillow with a puff and cover your ears with a smirk. You knew you could at least have some semblance of a comfortable sleep, snuggled up next to a over-stuffed haversack in a room with a pouty Dragon.

Author's Note

Wee, another week another chapter. Sorry about that little delay, I got super busy getting hauled around for Dominion/'Canada' day and was exhausted by the time I got back. Anyhow, as a bit of an apology, here's A Room with a Moose.

Happy belated Canada day and see you next time eh?

Act 3- Chapter 6: In Dark Corners

In Dark Corners

Proofread by TehSporkBandit

Vanhoover's winds whistle through the empty streets and rake across the cobblestones, whisking up spirals of snow in a pale whirl. Other snaking trails sweep through the cast iron gateway, leaving the mournful dirge of winter. A rusty gate creaks open as the sound of clattering hooves from a taxi pass behind you. The single pony-drawn vehicle slips between the pools of light cast by the flickering light standards amidst the small white cloud of disturbed snow kicked up by wooden rims. Whatever miniscule hint of tolerable daytime warmth is snatched away on the wings of encroaching night.

No, that's not right.

The somber day’s lament gives way to the harrowing moan of the northern winds that drive the snow into your face, but there is a ruthless chill here that is altogether different from the Equestria you have grown accustomed too. Compared to Ponyville, or even Canterlot, Vanhoover is a vapid world of darkness and twilight. The anemic reign of day gives way to the iron-fisted grip of night; darkness descends upon the land, leaving only the tell-tale glimmers of lantern light meagerly winking from tall windows around you. Each spark-like glow marks the boundaries of the silent edifice that is northern Vanhoover's famed institution: Riverview mental hospital.

The stately building’s sprawling wings stretch out into the gathering gloom as a few pinpricks of light wink in and out of existence in a few isolated windows. Three lanterns illuminate the massive plaster facade of the hospital, two of them as waning glints against the towering columns on either side of the doorway framing the narrow steps leading to the entrance, and the last reflecting dimly from a single window on the third story of the main building.

Riverview Hospital

Its corroded iron sign hangs across the stone entrance way while the iron bars of its front gate squeak restlessly in the whispering winds. On its posts hang a number of papers and posters shredded beyond recognition by the potent gusts of wind.

Puffs of breath billow out in an icy white cloud as you breath through a trio of scarves. Your hands had been wrapped tightly when you left the small countryside cabins earlier that afternoon, but pinpricks of cold still lance through your fingers and chill you to the bone. Your cold-weather provisions, while expertly chosen by Rarity, leave you looking only vaguely humanoid under the many layers of swaddled cloth.

At least I'm not going to freeze to death.

Even so, the raking winds whistle past your glasses. The ice encrusted lenses are encased in a narrow slit between a yellow and purple scarf, leaving you practically no field of vision. The solitary figure next to you doesn’t look all that different. She was bundled up in a pair of heavy cloaks, a swath of scarves, a pair of weather goggles, a saddle, and even multi-hued, striped, wool socks.

“Fur, feathers, and flank, can you hurry up? I don't want to be out here!" The raspy shout is muffled by a tangle of loose scarves. Rainbow Dash stamps on the spot as if not wanting to let more than one of her covered hooves touch the ground at a time.

Tracing the line of the ragged parchment poster tacked to the wall near the gate, it loudly decries:

The Unicorn Slasher
1,000 Bits for any and all information leading to arrest or elimination

Huh, that's more extreme than I've ever heard of for Equestria.

The picture is grainy but it's the same one that the newspaper printed a week ago. It’s like they just took it and pasted it on the flyer. In fact, they might have even done that. You reach over and rip the poster down before folding it up and sticking it in a band of material cinched around your waist.

“Oh, for feathers’ sake, c'mon!”

You reach for the gate and use your shoulder to force the shuddering wrought iron open, “I thought you were good with the cold weather, Da-”

The Pegasus throws her weight against the door, sending it rocking back on rusty hinges as she zips in between you and the gate. “Too cold to argue!" She gallops towards the front door and darts up those broad stairs, leaving you to trudge through the snow drifts on the uncleared path. Serpentine drifts decorate large swaths of the cobblestone pathway while the rest is windswept and slippery as ice. The empty sockets of the buildings around you only hastens your ascent up the steps towards the banded oak door.

The Pegasus is already pulling back on the door's rungs to allow her entrance. As the door creeps open, she slips inside, but keeps it ajar with a hind leg until you are close. Then she lets it close and you have to lurch forward to catch it before swinging yourself inside.

The change in temperature between the frigid outside world and the foyer of the hospital fogs up your glasses immediately, throwing you into total blindness behind an impenetrable white sheet. A few gasps and confused notes reach your ears, but aside from three or four blurry blobs that had to be lanterns, you can't see a thing. A smattering of rattled gasps meet your sudden appearance. Yet the clatter and clop of hooves around you doesn’t seem to deter your determined companion.

“D-dear sweet Celestia, it's here!" There is a sudden shocked rattle of breath and the sound of a weighty thump mixed with a few more mangled gasps. A strangled scream pierces the silence moments later.

“Woah! Hold it!" Rainbow's well-timed shout fills the chamber and temporarily halts any further outbursts, “Ah, pony feathers.”

“What?" That’s never a good expression coming from her. She mumbles a second later and you can hear a struggling sound as she grapples with her goggles. You judiciously do the same in an attempt to get a clear picture of things.

“It's going to chop us into bits!" A mare screams before you hear another staccato sound of hooves clambering across slick floors and up staircases. A door swiftly slams shut as you pull your glasses off and squint while looking around. It had been alarming but you can't do much as you swiftly rub the lenses clear. It had been shocking, and certainly uncomfortable, but no one attacked either of you; they simply fled.

You scrape the ice away from the lenses and call out, “I'm not going to be any trouble, we're just looking to talk with somepony. That's all." The mocking echo returns without any other response in the great room lobby. In less than ten seconds the room was deserted.

Admittedly, it is a grand entrance, with twisting spirals of carved oak running from marble and hardwood floor to red painted plaster ceilings. As rich as it is with mahogany accents, small tables, and red varnished canvas furniture studded with brass tacks, it’s incredibly gloomy. Oil lamps sit on a reception desk while two wall sconces lining the twisting redwood staircase behind it. A meager hearth in the far corner of the room casts more shadows than light.

There are doors to the left and the right, but a heavy 'click' echoes to the right. A wide-eyed mare staring at you through a circular window before backing off and disappearing. She must have locked it. There is another smaller access door above the staircase, but you are certain there was movement up there, so it was probably locked, too. By the hearth are three velvet cushions and a scattering of paperwork that look sizable but not in utter disarray. Not a single pony remains.

None that are awake anyway.

“Nice, Rightly, one glimpse of you and the whole thing goes into lockdown." Rainbow hops up on the desk, knocking aside an ink well and a golden receptionist plate before shrugging out of the confining cloths swaddling her up in an eclectic mixture of yellows, blues, taupe, and white.

“What exactly are you doing up there?”

She wiggles and scuffs at the material wrapped around her face in frustration before clawing off the goggles and tossing them aside. “What do you think:? I’m checking that the screamer didn’t crawl away. Hmmph, and getting this junk off. It's hot, it’s stuffy, it's ugly, and I look like… like…" she grunts and pulls one of the ends loose.

“Like last month's laundry?" You stride across the hall to check on the door the mare had disappeared behind. Pulling at it, the door rattles some, but stays firmly shut.

“Hey!" She shoots her head up in indignation, though by now only one wing is free and the scarf's end hangs from her muzzle.

You move over, “Relax and stop fidgeting. Rarity folded it so it would all come off in a single wrap. I thought Pegasi were supposed to be good with extreme weather." You rapidly help unpeel the cyan Pegasus like an onion.

“Why weren't you this mouthy before?" She waggles her left hind leg to kick part of the robe off. It is the same leg that you are trying to unwrap, and she isn't making it easy.

“You walk fast and my lungs would freeze.”

“Seriously?”

“No, Dash. You saw it, that mare just fainted when we stepped inside. How am I supposed to feel about that? So I'm starting to get the feeling things are worse here and maybe this isn't the best idea." The plan was sound in theory, but what happened if some pony reacted like this and blew your cover in much the same way as Spike could have? Now he’s back in Canterlot, and you are out here.

“Oh, come on! Seriously? You're getting cold hooves? You have got to be kidding me, didn't you just go confront the princesses, who could have banished you, and you're just starting to think that it's dangerous? I thought that's why you thought up the plan in the first place!" She doesn't scream, she doesn't scold, the Pegasus merely laughs. She shakes her head and leans over to glance behind the desk.

“Speaking of plans, do you have one for this? It looks like we're locked in." You swiftly motion to each of the three doors that can be seen.

“Well, you could question her and hope she doesn't faint again. Hmm…" Rainbow Dash is still trailing one very long lifesaver-looking scarf as she bounds over the desk and disappears from sight.

“Ra-”

“Or,” Rainbow pops her head back up, propping open a massive ledger, “we can just find what we need and skip the middle pony." She drops it in front of you with an audible bang. It looks like it weighs in at more than a thousand pages and is at least as thick as your fist. “Go ahead, my treat." She smirks, leaving you with skimming through the enormous tome. You flip open the first page and begin.

Skimming through the book is difficult but not impossible. The hoofwritten script incorporated scraps of parchment from the margins and tucks loose leaves of paper. All you hoped to find was a room number. They have those and many more notes regarding transfers replete with appended cross-references. List after annotated list fill the pages, each written in the same blue ink leaking down counter from the overturned inkwell.

Two, then three minutes pass as you skip through the pages looking for the name 'Outreach'. A low groggy moan echoes from behind the desk along with a muted 'humph' from Rainbow. The prismatic Pegasus experimentally flaps her wings as if to restore the circulation and pass off anything else she found uninteresting in the room. While her fanning feathers are a real distraction as you try to read, it sounds reasonable after the forty minute walk from the outskirts of town to the hospital; you can't blame Rainbow, so you bite your tongue and remain quiet.

The petite Unicorn mare that passed out behind the desk stirs back to consciousness. She isn't all that special or distinct as far as Unicorns went: the mousey mare has a pale grey mane and rose coat with a thick pair of black-rimmed glasses perched at the end of her upturned muzzle. As she grumbles and rolls onto her back, Rainbow flicks her tail like a bullwhip.

“Hey, hey!" There is a piercing whistle from the Pegasus and a gasp from the mare. Rainbow snarls and barks in the Unicorn’s face, “Snap out of it, we're here to see somepony, and you're going to take us there.”

“I-I'm… afraid we c-c-can't confirm or deny the identity of any p-patient unless it is by edict or fa-" her wheezing breath grinds to a halt after another squeak.

“Yeah, that's not what I asked. We're looking for a pony named Outreach. It's important, my friends are on the line, we're trying to hunt a real monster, so I wanna know. So are we going to do this the easy way, or the hard way?" She stamps her forehooves and worms her way out of the stocking-like socks, snapping the end like surgical gloves.

“W-wha…" the mousey mare’s eyes roll into the back of her head as she swoons.

“Aaaah! Fine, here-" she snorts and nudges the mare in her stomach, “let me help." Rainbow's nudge lifts the Unicorn to her feet. The Pegasus waggles a hoof in your face but keeps her focus on the blurry-eyed Unicorn, “He's harmless. Seriously, total pushover. Watch." she covertly winks and reaches out to bop you in the forehead with a hoof. A cold wet U-like shape hits you in the head. It was less forcefuly than Applejack had done a few days earlier but it did leave a little wet imprint. Rainbow seemed to just grin at the display, “See? Wanna' try?" She offers as you purse your lips and shoot her a disdainful look that she completely ignores. Obliviously, she looks back and asks with chipper confidence, “Did you find it yet, Rightly?”

“Sorry, I just had a Pegasus hoof me in the face," you look back at the book, “and my legs are freezing." While the snow is gone, it has dampened your clothing and now you are really starting to feel the chill. It seems both leg wraps and pants hadn't been enough.

You glance up at the rose-coloured Unicorn who shudders and averts her eyes. Rainbow's growl is more insistent this time, “Snap out of it. You know who I am, right?" Rainbow taps her hooves next to the Unicorn, backing up just enough to establish that little social 'space' that ponies typically exhibit. A nervous shake of the Unicorn's head garners a blink of surprise and a low grunt of dissatisfaction from Rainbow Dash.

You couldn't help but smirk as the blustering Pegasus spreads her wings out as if about to relay some grand narrative. You come across the name ‘Outreach’ at long last. It was in a log written ten weeks ago with a penned in reference number to another page. “Room fourteen-twelve, admitted from Fairview Hospital." You quickly look around for a new sheet of unstained paper, a quill, and some ink. “Just quickly jot this do-”

“Great." Rainbow cranes her head forward and rips out the page with her teeth. Much to your dismay. “Cm'ern." She spits the paper out for you to carry, “That's nothing a little tape can't fix. Let's get going. Oh, and bring that quill!" Realizing that you might need another piece to write on, you tear out another page near the back as Rainbow gets the mare up on her hooves.

“Right, fourteen-twelve. Great, where is it? It's either that or we're going to go yelling down the halls, and don't think I won't." There is a base 'thump' from the upstairs doors, then the rattle of keys.

Rainbow quickly directs her attention upwards at the scarpering noises from up above, “That's got to be more guards!”

Probably just an orderly or two. That's one too many Daring Do book for you, Rainbow.

Nevertheless, you quickly slam the ledger shut and grab Rainbow by the scruff. Her indignant 'hey' lasts only a fraction of a second as she grabs the Unicorn mare, hauling her along with you. You lead, darting off to the left towards the first level doorway. It’s a set of double doors with the two circular windows just like the one across the hall.

You roll your shoulders into the cold horizontal crash bar and shove the door open. The feeble lock pops open, improperly set and not stopped by anything as formidable as a deadbolt. It swings wide, allowing you entrance, and freezing you to the bone. The dark wing isn't well heated as your breath streams out in an icy cloud.

“This feels more like a Victorian era asylum." You mutter, which doesn't really seem to go understood by any of the present company. There is precious little light aside from a single oil lamp on a hook near the first crux in the corridor. You turn to the door and kick the stopping blocks into place before locking it with the deadbolt which hadn't been used on you. It might buy you a few moments respite.

“Where are we? And how do we get where we want? So you might not be able to tell us who is and who isn't here, but you can sure help us find a room number." Rainbow's sharp, but upbeat, voice booms down the silent antiseptic white corridor.

“We're in the north wing which is wing ‘one’. We’ll need to go up to the third level, well, fourth if you include the, um, basement. Just, um, uh… take the stairs up at the end of this hallway when it turns left." She shivers and bites her lip hard enough to form a few scarlet drops.

“Great! You're coming with us." Rainbow's grip on the Unicorn mare tightens rather than loosens. The Unicorn protests with a few unhappy warbles, but within a few seconds you are jogging down the hallway with the ponies in tow. Snatching the lantern off the hook, you stoop to pick up one of Rainbow's scarves and fling the latter on her back.

“It's freezing in here, why's that?” You ask when reaching the darkened cross in the path, seeing doors off to your right; each entrance appears cold, silent, and empty.

The Unicorn mare wobbles as she walks as if driven forward in a trance. “It never gets this cold, so we shut down most of this wing's ground and second floors then redirected the heat to the third. The rest of the patients were moved to the South wing and the North central building is only heated in a few spots: kitchens and stuff. We just keep the hot water system running so the pipes don't freeze up." Her voice is distant and wary; it’s likely your presence is keeping her in line.

Really, she's better off worrying about Rainbow.

The three of you cut a peculiar party, rushing up the stairwell, past the grated windows looking over the darkness of the snowy night outside, and up to the third floor. A tiny winched lift in the middle of the stairwell is missing, but the cable still hangs from the ceiling in a great cage like it’s the home of some enormous bird.

“Rainbow?" You dart up the stairs, but the pair of mares are still faster and they overtake you on the broad steps. “You think it might be a bad idea to get on the wrong side of the constabulary?”

“This was your plan and if all I have to do is spent time in detention then I couldn't give a flying feather about it." Loyal, stubborn, headstrong, it’s enough to keep you smiling as you push open the door to the third story of the psychiatric hospital.

The door opens onto a similarly deserted floor. It’s slightly warmer than the first story hall or the darkened stairwell, but lamplight from the street barely lights the frames’ sills on the great bank of windows on your left. Rooms all along the right are sealed up, feeling just as empty as the last. Numbered rooms, 1401, 1403, 1405, each numeral is etched on round plaques below viewing slits on the doors.

A creeking voice whispers from one of the slats in a darkened room. A pony cackles and you can see the bloodshot red eyes twinkling in the light as you pass room 1406, “My neighbour tells me your bluebird will fly far-far away. Can, c-can you hear it? We've only just begun.”

“Uh, how many crazy ponies does this place hold?" Rainbow's voice wavers uncomfortably as the disquieting voice from 1406 disappears amid a quiet scrape and tapping sound like morse code.

“We have three hundred and seventy-five beds, though, we typically run at one-third capacity and double as a clinic; Riverview treats patients with everything from coping with loss, to disassociation fugues, traumatic stress, chronic and acute anxiety, and salt abuse." The Unicorn's impassive tone makes her sound like a tour guide.

“A hundred and twenty-five patients." You hurry along while the Unicorn lights up the hall with a pale blue flair from her horn. It poses the question which you voice to the world, “Why do you keep the lights so low?”

“It's nighttime. Many of our patients require strict scheduling. Admittedly, several are intensely afraid of the dark: whether from severe trauma, loss of a spouse, sibling, or offspring, many can't stand a particular time of day without extensive therapy. We provide, or extinguish, lights for them. Then we either put them in the inner core rooms or the outer window rooms overlooking the courtyard.”

You find yourself following rather than leading as the party takes a sharp right turn. You travel down the first hallway, past another bank of administrative offices behind glass and empty nursing stations where you could see the brass vacuum tubes used instead of intercoms. It is enough to give the impression that Riverview could be an abandoned asylum.

Moving down the hall, you turn right again, towards room 1408, down a parallel hallway from the first on the far side of the hospital. Rainbow slips, legs wide like a spider as she keeps her belly above the ground by only a few inches. “Stupid puddle." She mumbles as the chill once more rises up your spine.

“I thought you said there was heat on this level?" You snort and re-wrap your scarf.

“There is..." she starts then shivers, “Or there should be." The Unicorn mare's intones in surprise. “An orderly should be making the rounds.”

You ignore it as you are guided to room 1411 and then 1412. It’s a 'core' room on the inside of the building rather than against the outer wall. You look at the vision slit and whisper back, “We only need to speak with him for a few moments, just one piece of information then we'll go. You can stay, of course. In fact, I insist."

That way you won't go running down the hallway, screaming you saw a monster.

As the Unicorn gathers up the charts you can't help but bend an ear to the door. There is a voice wheezing in racking breaks and on the brink of panic, “I, I can't see it. Still in the dark, it's still in the dark an-and the lights aren't out! It waits until the lights go by in the dark! It waits until the lights go by, then the blood letters are written on the walls, and the floors, and the ceilings!" A male voice sobs, dropping to a low croak as it continues, “Put the lights out. By Luna, put the lights out…”

Alright, interview with a mad pony. I can do this, I've talked to Pinkie long enough that I should be fine with non sequiturs. Still, I probably shouldn't be the first one he sees in case he thinks I'm Ulf.

It’s no recovering 'patient' in a simple white hospital gown, but the ravings of a mad pony. You slowly twist the knob of the lantern to dim the flame; a single breeze could kill the sputtering flame and plunge the hallway into darkness. It gets quizzical looks from both Rainbow and the Unicorn. You hold up a hand and whisper, “Lights out.”

The Unicorn nods, but Rainbow merely draws in a breath, “But-”

You hold a finger to her lips and reiterate, “No lights.”

Taking a breath, you knock on the door three times. It echoes, the wooden portal firmly shut. Looking to the Unicorn to speak, she fumbles it some but asks with a faint shaking, “Y-you have guests, Mister Outreach.”

Silence. It lasts for a few seconds before the voice rasps out, “Did they… did they come back? Is it Maple?”

“No, it's two visitors from-" she looks over as Rainbow just whispers the answer, “Ponyville. They'd like just a few moments to ask you a question.”

“... I'm not here.”

“Oh, for feathers’ sake!" Rainbow grunts and flares her nostrils as the Unicorn shrugs and turns to you while Rainbow flexes her shoulders.

“I'm afraid Mister Outreach is-”

“Ready or not, three-two-one-Go!" Rainbow turns and bucks the door, tossing it wide open with a loud bang. “Oh look who's… home…"

In the glow of the faintest lantern light, the inside of the room is something out of a nightmare. The usually fluid Equestrian script is written in a spidery, uneven scrawl:

Keep the lights out
Keep the Lightsout
Keep the lights out

Every reachable surface, from the floor to the highest a pony could physically reach, is imprinted with the unsettling phrase. One reads one way, another the other in no semblance to the usual script.

In the middle of the otherwise spartan room, is a wheel chair. Sitting down rather uncomfortably, withered and atrophied legs pulled to the side, a scraggly blue-maned earth pony slumps forward. As he gazes upward his harlequin green eyes sparkle like balefire in the darkness. They were touched by the wild glint of madness as his face twitches and contorts into a mirthless grin.

“P-p-put out the light, you foal!" The withered stallion splutters then seethes through his teeth.
You had planned to linger just out of sight until things could be explained to Outreach, but now he could see you clear as daylight. He still didn't scream.

Maybe he never saw Ulf, or maybe he can tell the difference.

Ushering the other two inside you speak up, “We're coming inside, nothing is going to see." You shut the door behind you and lift the lantern to illuminate the dreary corners of the graffiti covered room. It has wooden panels and white plaster walls, all of which been scratched or otherwise defaced.

He waits in anxious silence as you close the door. Rainbow still glances around at all the countless lines scraped or written across every panel and object, “Love the, uh, wall art." She tries to smile but it falls flat somewhere between a grimace and a wince.

There is no response as you lick your lips, “We've got some questions about the night that they took Maple." Mentioning another pony might help rather than trying to get him to remember an obviously painful event.

“Did they find her? Has the blood letters told their tale?" He tries to sit up straight but his legs still don't respond as he writhes and worms in his seat.

“No," you continue and ask quite bluntly, “the reports said you saw another pony in the basement-" Constable Outreach's eyes open wide, “did you see their cutie mark?”

“They didn't listen, they don't see. They think I'm crazy." The Earth-pony's lips seal up tight as he glares at the Unicorn in the room.

“Know you're crazy…" Rainbow mutters under her breath.

“Well, we don't." You gently pat Rainbow on the withers though it doesn't quite satisfy the patient.

“Oh, for cryin'-out-loud. Scram!" Rainbow shoves her hoof at the Unicorn.

“E-excuse me?" The mousey Unicorn gasps, aghast at the sudden command.

In no mood for delays or arguments, Rainbow literally shoves the Unicorn towards the door, “You heard 'Screwball' over there, beat it, go do whatever it is you do. We'll show ourselves out, 'kay thanks!" The door is kicked closed with a resounding 'bang' right in the face of the flummoxed Unicorn.

Turning from the door, you take out the quill and its limited reservoir of ink, “What do you remember?" You make your way over and crouch, hoping Rainbow doesn't try anything too wild.

“We were dispatched, Maple... Inspector Maple and myself, to a farmhouse on the outskirts of Vanhoover after screams were heard-”

“Rightly, if we don't get this quick the guards are going to be on us like Pinkie on a candy apple." Rainbow whispers in your ear.

Nodding and writing, you mutter back, 'Then put your stuff back on and get ready to go." She blinks and looks at the stallion before lofting a brow and nodding her head towards him as if saying 'what, in front of him?'

With no time to debate changing habits with the Pegasus, you turn back to the Earth-pony and block your companion from view, “I'm sorry about that, constable. So, what about once you were downstairs? Who did you see?”

“I saw movement, a bound bag on a workshop table in the back. I went to help it as it squirmed and I thought somepony might be in trouble. I didn't really, no… she… no else knows." The Earth pony's eyes glaze over as he shakes and twitches in several quick spasms. He rolls his head to the side, twisting left and right to look at the far corners of the room in search of some ghostly phantom.

“Who else knows?" You ask as he peters off, “Who else knows, Outreach?”

“Nopony knows, nopony knows!" His voice crescendos to the verge of hysterics.

“Outreach, Outreach, look at me. Was it a key or was it a Fleur-de-lis?" If you could get it out of him you could be certain of your next step.

You set the lantern in front of you. The stallion’s eyes pop open wide as he cranes his head back. You look down and suddenly realize that you are casting a looming shadow over the obscured Pegasus sheltering behind you. He starts to hyperventilate with a low rising whine as his eyes stay glazed over. “It's you, you're there, you're there, you were there!" His chest starts to heave as his breathing speeds up notably.

“Did they have a key or a flower?!”

“Rightly? I don't think he's gonna…" Rainbow places a hoof on your back as you watch the stallion hyperventilate. The burning stink of copper reaches your nose; it isn't waste but metallic.

We're not going to get another chance.

He opens his mouth to scream, letting your anger rise as you reach out and drag him up out of his chair by his scruff. “Did they have a god-damn key or a flower?!" You bring the terrified stallion to within an inch of your face.

“Flower!”

Your chest tightens up as you set him back down in his chair and turn to Rainbow Dash. Her mouth was slightly open and her wings squeezed tightly to her sides as she remains uncharacteristically silent after the aggressive display. “Got it. Hurry up, Rainbow. Be careful, I think there's Gremlins around.”

“Yeah, got it." She quickly finishes putting on her goggles before opening the door. “Don't worry, I can handle half a dozen of them in my sleep." She presses the door open and lets it creak into the hallway before it rockets back against her. The door catches the Pegasus in the face and sends her reeling back a few steps. She clutches at her muzzle and sniffs as a few splotches of red bloom across her scarf.

The Unicorn is back, but not with orderlies. A lithe red imp digs his claws into the Unicorn’s windpipe as the sound of howling winds shriek down the hall. “I can't seem to get rid of you, can I, nithinger?" He smirks, showing a mangled one ganged grin. “One wrong move and the mare di-”

“Yeaaah!" A prismatic bolt shoots past like a meteor as Rainbow dives out the door full tilt, slamming into the Cloud Gremlin and catapulting him backwards. The impact flings the trio out into the hallway.

You rush out the door to survey the jumbled mess. Movement to your right captures a sidelong glance. Another Gremlin twists and stares back at you with a look of dumbstruck shock. “I-Iblisss?" You distinctly hear it call out in a masculine sibilance and turns to the single fanged Gremlin.

Iblis?

The limp Unicorn lay collapsed against the far doorway in a senseless heap. Rainbow stands poised over the squirming Cloud Gremlin, keeping him pinned with every limb while craning her neck back to avoid the his snapping maw. He straints against the Pegasi’s steely grip, "I'll tear your lungs out, pony!”

“Oh, shut your trap! Rightly, we can try to get something out of him!" She grins at her prize and grinds her hoof into the Gremlin's shoulder. The sound of clattering hooves meets your ears as it rebounds off the plaster walls.

“By Celestia, that's a good catch." The sentence dies in your throat as you feel your mouth go dry. Lights shine from the hallway, past the wide open door neat that puddle where Dash nearly slipped minutes before. The other Gremlin swiftly looks back over its shoulder.

A pale blue glow crackles between the Gremlin's fingertips as his eyes shut tightly. “He stopped fi-" Rainbow starts as one on his clawed hands reaches to her forehoof, causing her to twitch. The electrical charge swells with a sizzling whine as he tries to grasp her other hoof and complete the circuit.

“Iblisss! Ssshould I ssstop them?" The other Gremlin harshly whispers back with a trill of uncertainty.

“Fryyy, pony." Iblis snarls with a malicious smirk as you pounce. Swinging the metal lantern hard, it slams down on his fingers crushing the creature's fingers against the stone floor. That inhuman screech pounds your ears as the electric charge flairs to life. Jolts of pain surge through your palm, up your arm, and to your sockets. Your limbs throb with pain and your jaw tightens as you try to let go of the metal lantern.

The second Gremlin streaks in, crashing into Rainbow Dash, driving the air from her lungs in a loud blustering gasp. The impish creature rips her away from Iblis as you lash out with a kick. It throws the interdicting marauder forward. Rainbow sticks her legs out and uses its own momentum to fling the creature over her and through the air.

Iblis has righted himself, and as you roll your head over to look at him, you watch him dart towards the door to 1408, the one left ajar where the puddle had formed. The other screams through the air and up, smashing through the drywall paneling on the ceiling in a shower of white dust.

Where the hell is he off too?

Your thoughts are swiftly interrupted by the incessant sound of galloping hooves clattering down the hallway in your direction. A cyan hoof pulls you to your knees.

“Forget that one, it's like trying to catch a mouse in a thicket. Get in gear, gotta' catch that other one!" The Pegasus recovers quickly. Rainbow spread her wings and rushes forward with her pinions practically scraping the floor and ceiling as she banks left through the door in pursuit of Iblis. You slide on the puddle but have the presence of mind to reach out and grasp the door handle. Even as you fall, you swing around the corner and slam the door shut behind you.

Room 1408 is in disarray; the window is smashed and the howling winds blast scything sheets of snow inside, covering the lonely tuck bed and rickety looking wheelchair. The white blanket of snow collects in the freezing room and only melts where it settles against the door. Rushing to the window, you look past the shards of broken glass at the ground below. Three stories up, even with snow there is no guarantee that something hard doesn't lay beneath the snow on those unfamiliar grounds. There is a single snow covered roof about ten feet across overhanging the rear entrance of the hospital. It all overlooks a field; it could be a path just skirting the grounds which means maybe gravel or cement. “Rainbow?!”

A gruff snort and a loud crack tells of the splintering door behind you as an Earth-pony stallion in a chef hat bulls through the closed door, smashing it into kindling. “Stop right there!" You take your chance and jump into the empty blackness. A drowning whistle of freezing air skims past your ears as your stomach lurches. You hurtle towards the ground, flailing your arms wildly and hoping to hit and roll.

The screeching snap of wings broke the wind’s dirge. You awkwardly and painfully land on a cloth and fur covered back with a huff. Rainbow cries out “Gotcha!” an instant before you would have crashed into the ground.

A flap of wings and grunting sound say that it won't last long. The world screams past you and dissolves in a miasma of black and white flakes. With a last bracing wince, you feel the Pegasus slam into the ground with a huge plume of white, sending you catapulting face first into the snow.

You come to a tumbling stop, coat pulled back and forearms deep in the freezing snowbank. It takes a moment before a muzzle pushes your stomach up and lifts you to all fours. The snap of teeth on your back and a sharp jerk tosses you to your feet as you dumbly stagger back. An uncomfortable flail sees you back on your feet as the red-nosed Pegasus with snow caked goggles bolts off into the swirling curtain of snow at a gallop. Her voice barely reaches your ringing ears over the howl of the winds, “Come on, it's like you've never crashed before! Move it or lose it!”

You set off after the mare and away from the single shining light from the hospital. It rapidly disappears into the distance as you follow the Pegasus who had since melted away in the squall.

Act 3- Chapter 7: The Sleeper

The Sleeper

Proofread by TehSporkBandit

“This close, I was this close!" The tankard thumps down and shakes the table, sloshing the frothy amber liquid over the rim. Rainbow Dash's growl is one of abject frustration, and lapping the cider off her forehoof isn't helping with that. She even puts her head down before loosing a loud pent-up scream in her throat. Only when she clasps her head in her hooves and lets the prismatic hair fold over her eye and forehooves does she finally go silent.

She could pass for a drunken barfly with that attitude.

You aren't feeling that different yourselfreally, Rainbow's irritated musings haven't acknowledged anything you did except for making her 'eat snow' when she had to help save you. It sounds a lot more feeble in her version compared to the free-falling, base-jumping, explosive extravaganza as you had described it. Rainbow Dash is tolerable so long as you have a mug of reduced vegetable stew, a strange braided wreath bread studded with nuts and cheese, and some sort of wobbly high-topped parfait, courtesy of Pinkie Pie.

Here, on the outskirts of town on Grouse mountain, your quarters would have been a picture perfect alpine retreat under any other circumstances. The bi-level cabin has a nice balcony overlooking the main room, the hearth is set in the sunken living room dominating most of the lower story. There is a bathroom and then a small dining room near a spiraling staircase that lead upstairs. Up those spiraling steps are four bedrooms that will suffice for the party, giving you your own quarters and a comfortable amount of extra space. As it stands though, the group is split in half between the dining area and the sunken living room with the hearth. You stick to the latter, curled up in a blanket and nursing a nearly empty tankard.

Applejack calls out from the kitchen, “Might wanna put on some warmer clothes. Once ya' get the chills, you get 'em easier yer whole life, and that's a fact. Why, mah cousin Honeycrisp doesn’t leave the house when Autumn rolls around. She just sits in the chair in front of the fire, sippin' soup and waitin’ fer spring. Early fall used ta’ be her favourite time, too. Ain’t no reason to be afraid of somethin’, of course."

Kinda’ like how you’re ‘not’ too afraid to step out here and admit your leg isn’t half as good as you’re pretending? Oh no, you’re certainly not staying out of sight, doing a job anypony else could, for vanity’s sake. Right?

It‘s overly harsh, and instead of starting some fight you probably won’t win, you give her a noncommittal ‘hum’ before mumbling into your tankard, “Thanks, ‘mom.’” Somepony's elbows jabs your side as they settle into the seat next to you on the brown tweed couch.

“Oh, my apologies. Hmm, this is no inspiration room, but I suppose it will have to do." Rarity sets aside her artbook and a myriad of coloured pastels so she can sketch out a suitable cutie mark. They will need a master design so the faux-cutie mark can be stenciled onto her flank.

“We could have got one of them and figured out exactly where they were!" Rainbow calls from the dinner table in the center of the split level cabin.

I'm not talking to you, Rainbow. You're making me look like Robin to your Batman and that's seriously not cool.

And she still doesn't let up, “And if you hadn't jumped out the window and needed me to save your sorry flank, we'd be talking to a Gremlin about where they're keeping Twilight." Rainbow looks over at you with her brow furrowed and ears plastered back. She tries to look unaffected but if she wasn't lambasting you she was whinging. Worse yet, you had a sneaking suspicion she isn't exactly blaming you at all. Instead, she’s simply lamenting what happened overall while downplaying her part in it. Confronting her about it likely wouldn't achieve anything useful, much like confronting Applejack earlier wouldn’t have made her admit anything.

Applejack narrows her eyes from across the room and gives the oblivious Pegasus a warning growl, “Hey, ease up there Rai-”

“Who wants smores!" Pinkie interrupts with her usual giddy optimism. The crackling crunch and sound of smacking lips say at least she did.. And there she sits, smiling by the crackling fire of the cabin's hearth a few feet from your perch near the fluttering fashionista. Between Pinkie Pie and Applejack there is a fair amount of comfort food set out on the table and countertop. It’s ostensibly there to ward off the cold, but it tastes suspiciously good and makes the whole endeavour feel less miserable.

Pinkie's ear-ringing screech dispels that thought, “It's like a great-big slumber party! Aaah, this'll be terrific!" There is little to do but waggle a finger in your ear and shoot the oblivious mare a sullen frown as she gobbles up another smore amid a flurry of crumbs.

“Oh, no, I'm fine, Pinkie." Fluttershy's voice drifts in from the bathroom. While Rarity was in charge of getting the sketch right, it would be up to Pinkie, Rarity, and Fluttershy to help actually paint up the impromptu cutie mark disguise. Fluttershy was already hard at work preparing the dyes at that very moment.

“'Nother hot trottie, suga'cube?" Applejack's voice draws your attention back to the kitchen where the mare flashes a hopeful grin as if to say 'don't be too upset with yourself'.

A hot-what?

Applejack must have sensed your bewilderment at a glance, because she smirkes and gestures to your mug.

“Is that what this stuff is called?" You quickly lift the empty tankard and look inside at the frothy remnants.

Rarity’s voice filters over the quiet in a distracted lilt, “In nine out of ten establishments in Canterlot, yes. And those are the only ones Applejack has ever could have conceivably visited for that matter.”

It quietly hangs in the air as your face contorts in a distorted facsimile of a grin. “Yeah, sure then. Thanks.”

You find yourself looking over at the mare absorbed in her sullen sulk. You aren't Rainbow Dash; the whole incident had been a frustrating near miss, but it wasn’t your fault. Without you the Pegasus might be little more than fried-chicken for a pair of Gremlins. Of course, you and your accomplice probably have wanted posters gracing the frozen walls of buildings all over town thanks to that stunt. Hopefully the nurse had enough presence of mind to actually mention the Gremlins.

Applejack must have caught your gaze as she leans against the deflated Pegasus, “So, what can I do ya' for, Rainbow?" The farm-mare ignores Rainbow’s plight.

“Well, got any more of this stuff?" Rainbow noses the empty parfait glass. The confectionary glass is shallow, but when heaped with layers of whipped cream, some egg-cream, mixed fruit and granola, it makes for a tasty chilled treat.

“Sure thing. Maybe some hot apple-nut pie ta’ warm yer belly? Hmm." Applejack puts on a show of tapping her lip in deep thought as Rainbow catches on to the pensive idea. A playful smirk eeks across the farmpony's muzzle, “Maybe a mug a' cider ta’ wash it down?" The little question lights a covetous spark in the Rainbow's magenta eyes.

“Y-you're joking right? You're not." A smile races across Rainbow Dash's muzzle.

Even if Applejack is partially lamed, the cow-pony made a good show of happily trotting back over to the door, scooting a few saddlebags over, and returning with a wooden keg on a braided cord like a search-and-rescue Saint Bernard. It’s enough for a few tankards but not too much more. You can't help but smile as she uses a spigot to tap the bung of the small wooden keg. “Don't all ya'll fret none, there's enough to go around." The Pegasus leans across the table as if drawn by a magnet.

“Like a moth to a flame. Now then," you turn to Rarity who looks back over her shoulder at Applejack and the near tail-waggingly happy Rainbow Dash, “I know what it should look like. Like I said when we came in, we're looking for a pair of crossed keys.”

“What's it open?" Pinkie's bouncy tone migrates from the fire to the entertainment.

“Huh?”

“Keys open stuff like doors, boxes and other fun secrets. So what's it unlock?" She flutters her eyes again and springs up from the fire, only to circle behind the small low-backed couch you and Rarity share. She plants her hooves on the chair’s and cranes her neck forward to look over your shoulder, then over at Rarity's open sketchbook.

You think for only a moment and smile, “Twilight's freedom." Activity in the room halts, leaving only the crackling sound of the fireplace.

“Then it's the best thing we could ever hope for." Pinkie's cheek meets yours as she wraps her hooves around your neck in a warm hug.

“Which is why I'm going to get this absolutely perfect." Rarity smiles and motions for Pinkie to sit next to her. After all, it was likely Pinkie was going to be the artist involved in actually painting the cutie mark. Pinkie readily lets you go and clambers over the seat back, nosing Rarity over so she sits between you and her.

“Uh, before ya' get caught up in that. Think ya' could get us some more wood for the fire?" Applejack awkwardly grins a toothy smile. Her eyes dart back and forth to the others before tilting her head towards the table.

You blink and loft a brow, “What? Now?”

“A drink'll be ready by the time ya' get back, ah promise.”

“Suuuure." A bubbling incredulity builds by the moment. “Okay, I guess." You pull yourself to your feet as Rarity glances back at Applejack with a puzzled frown.

Rainbow is the one who probably needs to be inside more than you, but that is less about the weather and more about the agitation. Not that she'd be too happy in collecting wood like a mundane worker.

Not that I like being the remedial servant, either.

Nevertheless, you pat yourself down and gather up your coat from its resting place on the stone in front of the hearth. You sweep your collar up and nab a multi-coloured scarf before button up the front of the garment and pulling on your less than ideal footwear.

“Be right back." You announce to the tune of a half dozen affirmations. If by some freak accident you are kidnapped, inexplicably lost your memory, had a tree fall on you, or got sucked into another dimension, then at least everypony knew that you had to forge a pair of crossed keys for your fake cutie mark. With a final stamp, you open the door and slip out into the icebox of a world.

Pitch black skies loom over you as driving wind sends sheets of snow skimming across the desolate pale wastelands like sand rasping the barren desert dunes. A mournful dirge screams past, buffeting the windows and causing the timber roof to croak under the relentless assault. Your world is lit by the orange glow from the cabin's frosted windows and nothing else.

You wearily trudge those ten agonizing paces from the door, around the corner in the dark, and towards the solitary island of light. The orange island illuminates the chopping block and a cord of uncut logs stacked against the wall of the cabin. You have no lantern, just an empty iron hook jutting out from beside the window at eye-gouging height.

Hopefully the whole stack isn't frozen solid.

It isn't worth devoting much thought to as you reach for the axe handle and pull the first log over to the block. The axe itself is somewhere between a hatchet and a proper wood axe, making it awkward to use with one hand or two. Even the wooden haft bears broad tooth marks from extensive use by many ponies before you. You try to balance the log, but it wobbles and falls in the wind.

Oh, this is going to be fuuuuun…

You scowl at the log as the wind rakes at your face, and swing the axe down hard. It bites into the log and holds fast as you pull it up. As the half split log lifts with your axe, all you have to do is let it fall to the stump to split it in twain.

♣

Five minutes of being outside is enough to last you for the rest of the night. You gather up an armful of wood and leave the whispering winds and inky darkness behind.

The frosted windows shine with hazy indistinctness, but you know that figures are moving around inside. You lean near enough to the window that the heat from the side of your face will melt the icy coating on the glass if you linger too long. The wind steals away whatever they are saying, but there is a conversation going on inside and it wasn't idle chit-chat judging by the tense mumbled tones. You awkwardly stack up all the wood in your arms and stumble through the snow-swept trench that was once a pathway moments before.

The wooden door gives you a few moments of resistance before you fumble got the latch with numbed fingers. As the latch gives way, you shove your way inside and swiftly shut the door with your foot.

“Still cold?" Rainbow smirks with that rejuvenated cockiness. The wooden mini-cask lay on its side next to her, completely drained as she cups her hoof against a tankard.

“You should know, O weather warrior." You mutter unhappily while carefully descending those steps to the sunken living room. A scrape across the wooden table catches your attention as you drop the firewood on the dwindling pile next to the hearth. Looking back up from the living room to the utilitarian dining table, Rainbow has slid a tankard across its surface to an unoccupied seat. Everypony is there, just awkwardly standing about waiting for you. The world rests in weary silence, clutched in the grip of a crushing tension as if preceding some dire intervention.

“Rightly, suga’cube, sit'own for a spell, would ya?" Applejack's eyes rove to look around the room, never settling in one place.

This is some sort of intervention, isn't it?!

The thought strikes you as both comedic and odd, but aside from Rainbow Dash, nopony is looking at you directly. Moreover, none seem willing to talk until you've taken a seat. The table is looking awfully cramped with five ponies crowding around it.

“Darling, we've had a bit of a talk." Rarity starts, her sketchpad forgotten by the couch. She gingerly motions for Fluttershy to take over.

“And we just don't want you to get hurt or feel anything is your fault if something... if something happens..." she ducks back behind her curtain of hair, waiting to see what you’ll say.

Applejack's gaze rests on Fluttershy who defers the fatal blow. A lump forms in your throat. The forthright country-mare takes over, “So, we all figured that you'd be best stayin' here and lettin' us pony-folk handle it."

It’s a damned coup d'etat! No, no, nooo you don’t!

But Applejack pushes on ahead despite your puzzled look turning to indignation. “Ah mean, sure, we're dealin' with a monster, but it ain't something we haven't done before. We’re worried that somepony’ll try ta’ hurt ya’ thinkin’ yer Ulf.”

Applejack opens her muzzle again just as you suck in a breath to interject in a hail of expletives, but Pinkie quickly butts in before either of you, “I tried to say that you could just borrow my Pinkie Plush costume. It's warm, it's fun, and you'd look exactly like me! Although, then they might not be able to tell us apart, and then if you looked into a mirror and suddenly another Rightly Pie popped out, there's no Twilight here to deal with them too. Then we'd never be able to find the right Pinkie Pie or Rightly Pie and if they mixed you up for me, then... I don't know if I could take another paint staring contest. I Just, Don't, Know!" Pinkie's eyes well up as she reaches across the table, taking your head in her hooves as her lips tremble and a glassy veil passes over those ocean blue eyes, “You understand, don't you?" The confusion is enough to stop that rising spirit of undeniable indignation.

I… what? Do I understand? No! Who would?

“It's true, she did. I said we should just go in and buck a few teeth." Rainbow bangs her hoof on the table, “And if somepony scares him off, it might not work again. See, we gotta' do this all right the first time. I said you were cool to tag along but AJ figured you would blow our cover."

"Might blow our cover. Might." Applejack corrected her though it wasn't enough.

Opening your mouth, the Unicorn mare gently presses a hoof to your lips. Your eyes are drawn to hers: the soft azure jewels shimmer but hold firm as she shakes her head. The tension and stress melt from her face, erasing lines of uncertainty and the creases of discomfort that had gathered like storm clouds since Twilight was taken. “We need to maintain a low profile, and as useful as a strong, able, heroic, assistant and friend would be, the ponies here don't understand that you and Ulf are different. They don’t know you like we do. We know you could never be like him, dear. But for your own good, for the worry you'd place on your own shoulders, let us do it. Let me do it. You've done so much, it’s time for you to get some rest. We'll take care of the rest of it. Besides, it may take a few days, we need somepony to look after our little abode." Rarity’s rich smile stills any explosive condemnation as she settles her hooves on your shoulders. With a last quiet peep she asks, “Is that okay, mon cherr?”

Getting angry at her was obnoxiously difficult when she put it like that. You are reduced to nodding, but it is enough by the little ‘huff’ of breath from her nostrils. She wraps her forelegs around you in a warm embrace as you stay rather still. Her little affectionate coo leaves you with little choice in the matter it seems.

There has to be something to refute it, to counter it. Pinkie gently pats you on the head, “Don't worry, we'll be back reaaaally, reaaally quick and have Twilight, too. Then, we'll have a spectaclarific celebration! It'll be great, trust us.”

You look around to see if that was the case: Rainbow merely winks, Applejack looks relieved and leans on you as if to say that nothing has changed, while Fluttershy mutely nods from across the table. It all seems to add up to them, even if you have your reservations.

Damn it.

You plaster a fake smile on your lips, “If we're going to do that, I'm going to make sure you're going to have the most tempting key cutie mark there is." You felt like spitting each word out as he bitterness and vitriol rose in your throat. “Rarity, you'll have to make up a clasp. It's going to be tough advertising a cutie mark any other way"

Rarity beams and unwraps her hooves from your neck, “Quite right. Oh, and a matching cloak. It would be a travesty to do all that work and miss something so plain in front of one's face." Twilight had once said that obscuring a cutie mark was a strange social faux-pas; it was indicative of a servant, somepony that wasn’t acting for themselves, but somepony else. The Royal guards, the constabularies, some inspectors, they each had obscured cutie marks, but for the most part it just wasn't done.

Choking back down the irritation you even refrain from that defeated sigh, “So, let's get to work. I'll stay here, look after the place, just... don't you dare get hurt. Spike’ll never forgive me.”

“We know.” Pinkie beamed then halts as her eyes flicker in recognition. Slowly she rubs her chin, “Was that supposed to be a secret?”

So Rarity isn’t the only snoop, hmm?

You adopt a professional mein and ignore that, “Now, about that key." The business-like tone helps steady your nerves as it sets everypony in motion. You take a deep breath and reach across to the drink set in front of you. Quaffing it down buys a brief respite. Being useful and helpful is fine but it doesn't make it any less disappointing.

This must be how Spike feels.

♣♣

Staring up at the ceiling far overhead, the homely rafters turn to skeletal ribs that creak and groan in pain at the relentless assault of the wind. Even after your friends told you that you shouldn't be going with them, there was a sort of caring sensation to accompany the harshness of their decision. Now, it‘s only a faded memory; sullen anxiety has replaced any vestige of warmth and the gathering gloom engulfs the cabin. Laying on the wide couch wrapped in a stifling wool blanket is a comfortable way to watch the crackling embers at the edge of the flames. You want to get up to stoke the fire and await your friends’ return, but that could still be gone for hours.

You have given in to the ponies’ demands, but instead of just going to bed upstairs and not worrying about it, you stayed curled up on the living room couch. You await the sound of the front door blowing open as a troupe of six ponies clamber in out of the cold amid complaints of the cold and congratulatory chatter. Then the nightmare could be over.

But what if things go badly? What if they don’t come back? Ulf has killed before, so what would another four ponies be to him if he found his final 'key'?

Those thoughts have been assaulting your senses for the past hour as you lay back, ostensibly trying to sleep, but that wasn't happening. You gaze out the black windows into the abyss outside before closing your eyes and rolling over. Now you wait here at the edge of town, far away from the hustle, bustle, and relative safety of the big west coast city.

Getting up is slow and arduous as you drag yourself from the couch and keep the wool blanket wrapped around you like a robe. Something curls and bursts within the cinders as you poke the dying embers. A light crackle, burning orbs like sprites that dance behind that metal grating. A pulsating throb is followed by a high pitched whistle emanating from the flames in the guttering hearth fire. A lulling sway imparts a calm and banishes the anxiety of the night.

Your gaze begins to blur and settle into an unfocused stare as the tongues of orange and yellow flame writhe and dance. They warp and twist like gates that let through the few blackened wisps of smoke forming the curling twists of a mane. Two coals blaze to life, turning from ruby-red to searing-white as a face forms in the heat of the furnace.

Squire! Hark and fly; make haste to the stone guardians beside the serpent who writhes but can not die.

Your eyes pop open fully as a gout of flames and sparks bursts to life. There is no question of whether or not you are asleep, you feel the surging compulsion to rise to your feet. Throwing off the blanket, you rapidly redress yourself as a cold sweat beads on your brow. Not until the whistling wind slaps you in the face and freezes your cheeks do you truly feel in control again.

You push into the wilds and ignore that quizzical part of you wondering how the strong impulse shocked you into action. Grouse mountain overlooks the whole of Vanhoover and it would certainly be a beautiful view if the snows didn't blank out the twinkling city lights in an impenetrable white veil.

In a fit, you slog through the few feet of snow and fetch the wood axe from the stump. Now you just had to find the 'Stone Guardians'. Something feels wrong about it as you make your way down the trail from Grouse mountain to Vanhoover's outer limits. Nevertheless, it was a portentous sign.

Act 3- Chapter 8: The Boulevard of Broken Dreams

The Boulevard of Broken Dreams
Proofread by TehSporkBandit

The pathway lies abandoned by all except the howling winter winds. Surely nopony would stick their neck outside in such unrelenting weather. Each voracious gust tries to find vulnerable gaps in your armour but with two scarves bound tight around your face and coat closed tight, it has no way to torment you. Your axe rests on your shoulder as the lingering echos of Princess Luna’s dire warning drives you onwards along that lifeless boulevard. Thanks to that compelling feeling hovering around you, it feels like you could trundled on pegs if all your toes fell off. It’s been at least an hour since you left your cabin, but that thought tells you to hurry up rather than save yourself from the discomfort of the weather.

From evergreen stands laden with snow to market stands bellying under the weight of the same, the patina of a winter paradise fades. The forests give way to a metropolis; wind-blasted streets heaped with snow drifts rest under the indifferent auspice of its monolithic glass towers and humming orange street lamps. You duck beneath an overhang in the lee of one of the copper plated edifices to escape from the scourge of the punishing winds. A brazen sign swinging on the other side of the street reads:

Dunesmare Boulevard

The swaying lanterns inundate you with a false sense of warmth. As you give yourself a moment to breath, you trace your fingers over the chilled sandstone pillar holding up the overhang of the ten-story structure. Up ahead you glimpse a large glass door with brass handles, but more importantly, a lit placard. Pinned up inside the ring of liquid red light like a lava lamp, you see the layout of the city of Vanhoover.

The city butts up against the south banks of the Frisien river with much of the dense core nestled along the river’s edge. Here and there are notes of attractions near the names of streets and little caricatures portraits. This particular building is marked out in a small ring of gold along the downtown corridor. It seemed that you’d found a commercial plaza of some sort. Still, scanning the placard reveals no obvious indication of a stone guardian.

A feminine screech howls from a scant five paces away. You swiftly spin on your heels and confront the mare who rounded the corner. Swaddled up in a green shawl and thick collared wool, overburdened with two saddlebags, the mare’s quiver and quaking has little to do with the weather. Her eyes widen and in the dim light and you can see her pupils contract as her mouth hangs agape. Even as she blindly reels back and skids across the frozen walkway, she stammers, “Please-please-please just leave me alone." Her hood slips, showing a moss-green Unicorn horn protruding from curly russet locks.

“I'm not…" you stop yourself after realizing her panic stricken state.

It probably wouldn't help to be reassuring anyway.

“Stone guardians,” you continue without breaking stride, “do you know about anything like that?"

“I, I d-d-didn't do anything, I haven't, I mean I'm not..." the jittery Unicorn mare backs herself up against the stone pillar at the edge of the arcade. Her wool socks are pulled up high but a cutie mark of a chef’s knife and an orange slice is still visible poking between the layers of fabric.

I don't have time for this!

“Stone guardians, windy snake, is that ringing any bells?" The crackle in your voice, even muffled by the scarf, is surprising. She doesn't look like the best candidate to ask for information but she is the sole pony you've seen since your friends left.

“I don't have anything, I swear it! I’ve got, uhh, j-just a second. I’ve got..." Her high pitched squeal rakes your ears as she rifles through her saddlebags with a sniveling sob.

You roll your eyes and grow as she tosses over a few floth wrapped vegetables, “I need to know… Hey! Hello? Are you paying attention?" The mare lets out a warbling whine, likely unconnected to your question. The slight rise in your voice from the burgeoning pangs of irritation doesn’t help either. Her bleary eyes try desperately to avoid yours. “I'm not going to hurt you I just need to hear-”

You made it to 'hurt' before she lets out a ragged gasp and finally looks at you. Her eyes lock with yours, red rimmed with tears, narrowed to pin pricks like emerald specks. The mare’s nostrils flare and her muscles tense up with an almost electric jolt.

She's not... she wouldn’t… she couldn't…

The mare howls and darts forward, bowling you over and skidding out from under the marquee into the street. She tears her saddlebags off in a desperate bid to escape and tosses them aside.

You could let her go but she is the only pony've seen wandering the streets. There are precious few alternatives other than hoping to stumble across somepony else stupid enough to be outdoors or resort to home invasions.

Celestia, forgive me for this.

You pick yourself up quickly and race after her in a bid to chase the mare down. On the frozen walkway you are more ungainly than she is but her hooves scramble wildly over the icy stone. Taking a chance, you bound out from the icy walkway and onto the snow-covered street. You catch a glimpse of her wildly looking back behind her, entirely ignoring any possible threat from the street. To her frightened mind you had probably disappeared like a ghost.

She slows as you gain enough ground to cut the mare off. You flick the axe out, holding it by its head and charge in on a tangent over one of the drifts towards the overhang. The mare's scream is cut short as you thrust the axe half between her legs. She tries to bolt but the axe heft tangles up in her feet and sends her crashing to the ground in an uncoordinated heap.

The Unicorn mare tries to flail and worm away but you quickly pin her to the ground with your heel. She’s trapped, and by the whimpering breaths and violent trembling, she knows that too. You straddle her stomach and draw your face over hers. “No more thrashing.” She recoils and lays stiff as a board. “Good. Now, where are the stone guardians in this town? Tell me what I need to know, I promise, I won't hurt you.”

You catch the musky scent of terror. Her glossy emerald eyes and faint white freckles suddenly seem uncomfortably familiar. Her gaze mets yours as her tongue finally loosens in a begging, pleading and babbling torrent. But something else slowly seems to dawn on her, “S-s-stode guardiads?” She says in a stuffy sniffle. She is settling down just as you shift, scraping the notched head of the axe against the frozen stone. The sound, the sight, both cause her to roll her eyes back into a faint.

Son of a bitch…

“Hey, look at me… you… well shit…” You shunt the axe aside and raise a hand up. It lingers in the air for a moment, halting in hesitation before you shake your hand and wince. It has to be done. You slap the mare across the cheek with a resounding echo that is quickly stolen away by the tumultuous wind. It leaves a red mark as you bite your lip, watching her eyes blink as she looks at you with a whimper. The witless mare holds a hoof to her smarting face but she remains awake and attentive. “Still with me?” She absently nods. “Good. Yes, stone guardians near a serpent.”

“Th-th-the lions of Standley park. They're just on the bridge, bridge that… L-l-lion's gate bri..." She chokes the rest back. Her eyes meet yours again before her pale green eyes glaze over with a last whimpering murmur. The mare flinches only once, completely witless as her head lolls to the side and her hooves fall akimbo on the frigid pathway.

It’s bound to be awkward to move her but you can't leave her here to freeze. You bite your lip and grasp the axe before striding back to the commerce office's glass entrance. Sure enough, it’s locked.

Legs wide apart, careful not to hit yourself. Keep your eye on the target, not the axe…

You repeat a mantra of common sense gleaned from Big Macintosh while resting the hatchet’s edge on a groove between the thin wooden lip of the doors. It’s merely the work of the moment to bring the blade down swiftly and smash the delicate locking mechanism with a distinct metallic 'ping'. All it take is a quick shove to fling the door wide open.

After leaning the axe against the entrance, you return to the mare. She hasn't moved a muscle since falling into a faint. After bending down by her head, you loop your arms under her forelegs and drag her backwards some thirty feet to the door. Her head bumps against the door jamb, causing you to wince and mouth 'sorry'.

The empty interior holds at least some heat, so the mare shouldn't be in too much danger. As you drag her into the shadowy interior, the indistinct edges of a couch and a low coffee table strewn with magazines flanked in potted plants emerges in the gloom. It is like a typical dentist's waiting room, complete with the barely concealed menace of it all. You pull her to the striped couch that shows dull grey in the crepuscular gloom of the solitary security light and prop her up on the seat. It still wasn’t quite right. After a few adjustments the mare rests in a curled up ball to conserve heat. Now there was only one thing left to do. You take the magazines and quickly scatter them across the unconscious mare.

There. If it's good enough to keep a hobo alive, it'll be good enough for you too.

You finish your work and return to bitter outdoors long enough to fetch her bags and toss to them inside as well. Dusting your hands off, it’s a job done and information gained. Looking once again look to the glowing placard on the side of the building in the hopes of pinpointing Standley Park.

The sign might not have 'Stone Guardians' anywhere, but Standley Park and the Lion's Gate bridge are as clear as crystal. Thankfully, the location is just ten or maybe twelve blocks north at most. You study the commercial map and its caricature tourist locations before picking up the axe laying by the doorway. Once more you return to the wiles of the desolate streets and set off northward.

Don't let me be too late.

Images of the mare, of that plea, of those bright green eyes all run through your mind. Terror, shock, a slow recovery are almost certain, but you did it for the right reasons. It has to be right. Your five friends counted on you at that very instant. Not to mention the myriad of other ponies who depend on them.

I'm sure she'd understand if she knew what was at stake.

It all makes sense, it's all logically sound; as you rush through the empty Vanhoover streets with an axe in hand and breathe steaming out in icy clouds, the haunting emerald eyes of that mare tell another tale.

♣

You ran ten blocks in ten minutes. Eddies and currents form in the middle of city streets and as you burst through them they kick up a plume of powder. The raspy particles are swiftly caught in the wind and hurled back in your face. Small cracks finally emerge in your armour; your wet calves are freezing and small exposed areas on your wrist are chapped. But you soon had to loose the scarves from your mouth to get enough breath to run and that, more than anything else, had chilled you to the bone. But still you carry on, axe hefted on your shoulder, while the repeated directions ring in your mind. Finally, as you round a bend and turn right, you stumble to the gates of Standley park.

Pangs of uneasiness run through you as the metal gate creaks open. It is the same as the rusty door at Riverview hospital and the crumbled gates at the Castle of the Two Sisters in the Everfree. Every single time there had been someone else lurking in the shadows. Iblis.

While there are no walls, the patterned iron gate with interlocking rose thorns had been laid open wide before you. There is an inscription over a large sandstone arch:

To an era of peace and prosperity in all lands and all times

The royal cipher is no longer a mystery to you but the sign's message seems woefully alien given the circumstances.

Beyond the decorative fence are large stands of tall sycamores and coastal cedars. Each skeletal remnant lies withered and ravaged by winter's savage breath. The tall denuded trunks are lost in the darkness beyond the impotent pall of the oil lamps shining out on either side of the street. This road into the park, though covered with meandering snow drifts, should lead to the great highway of the north on the other side of the park. This is where your friends are. So spake the Princess of the Night.

It is frightfully silent and thoughts stream in and out of your mind with remarkable freedom. All of that ends with a thundering crackle in the distance. A winter thunderstorm wasn't unheard of, but several more roiling thunderclaps and rolling growls made it sound unnatural. You heedlessly rush forward in spite of the danger.

Was that Rainbow Dash?

A second rattling crack raises your hackles as bolts of blue lance out between the skeletal limbs of the ghostly sycamores. The incandescent tines scorch the sky with the pungent stink of burning ozone. In the immutable silence that follows the lightning strike, you hear voices: a husky note of desperation, a wailing dirge of a cry. Nothing was understandable but it was enough to grip your heart as you stumble through the trees.

Murky curtains of snow shroud the world of darkness, but two faded blobs glowing in the distance focus your vision. You catch a glimpse of the sandstone arches in the drifting ice fog. Thus, you find the guardians.

Two great marble lions rear up twenty feet on great stone plinths as tall as yourself. The prideful beasts look regal with a single great paw placed on a carved snowflake. One had an enormous mane, the other lacked it: male and female, they stood as an eternal duo watching over the gateway to the north. Up overhead, you and see the first massive truss of corrugated copper reaching up to the dreary sky. Large bundled cables stretch up from near the stone guardians like looped threads on a half finished garment.

You cross the threshold onto the first massive stone slab of the bridge deck. There are no tracks but you can see the groove where something had trudged through. To your left is a small unnatural mound near the iron railings. You drag yourself towards the curious lump. Sure enough, it’s a Gremlin crumpled against the rail. Snow settles on its cold ruddy skin and grey corded habit.

It looks like some sort of monk.

Either way, it is either dead or senseless. Even jabbing at its prostrate form with the axe gives you you no indication either way. A sound up ahead draws your attention further along the bridge.

A ragged crack overhead pops your ears painfully and a rising wave of nausea creeps up your throat. If it wasn't for a discernible effort, you would have tottered over and collapsed. You stand with an ungainly sway and woozily stumble to the side. Something screeches by, hurled through the air like a comet, only to crash into the frozen river below with a splash. It was spindly, with ragged wings, not cyan.

A low iron railing spans the bridge five paces to your left and five to your right. Beyond that is the inky blackness of night.

“Y'aint taking nopony else, y'all hear me!?" A familiar voice snarls through the haze.

There is no verbal reply, just the rolling croon of dozens of ravens. The temperature swiftly blooms like a heatwave, momentarily taking some of the bite from the stagnant air. A cloaked figure holds its wiry hands up, silhouetting its stooped and bloated form in a haze of shimmering blue.

As the blue mist forms into a single crackling orb suspended between the creature's outstretched fingers, a great plume spews from its back like an oily fountain. It was a great gyser borne aloft on onyx pinions, a living cloud that shrieks, cries and croaks. Several similar blue orbs spark into existence, held aloft by a cabal of four other equally hunched phantoms. Each is adorned by a living carpet of ravens whose heads bob and turn in every direction. Four other cloud Gremlins hiss and flap their leathery wings, a small bodyguard protecting the various figures as they chant.

“The Day of Destiny approaches, seized from our claws and enacted by the Crystal Eyes.”

As the croaking cacophony of voices swell, you can see the orbs begin to grow and illuminate the faces of three of your friends. Fluttershy tries to look the part of a great bulwark against the cabal and its winged minions. Applejack stood some distant behind her facing the opposite direction with Pinkie Pie at her side. The stoic Apple doggedly stares into the encroaching darkness but beneath the stony exterior you could practically see her muscles tensing like coiled springs

Fluttershy backpedals as a living wave of ravens spew from the quartet's robes. Applejack keeps her gaze focused on the inky darkness on the far side of the bridge as two Gremlins stalk towards her. The mare quickly turns and bucks one of the leathery creature, flinging it across the bridge deck. The Gremlin collides with the iron railing and ricochets off with a ring like a pealing bell. The second Gremlin skulks forward, pouncing with its outreached claws as it clings to her side. Applejack twists and turns, throwing it aside like a discarded toy. Her assailant tumbles awkwardly through the snow and comes to a rest in a jumbled heap. Rearing up, the Earth-mare stamps down on it, winding the creature and leaving it a twitching mess. Six or seven dark figures lay limp and broken around the cluster of ponies but other faceless spectres slink forward to replace the fallen.

“Lookie, Applejack!" Pinkie bumps the farm-mare aside as a scintillating bolt erupts from one of the crackling orbs of energy. The jagged lance of lightning streams over the deck, scorching it bare and leaving a black streak where Applejack had been standing moments before.

The swelling glow lets you see the suspension bridge cables, but among it is an azure shadow pursued by several ragged shapes. Rainbow Dash. You are sure she should have seen you, she may have seen you as she twists between the steely cables losing at least one more pursuer who spins into the darkness and disappears. Another of the cabal twisted its fingers, weaving an intricate spell and coaxing it into being as the ragged tines of forked lightning streak out among the wires. There is a hiss as it sheers at least one cable from its moorings amid a burst of light and shower of sparks.

Four ponies but where's Rarity?!

“Rightly?!" Fluttershy’s shocked cry carries over the gap. Your eyes open wide as you stand fifteen paces behind the as-of-yet unaware group. Several of the orbs disappear in a flurry of sparks as three of the raven cloaked magicians hasten to look your way.

The fourth turns far more slowly as if unamused and unsurprised. Dancing lights erupt between his fingertips, allowing you to see the shadow shrouded face as it grins in the pallid spark light. The gangly figure has just one fang. “You’re like the plague, I just can’t seem to get rid of you. Come to watch our roast have you, nithinger?”

Iblis.

You catch your breath, realizing that the cabal's bodyguards are scrambling away from Fluttershy and towards you. The dagger-mawed fiends stream your way, their eyes sparkling red in the unnatural light. You aren't sure what to do but tighten your grip on your axe as all eyes turn to you.

“Eee-Yeaaah!" You scream and bound through the snow, swinging the axe up in a glittering arc over your head like a baseball bat. The bellow, the screech and the poise of the wood axe over your head sends the Gremlins scrambling left and right in all directions. Even the bloated figures seem to burst and erupt in a chattering cry of Ravens before disappearing in the jet-black swarm. They dart out of the way, as do the sickly robed bodyguard who melt into the darkness as if all the furies of hell were nipping at their heels. The unnatural warmth fades once again.

Your mad rush carries you forward over clods of sodden black feathers, only to find yourself without an opponent. Fluttershy stands transfixed and slack jawed at the barbaric display as you stumble into their midst.

“Rightly." Applejack doesn't look at you but her terse words and headbob acknowledges your presence. Her face is scratched like she'd run heedlessly through thickets, but aside from the small red lines she didn't seem any worse for wear.

“Where's Rarity?" You ask while unsteadily trying to regain your breath. The question falls flat and drifts off into the blustery night as your friends stare into the gloom. The crunch of footsteps heralds another’s approach; it is too loud and too slow for a pony.

A towering silhouette cuts through the gloom. It’s no hunchbacked, spindle-limbed Gremlin, but a bulky monolith nearly seven feet tall. It sways, moving back and forth, a voluminous cloak curling in the breeze with the clink of metal rings and plates. It has something tossed over its shoulder. It could be bundled cloth, or part of the cloak but a mewling whimper nearing a whine freezes the blood in your veins.

Rarity.

How he got her is irrelevant; at the moment the Unicorn was imperiled. The giant of a man steps into the light cast by a single swinging lantern on the tall bridge column. The dim light barely reflects the glimmer of antiquated chainmail or the white of the bearskin cloak. A tall brassy helm rests on his head, bound in bands of riveted metal with a low brow and a pair of thick cheek protectors, while a single broad metal strip bisects his face. Only a wispy white beard is visible, tumbling in the freezing winds as he strides towards you like a leviathan.

A low cackling chortle breaks the interminable silence, “Well, well, I di’n’t believe it when they tol' me they saw another Norseman. I tol' them…" he actually chortled, emitting a deep resounding bass like the growl of a wolf. “I tol' them you were nothing but an illusion, a night haunting, a figment of their fears and nothing more. Even I thought that might be true. I am Ulf the Red." The man taps a gauntlet-shod knuckle to his chest.

Rarity stirs on his shoulder, kicking against a sack cloth wrapped in several thick banded belts. The Viking doesn't strike her, he doesn't crush her, though he almost certainly could. Instead, he pats her on the back and resettles the Unicorn on his shoulder with peculiar care.

You motion for Fluttershy to skirt out and to the side of the giant of a man, hoping she could silently stalk around him as you took a hesitant step forward, “A-ahem. And I might just be-”

There is a whistling cry from the other end of the bridge, then a thunderous crack as a figure screams out of the heavens and ploughs into the snow shrouded deck. It spits up a plume of white and sends rippling waves washing away from the stone deck slab, only for the snow to be buffeted away. It left a clearing for ten paces in every direction around the cyan Pegasus wrapped in ragged bands of wind frayed cloth.

“H'oh, yeah? Guess what, pal, I'm the nightmare here. You just bought yourself a one-way ticket on the pain train. First stop, my hoof. Second stop, Tartarus!"

Cut off, surrounded, and outnumbered five to one; Ulf should be rattled. Instead, you just hope to keep the tremble out of your voice as you see the sword scabbard sticking out from his cloak, “Give it up and return Twilight. You'll likely face banishmen…" you swallow as the rest of the sentence sticks in your throat.

He shrugs as if it were of no consequence, “I think not. The Nornar are with me, or they aren't. Either way, it is as Gott wills. You would agree if you knew." The phrase sticks in your mind like Iblis's had back at the castle of Two Sisters. It sounded true but it lacked the same overwhelming compulsion.

Did he say that, or did I? Why would I agree with him?

As you pensively mull that over, you hear Applejack spit out, “Hogwash!" Ulf leisurely draws the sword, letting the razor sharp tip flick just above the snow. He quickly grasps it by the blade beneath the short crosshilt, holding it out for a moment as if prompting you for a response.

“Look, give us Twilight and that one, “ she points at Rarity, “now!” Applejack barks and stamps her hoof.

In that moment you see the white bearded Ulf pause. “Ah, you are a heathen, yes?" The Norseman says with a warning rumble. At last, he grasps the sword by the hilt again.

It might give us an opening.

You slowly shake your head and quickly make a clumsy sign of the cross, by tapping a numbed finger from temple to chest and across your shoulders. The man smiles, placated in his suspicions as he sheathes the weapon and resettles the Unicorn on his shoulder as she feebly squirms in the thick restraints.

Come on, Rainbow, do something! That or shut up and follow him with Fluttershy!

The Pegasus is faster than the rest of you put together but all she does is blink at the bluster, “Hey! Do you think you're just gonna' stroll right out with Rarity on your back?”

The man stops and turns, “Aaaaah, so you know her!”

“W-well, I. That is..." Rainbow stammers, having blown the ploy as Ulf turns to keep both the argumentative Rainbow Dash and the more threatening Applejack in sight.

“Rarity, a nice name and so very… how would you say, appropriate?" Ulf looks over as you dumbly blink and stare at the baffled Pegasus.

“You bet we know her, buddy! Now give 'er back!" Pinkie brushes off the failed scheme and takes a few heavy steps forward with a growl.

Ulf turns, evidently declining any further negotiation. Applejack purses her lips and narrows her eyes. “Rightly,” she stops to audibly grind her teeth, “git mah rope." You look over at the saddlebag and see the slight cylindrical bulge from the rope coil. It had been put inside to avoid freezing solid, though it is still awkward and stiff as you hand it to the mare who nibbles the end in concentration.

Slowly you heft the axe as well as a deterrent for Ulf. Maybe it would give him pause. Five to one sounds well and good, but the one is a veteran of many wars and he knows his craft well.

“Fine, ah warned ya'!" Applejack lets loose a loud “Yee-Haw!" and darts forward, spinning the lariat over her head. That surge of arrogant confidence goads you forward with a howl and an upraised axe, pounding over the drifts at the unprotected back of the Viking thane.

Unsurprisingly, an azure bolt reaches him first. Rainbow Dash dives at the thane as he steps aside like a flickering flame. A harsh twist brings his elbow down on her back, sending the Pegasus careening into the railing. Rainbow's charge twisted him off balance however. Ulf growls and fumbles to keep a grip on Rarity while simultaneously reach for his sword.

The deathly flash of glinting steel reflects in the orange lamplight as you swing your axe with a shudder of hesitation. A flash of silver glints in the darkness followed by a ringing clash of metal-on-metal. He’d spun the sword out and caught the axe under its head. With a grunt, he pushes the weapon down, skimming your arm with the sword’s lethal edge. You barely manage to twist and avoid the gouging blade carving into your arm. Ulf’s unexpected kick to your ankle staggers you as your leg buckles.

A pink flash streaks by on Ulf's blind-side, and you glimpse Pinkie hold a hoof up to her lips as she skids to a stop behind him. It’s only the precursor to Applejack thundering in like a runaway freight train. She bulls forward with her shoulder, slamming into the man’s stomach and sending him stumbling backwards. With Pinkie underfoot, he reels, flails, then falls like dead tree. The sword scythes out as Ulf turns on his side, the razor keen tip clips a few hairs from Pinkie's forelocks and flicks just wide of Applejack’s flank with a singing hiss.

The Viking crashes to the ground in a heap of metal rings and bearskin, but he is still clinging to the large sackcloth wrapped bag. The material moves as Rarity wriggles and squirms like a caterpillar until Ulf finally loses his hold on her. She stops as the gut-lace bindings on the sack cloth unstitch themselves in a pale cyan blue haze.

You want to beg Rarity not to move, to get away as you turn on your side and bring the axe blade biting down again. It’s met halfway up by a whirling war axe that Ulf must have kept just beneath his cloak. Whatever the cause, the thin axeblade cleaves through the air and shatters the haft of your hatchet, a few hairs shy of your hand. Your cheek stings from a whizzing splinter and your hand goes numb from the jarring impact. Your deadened grip loosens around the broken wood handle. A sturdy boot from Ulf sweeps your feet out from underneath you and lays you on your back. You stare up at the black sky while gasping for breath.

A subsequent sweep of the war-axe is met by the whip-crack of a lasso. The rope loops around the axe-head and jerks it away with a single sharp tug from the cow-pony. Ulf had disarmed you of your only means of protection as contemptuously as taking a toy from a child. Unarmed, vulnerable, practically helpless at the onslaught, you feel a nip on your collar as Pinkie drags you back out of sword reach. Not a moment too soon. Ulf slams the blade of the sword down as it bites into the stone. The Viking surges to his feet in a spray of white power, all the while spluttering and frothing like a wild beast.

“Fluttershy!" Rainbow's shrill holler is accompanied by a quick jab of her hoof at the squirming bag as Fluttershy meekly slips towards it.

“Stop!" Pinkie spat your collar out and howls as the Pegasus folded the material down around Rarity's head and tugged at the belts to drag her back. The harshness caused Fluttershy to seize up and drop like a stone, narrowly avoiding the seeking blade which clove through the air above her mane.

“What are you waiting for!? For feathers’ sake, just get her!" Rainbow Dash's howl of impotent rage rings off the steel girders around you. Fluttershy just stares at Rarity with a trembling lip and quiet whimper. You were sure you saw a headbob of understanding pass between them.

Your gaze is drawn to the four blue globes that spring to life amidst an oily, shapeless cloud bank that breezes past the bridge. The black mist envelops the steel ties, seeping tendrils over everything and leaving a runny black vapour clinging to every surface. The sharp angles and general shape give it a frame like a sailing ship. Eldritch green bolts of lightning course through the mist around the orbs which slowly expand until the very air crackles with a resonating static hum. As the steady thrum swells, the hairs on the back of your neck prick up.

“AJ..." you start to say as Applejack growls and tries to kick out at Ulf again, but the ungainly limp is a tell and he nimbly skids aside while seizing Rarity in hand. “AJ?" You try to get her attention again as Rainbow sniffs the air and looks back.

“Horse apples!" It has to have dawned on Rainbow Dash as well. She darts forward and snakes past Applejack for a last desperate attempt to pry Rarity from Ulf's clutches.

“Everypony down!" Pinkie springs up and collides with Rainbow Dash, bringing them both down in a heap. You reach out, grabbing Applejack's foreleg and trying to pull her down. It’s no easy task and you can't even cover her completely as the stubborn pony tries to surge forward, tripping over your arm as you clamber to intervene.

A searing bolt of green lightning rips across the bridge girders, raking the deck with jade lances that crackle and burst around you. Cabling snaps and the copper trusses glow hot white under the remorseless assault which liquefies metal and turns stone to dust. Your eyes water from the searing effects of the blast, but the shudder and groan of the bridge beneath you is a resounding warning.

You grope blindly in the spotty darkness, enfolding Applejack's hoof in your hand as you drag yourself towards Rarity. There is nothing. Instead, you feel a wave of pain as a heavy foot stamps on your wrist. Through your peripheral vision you can see the Viking staring down at you and feel the sword tip at the back of your neck. He taps you twice and moves on. From the corner of your eye you can see struggling Unicorn.

Rarity had wrested one of her forehooves loose and yet she still lays bundled up on Ulf's shoulder. The Unicorn locks eyes with you but among the blinding white dots, you catch a half-reassuring smile fighting with a fearful anxiety. Her lips move, 'It's going to be alright. You'll see, dear.'’

Your attention is redirected sharply as Ulf grinds his heel into your wrist and dashes off towards the bridge railing at a lope.

“N-not so fast!" Rainbow unsteadily makes it up on her hooves and dives at the Viking thane again as the mists swallow him and his captive. A massive flock of ravens spills from that amorphous cloud barge, obscuring Ulf and tearing at Rainbow as the Pegasus plunges into the heart of the swarm. In just a few moments she retreats from the squirming mass of pecking beaks and raking talons before crashing back to the scorched stone.

A thick reverberating pulse shakes the stone piers of the bridge. The cloud barge banks towards the sea, taking Rarity and Ulf with it. Applejack squirms free of your grasp and dashes towards the railing. She reaches out at the black cloud mass, gasping at first then letting loose a plaintive cry. There is nothing left, they are gone.

Rainbow Dash picks herself up with Pinkie's help. The roll of thunder subsides, taking with it the blue and white spots marring your vision. Fluttershy gingerly reaches out towards Applejack amid the disheartening heaving breaths that tear from the farm-pony's throat like a bellows. It sounds like she can't breath, “Are you okay?”

“No! 'Course not!" Applejack yowls as Fluttershy recoils. “How could ya' freeze up like that?!”

You listen to the same tone, the same words, spoken by another and watch as Fluttershy's lip trembles. “B-but she told me t-t…" her voice collapses entirely.

You glance around at the warping bridge; it, like your plan, lies in ruins.

No, of course we're not alright… I think Rarity told her the same thing as me, though. So it will be alright. Hopefully.

You speak up and try to stand, “We better get out of here.” The bridge groans and vibrates under your feet, “It feels like this is shaking apart.” Your warning feels like it falls on deaf ears as the savage wind ravages the glassy stone. The support beams and girders began to twist and groan in agony as the bridge spasms in its death throes. All anypony could do is move to safety as the cracking rivets, cables and trusses start to give way with a horrendous squeal of tortured metal.

Applejack, refusing any and all help, plods along with her head bowed and the hat brim covering her eyes. Nopony else breathed a word about it.

Act 3- Chapter 9: Over Easy

Over Easy
Proofread by TehSporkBandit

The paper had been laid out on the table by the time you woke up, without any indication of how it got there. It was probably Applejack, or maybe a restless Rainbow Dash, so it wasn’t some great mystery. Now you just stare at the headlines and sigh as you place a hand on your brow. The top story: the collapse of the Lion's Gate bridge. Deep lines of consternation etch wrinkles on your forehead and your eyes even felt puffy. “Absolutely fantastic."

The whole fiasco was officially blamed on inclement weather. Apparently, a freak winter lightning storm produced a stray bolt that sheared off pier three’s support spar and caused a massive structural failure.

Of course, why not? What would they know?

After all, who else would suspect otherwise? There had been no other spectators out there at that time of night. But that wasn’t the reason why you browsed that morning’s newspaper in stony silence.

The rest was talking about the usual subjects but in even more deep-seated rhetoric: an appearance by the Unicorn Slasher at Riverview, a deadly Pegasi conspiracy in aiding him, the silence of the Princesses, the deadly winter, and who was to blame. Interviews from the weather teams, name-calling, hoof-waving, and a hefty dose of impossible promises to fix everything were printed on page after page of the Vanhoover Globe Trotter.

Something’s wrong. Iblis was going through our packs back at the Castle of Two Sisters and he took Rarity’s business card. If he was scouting around for Unicorns, then why did they take Rarity? Her business card’s a dead giveaway. Hopefully he’s too stupid to figure it out.

Sadly, something inside tells you that the malicious, bright-eyed grin was anything but unintelligent. Still, there is a chance he doesn’t know and Rarity will be safe. At least for the time being. You’d never expected that she’d actually get out of your sight, let alone abducted. That complicated matters tremendously.

“Rightly!" A chipper voice breaks your rumination.

“Hmm, Pinkie?" She had kept her cheerful demeanour but even then you were certain it was a façade.

The night before Pinkie had been cold, and not just physically. She hadn't spoken with any enthusiasm at all. It was like she was defleted, limp, ashen; everything seemed to 'drop' at the end of every sentence and it couldn't be picked back up.

“Maybe pancakes, ‘cause they have to go up when you flip them. Hmm, what else, expectations are up and so am I, and you to! So, whaddaya feel like eating for breakfast? Wanna' help?" The bouncing mare skids to a stop in the middle of the kitchen.

Ok, it’s probably a facade.

“I guess oatmeal is fine.” You reply with an irritable sigh and heave yourself up from that lazy slouch in the short, uncomfortable chair. “We can add in some slivered fruit, hmm, nuts, then some toast, eggs, tea." It is a quick mental run through of some stereotypical breakfast as you make your way towards the primitive fridge, but it was too early to think creatively.

“Well, Rainbow doesn't like eggs a whole lot, but the rest is fine. OoOoo, how about an oatmeal omelet? Double breakfast." Her springing step brings her close enough to peer under your arm at the ice box fridge as if you've already said 'yes'.

The thought of a runny chartreuse mass studded with a slurry of grey and black mush topped with burnt toast was anything but appealing. “I… don't think that it's going to work, Pinkie.”

“It's just food, it can't work. Don't worry, it means your job won't be taken by a plate of pasta with noodly whatsits. See, tooootally safe.”

I'm not sure how to respond to that.

“Huh?"

Well that will have to do.

“Oatmeal omelets, keep up! You'll need to beat the eggs, I'll get the salt. You know, special occasion and all." She taps the side of the ice box with her hooves in a clear imitation of a snap, the 'angry' or at least mock frown of disapproval crosses her muzzle. Her curly mane is a give-away though, and that gives you a bit of motivation. The bright blue spark of life circling within those almost mystic orbs coaxes an unsolicited smile onto your lips.

Pinkie seems sure, so that’s something. “Pinkie,” you ask calmly while she fetches a carton of eggs, “where are AJ, Dash, and Fluttershy?" It is fairly early, but there is no sound from the stairwell or the upstairs walkway. Even so, you can hear a quiet tap of hooves when you strain your ears.

“Upstairs." She pops open a bottle of milk and carefully cracks a few eggs.

“Sleeping?" You quirk a brow and keep your eye on the mare, though slowly you press your foot on the bellows, keeping the wood-fired stove alive. The cinders crackle and burst back to their warm lambent glow as the question hangs in the air.

“Nuh-uh."

You oblivious, tight-lipped, scruffy looking nerfherder!

“Doing what?" You tap your foot and lean on the counter while waiting for an answer.

“Plotting." Even for Pinkie that might be a touch forward. Pinkie blithely goes about pouring the eggs into a mixing bowl, adding milk, and fetching various vegetables from the pack left next to the ice box, “Ever noticed how-”

“Plotting how to get Rarity and Twilight back while we’re down here?" You cut her off, knowing she'll just prattle on endlessly unless you do.

“Yep. Hey, you're pretty good at guessing games. See, they said they had an idea, and then they sent me down here for breakfast. Anyway, what do you think my favour-”

“And they told you to help and keep me busy?!" It’s their scheme that failed last time, it’s their fault that they ran off and left you to do nothing. You had no control over them taking Rarity and now they are actively excluding you from decisions? You indignantly clutch the pan and slam the metal skillet down on the stovetop, much to Pinkie’s evident surprise.

She blinks in wide-eyed confusion, “No. They just sent me down here and I wanted somepony to talk to too. That’s all." Her hair seems to deflate thanks to her slumped shoulders and downcast stare. You let your hand ease from the skillet and sigh in resignation while gently massaging your brow.

Why can't it be easy to get indignant around them?

After a few moment’s of thought spent watching the sullen Pinkie Pie, you grab some butter to grease the pans and sidle up next to her. “Biscuits would be nice, too, Granny Smith taught me how to make really good plain buttermilk ones." The apologetic smile and gentle pat of Pinkie's curly mane is returned via a bright grin and a little nuzzle under your arm.

It is still irritating that they didn't send for you, but if Pinkie actually wanted or needed something then you are hardly in a position to refuse. Those three mares generally knew what they were doing, despite the previous disaster, and you were left hoping they'd keep you in the loop when it mattered.

“You know,” you carefully begin while watching Pinkie scrape and stir the unappetizing mixture, “we will get them back. I'm sure that the others have thought up a perfect plan. Just a matter of getting back outside, on the road, and finding a new trap. We'll have Twilight and Rarity back before you know it. And when they're back, you'll have to invent a new game to celebrate the occasion, along with all the right party bits, bobs, and play Sit a Boot." A smirk pulls itself over your lips with a less than subtle twist in its corners.

She hums and happily asks, “What's ‘Sit a boot’?”

“Why it's a-boot fun, of course." You smirk as she mentally turns it over. She giggles, snorts, and really seems to have no consideration for the 'stately' manners of others. Not that she could care less about that and not like you could either for that matter.

It takes nigh on fifteen seconds for her to steady herself as the mirthful trilling laughter rings to the rafters. “That was either really great… or really terrible." She mops an imaginary tear from her eye with the back of her hoof. “Thanks, you know, despite the fact you have aaaaalmost no expression with that sour, pinchy face and all-”

“A ‘pinchy face’?" You scrunch up your nose at the remark.

Her head bobs up and down like it will fall off, “Oh, yes, veeery pinchy. Like a crab. It just kinda all sits there, small and close together." She purses her lips severely, wrinkles her nose and closes her eyes to faint slits.

Is that how I look to them!?

“It takes a maaaasterful eye like mine,” she stares at you through one eye, craning her face right up against yours, “to spot the differences in mood and attitude." Pinkie beams again and goes back to stirring the awful looking mix with a trailing lilt of a song.

“Huh." You get a distinct impression that you look like the caricature to a pony. Coming from anypony else that might well be an insult, but the patented Pinkie-Punch variety of honesty is usually harmless.

“Hey, Rightly?" Pinkie chirps again.

“Yeah?”

“We're friends, right?" You stop to look at her after that one. A pair of bright sapphire eyes stare right back at you.

“Yes?" It feels like a trick, a very dirty trick. It was the kind of trick that Pinkie would think up, or Rarity for that matter.

“Oh, good!" She taps the wooden spoon on the edge of the bowl as she pours the mixture to fill the bottom of the two metal skillets. There's no further explanation or forthcoming continuance.

“Whyyyy?" The unease is still settling in the pit of your stomach.

That was a mistake, I was in the clear!

“Well, I just wanted to know. We say it a fair bit to you and you say 'yes' or things like that, but you've never actually said it back."

That has to be a faux-pas.

With a sigh you nod, remembering to do that. “Alright, Pinkie, for you, I'll try to say it more often." You resolve that much which certainly helps. “You are my friend, Pinkie, thanks a lot for everything you do and everything you are.” It’s hard to tell if she's satisfied by that.

“Oh, well, I know, I asked. After all, I have an eye for that sort of stuff and everypony’s my friend." She smiles and probably misses it, “I just want to make sure everypony else knows. Hey, ya’ mind tending these omelets while I mix up some more?”

“Then I will tell them, and yeah, sure I will." The sizzling scent of melted butter and cooking eggs fills your nostrils, “Alright, where’s the spatula?" You mutter to yourself and set about staring at the rather abhorrent looking mixture.

“Oh, you won't need it. Just flip it up like a pancake!”

“Is that even an omelet? Won't that be, you know, messy?" She just bats her eyelashes and smiles before cracking open a few more eggs.

Why did she seem totally fine with not answering?

“Hey, Rightly?" She seems to counter without an actual answer.

You sigh again at her verbal barrage, “Yes, Pinkie?"

“Do you like Applejack?" The skillet handle momentarily slips from your fingers as you rapidly flutter your eyelashes and try to comprehend what in Equestria she means.

“Do you want to, you know, clarify that?"

Oh, please don't say or ask anything weird. I got enough of that from Rarity.

“Hmm, I guess I could.” She cracks another egg, seemingly in thought, shifting the contents between two shells, before pouring it in a cup. It is a full twenty seconds before she pipes up, “Hmm, there, clarified. Anyway, do you like Applejack? If you haven't said anything to her then maybe you should. She does appreciate honesty.” The clacking sound of a spoon beating egg whites continues. You just stare, now more hopelessly bewildered than before.

I’m being backed into the corner by Pinkie Pie?! How does that work, even Rarity was more covert than this! You take that question back, Pinkie Pie, right now! Oh, god, am I being obvious about something, did AJ get the wrong idea? Was I actually blushing when Rarity asked that one time or not?!

“I, uhh, hadn't really thought much on that." You lie through your teeth and stare at the edge of the pan as a single water droplet fizzles out of existence.

“Dont'cha think you better? I think Applejack needs to hear she has friends right now." She was happy, adamant, how is she calm when you are practically sweating at something aside from the stove temperature.

A sudden spark of understanding hits you. “Wait-wait-wait… are you asking me if I like AJ as a friend because she needs reassurance after Rarity and Twilight were taken away. So you just want to ask me if I would tell AJ that she was my friend, all so she recognizes she hasn’t lost everyone else here… because I haven’t said it and that might shake her up or something?”

“Everypony else, but yep.” Whether deadpan or theatrical, Pinkie didn't look at the question any differently.

I’m not sure if I hate you right now or not. That is a faux-pas Pinkie, not that you’d care. Do me a favour and never ever ask me a question like that again. Please?

Pinkie hums and continues, “Hey, Rightly?”

“What?!” You grind your teeth as you smell something starting to burn.

“Don't you think you better turn the omelets?”

... That’s it, I hate you.

♣

Six omelettes, twelve slices of toast, one pot of tea and four bowls of musli later, you find yourself trudging up the stairs to the unofficial meeting room. It just so happens that the unofficial meeting room is also Rarity’s old quarters, which gives you a moment’s pause. With your hands full carrying the large tray, all you can think to do is tap the door with your foot. “Breakfast’s ready.” A light scramble and a few mumbled voices greet the proclamation before the heavy oak door swings open.

The room is in a sorry state of disarray; tattered scrolls and aged maps are scattered to and fro with the once tidy rows of artistic pastel pencils strewn about like discarded matchsticks. Several makeshift paperweight tomes hold down the curling edges of parchments and larger maps that aren’t tacked on the wooden wall with cutlery. That's all disregarding the empty tankards laying on their side, the crumpled notes and crumb filled sachets of parchment paper somepony had smuggled in under your nose. A lantern swings overhead while wax drips down from candelabras onto yellowed maps marked 'Equestrian Weather Survey'.

The dilapidated room almost matches the trio of ponies within it. Fluttershy tries to flash you a smile, “T-thank you. You shouldn’t have…” she trails off and downturns her red rimmed eyes before pulling the pink veil-like mane in front of her face. A weighty pall of discomfort hovers over the room like a thundercloud and nopony wants to talk about it. Rainbow Dash looks frazzled and worn; her mane is a rat’s nest of unruly strands, dark blotches hang under her eyes, and her head hangs low. But the worst of the three is Applejack. She looks out the window into the darkness, sitting on the far side of the room with her back to the door and her hat resting beside her.

“Yeah, it’s a bit different, but Pinkie said it should be good. Um.” You look around for some place to put the large wooden tray, but almost every conceivable surface is cluttered with bags, maps, books, or bundles.

“Yeah, just bring it in and set it down." Rainbow absently waggles her hoof near the bedside table that is covered with Applejack’s personal effects: a framed photo, ribbons, a dog whistle, and a small velveteen pouch. Besides, it is butted against the wall and only half the size of the tray which says Rainbow hasn’t even paid you the courtesy of a glance.

You make do with sweeping a spot clean on the bed. It knocks several bags clear and strips off some of the tangled sheets, but it’s still a small space. “AJ?” The farmpony flicks an ear and nothing more. You gingerly sit and settle an arm around her shoulders. ‘Are you okay’ is both callous and obvious, so you make do with, “How worried should I be for you right now?”

She inclines her head for the first time, looking up at the ceiling instead of at the floor. Her verdant eyes sparkle with a glossy sheen as they hold back tears. Her muzzle twitches and quivers as she bites her lower lip, holding back the surging tide of despair. “Ah’ll be fine.” Her shaking voice holds back a terseness that doesn’t suit her.

“You sure?”

“Yup.” She swallows and keeps her gaze focused on the rafters.

“Hey,” you conjure up Pinkie’s advice and give her a gentle squeeze, “it’s okay to say whatever’s on your mind, AJ. You’re my friend, I’m yours. So It’s only natural to look out for each other. Stuff’ll go wrong but I know I can count on you no matter what happens. Things’ll turn out okay. You’ll see, you’ll see.”

That confidence isn’t shared immediately, but a yellow hoof settles on Applejack’s shoulder in addition to your own. Fluttershy remains quiet but the pat and just her presence is enveloping like a blanket despite whatever happened before you entered that room.

Applejack sniffs and clears her throat after a few long moments. “Things’ll turn out okay, huh?” Her lackluster and nonconfident voice says it all. “Reminds me of something Mah said a long, long time ago.”

For a moment, it sounds like she is going to say something, but nothing comes out. “Do you want to talk about it?” You prompt her.

She shakes her head, “Nope. Something just fer me, Apple Bloom, and Big Mac. Just… ah just need a bit’a time ta’ think, that's all.” She still doesn’t sound certain, but looking up into your eyes, it’s plain to see the worst was over. Sshe purses her lips and nods to say ‘it’s okay’. Or at least, it will be in time. There is still something swirling inside those bright radiant pools, but for the life of you, you can’t be certain what it is. A maelstrom remains beneath the becalmed surface.

“So…” you try to start, but found nothing to say.

“Whatcha’ got there?” Applejack queries, shifting to benal small talk. She stands and hops down from the bed, parting from your and Fluttershy's loose embrace to pad over to Rainbow.

“Yeah, like I said ten minutes ago,” Dash states bluntly as if nothing had happened, “there’s maaaybe something here. I can’t be sure until I check it out, but it looks pretty solid.”

“Wait, so you think you know where Ulf is?” With breakfast forgotten, you stride over to the table and poke your head over Rainbow Dash’s shoulder.

The cocksure mare smirks and tosses her hair back as if asking for compliments, “Yeah, well, I said I’d find it. Really, it’s totally obvious when you think about it.” She crosses her hooves and nonchalantly leans on the table. That incorrigible smirk slowly crosses her muzzle, “Look, it's cold. Ponies are blaming the Pegasi for that, right?”

“Right." You affirm, the newspaper had been fairly clear about that.

“And the weather teams are saying they can't control it. It's simply getting too cold for most of them to work. That's why they're losing control. So, something else is controlling it or causing it." She pauses only for a second, ostensibly to make sure you are following, but she keeps glancing around as if looking for something. Plucking up a scarf in her teeth, she wraps the prismatic cloth band around her neck. “Cloud gremlins, get it?”

It makes sense so far, but nothing seems new about it. “The Gremlins are to blame for the weather? Directly?”

“Nah, they can't beat Pegasi. They just sorta, you know, influence things. Oh, sure, they can punch a bolt of lightning or two from a cloud, but they aren't weather ponies. They're just jerks. I’ve dealt with them before." She keeps wrapping everything up as you look over to the others to confirm the 'I' part of that statement. Fluttershy nods sagely and Applejack affirms it with a bob.

“So-”

“Which mean's that they stirring up trouble, anger, hatred, misery, you know, all their kind of stuff.” Rainbow is quick and unconcerned about cutting you off.

Applejack mumbles, “They take to it like hogs to rotten apples.”

You return to the tray to retrieve the warm tankard of hot honey laced tea and the strange pseudo-quiche before plodding over to serve the cowpony first. “You’re telling me that these things are like Changelings, just different." Twilight's lessons on the insidious shape-shifters and the dozens of signs and what-to-do procedures regarding them still hum in your brain.

“Yes." Fluttershy nods and points her hoof back at Rainbow Dash, “Rainbow looked over the local weather reports and charts of the areas near Vanhoover and Tall Tale-”

Rainbow picks up from Fluttershy, “Then I compared them to what it should be. Get it? We just find the centers of any cold-core weather systems that shouldn’t be there. You know, the places they find comfortable and ponies don’t.”

“I don't get the connect-”

“When ponies are sad, weather gets bad. Common sense." Rainbow's husky drone cuts you off for the second time. Though, you aren't sure 'common sense' can be applied to that situation. “Sure enough. I found one that's cold, really cold. It's the biggest spot I've found and the most out of place. And now that I know what I’m looking for, it’sgonna be a breeze to track." The sound of hoof-steps glibly skipping up the stairs reaches your ears.

“It's like SAD." You mutter and nod.

“How is it sad?! It's the best lead we've had so far! We know it's south, probably near Tall Tale!" Rainbow practically chokes as you wave your hand. Pinkie bounds in the doorway, taking an audible breath as if winding up.

“No, I mean it's like SAD: seasonal affective disorder. Just it’s in reverse.”

Pinkie just blinks and blurts out, “So, disorder affective seasonal?”

“No, but I'm sure that's right in Prançais." You chirp with a smug grin that isn't reflected anywhere else in the room. “I mean the weather affects pon-people’s moods, here it's pony's moods affect the weather?" There is a slew of jokes that could apply, but at the same time if that is true then it’s slightly frightening.

“Right,” chime the four ponies in harmony.

“Alright. Then what are we waiting for?" Your question bounces around the room.

“I'm looking through local wildlife books to make sure I know exactly what to look for and what to avoid in case there's danger." Fluttershy's voice seems eerily confident as she smiles and looks over full colour illustrations.

“The lists are pretty much done. Ah'll make up a batch a’ easy-freezy pancakes. We can reheat 'em easy, get enough carbs in ya' ta keep ya goin’." The cowpony's reply isn't all that surprising.

The declaration gets a joyful bounce from Pinkie, “Oh, oh, I'll help! We’ll eat a lot on the road, traveling to far-off exotic locals in the freezy-breezy north.” She seems far more like her old self after that little talk in the kitchen repaired the emotional chink in her armour.

I'm still mad at you for putting those thoughts in my head.

Pinkie trails off after Applejack, her retreating hoof-steps sounding like a typewriter. Rainbow looks the most antsy of the group as she bundles up in her plethora of scarves and cold-weather vestments. “I'm gonna' head out and see if the train's working. We can't have you freezing solid. Then I'm gonna' scope out the station." Her dastardly sneer and low mirthless chuckle couldn't have looked more sordid if she had a Snidely Whiplash moustache and was wringing her hooves together.

“We’re sneaking aboard to avoid detection?" It is the logical reason, thus you have to be sure when it comes to Rainbow.

“Yeah, duh. We can't have us all just waiting at the platform. So I'll take off." She dips her head to the plate once to take a mouthful of quiche before mumbling “‘Ater," through the mouthful of food. In moments all that's left is the guttering flame in a swinging lantern and the rustle of looseleaf parchment fluttering in every direction.

“Rainbow…" Applejack's snort of irritation rolls from the stairwell with an accompanying growl.

I hope she doesn't expect me to clean that up.

"Rightly!"

Damn

Author's Note

Well well ladies and gentlecolts, another week and another chapter. I guess I should apologize, this is about as shippy as the story is going to get. Oh, and I should apologize for that positively terrible cooking joke too :twilightblush: But from here on

Either way, hope it wasn't too bad, love to hear what anypony thought and I'll see y'all next week. Take care, eh?

Act 3- Chapter 10: Chevaucheé

Chevaucheé
Proofread by TehSporkBandit

The hissing snow and howling wind blot out the majority of the train platform outside the terminal at the southern edge of Vanhoover. All around you the world lies shrouded in the thick folds of grey clouds and a lingering ice fog that cuts to the bone. It could be twilight given how dark and somber the landscape is but it’s barely half past nine in the morning. Everything is dulled by a foot thick blanket of ashen snow that mutes the sound of voices and stills the mind with melancholy. Any hint of a crisp breath of the winter breeze is stemmed by the suffocating staleness and the unnatural pall of oppression.

None of it is helped by the lumbering gunmetal grey behemoth in front of you, snorting soot from its copper capped smokestack. A single cyclopian eye blazes ahead on the snow-covered tracks as the locomotive idly waits for its boarders.

Beyond the train and the unspoiled snowclad departure platform is a single large building that shines like a lighthouse in a storm. Tall narrow windows let some of the incandescent glow spill outside, but any warmth is trapped in there while you are out here in the frigid cold. You have only endured the elements this long thanks to a long-empty tankard of fortified cider, a dull white cloak over your greatcoat, and the promise that you will be aboard that train soon. There is no chance for you to grab a quiet respite in the comfort of the indoors with the fear of the Unicorn Slasher gripping the city. Most of your friends are more comfortable inside the heated station.

Applejack, Fluttershy, Pinkie Pie… where’s that cloud hopper-

A rattle shakes the lifeless shrubs behind you as a hoof clasps down on your shoulder. “Did I miss anything?" Rainbow whispers through a pair of scarves wrapped around her muzzle.

Speak of the devil and she shall appear.

“I've been waiting here for twenty minutes." You hiss as she settles in beside you in part of the divot carved out by your body heat.

“Shove over." She mutters and pulls half of your white cloak from your shoulders. “It's cold."

You glare and try to pry away at least a little more of the blanket. “Yeah, so I noticed."

“Hey, I spent most of that time looking at where we can hop on.”

“Let me guess, the back?"

“I mean from where; it's about two hundred paces down south. We've still got this little retaining mound," she prods the ridge you are half hiding behind, “and it's near a fairly big tree. There's some bushes, shrubs, all that junk. So it’s a good place to hide and avoid anypony watching from the platform.”

You feel the tremor of a shiver course down your spine and right down into your numbed fingers and toes. “Then why aren’t we there now?"

She shoots you a contemptuous glance. “If you want to give up your spot, fine by me, pal." She snuggles in deeper like a nesting bird.

You hum and look at the empty tankard poking out of your greatcoat’s pocket, “Got any of that cider left?”

“Pffft, do you?" She snorts as you sidle up next to her and wait for the train.

There’s worse things in the world than waiting with her for a train. Not many I can think of, but there’s got to be a few.

“Not flying today?" You smirk a bit at the swaddled-up Pegasus, confined in her ragged cold-weather gear. Rainbow just shoots you a death-glare. “Somepony’s really grumpy." To which she shifts and grumbles uncomfortably.

A hollow peel of a brass bell rings out across the platform and movements in the rear-ward cabin of the locomotive says the engine is gearing up. “This is it! For pony's sake, move your flank!" Rainbow hisses from between clenched teeth.

You try to scramble up and dash for the train, but sharp biting pains flair through your legs. The cold and constant sitting has put them to sleep. “Just a sec-”

Rainbow’s perturbed grunt is followed by a headbutt against your side to set you straight and a slap against the back of your leg. “There, all better, now hurry!" It’s like being hit with a dodgeball, but strangely it helped get the blood flowing again. A less than gentle nudge in the small of your back thrusts you forward as you both lope through the deep snow.

The trains wheels screech and wail like a banshee as they bite into the metal. With an awkward stutter, the metal leviathan lurches forward. The vehicle’s single massive headlamp catches the first reflections on your coat mere yards from the likely point Rainbow was talking about. That glimmer along the greatcoat’s buttons would probably give you away to anyone bothering to look, and with the fear of the Unicorn Slasher fresh in everypony, it’s possible that some are looking. You throw yourself into the snow with a crunch and yank Rainbow’s tail hard, sending her sprawling. “What the flying f-" she stops as the burning light passes you by.

The many rows of amber lights shine from the first passenger car as the Pegasus rights herself. You follow suit, muscles tensing as she puts a restraining hoof on your chest to stop you, “Not yet." The clatter of the unstable tie clicks as a second, third, then fourth car pass by, “Not yet." The sixth, seventh and eighth rattle by moments later. There is maybe fifteen in total and you won’t get another shot.

“Now?" You ask as the train is starting to pick up some speed, but Rainbow still doesn’t loosen her grip on you.

“Go!" She calls and darts forward. You run straight for the side of the train, towards the warm amber lights and towards the charcoal grey siding of the passing train. Twelve, thirteen, then fourteen cars pass you by as you cross that last twenty-five paces from the retaining ridge to the tracks. There is a small embankment to scramble up and across, which slows you as the wheels squeak and squeal, sending up a shower of sparks from the uneven rails. Five paces, Rainbow is beside you every step of the way. The final car looms up ahead of you, its lantern being waved around by some conductor at the rear platform.

Horsefeathers.

“Pony up." Rainbow whispers to herself. Her muscles tense like a coiled spring as the last car rattles alongside you. The light from the rear platform disappears inside.

Now or never, carpe diem!

You race alongside the car, spitting up snow in your wake as your lungs burn from the exertion. Horrid thoughts stream through your mind: mental images are conjured up of being cut in half beneath the wheels of countless tons of wood and metal, of getting caught by the conductor hopping a train, or spotted from the platform and chased down by an angry mob.

It disappears in a flash as you see the metal rails at the rear of the car and leap towards the step. Your hand catches a looped rail as you swing forward. There’s a lurch in space as you shoot your foot out and graze the metal grating. A gasped breath, a halted heartbeat, your other foot lands on the unfeeling metal as you hold on and are tugged along with the locomotive. Pulling yourself up, you grunt and heave yourself up only to feel a weight land on your back and flatten you against the porch of the caboose.

“Heh, pretty good jump, huh?" Rainbow awkwardly shuffles off your back as you feel the wind whistle past. The oil lamp lilts crazily on a spike at the rear of the cabin, creaking and scraping against its metal binds. In the dull orange light the Pegasus shuffles off and looks inside the window at the back door.

“‘Kay, she's gone." Rainbow Dash hisses as she strains against the door, “Locked." You push yourself upright, squinting against the frozen air gusting by as you press your face up against the frosted glass.

It is a large car with several seats up front, a large room off to the left with a closed door and a ladder up to the cupola up on the roof. There are a few lit lanterns inside, but the empty unpainted walls and wooden spars mark the car as being a utilitarian vehicle.

Peeking inside, Rainbow turns her hindquarters towards it, “Move.” You heedlessly ignore Rainbow’s warning when the door at the opposite end of the caboose bursts open revealing a bright shock of pink hair.

“Wait!" If she smashes the door open then they will know somepony broke in. You clasp a hand to her flank to tell her to 'hold it'.

It works. In a few seconds Pinkie unlocks the door and you and the prismatic pony slip inside. “Wow, you really need help on your entrances, no ta-dah or nothing! You reaaaally need to work on your magic reappearing act, Dashie! Ooo, you two can be Dash Rightly, or Rightly Rainbow, Right as a Rainbow? Who gets the top hat and wand?”

Rainbow Dash is the first up and complaining, “What took you so long, Pinkie? My teeth are itchy. Do you have any idea how cold it has to be for your teeth to get itchy?”

You shut and lock the door behind you then glance back through the narrow hallways to the fore of the car. You have to agree with Dash, it’s just that cold, but you are thankful for Pinkie, anyway. “Everypony else aboard?”

Pinkie bobs her head, “Uh-huh. They’re just, you know, getting out of the car and bringing everything we need. That conductor is really-reaaally snoopy."

Rainbow shifts uncomfortably and crosses her legs. “Yeah, yeah, got it, Pinkie: snoopy conductor, sneaking by, really warm. Stupid cider! Where’s the bathroom?" She looks around with a glint of sweat on her brow.

“End of the hall on the left. Oh-" Pinkie is nearly trampled as the Pegasus shoots down the corridor while tossing off a few fluttering scarves. “There's some reading stuff in there if you need it, special edition.”

“Special edition?" You enquire while rubbing your hands together to warm them up.

She nods and gestures with her muzzle towards the next cabin, “Of the newspaper, silly. Though, I liked the one I picked up this morning better..." she trails off as the train steadily rattles and clacks towards its destination.

It is almost a surprise when the front door swings open with a jarring bang. The serpentine winds scream through the open doorway and snuff out one of the oil lamps. Two other ponies trundle in, wrapped in a cloak of frost that sweeps around them like it’s alive. Each is laden down with bags of supplies. “Oh, right, stuff." Pinkie’s apologetic smile lasts only a moment before she makes her way towards the other car, squeezing by Applejack then Fluttershy with a simple “‘scuse me."

Applejack mumbles something, but the farmmare quickly puts down the bag and lets Pinkie pass by. “It took us a little while ta’ get everythin’ gathered up, but everythin’ is done. The route’s marked out, food’s good’n ready ta’ go, clothes are all clean’n up ta’ scratch." She is sounding more cheerful now than any time in the past day, but she still looks tired. Almost assuredly, the mare hasn’t gotten any sleep.

You dutifully bob your head and drift over to take some of the extra baggage off her hooves, “Well, that’s good then. So there’s nothing to do?"

“Nope, all done." She mops her brow.

“Good, you’ve done a great job. Simply fantastic" She hadn’t told you where you are going, Rainbow had merely pointed a hoof at one point and that was the extent of your knowledge. Nevertheless, the beaming smile is what you needed to see. She looks worn to the bone and her bronze coat is tarnished by the burdens of grief, but those lines of fear, worry, and admonishment have disappeared from her muzzle. Better yet, there is a spark of life in her emerald eyes that had left when Rarity was taken. It’s small, the lifegiving glow has been rekindled from a guttering ember. Patting her shoulder, you nod to the little room off to the left, “Go take a rest. We’ll tell you when we’re getting closer. After all, there’s nothing left to worry about checking over. Right?"

Applejack pauses as if to refute what you said but can’t conjure up a reply. There is always something needing to be done on a farm, but she’s seen to all the needs here and left nothing to chance. With the relentless clack of tracks and gentle sway of the carriage cars, she stoically nods. “Alright, but you tell me the moment we get close. Got it, pardner?”

“Got it." You nod and half salute while struggling to pick up a heavy bag of tools that rattle in their cloth satchel bag. It didn’t looked that heavy, but it’s sizeable. “I’ll stay out here and make sure nothing happens. That and there is some new newspaper I wanted to skim, but Rainbow’s got it."

“Hmm, here." She tosses you her saddlepack, “Pinkie picked up a second copy so it’s somewhere in there." With a loud yawn she gives you a pat on the side and ambles back to the small room.

It feels strange to root through Applejack’s stuff, but she did give you permission. There are all the ‘needed’ utilitarian items, from extra scarves to bandages, gauze, red ribbons, and chalk markers, to a small sepia tinted family photo. It is a happy looking picture aged and faded with a young filly and colt, an infant, a mare and a stallion. You reflexively bite your lip and carefully pack the picture away. That gleaming grin, white freckles, saucer-like eyes, and the two telling shadows of strangers half burned away from over exposure.

Shunting it aside, you come across the stash of maps and papers including a folded-up newsprint. “Is something bothering you?" Fluttershy’s harmonious lilt drifts through the air.

You tense, as if caught. You hastily snatch the newsprint and unfold it with an awkward snap and look back over your shoulder. The buttercream coloured mare stands in the middle of the aisles. “No, nothing. Nothing at all, Fluttershy. Just looking through the paper." Pinkie backs into the door, flinging it open with the howl of a wind, causing the meek Pegasus to start with a strained squeak of surprise.

The bathroom door opens wide, but Rainbow Dash merely stops and watches as Pinkie slowly drags a full satchel down the aisle after headbutting the door closed. A grumbled, "Mmm-gerdid," was completely indecipherable.

Rainbow quirks a brow, “You got it, huh?" Pinkie nods, though she doesn’t let the bag’s cloth handles go either. “Alright, well, somepony’s got to go and keep watch. That way up?" She points to the ladder to the cupola and quickly scrambles up to the small lookout post.

Fluttershy watches unblinkingly before cracking a small grin, “She’ll probably get bored and come back down in a minute or two."

You chortle and pull the extra bags towards one of two large bench seats nudged up against the wall. “Four if it’s that foggy and three if it’s foggy and cold." With that, you take a seat and start to read the paper. On first glance, the headlines are even worse than before:

Dawn of the Dead
The Slasher Returns!

“Dear Celestia..."

♣

The small cabin's heat is a welcome relief but the clammy sweat dripping down the back of your neck has nothing to do with temperature. Not one, but two more murders happened overnight. The presses had gone into overdrive and the ink had barely dried, then subsequently froze, before they were handed out in the few last civic centres that ponies frequented.

From the train attendants to the terrified passengers, everypony seems to be on the alert for the next slaying and expecting macabre displays around every corner. You even leave your seat and stalk over to look into the next train car, hoping to catch a glimpse of its occupants. It’s an effort to see if ponies here are as worried as those described in the paper. The stiffness and worry is visible and almost tangible. They sit on their benches where the slightest little sound or undue motion makes them seize up and balk at it. The air is heavy and rank with fear, not to mention as stale as a freezer.

Or as stale as a meat locker.

“Are you sure nothing’s bothering you?" Fluttershy's gentle voice enquires from across the aisle. She rests on her side, enveloped in a floral patterned, moss green blanket while staring straight at you.

“Sort of." It requires a moment of thought before you hold up the paper for her, “The symbols here are the same as before, but at the same time look what's written next to it.”

The Pegasus scans the paper, her eyes glossing over what you decide to read aloud:

“'By the Dark Father,
I pray thee no bother,
but I've taken horned mares.
Those of the air have no cares,
and earth mares do totter.

Face me, O goddess on high,
or your evening princess will die.
Others shall share such a fate,
while you cry 'it's too late,
and eternal darkness draws nigh.'”

Fluttershy quakes and shivers with revulsion as you recite the lines. She tilts her chin and shivers up as if holding back a tide of bile, “It's the same thing for both… I never thought he would-”

“He, nothing." You huff with irritation as she 'eeps' in surprise at your raised voice. “They were hacked in the back like the others but I don't think it was him at all. This is flowery rather than, than… I don’t know, religious. What could Ulf have to gain from all this? After all, he could have killed me, or you, or anypony else on that bridge. The question with all of this is ‘why’. Why is this message written like a fairy tale rhyme? Why is this just a ridiculous ‘come at me’ statement? Celestia isn’t all there right now, but the Canterlot guard sure is and there's a lot of them. Fluttershy, how does-”

“Is everypony aboard the Party Car?!" Pinkie’s voice blots out any further conversation.

You and Fluttershy hush her at once. Pinkie's joyful cry can’t dispel the aura of discomfort and sombreness of the train car and you don’t want her to wake Applejack if she is asleep. As you and Fluttershy look up to her, Pinkie’s voice fades, as does her smile.

“Applejack’s asleep.” Fluttershy whispers and flashes a quick grin to alleviate that mood crushing blow. The smile blossoms across Pinkie Pie’s face as the realization dawns on her. The wince and ‘sorry’ she offers back are both waved aside as you pick up where Fluttershy left off.

“And Dash is up there.” You jab a finger towards the ladder just as you hear hooves tapping the iron rungs. “Actually, where have you been, Pinkie? You were here five minutes ago.”

“Oh, well I made a cake to make everypony feel a little better.” She tilts her head aside so you could see the confectionary ‘delight’ tray plopped on her back. It’s a leaning tower of pancakes, stacked high with jam between the five layers that is starting to slowly slump to one side. At its crowning peak is apple butter, some mint leaves, and crushed nuts with a single toothpick with a paper Equestrian flag to top it off. “It's the ‘Too-too tall but still a liiiittle bit short cake’." Fluttershy's warble of a laugh is easy to mistake, but the bright grin is impossible to overlook.

“There’s cake?” Dash pips hopefully as she descends from the cupola.

She’s going to be pretty disappointed.

“Shouldn’t you be up there watching for Gremlins and the jump off point?”

Rainbow pointedly snorts, “That’ll be a few hours yet. It’s just fog and trees, nothing else. It’ll be hard to miss the mountains after all. Huh.” She clambers down and blinks at the bizarre looking breakfast ingredient concoction, “That’s the cake?” Pinkie's masterpiece of on-the-road cooking is a marvel of a different sort as you lift the newspaper to your face in a concentrated effort not to laugh.

“Well, maybe not the cake, but a cake, yep.” Pinkie beams.

“Dash,” you start, “You never did say where we were stopping at.”

“Oh, AJ found a way to haul your sorry flank up the mountain. It’s just past the mountains in the Swamps of Sadness near the old Daunted Peak forestry station.”

Looking out the window, you see something looming out of the fog bank. Just ahead are monolithic cliff faces. They are sheer granite slabs that jut up almost vertically and tower over the train as it lumbers by, grinding uphill with a screech of metal-on-metal. Pinkie sets the sliding cake on the bench next to you, using the tilt of the slope to even out the lopsidedness of the creation. With that, she divvies up several portions.

How did they ever build something like this? How did anypony… or anyone for that matter?

“Hey, Fluttershy?" You turn your head back to the Pegasus who relaxes across from you. “What happens if Equestria goes to war?”

She blinks with a trill of hesitation, “It… doesn't really happen much. I'm not even sure everything would work in the same ways anymore. There was a changeling incident, but they just warned the royal guard, and a generation ago Canterlot was almost sacked, a horde of cockatrices ran amok some time ago, too, but I wasn’t there. I’m sorry, I don’t really know.”

There is probably a better pony to ask, “Rainbow.”

“Yeah?" She calls out and takes a seat near Fluttershy.

“What would happen if Equestria went to war?"

“Celestia would drag out most of the royal guard to go show whoever it was who's boss. The Wonderbolts would be right there, too-”

It' as you suspected, but you cut her off and pose the question anyway, “And how would they get around?”

“Well, there's a lot of Pegasi, and then there's the Wonderbolts, the Princess can fly…" Rainbow halts as if waiting for the inevitable question. She gives in with a sigh, “The Unicorns and Earth-ponies would probably have to be shipped wherever it is by train." The Pegasus reluctantly acknowledged the other components of the guard as she'd likely been chided about her definition of ‘inclusion’ before.

“And if it's too cold?"

“What kind of question is that? Then they would take the train. Canterlot connects to all the train lines." She confirms that much as you look back out the window. It is what most militaries would do in the past and still do locally.

“Oh, my…" Fluttershy has evidently caught on to what you are thinking as you stare at the imposing cliffs, “With the northern rail-line blocked, there's only one way to get through to Vanhoover.”

“A large train with most of Equestria's standing defence would have to travel through here, a narrow gorge passing between two mountain faces-”

“Well this isn’t an avalanche zone." Pinkie smiles, “Meaning we can be as loud as we want!” She gets a quick warning glare from Fluttershy, “When Applejack’s up.” Pinkie sheepishly corrects herself.

“Avalanche, schmavalanche, you saw what they did to the bridge. They could bring down half the mountainside-”

“Wiping out most of the standing army and half its monarchy." You swallow hard as an audible gasp is dragged from everypony else present. The notion is nearly inconceivable. The plan slowly forms in your mind as you look outside, “They're trying to drag Celestia out and she's not at her strongest or smartest right now. This can’t be Ulf, but it might be the Storm Gremlins. They thrive on mayhem and despair, right? If Celestia does hear about this from the letters and messages on this train, then she might very well be walking right into a trap. We’ll leave a letter for Spike. Can we still send some sort of diplomatic dispatch so it’ll get to the princesses before the news does?”

“I can take it to the head conductor. I’ve got experience as an Equestrian class negotiator, so I’ll be sure that they send that letter marked as a ‘super-super-extra-important diplomatic thingy’.” Pinkie offers with a completely straight face while tapping her hooves together like some kind of impassive government official. Given the current company, she might actually be the best choice you have.

“Good, that’ll do nicely.” You can't stop the train, in fact you can't even be sure that Celestia would listen to you if you told her. You close your eyes and picture Princess Luna; she is seated motionlessly, all but entombed atop a regal throne without the guiding light of the day and the elder voice of reason.

No, you can't chance fighting Celestia's stubbornness and distress. She might just recklessly rush into the fray if Twilight is so much as mentioned. It might very well be averted, but you have a real chance of stopping it at the source with plenty of time to spare. All you have to do is find Twilight and Rarity, then you will have the leverage you need to convince Celestia to avoid any rash, punitive action.

Someone is spoiling for a fight. They planned for it. ‘Why’ was another question entirely.

Act 3- Chapter 11: Swamps of Sadness

Swamps of Sadness
Proofread by TehSporkBandit

Getting off the train had proven to be quick and unconventional. You'd checked your pack to make sure nothing was missing, including both your cell phone and newly purloined axe. Rainbow had kindly been ‘volunteered’ by Fluttershy to help you break some of that fall, to which she had so graciously acquiesced to that request with a genteel 'yeah, whatever I guess'. Moments later, you were leaping from a train’s rear platform with a Pegasus' forelegs looped underneath yours while hurtling through the air at a less-than-puffy looking snow drift.

It was certainly a different method, but thanks to Rainbow's earlier attempt to catch you mid-air while jumping from a third story window, you had managed to liken the two experiences. It had been a decidedly uncomfortable and sobering experience when the powdery snow was dashed in your face and found its way into every little unprotected nook and cranny. Shaking yourself off and trying to get the wretched dampness off your neck and chest means you'd missed both Pinkie then Applejack's descents.

In the end, it was only two or three minutes until everypony was gathered together and the train was only a memory long since vanished in the mist. Thus, in the lee of the tracks, four ponies and a 'troll' took their brief respite from the bitter chill of the deep winter and the vapid stagnation to collect themselves.

The moisture here is different; it springs up from the ground where the snow has either melted or been scraped away, resulting in thick billowing plumes streaming from the earth like vents from a volcano. A more putrid stink of rot lingers near those white clouds and the thin layer of mist that sticks close to the chalky surface of lusterless snow.

The sound of a hoof cracking the hardened shell of snow draws your attention, “And you're sure this is the right place, Dashie?" Pinkie ponders aloud after watching a puffy gout of moisture rise from the hole she’d just punched in the snow. It smells like a bog and looks just as unnaturally transformed as any other place. But the land doesn't exude some overt demonic menace or supernatural discomfort; the little bog is just a victim held hostage by the unnatural cold. Again, it might feel warmer thanks to the steam vents, but the air is just as frigid as downtown Vanhoover. No, more so, the air itself crackles with even the faintest warmth from the pungent fog pillars.

“Hey, who's the weather pony here? Of course it is, when am I ever wrong?" Rainbow Dash snorts, but remains bound in place as Fluttershy tutters with a quiet note of reproach. The various clothes and scarves are being rewound around the cyan Pegasus who unhappily trots on the spot and flicks her tail and mane at every conceivable opportunity.

“The ground’s not the only one letting off steam.” You mumble under your breath, but Pinkie wiggles her ears and bursts out laughing with a few less-than ladylike snorts. You hadn’t meant for her to hear it and your reward is nothing more than a few wane smirks, a single giggling mare, and a death glare that could carve through solid stone from Rainbow Dash herself.

“Ah admit, that looks a mite-bit discouragin’..." Applejack trails off as she stares into the bleak grey void. The farm pony's cue prompts the other ponies who candidly turn their attention to the empty abyss.

The raised train track’s wooden support pylons jutt from the ground like bones as the congealing mists clamber to swallow them up in the world of perpetual twilight. There is no warming sunlight to illuminate the safest path by day, nor starlight to guide your way at night, just a somber purgatorial veil and fleeting phantoms that slip from fog bank to fog bank.

“C'mon, there's trees just off to the left there." Rainbow thrusts her still unwrapped hoof toward the other side of the tracks as Fluttershy mews again for her to stay still. “It’s part of the forest, it’s just that they clear them away from the tracks so they don't grow between the ties.”

“How'd you know that?" You turn to her with nothing more than absent curiosity.

“Because I saw them clipping it back once, okay?" The snarl lingers for a moment as you raise your hands, conceding any fledgeling argument to the snippy mare.

“Alright, alright. Yeash, I was just asking." A few moments of relative silence pass with only Pinkie's quiet off-tune humming that breaks the intolerable gulf. “Are we all ready?”

Fluttershy quietly hums in a rising monotone, “There. All se-" she can’t finish before Rainbow Dash pries herself free.

“Finally. Yeah, all good." Rainbow trots up to the train track as everypony else nods and gathers up their supplies. You heave yourself to your feet and trudge up the mild slope to Rainbow Dash's side.

The grey expanse isn't clearing, but amid the shapeless whisks and curling tendrils are hints of more definite shapes. “Well, this is it. I'd bet my first edition Quest for the Sapphire Stone that the forest is there and the Daunted Peak forestry station is just a short trot away." The pugnacious smirk she shoots you is enough. “Seriously, what've you got? Oh, and nothing too big; I can't have you crying like a foal when I win.”

“No, thanks, I believe you.” You reply as she makes a self-satisfied ‘humph’ and nods before hopping down the slope and skidding to the bottom. She was the first of the party to set out for the supposed forest. In moments it’s obvious Rainbow Dash is as good as her word about the forest; a twisted mass of snow-clad thickets loom up from the grey unknown. Sprigs and wizened trunks of white paper birch pass by to your right and left like unphased sentinels lost in time. The winter chill has come so quickly that there are still some blackened husks of leaves sticking to otherwise naked limbs.

“We’d best head that’a way." Applejack points towards the forest on a slight tangent from Rainbow’s path. “It’ll get us through the forest and to that ol’ forest post at the base of the mountain lickety-split. Ain't nothin' doin', if Rainbow's right-”

“Of course I'm right!”

Despite Rainbow's bristling indignation, Applejack calmly continues, “If Rainbow's right, then we’ll have ta’ hoof it up one of them tough mountain passes. It ain’t no picnic, but we got everythin’ we need.”

Pinkie bobs her head emphatically, “Lucky for us, I brought the picnic. Oh, and Dashie’s right when it comes to weathery thingies. She's the Snow Seer, the Wind Waker, the Cloud Champion!" Her jubilant heralding and good-natured aura dispels some of the growing menace as you traipse under the skeletal branches of a lifeless poplar.

You bob your head then nod towards Applejack's hind leg, “Are you still good there, AJ?" All you get in return is a huff of stubborn certainty.

“Good as biscuits and gravy. Like ah' said, don't ya’ fret none. It ain't gonna do ya’ a lick a' good.”

You shrug and slow your pace to sidle up alongside Fluttershy near the rear of the column while the headstrong farmer and stubborn athlete take up the vanguard. Fluttershy just sighs and nods, “Somewhere out there is a mountain, a lair, and a stronghold where they're keeping Rarity and Twilight.”

“And we're there to storm the gate and slay the dragon."

Her quiet whisper still reaches your ears, “There’s no need to be worrying about fighting a dragon who isn't here when we should be worrying about a Hydra that is." There is a quiet crackle from underfoot as you look down. Your foot has broken through the layer of ice and is slowly sinking into the spongy soil.

“Ladies and gentlecolts, welcome to the Swamp of Sadness, population: us... and a Hydra and maybe some ballywogs." Pinkie gulps as the trees thin out and a glassy smoothness seems to anchor the murky carpet. What is left of the trees and their skeletal canopies blots out more light and any hint of the torpid skies. The staleness of the winter frosts are still there, but now there is another stink hanging in the stodgy air: rotten eggs and mold.

Rainbow yawns and pulls a face of disgust before quietly chuckling, “Well, it wasn't me.”

Pinkie sticks her tongue out and covers her nose with a hoof, “Eeeew, I can taste it.”

“A'right, that's enough, everypony, all y'all settle down and focus. We’ve gotta find that ol' forestry station. Hmm." She looks around at the trees and tips her head towards the canopy.

Earth pony's intuition seems enough as she and Pinkie both stick out a hoof at the same time and jointly exclaim, “That way!”

Rainbow Dash quickly nods in affirmation as Applejack continues, “Ah thought ah saw a steep hoof path up there. It ain't gonna be easy, land knows, but we gotta' get Twi and Rarity back, no two ways abou-" There is a sharp crack and slosh that stops everypony cold. Rainbow's hoof has sunk through the snow and into freezing mud..

You stoop down and tease the fractured edge of the ice with your finger. Beneath it is peat moss and brackish water that is already reforming into a fern-like lattice of ice crystals. Applejack does the same as you mull it over, “It's-”

“Warm. There's gotta be a lot a' ground heatin' from the mountain." Applejack cuts you off as her muzzle twitches and her eyes narrow in concentration.

You clean the muddy water off on your coat as Rainbow looks up, “Cold air descends, warm air rises, it’s just an updraft. There’s a big difference in temperature so you get the steam, but the cold air is descending quick and pushing it down. So it could be a hot spot, but it is still cold... colder than by the tracks. Oh, and if you fall through the ice, forget about just breaking out." The ice hisses and crackles as it refreezes in a few short moments.

“Be careful, everypony." Fluttershy's uncertain voice echoes in your ears. While few of the others seem to pay her any heed, you know full well that it’s worth listening to.

As you venture further forward the murk gets even thicker in spots as it mingles with the hot plumes, pressing them into a thick roiling blanket just above the ground. Small dips and sudden hollows are obscured in the mist and quickly slow your progress. It is better to be careful than rush and end up twisting your ankle out here. Sinister coils pass over small open patches of glassy ice as the stagnant dampness drips off your face and coats your lips.

“Hold up and watch yer step." Applejack raises a hoof in the air, stopping the column among the unnatural silence of the bog. The unnerving silence is only broken by a hissing crackle as your steps are swallowed up behind you. The farm-pony loosens her pack and quickly roots through it, “Ah reckon a place like this'd suck a pony down like quicksand. Then we wouldn't be gettin' so much as a postcard from ya’. Here." Applejack unpacks her coiled lasso.

As you stay still, the moisture on your coat begins to freeze, letting layers of now rigid cloth claw at you. In moments, you had to suck in mouthfuls of your scarf, which muffles your voice amid its humidity and sticks to your lips. Every breath worsens the cloying discomfort of the the wet crackling fabric until it was a torment not dissimilar to waterboarding. Coughing once, you unwrap the band of colourful cloth from your mouth and let it hang from your shoulders.

“Gah, that's it, this is coming off." Rainbow bites and squirms against the tight confines of the clothing as well. She reels and wobbles until a splash has her glancing back and forgetting about the restrictive garments.

“Rainbow, you're just going to have to put it on again when we get to the mountain." Fluttershy's well reasoned words invariably land on deaf ears.

“My feathers need to breathe and I have to stretch my wings. You can't keep a Pegasus cooped up like this!" While that 'immoral' act is the only thing keeping the stubborn creature from freezing, you can sympathise as she’d torn off her scarves first.

“You use your mouth for breathing, not your feathers, silly. Ooo, unless you can eat chocolate pudding with your wings. That would be pretty neat. Oh, and so long as we have rope, I bet Applejack could coop you up as long as she wanted!" Pinkie smiles and swiftly loops the end of the lariat around Rainbow's neck.

Rainbow only protests with an indignant “Hey!”

Applejack shakes her laugh but can’t stem the sly and self-congratulatory chuckle from passing her lips, “'Better safe than sorry." A length of rope is thrust into your hand.

A smug look of content satisfaction from the cowpony in the lead says it all. Likewise, it also contrasts well with Rainbow's squint and deep frown of momentary resentment. You make a secondary loop and slip the rope over Fluttershy's neck as she lifts one foreleg at a time to step through it.

If we really need someone to pull us out by flight, it might be less awkward than if they were both at one end.

Fluttershy gives you a thankful smile as you pat her withers and check the tightness on the rope. You fix another loop between you and Fluttershy for Pinkie, who merely rears back and stands on her hind legs while cinching it snugly around her midriff as if it were a new belt. You just tie yourself off behind Applejack at the very center of the group.

“Ready?" Rainbow looks back over her shoulder at the centipede-like train behind her. After a few fugitive nods, everypony stumbles forward in the coffle.

Slow progress is still eminently better than just getting stuck in the two or three inches of mud that squelches and sucks your feet under before oozing over your shoes. Pinkie even gives up her bouncing; every time she tried the mare sank nearly four inches down and it took a moment to wrest her from the mud.

Unsightly grey, green, and brown droplets spatter up along her barrel and shoulders as she scrunches her muzzle and gives the ground a stern glare. “Juuuust keep walking, Pinkie. Just keep walking." She mumbles to herself, closes her eyes, then shivers before looking around in confusion.

You glance back over your shoulder again after the latest stop and grin, “C'mon, it ain't that bad. Mud is mud, water is water." You blink and listen to a chortle ahead of you.

“Ah guess not all of Rarity's prissiness rubbed off on ya' after all. 'Knew I could learn ya' a thing or two." Applejack bobs her head like a satisfied school teacher.

Great, now I'm starting to sound like AJ. I'm not sure who is to blame for that one.

“No, that isn't it!" Pinkie trembles as another bolt lances down her back.

The last time she said that she was on the train to Canterlot…

A lump forms in your throat as you hold up a hand and gingerly pull the rope taut in front of you to halt Applejack and Rainbow Dash.

The former humphs, “C'mon. We can't stop too long or we'll just get good and stu-”

You wordlessly hold a finger to gesture for quiet. The mare gets the point in a hurry as silence returns to the swamp. A few twigs snap somewhere off to your left in the haze. There you are, one among five figures in the mist-draped world like charcoal drawings in a sketchbook. And there you are, ankle-deep in brackish water and mud, slowly sinking and following a meandering path set out by your intrepid leader.

Slowly, steadily, you reach for your pack to unbuckle the canvas flap and grope for the leather-bound grip of the war-axe before winding its thong around your wrist. Something might be out there, it might be out there. “Might be right, AJ, best keep moving." The water ripples behind you with a quiet slosh. You spin and bring the axe to bear but the glimmering steel shows only the roiling tendrils of mist over the glassy surface. No, not quite, there is a larger white plume that rises like a puff of smoke then closes up then disappears.

You can hear the undulating sound again and cock your head towards Applejack to whisper, “How far to the forestry station?"

She leans in close, enough that her voice is nearly silent and you could feel her breath on your ear, “It ain't too far now.”

There is no reason to put Fluttershy and Rainbow in any more danger than absolutely necessary. With a simple wave you harken the rest of the group forward so you can untie them from the coffle, “If we have to split up then keep quiet and Rainbow will fin-”

A burst of a spray and plume of stagnant water geyser up on the horizon as a monstrous dorsal crest breaks the glassy surface with a shatter of sliding ice. It turns sharply, side-winding its way towards you as sheets of ice dip into the roiling waters in its wake.

“Go!" You shout and swing the axe, neatly chopping through the rope separating Applejack and yourself. A second stroke cuts through Pinkie’s tether.

The glassy lake boils and froths as a monolithic head erupts from the surface with a startling roar only fifteen paces away. The massive iron-shod face of the Hydra rises up as it rushes towards you. Its eyes are hidden by the great iron slats, but half is still dented inward and bent flat while the other is covered in a curtain of limp reeds. It's cavernous mouth opens wide, breathing out a putrid cloud that fixes you to the spot.

The ghastly creature raises its foreleg, talons trailing watercress and limp fens, raised up over you like the sword of Damocles. You don't even remember to scream, not that it will do much good as its horrendous roar physically batters you. Droplets of water drip from it to your forehead moments before it brings its talons down, plunging you into a blackened expanse of silence.

♣

I did my best to prepare you,
goodness go with you,
and grace be in your stride.
My hopes and deepest trust goes with you,
even when my dreams have died.

♣♣

Every ounce of breath is driven from your body, crushed beneath the immeasurable bulk of the creature which would have squished you flat against the solid ground. The sinking sensation envelops you, embedding you at least a foot deep in sucking mud. Panic streams through you as your senses return. You flail, thrash and shove the curved talon pinning you to the murky reed bed. A loose weight bumps your shoulder as the loop around your wrist tightens. The axe.

You swiftly grasp the leather hilt and madly hack at the enormous foot. The silvered steel breaks the surface and sheers into something else as you lash out again and again in desperation. The pulverizing weight lifts from your chest as the surface boils. A deafening roar barely registers as grit and muck fills your ears.

In seconds you are hauled upright through the sucking vacuum and break the ice clad surface. Your stomach churns from the pressure as you vomit up a slurry of mud and water, “Cough it up an' let’s go!" You sweep a hand across your grime-streaked glasses and flick the mud from your fingertips. Through the fuzzy haze you can just make out features of the brazen Earth pony mare in front of you.

The shock of the moment, the frothing pink foam around you, it all strikes you after a second or two as you look at the bloody axe clutched in your white-knuckle grip. Applejack bites your sleeve and hauls you forward as the lurching mass of thrashing scales churns the glassy waters into frothing foam.

She hops and plunges through the shallow waters, finally letting you go only when you find the ability to lope after her. The thunderous bellow of the Hydra smacks you in the back and physically shakes you to the core. You call out the single question on your mind, “Where're the others?!”

“They're good fer now! So, fer Land's sakes, hush up!”

Even while darting forward you chance a glance over your shoulder. The massive iron-clad head rears up like a snake as Pinkie Pie bounds across its forelegs and disappears under the surface. She breaks the water moments later, laying flat on her back and looking up at the Hydra. The beast screeches and gnashes its snaggled teeth, only to be struck in the visor by a gob of mud. It reels, blinded from the assault. “Mud slinging isn't just for Canterlot snobs!" Pinkie's voice is swiftly drowned out by a resounding howl. Pinkie rolls to her side just as the massive beast brings its whole bulk crashing down on the spot she occupied scant fractions of a second before.

You turn your gaze back to Applejack just long enough to see a great shadow of a tree looming up out of the haze. The solitary oak juts up above the mangrove swamp with its gnarled roots twisting out of the water. Applejack nips your sleeve and pulls you toward the roots for shelter while whistling loudly to break the monster's attention on Pinkie. The blinded beast lifts its head up as you and Applejack slip in among the root tangles.

With your back to the heart of the tree, you swiftly free yourself from the frayed slipknot halter. The pain and last remnants of water in your lungs still causes you several involuntary coughs, but Applejack merely holds her foreleg to your mouth to stymie the sound. She chest expands and nostrils flair, but despite her deep breaths, the mare tries to keep silent.

There is a ragged ruffle of feathers just above you followed by a scramble and surprised yelp as Rainbow tumbles in among the twisting maze of roots. “Where's Pinkie and Fluttershy?" Applejack hisses.

“Calm down, I'm just seeing where everypony is. That's my job, right?" It isn't really a question as she shoots you a look. The hierarchy put in place back in Canterlot still seems to be in effect. 'Commander' Rainbow Dash is still coordinating everything and she affects an imperious aura as she straightens herself out. “They're just a little bit to the north after doubling back. The Hydra broke up most of the surface ice and now it's just steam, I can't see a thing. It went underwater so either it's trying to get the mud out of its eyes-”

“Or that critter's stalkin' us. So, we need-" Applejack's swift interruption is halted as Rainbow shoves her hoof to Applejack's lips and scowls.

“Who’s running things, Applejack? Look, the old station is just up that way." She tilts her head to the side and gestures for you to follow her to the other side of the tree. When there, she points her hoof out into the featureless mist, “It's about seventy paces that way.”

“But the trail goes that’a way. We'll be up to our neck in muck. The map says we’re best going that way!" Applejack insists and points off to the right on a tangent.

“Yeah and tack on another fifty paces of being Hydra bait!” Rainbow growls and hisses, “Look, who are you going to believe, a pony who saw it, or an old map? For pony's sake, don't answer that. Just put a lid on it and trust me."

You stem any further debate by simply squeezing Applejack's shoulder, “Alright, what's the plan?" It doesn't placate Applejack, who merely looks at your hand as if to say 'what?'

“Gimme, like, twenty seconds, then hoof it." The Pegasus scarpers back up amongst the tangles, prismatic tail snapping and ruffled wings squeezing through the narrow opening.

Twenty seconds, it’s enough time to catch your breath, but not much else. You get a prod from Applejack, “Ah hope she knows what she's talkin' about and not just runnin' her mouth.”

“She'll get us through, I put her in charge for a reason. She hates failing more than almost anypony I know." You clear your throat and tap Applejack's hat with a smirk, “Almost anypony I know.”

The awkward silence that follows really doesn’t leave a single sound but the crackle of refreezing ice to alleviate the tension. “Hey, scale snail, still sticking your snout in the mud and hoping it'll hide your ugly mug?" Rainbow's voice filters across the bog. No burst of water in a seething rage, no bubble of irritation, no nothing; it remains quiet.

'Do we still go?' you mouth to Applejack who looks back and forth from the unseen shore to yourself.

“Land's sake, you better be right, Rainbow." Applejack tenses, the mud and water course off her golden coat and betray her uncertainty. Her chest doesn't even move as she waits with baited breath. You are still counting and at twenty you can feel that electric surge run through you. It’s an instinct to trust Rainbow and go. With a last uncertain shiver, you both break from cover and plunge into the open water.

Having left the safety of the tangle-roots behind, you and your companion race across the shallows in a mad dash into the unknown. . A shrouded bank appears through the mist with two ponies darting along its edge. A jagged outline of a sundered stone tower and a small log cabin looms up out of the mist, just a few short steps from the shoreline. Eyeless sockets of empty windows overlook the desecrated swamp and its rotting door bellies inwards. Rainbow is right about that and she's right about the underwater path, but she still hasn't drawn the monster away. Her husky voice echoes behind you, “Hey, ‘slithers’, you still out there or did you get beat and sent home packing? Hah, what do you expect from an overgrown worm!”

The tremendous burst of water explodes ten paces to your left between you and the other pair, sending waves coursing through the water and spray raining down on you like the surface has been hit by a cannon ball. You and Applejack stop cold, all it has to do is crane its neck out to snap you up in its snaggled fangs as it lay right alongside the crooked path. The far bank is close, a meager fifteen paces away.

Think, think, think!

Something crosses into your mind as your hands shake and chest is racked in pulsing spasms. The beast is trying to stalk you, to herd you just like the Timberwolf had. You are cold, soaked, and frightened. You have dealt with this before. Even the monster's stinking breath is just like it had been back in your peculiar fight on the lonely stream bank in the Everfree.

The Hydra's stinking breath rolls across the surface of the water as it twitches and squirms. A fine trickle of mist from its loud snort settles on your shoulders. You slowly reach out and touch Applejack's side and loop your hand around the leather saddlebag strap. Your other palm slips into your pocket and glances across a smooth plastic casing. You lick your lips and clutch the cell phone.

Please still work, pleaaaase still work.

You plead and beg for the phone to be unaffected by the water all the while hoping it still has power. As you press the power button, it chimes once and bleeps; its battery is almost dead, but ‘almost’ is good enough. The beasts muzzle points in your direction as Applejack shivers. Slowly, the Hydra slithers towards you, sniffing, homing in as Rainbow waves her forelegs and tries to distract the beast with her ragged shouts, “Hey, slime-ball, you might live in water, but I guess you never heard of soap, have you?!" The best slowly edges towards you and ignores the flying Pegasus. You feel Applejack try to flinch and pull away, wanting to dart away from the creature, but your hold on the strap keeps her still.

Come on, come on. Hurry up! Volume up.... access voicemail... play!

The distinct crackle from the phone is thankfully quiet but the rest will be loud enough as you fling the phone towards the distant shore like a frisbee, “Hey, bonjour, mate! Listen, I'm sorry about the other day-”

The familiar voice of the 'friendly foreigner' Frank echoes through the still air as the Hydra howls and lunges at the voice. It pulls its whole bulk across your path and splashes through the serf as Rainbow cries out in mock terror.

You let go of Applejack's strap and like a starting pistol, she sprints forward with you in tow. The serpentine tail sways across her path for a moment before she leaps over the scaly appendage. Pinkie and Fluttershy race down the bank at a full gallop, heading straight towards that dilapidated tower and its rickety door.

Your heart pumps hard in your chest as you charge through the waters and onto the bank towards the aged, black moss covered door of the log cabin. Pinkie and Fluttershy rush in before Applejack and yourself while Rainbow streaks in moments later.

It is dark, stuffy, and molding. A circle of stones, rocks, and cinders of a makeshift fire pit rest on the wooden floor near a set of stools and a broken table in front of you. The crumbling stone archway to the tower rests off to your left and an empty hearth rises up opposite that. Several thin shafts of pallid light make their way in through the wide gaps in the bellying ceiling with several more through the notches in the cabin's wooden walls. All of it will be smashed to kindling if the Hydra decides to barrel through.

“Quick, y’all, make for the tower!" Applejack calls out as Rainbow slams the door shut behind her and puts her shoulder to it.

“The Hydra will just shake this place to pieces. We're trapped!" Fluttershy squeaks and closes her eyes.

“Rainbow! Stop being foolish and leave that consarn’d door alone!" Applejack snaps.

A sense of deja vu wriggles through your mind. Why is there a fire pit on the ground when a hearth is so close by? You close your eyes, twitching as lines of concentration trace across your brow.

♣♣♣

Kolbjorn raked the charcoal and soot aside, soiling his emerald cloak. Straining hard, he ripped an iron gate aside and pulled up on a loop. A few creaks and groans followed before it, too, was forced open with a gasp like the tortured souls of the dead. The iron lattice was lifted allowing the small retinue to creep forward towards the yawning mouth.

♣♣♣
♣

You dart to the hearth and latch your fingers into the iron latticework. “C'mere!" You pull hard on the grating and listen to it open with a rusty groan. Sure enough, below the latticework is a dark pit with a single wooden ladder leading into the gloom.

“This place ain't gonna last longer than sugar at suppertime, so move yer caboose!" Applejack's howl can't hope to match the Hydra's as it lets loose an infuriated bellow outside.

“Trust me, this is why I'm here! Hurry!" You hold the grate up and listen to the sound of slavering footsteps and a thrashing slither outside. Pinkie nods and hops straight down into the darkness. Rainbow finally darts away from the door and ploughs into Fluttershy, sending them both tumbling down the chute. Applejack can only blink as you sharply point to the empty abyss, “Get in!”

Applejack glances back at the door and darts forward, diving headlong into the deep as you scramble down a moment later. The grate slams shut almost the same instant that the world above you explodes in a storm of splintered wood and falling timber. The ladder disintegrates in a shower of rocks, dirt, and dust as you plummet some ten feet and land on somepony.

As the dust settles and the creak of weakened shoring groans overhead. “Oh, damn it, move, move, move!" The winded pony beneath you coughs and struggles up as you shove them further down the blackened corridor. The Hydra's raking talons rip the metal grating off, sending the weighty scrap of twisted metal crashing down, followed by countless tons of loosened rock and rubble as the hidden entrance caves in.

Author's Note

Righto everypony. Another week and the last Chapter of Act 3! Well, not much to say... I guess I'll say for now I'll take a break next week but I'll make a slightly bigger announcement about that soon. For now, hope y'all enjoyed and take care, akays?

Act 4: Abattoir

Abattoir

Ne forhtedon na.
...
Be not afraid

Author's Note

Well, this is it, the last act. We're in the final chapters, close to the curtain call, near the end of the line. But there's still ever so much to go.

I haven't gotten any real questions, comments, or thoughts, so there's not much to say. Sit back, relax, and enjoy our final piece.

Act 4- Chapter 2: Castle in the Sky

Castle in the Sky
Proofread by TehSporkBandit

The claustrophobic confines of the upwards-spiraling staircase echoes with the sound of beating wings and the distraught yowl of a Pegasus. Rainbow Dash's shrill cry spurs you up the dizzying ascent as you take the steps three at a time, bringing you ever closer to the poignant stench of death and decay. In moments you crest the top of the stairs, only to see Rainbow Dash unsteadily swatting the air amid a flurry of dislodged black feathers which swirl around her like a cyclone. She sputters and coughs, eyes tightly shut with several raking red marks and a nasty looking gash showing above her brow.

“Rainbow, are you-” your concern is dashed aside as the Pegasus snarls and paws the stone steps like an irate bull.

“Nopony sucker punches me like that... Hey, you! Yeah, you, Coal Clucker. My turn, you gutless guttersnipe!" You barely catch a glimpse of the irate mare before she darts through a poorly lit archway and into the unknown.

You step out from the neatly carved entranceway and nearly run straight into Rainbow Dash who has stopped just outside of the mouth of the arch. Thin rays of pallid light beat down in regular tines, creeping fingers from a grey sky like the somber shadows cast by prison bars. You cast a glance around at the hellish corner you’ve stumbled upon as a chill wind carries with it the wretched pall of desolation.

The cavernous mouth looks as wide as a baseball field, though no more than twenty-five feet tall and made of the jagged cracks of a natural cave quite unlike the nearly carved stairwell. That foul smell hangs on the air, impregnating it with that sickly cloying odour of death that springs from a rancid pile of debris scattered in front of you. It is no simple compost heap, it has a scattering of bones, scraps of skin, refuse, debris, not to mention dozens of other kinds of offal and waste dumped where a multitude of bobbing blobs dig and pluck through it with languid hops. The carrion birds that pick over the putrid heaps barely pay you or Rainbow any attention at all; you’re nothing more than fleas to them, something to be scratched at if bothersome, but otherwise ignored.

“Oooh, Celestia, that’s not, urk..." Rainbow groans with a sickened hiccup, “not cool." You hear the roiling caws and bubbling croaks of the carrion feeders. Dozens, if not hundreds, of Ravens roost in the upper crags of the penumbral cave and stare down at you through harsh amber eyes. Some are relatively small, only a foot and a half long and maybe a couple of pounds, but other bulbous forms bound here and there, grotesquely swollen from gorging themselves on their rotten feast.

“No, Rainbow, that’s not cool." You point off towards the cave entrance, seeing the lines of the ashen skies beyond a huge gate of wrought iron, each looking as thick as your clenched fist. One colossal Raven roosts on a round loop in the gate directly above the door. It has to be the size of a filly, thirty or forty pounds, its beak glints in the dull light as you realize it’s sheathed in iron. A key ring hangs from its maw, dangling above the iridescent green and black plumage of its chest. The world outside might be cloaked by the lifeless wasteland, but it is preferable to the darkened pits in the bowels of the mountain.

Rainbow's sharp eyes rove the highest reaches where a multitude of beady red eyes stare down at you, “Uhh, you think we better get Fluttershy to help with this?” Several of the scavenging avians finally take an interest in the pair of you; they squawk and clack their beaks in aggressive irritation as if holding their own hasty conversation.

“Yeah... yeah, I think we better." You nod back towards the stairs.

“It's probably a good idea."

A throaty ‘Rroaaak-Roaaak’ bubbles up from the massive Raven above the gate. The colony of carrion feeders descends like a cloud of midnight and spirals around you in a seething vortex as black as pitch, blocking your way in a hissing, snapping mass of sharp beaks and ragged talons. In moments, the storm subsides, leaving countless ranks of beady-eyed Ravens staring at you, forcing you and the Pegasus back, step by step, into a slowly compacting circle in their midst.

The keys in the massive gate Raven’s beak jangle and chime almost musically as it slowly sweeps its gaze over you. Its pupiless red eyes seem to swirl like a fiery whirlpool, hypnotically fixing you and Rainbow to the spot. A shimmering intellect burns behind those crimson orbs, fire rubies locked in its skull that compel you to edge back towards the stairs as if by magic, “Visitorrrrs come to the Carrrion City, come to Corrrax? One with wings and the scent of the wind, a weather waker from White Clouds. Yes-yes, Corrrax sees.” The blood-red eyes turn on Rainbow who snaps her tail in irritation, but she maintains eye contact with the massive bird.

Corax merely quirks its head to the side and regards you with the same burning intensity. It caws twice and cranes its neck forward, “And anotherrr like Him? ‘Rroaak’ Peculiar! Yes-yes, peculiar Skrrraeling, indeed. Hmm, come, Skrrraeling, hop forrrward if it wishes to live." Its hacking voice is harsh and occasionally punctuated by its clacking beak, but, once again, you find yourself involuntarily moving. This time you set foot right in front of the great gate Raven.

“It has His axe, the Skrraeling must know Him." It stares at you unswervingly, waiting for an answer that doesn't readily present itself. You uncomfortably shift, hearing a shrill cry picked up by the other Ravens, filling the cavern with a cacophony of noise. The raucous din falters as quickly as it began; every single Raven is fixated on either you or your companion. “Tell Corrrax, wherrre is it frrrom? How comes another Skrrraeling to Corrrax’s mountains?”

Nothing. There is no forthcoming response from you. A dozen answers come to your lips but Corax’s incandescent gaze seems to burn away each falsehood before they can be given life. Rainbow is the one to answer as you are well and truly tongue-tied. She puffs up her chest and calls out with a confidence that certainly isn’t mutual, “He’s a troll from Saddle Arabia.” She’s never believed it until this moment, but in the face of opposition, she’s willing to scream that flimsy excuse from the rooftops.

A few moments of almost mocking silence greets her proclamation, “It lies to you, Weatherrr Wakerrr.” It gets an immediate growl from Rainbow Dash who snorts and paws the raw stone.

“Are you going to use that thing or not?" Rainbow gestures to the axe and takes a breath before padding forward to stand beside you. She lifts a hoof then slams it down, “And who said you-” a choir of raking calls drowns her out until she gives up the attempt.

An irritable snort and curl of her lips morphs into an audible snarl as she bares her teeth. The Raven spreads its wings, reaching a span of at least ten feet like a condor. Its harsh cry rings out to the highest rocky vaults, “So says Corrrax, guarrrdian of the Gate, Masterrr of the dead, Senechal of Carrrion city: New Trrrondheim. Listen closely, skrrraelings:”

Face of an Ursa, and roar of the same.
Soul of a changeling, a friend did he claim.
A beast lacking heart, all morals deprived.
Into the midst of the blessed, connived.
Great oaths did he break,
and comrades forsake,
So, who can tell me this Nithinger's name?

“Answerrr, answerrr skrraeling, or Corrrax and the Carrrion-kin will feast on your eyes and consume your flesh.” Corax fixes you with that same predatory glow, and you swear if its beak could show it, the creature would have been smirking in anticipation. Already, the other Ravens begin to bob and shoot fleeting glances at yourself and Rainbow Dash. They understand perfectly well what is at stake, a meal is near at hand for them.

Rainbow Dash stays quiet, a look of distasteful irritation crossing her muzzle. You barely catch her complaint, “Sure, they’ve always got to have some kind of stupid riddle. I hate riddles." Her books are one thing, but being put on the spot is something else. “C’mon, cut and run, we’ll be able to outpace them, right?”

You quickly shake your head and place a hand on her tensed neck as you close your eyes and think back to the memories burned into your psyche.

♣

“What have you been waiting for, Jarl?!”

There was no immediate response until he'd pulled himself and several other men up to the deck. “Ah, King Olaf…” he started and bowed.

“Sigvald never bows." Ulf muttered and took a sharp breath as he picked up a spear and flicked it up to a throwing stance.

“This, of course." He raised a hand as a flaming arrow shot from back aboard the Dragon. It was the same moment that a bellicose scream tore from the half dozen Jom warriors on the deck as they brought their sturdy two-handed axes down, splitting apart chainmail with a contemptuous ease as, across three ships, confusion gripped the heart of the Northmen's fleet.

“Nithinger!" Olaf cried and drew his sword.

♣♣

With a few pensive breaths you smile and shout your answer in complete, unfaltering confidence: “Sigvald!” Your answer heralds silence: there is no cawing, no croaks, no angered hisses, nothing but an unnerving stillness that permeates the cave.

Rainbow licks her lips and leans in to whisper, “On three. One-” The jangle of keys is almost startling as they clatter down just a few feet in front of you. Corax seems still, not speaking or questioning anymore. Instead, it merely tucks its head back in its plumage as the other Ravens pointedly ignore you and return to rifling through the fetid mounds of refuse.

Rainbow Dash wordlessly blinks and stares at you with both hesitant wonderment and skeptical bewilderment, “You are either the second biggest egghead I know, or you’re not telling me something… what’s a Nithinger?”

“It just means traitor or cowards or something. It’s not that important, Rainbow, take the torch and go get everypony else. We just found our way in.”

“Huh? You mean our way out.” You glance over at the Pegasus who awkwardly shifts and bites on the edge of her lip. Her eyes betray her, darting to the open entrance and back to you with evident concern. “What if it's just a trap? Don't you think I better come along, too, so we can be sure about this?”

She wavers, awkwardly stopping and starting, eyes darting uncomfortably between the prowling mass of Ravens and the yawning maw back into the cavernous depths. But with no harsh cries and just a few Ravens nearby, there doesn't seem to be any immediate danger. You take a breath and smile before ruffling her mane, “You'll get back there a whole lot quicker without me slowing you down. Now, get lost and don't come back ‘till you get everypony else.” You give her a good-natured shove.

After a single step back, she shoots you a surprised glare which melts into a smile. “Count on it. Be back in a flash!” She takes wing and streaks back down into the mouth of the mountain.

You are left to push on and fetch the keys. Those first few tentative steps forward are nerve-racking, trudging through bundles of scraps with something that crunches uncomfortably underfoot and raises an even greater stench. Perhaps it is just a test. However, it’s suddenly a very long way to get to that rusty gate. With its grand iron slats and twisting spines that would surely skewer any creature foolish enough to try to squeeze between the miniscule gap between the bars and the cave ceiling, the imposing iron edifice is nothing short of hellish. A small pile of pointed skulls lies piled near the rusty hinges, and a massive lock clasps the imposing prison-like door shut, making this a fortress in its own right.

In the lee of the imposing gateway, you stoop down to retrieve the brass key ring dropped under the aegis of the massive Raven. To the left and to the right are a number of carved charms, Raven skulls, talons, and other fetishes lumped together. But there is something else, five henpecked glyphs that you pick out as a bastardized Royal Cipher: kindness, benevolence, loyalty, amusement, and honesty. There were five symbols; you'd seen each painted on the murals plastering the walls in the stairwell.

There is little time to lose as you look at the self setting lock caked in rust and heft the weighty keychain. Several of the keys have teeth that are rusted off or pitted and holed, but one still looks useable despite a thin layer of corrosion. The key fits and jiggles, but turning it takes a surprising amount of effort. One by one, the tumblers inside give way with a squeak and a loud 'clack'. The lock pops open and you use your shoulder to shove the door ajar. Despite digging your feet in and pushing, it opens upward on a slight slant which makes shunting the hefty iron portcullis all the more difficult. But the angle means the door will close shut and lock on its own from any considerable impact. Resting with your shoulder on the half open gate, you edge up the rocky slope, feeling the fresh chill breeze rake across your face as you realize you'll have to wait until Rainbow Dash brought everypony else in.

Amid the frozen gasps of winter wind and the darkening skies, you can see the tall spire rising from the haze like a spear. It’s tall and flat-sided, with small dot-like windows and a honeycomb of arches and buttresses on the uppermost stories. Even the great tower's roof is monstrous display of wide spread spines jutting out at the edges, capped in precariously perched tiles of dull blue slate. The monolithic tower is soon lost to the mists, leaving you staring into a blanket of white marred only by an anemic looking lantern post and crumbling stone retaining walls on either side of a winding path that melts into the drifting snow.

It is your first glimpse of the Carrion City, New Trondheim.

...Ulf’s lair.

Author's Note

Well there, sorry about the length of this but I figure it's better to have a short chapter than muddy a long chapter with two fairly different themes :twilightblush: but this does mean Act 4 is slightly longer than the others as a result, it's not less content just a few extra little breaks. Anyhow hope you enjoyed it and always happy to hear from you all!

Take care and see you next time, eh?

Act 4- Chapter 3: Scratching on Canvas

Scratching on Canvas
Proofread by TehSporkBandit

”Did ya see that, did ya?! The paintings were all pretty and they had gold and silver and you did see that, didn’t you?” Pinkie’s excitable chatter tears through the wearying blanket constantly eating at the edges of your mind and turns your thoughts away from the insipid miasma of the wind blasted wasteland. The sound of crunching hooves and occasional bellow of the winds do nothing to still the Earth-pony’s mind or mouth.

“Yes, Pinkie, I saw. Ulf is a hero to them and Olaf is some kind of a saint." It is slow going, the wind bites as voraciously as it did in Vanhoover. It piled the snow against the rock retaining walls that run the length of the road before that too disappears into the argent curtain. There is no telling what lay off either side of the path. At least you haven’t seen anything for the past ten minutes, anyway. “Are you four okay?” You call back after realizing your pony friends were lagging behind.

“Oh, sure, fit as a fiddle. What’s a saint?” Applejack’s voice pierces the whine of the wind, hoof placed over her hat to keep it on her head. She hasn't said much since traversing the refuse pile; the macabre display had stilled even the bellicose Pinkie until the cave had been left behind.

You think about how to answer Applejack's question. “Hmm, like a paragon, I guess. Think Star Swirl the Bearded." It’s as close as you are going to get to an answer they understand.

“What does that mean for us, Rightly?” Fluttershy’s soft question barely registers over the abrasive rasp of the scouring wind.

“Well, you remember the picture in the stairwell?” You look over and wait for her to nod. “If those are even close to true and there’s more than a dozen or so Cloud Gremlins, it means we’re in trouble. It means all of Equestria is in trouble. Fluttershy, do Gremlins usually gather like the ones in those pictures?” Ten or fifteen Gremlins sounds bad, but on that picture were upwards of forty or fifty and they didn’t thin out; the prostrate forms that bowed to the warlord clutching the Alicorn horn merely ended where the panel transitioned to another scene. Besides, there were still the five figures behind Ulf.

I wonder if those five are the Carrion Lords of the High Avery that the message in the paper was talking about.

“No, they’re not solitary, but their family units are relatively small. You might find two to ten in one badling.”

Fluttershy's consummate knowledge and reassuring tone rarely invites more questions, and now was no exception. In that light, it takes several moments to finally pipe up, “Badling?”

“It’s what they call a group of Gremlins. Well, and ducks when they’re flying." She might be a wealth of weird trivia, but it isn’t helping at the moment.

“They let us in a whole lot easier than ah figured. Anypony else suspectin’ this here’s a trap?” Applejack’s question does make you think about that possibility.

“I don’t think so. The bird brains let us in and the Hydra tried to keep us out. I don’t think they care, I bet their beaks they’ll be unhappy about it when we're through with them." Rainbow’s cocksure attitude might be buoying, but she likewise seemed to be certain the weather will break. Taking a breath to ask her about that, she interrupts you mid-draw adding, “This’ll let up soon enough. But that means it’ll just get colder."

With that answered, you nod and turn your attention back towards the path. Something glints in the distance, barely a notable blot of discoloured air marring the wintery shroud of snow. You hold up a hand to halt the party and point towards the distant glow. Applejack, Fluttershy, and Rainbow all bob their head and duck down against the walls. Pinkie mimes zipping her lips closed, locking it, dropping the key, then burying it. You try one thing, just to be sure, “Red.”

“Scarf.” Three separate replies hit you at once as everypony but Pinkie responds.

Her delayed response is thanks to a few beads of sweat as she digs around in the snow as if having actually lost a key. It is enough to make you smile, but in the space of a few seconds she repeats, “Scarf."

Slinking forward, you pull yourself over the retaining wall only to sink waist deep in the snow drift. Your companions quickly follow after as you drag yourself into the field. Wading through, the small, indistinct glow gets brighter and brighter until, finally, you can recognize it as light coming through a pair of windows. They are situated in the back of a large stone building. The panes are scraped glass that has been melted rather than cast, resulting in clear patches and amber blotches that distort the world into lopsided grotesques. It’s latticed in lead and is far more crudely crafted than the soft, elegant stained glass windows ponies create with ease.

Inside is a small room with shapes moving about in the harsh orange glow of a lantern. Rough hewn timber and scattered reed mats cover the floors and walls while lopsided shelves line the walls. It must be a storehouse as it is far too sparse to be a dwelling. A face passes by scant inches from you as the Gremlin slips by in front of the window and down a staircase. Holding remarkably still, you watch the creature obliviously pass by, stop, and by then you have enough time to belly down into the snow as it takes a second look.

“What do you s-” you clasp a hand over Pinkie’s muzzle to stifle her excitement. Having quieted the mare, you crook your fingers so they resemble curved talons or claws. Your friends seem to understand.

Rainbow throws herself at the wall beside you before skirting the stonework and sneaking towards the corner of the building. Applejack just points up to the second story of the storehouse, motioning towards the wooden beams jutting out from the stonework and propping up the irregular slate shingles. There is another window below it and you already have an inkling of what she is planning to do before she rifles through her pack to find the rope. Letting her take care of that, Pinkie and Fluttershy huddle against the stone building, though, the impetuous pink mare peeks up over the window sill.

“Akaaaay,” Pinkie mumbles quietly, “I spy with my little eye: two things warty, red, and kinda scrawny.”

“Lemme' guess, two big ugly Gremlins?” Rainbow hisses from the edge of the building.

“I said scrawny, not big, so I can only give you a half point for that.”

“Hey, I got it right, didn't I?” Rainbow protests and flicks her tail in irritation, “Alright, it opens up into a square up here. The castle can't be much further up, but there's a lot more buildings." The sheets of white twist around a few other spires and scrape into several more indistinct structures which emerge from the grey void as vague geometric shapes.

A whirling hiss continues, but it isn't the freezing wind, rather, it’s a lariat snipping through the air. Applejack spins the lazy lasso and sends if shooting upwards, tightly hooking a projecting wooden spar. “Alright, y'all giddy up now. You too, Rainbow." Applejack stands by the rope and steps on the end, head turning left and right as she stays on the ground on sentry. Rainbow quickly turns and lunges through the snow to the rope, grasping it and managing a shockingly agile shimmy up to the timber beam.

“Does it got a latch on it?” Applejack whispers to the athletic Pegasus leaning out towards the ill-formed window.

Rainbow merely hums for a moment, quirking her head to the side like a philosopher before smirking and punching her forehoof into the window frame. There is a distinct ping of tortured metal that is sure to draw some attention, “Heh, it did. C’mon." She hisses and swings herself over to the window that yawns open wide. Pinkie smiles as you gesture for her to take the rope. She is up not too much slower than Rainbow Dash, leaving you as the third intruder.

“Hop up." Applejack arches her back, bracing as you look at the rope and run through how effortlessly Pinkie and Rainbow had climbed the rope. It was like watching a pair of acrobats and they didn't even have fingers. “Ah'll give ya a lift: one, two, three, and 'hup'!" She arches her back as you uncertainly step on her croup and, through a combination of her single grunting buck and your own hop, you nearly manage to clutch the top of the rope. The strain in your arms is fairly impressive as you clench your teeth while your muscles pull taut.

“Ey, what'sss that?” A sibilant hiss drifts from inside the darkened building. “It sssounded like it came from upssstairs.”

“I's t-t-told you I's saw somefin'! I's t-t-told you!" A second mutters in a high, uneven pitch.

A similar sibilant tone whispers from right near the window, “Naw it'ssss jussst... um, your... Snrkkk- Ouch, Dasssshie!”

“Zip it." The Pegasus replies, but by then, the Earth-pony's giggling and snorting tipped off the Gremlins who's scrambling could be heard from upstairs.

“Yeah, great cover, Pinkie. Alright, lets turn them into paste!" Rainbow claps her hooves together as you grasp the window ledge and drag yourself inside. You tumble in with a thump. The broad axe, bound around your wrist, clatters to the floor as you blink and try to adjust to the dark space. It isn’t the warm, glowing space you assumed it was; lengthy shadows creep over the interiors of the loft as the sharp edges and shifting mirages cast by the single ray of light up the twisting steps melds with several other shafts that lance through the rickety floorboards.

Rainbow is already up and weaving through the large wooden crates and bundled bales of what feels like cotton that scratch your cheek. “Pinkie, get Fluttershy up here, I’ll deal with this!" There is no trepidation, it’s a tremor of excitement quivering in her voice. “C’mon, Rightly!" She howls, finding the stairs and leaping as the first silhouetted spindle-limbed figure crests the steps.

Whether by design or accident, the Pegasus strikes the creature head-on, bowling it over and sending them both careening down the staircase with a rattling crash. Pulling yourself up and over the tied bales, you are already in mid-stride, thundering down the steps to the floor below. In the heat of the moment, you find yourself already in pursuit of a squealing Gremlin as the other snarls, “Sssykes, Sssykes, ssscram!" The leatherbound hilt of the axe bounces off your palm twice before you grip it tightly as you approach the bend in the staircase and see the ruffled heap on the landing.

Rainbow Dash had the presence of mind to lash out as she tumbled, but she'd recovered and by now she has fastened her forelegs around the Gremlin's arms as it desperately claws anything in reach. Its jagged nails cut rents into the wooden floor, dragging up splinters as it tries to pull away.

A second Gremlin advances on the jumbled heap at a wary skulk. It gazes up at you, pupils narrowing in fright as you launch yourself at it all at once. Your knee slams into its jaw, sending it spiraling into the wooden spindles lining the stairwell with splintering crack before it bounces into the darkness and disappears.

The Gremlin moans and then goes quiet as you find yourself on the landing a few feet from Rainbow. The Pegasus growls and strains to keep the creature pinned, “Hold... still!" Her captive seethes and hisses before going limp when the gleaming axe blade hovers in front of its face. You catch its gaze for a moment: iIts pitiless and vicious temper hadn't disappeared, it still simmers behind those defiant ruby eyes. The eyes of a fanatic.

The lower story stinks with the acrid tang of lime and wet fur, but aside from the orange glint from an old oil lamp, a few standing wooden frames, and the low burning coals in a fire, little catches your attention. A shape darts across the shadows between two wooden support beams, causing you to lurch forward with the axe upraised. The skulking shape stops and holds still as the weapon's sheen winks in the harsh light.

It was the escaping Gremlin, nothing more than a vague silhouette, huddling in a corner near a flickering candle. You lick your lips and growl as the creature tries to hide behind some aged wooden crates. You toss them aside, confronting it, transfixing the Gremlin to the spot. Its red hide betrays every nervous twitch and muscle spasm as its knees tremble and knock together. Looming up, you bring the weapon up over your head, staring into its shining amber eyes.

You detect neither malice, nor anger, the Gremlin's eyes go as wide as saucepans while its beaked maw hangs open so you could practically see yourself in its tearful reflection. You were a juggernaut, some massive beast of wrath and ruin compared to its small emaciated frame. It is no scratching, clawing monster, it’s just another being that peers up at you.

The hacking edge would slice down, probably biting through its shoulder and splitting it to its sternum, all without a single clawed hand raised in defense. You hesitate, just a moment, but it is perceptible. The Gremlin’s yellow eyes roll into the back of its head, showing the whites as it collapses in a gasping faint. You hadn't even needed to ask it for some sort of surrender.

“Youch!" Rainbow cries out as the pattering scramble continues behind you. “It bit me! Get ‘em before it rats us out!" Rounding on the creature, you’re still too slow.

The manic Gremlin is already up on its feet as Rainbow lunges at the figure. It feints left, sending the Pegasus sprawling on the floor with a rough cuff on the back of her head. Darting for the door, you take off after it as it gnashes its teeth in response. Twisting the door handle, the dull wind carries the blank plank with a wooden cord open. If it so much as screams, then the element of surprise might be lost. Sure enough, it sucks in a single long breath as you look out over a cobblestone square flanked by buildings half lost in the snow squall.

“Sit’own!" A powerful kick collides with the Gremlin like a runaway freight train, driving every hint of breath from it and sending the beast hurtling into the snow with a muffled crunch. Applejack turns and smiles before nipping the dazed creature by the scruff and dragging it towards you. “Curdja ged da der, sugacu’e?” You nod and hold the door open for her and her captive. The mare quickly drags the gangly imp inside and you quickly shut the door behind her. As it so happens, she may have saved the element of surprise after all. The snow will cover any trace of the struggle soon enough.

“Hmm, lucky break, Applejack,” Rainbow begrudgingly smirks, “but I had him." Rainbow trots over as if accepting the Gremlin as a trophy of sorts.

Applejack just spits the Gremlin out and it tumbles to the ground, senseless and winded from the kick. “Ah didn't doubt it fer a second. But, ah figured ah'd take a peek 'round the front ta' make sure none of them varmints tried ta' sneak out without payin' admission.”

“So, are we gonna' strap him down and interrogate him?” Rainbow asks as the Gremlin coughs and feebly twitches, garnering a surprisingly wolfish growl from Applejack. The octet of hoofsteps making their way down the steps say that Pinkie and Fluttershy are finding their way down, too.

“You bet." The farmpony’s warning snarl is clear enough indication the Gremlin is in trouble.

“Is everypony okay?” Fluttershy’s twittering voice sounds out as barely more than a peep. Glancing sideways at her while Rainbow and Applejack have the Gremlin cornered, you can see Pinkie coming down the steps with a large canvas in her teeth.

Pinkie props the painting up against on the steps, wedging the frame between two of the uneven spindles of the banister. “It’s just like all the paintings back by the stairs! Isn’t it neat?” The picture is of the same warrior, Ulf, and the other quintet of hooded creatures. In front of them were five separate symbols, each seeming to correspond to a prostrate Unicorn. Ulf still stood in the middle, but behind him was some great figure cloaked in glory, wings, a horn, and a great, bright, golden star behind it, which reflects the flames of the guttering lamplight.

“An Alicorn… Celestia?” You look again. It was white, a silhouette against the gold, not even framed in black ink, but as an ‘absent’ space as if not yet filled in. There is writing underneath, both in the Royal Cipher with an amateurish, but careful, hand and that of Equestrian script:

Conquer your passions and you conquer your own heart. Never mind the world, set the example you wish others to follow.

“Where’s Twilight? What’ja do with ‘er?” Applejack’s stamp shakes the floorboards.

“AJ…” you try to interject as something starts to formulate in your mind.

“What did you do with her? You do have her, don’t you? Well, don’t you?! Oh, so you want to do this the hard way?” Rainbow’s angry and aggressive tone isn't as tangible as Applejack's temper, but she is louder for whatever that's worth.

You continue to think, picking something out. The silhouetted figure sat upon a tall throne, backed by a star, but on the throne was a sun to the right and moon to the left, ‘I make all things new.’

Fluttershy had taken the time during the lull to inspect the painting. She squints hard at it, “That's not paper.." Fluttershy points towards the picture and takes two uneasy steps back, “It's skin! They were stretching and painting it on skin!"

“What?!" Pinkie spits and quickly scrapes her tongue with her hooves.

“Ewww... cool, but eew." Rainbow winces but gawks at the picture in macabre fascination, all while keeping her forehooves on the Gremlin’s shoulders.

“Ugh, that ain’t fittin." Applejack eyes the creature while backing off and casting a few wary glances around the room.

“And t-there’s more, lots more. Upstairs." You hadn’t noticed anything in the shadowy corners when you’d first slipped inside.

You head back up the stairs and hold the blackened lamp up over your head so you can see. The pale light reveals a score of cotton bales around you, which probably isn’t the best material to have near an open flame. But in the back are dozens upon dozens of rows of wooden frames with hide sheets stretched across them.

They’re making parchment! The cotton is sucking up the moisture so it stays perfectly dry.

It is clever and effective in this temperature, which also explains the heat of the building when a Gremlin probably wouldn't have needed it much. The smell downstairs is lime for curing the hides, barrels for the process, and almost certainly ink. “Primitive." You mumble to nopony in particular. Something else is more important.

You quickly head to the rows of drying parchment racks. Wandering among them, you look at the mostly blank sheets, but recognize a few more that have ink barely drying on their surface. There are pictures of a great mountain, a grand stone monument silhouetted by the setting sun and the same images of an enthroned Alicorn in the clouds. Ulf stands at its right and serried ranks of a winged host hang around its edges. Other paintings show them among Unicorns, Pegasi, and Earth-ponies alike. Something catches your eye. There is no great tail and flowing mane of starlight, but the background is a very familiar star rather than just a glowing nimbus halo.

“Oh, dear Cel-”

“Find anything neat? This place is super creepy." Pinkie nervously trots up the stairs, taking each step one at a time. It doesn’t interrupt your train of thought in the least as your mouth feels as dry as the cotton bales around you.

“They’re not just trying to destroy Celestia, they’re trying to replace her entirely.”

Pinkie blinks with an incredulous pause “With what?”

“Not ‘what’, but ‘whom’.” With that, you tap the six pointed star.

Act 4- Chapter 4: First Choices

First Choices
Proofread by TehSporkBandit

”So what’re we gonna’ do with ‘em?" Applejack quietly asks again, likely prompted by Fluttershy and her concern for the captured Gremlins. The pragmatic Apple hadn't seen fit to question interrogation, but everything else is left up to chance. In fact, nopony had really discussed it until Fluttershy brought it up. Of course, as you chew on your lip and think of a response, Applejack turns her attention up to the stairs and perks her ears up. She'd only spoken in hushed tones, so as to avoid spoiling any so-called 'technique' that Rainbow Dash and Pinkie concocted. Muffled voices still drift down from the loft; the interrogation must be ongoing.

You finally summon up an answer, one that will doubtlessly be unsatisfying, “ I don’t know. But we need to get some information out of them. Are the other Unicorns alive, where-”

“Where they’re keepin’ Twilight hold up at and how many of ‘em there are. I remember." Her sage nod professes attentiveness. Applejack had tied them up, but it is up to the incorrigible duo of Rainbow Dash and Pinkie to extract information from them.

“Ladies and gentlecolts of the jury, we see here two wormy-squirmy Gremlins who know a whole lot more than they’re telling us. And so we revert to issue A… ahem, did you take Twilight?!" There is a thin venomous hiss in response.

Pinkie murmurs quietly to herself as a meaty thump heralds Rainbow's more venomous voice, “If you bite, I bite, and I'm better at it than you.”

Pinkie's quiet musings seem detached from the whole situation, “Shoot, I thought that would work for sure." Rainbow Dash only sighs, discontent in her abject frustration.

“They’re not having much luck, are they?" Fluttershy stands and sets her forehooves on the window sill to look outside at the whitewashed wastelands behind the settlement.

Your tracks have already been completely obliterated by the howling winds and rasping snow outside. It’s a stark contrast to the single rickety window overlooking the courtyard where several dimmed lights shine out from lower stories of other buildings hemming in the desolate cobblestone paved village. The Pegasus has been a lookout for the past thirty minutes. So far, nothing moved and your few occasional glimpses outside had only caught a glimpse of a tower rising up out of the mist, a wind-blasted square of barren flagstone with a single tall statue of a great warrior with an upraised sword, and the flat stones of various other two story dwellings that felt lifeless and abandoned.

The weather hasn’t eased up. The roofing timbers groan ominously as the harsh winds scours all trace of life and civility in a serpentine drift of purest white. Thankfully, the fire chases away some of the torpid chill, though the pangs of cold in your feet and extremities warn you not to be complacent. It is still dangerous outside.

“What do ya reckon Pinkie needed them paints fer?" Applejack rubs her chin and glances your way.

“I don’t know. She’s a good artist, but I don’t see how that’ll be of any use." You catch yourself before simply emulating Applejack in stroking your chin. It really isn’t going to help anyway, Pinkie is a mare of mystery. A nascent plan slowly germinates in your mind as a concept begins to begins to bloom into something resembling a plan. There is a way that Pinkie's artistic talents might yield some very real advantages.

“Is somethin’ on yer mind, pardner?" Narrowing her eyes and letting a small smirk spread across her muzzle, she had to have seen your pensive expression. Applejack rather swiftly makes her way over as if to say 'whatever it is, I'll help' as she stands in front of you.

“Yeah, I’m going to see what I can get out of that thing upstairs. I might be able to put a scare into them.” You ponder that for a moment or two, letting the ideas congeal into something more tangible.

“What’re ya plannin’ on doin’, exactly?" Applejack’s curious streak is still there, but a lofted brow betrays the tentative reservation in those bright emerald eyes. With a vague twist of unease filtering into her voice she asks, “Do you need anythin’?”

“I don’t know yet, AJ. Right now, I really don’t know."

“The snow is starting to ease up a little." Fluttershy’s observation carries with it a tense shudder that runs down her spine. The window of opportunity is closing, and you are positive Rainbow Dash’s and Pinkie’s method of interrogation wasn’t yielding results.

Quickly searching around, you find your axe and pack before slipping over towards the alcove in the secluded and cool side of the building. “AJ, Fluttershy, just get ready to go as soon as we get what we need out of them. I think this will take a little finessing. If Ulf has been dealing with them, Rainbow Dash’s snorting isn’t going to scare them into giving anything up.” You hurry off up the steps and give the pair a simple wave to say 'stay put'.

Taking the stairs in leaps and bounds, you emerge into the relative gloom at the edge of the upstairs storeroom. Instead of being greeted by two bound Gremlins sitting on the floor, a very different audience stares at you with unblinking apathy.

A spotlight made up of three firefly lamps marks the interrogation area where the two Gremlins had been tied up and seated back to back. Pinkie looms over them, standing on her hind hooves with her forelegs crossed, while her prismatic Pegasus partner lingers a few feet away, letting out a recalcitrant sigh. But that wasn't what was strange; in the shadows beyond the ring of lights is a 'jury' of sorts.

A veritable courtroom made up of painted pony portraits has been set up in silent judgment of the two Gremlins neatly bound in the center of the room. The raw, stretched parchment is painted with an almost cartoonish face of a glowering pony, other portraits mirror expressions of shock as they hold their hooves up to their muzzles as if to whisper to the other pictures. Pinkie sweeps her hoof out to them as if to catch the attention of the inanimate audience.

“Pinkie?” You start, but your words die in your throat the moment the Gremlin looks over at you. It flashes a shiver of fear for a moment, then its gaze hardens into a snarl before snorting in defiance. The second quivers and shakes like a leaf in a storm, its head bent down and lips moving in an incoherent babble held back as it paws the crinkled rag on its lap. It looks like the scrap of cloth was given to it as a tissue.

Your confident stride and flexing grip on the axe is enough to shake that haughty defiance from the one resistant Gremlin. Pinkie's stern facade cracks for a moment as she waves you over, “Ah, my associate at Pinkie Pie ‘n Dash legal services is here to give his expert opinion. A bit of a surprise, I had you in the crowd as an adviser, isn’t that right?” Dash’s glance upwards kills her frustration as it boils over into genuine confusion. However, when directed to a grey and brown earth-pony portrait with a caricature low brow and scrunched eyes, it gets just as puzzling for you.

Despite the difficulty, you ignore both the strange picture that looks almost like a pony Marlin Brando with a Groucho Marx mustache and Pinkie pie herself. Instead, you share a covert wink with Rainbow who straightens her spine and flashes a Cheshire grin. It's enough for you to start circling the Gremlin. It twists and turns, trying to keep you visible at all times, and as it switches sides, you prowl into and out of the darkness at the unlit edges of the room Already, the other has caught sight of you, seated and bound as they are, it mews pitifully. Tears pour down freely from its red rimmed eyes and it firmly avoids locking eyes with you, though its long, pointed ears seem to twist and track your every movement. Finally, you spot something of interest: it is a large bucket of red paint with a large brush dipped into it up to the handle. It has to be there because of the portraits and, hopefully, it isn’t as dry as dust.

“Has he told you anything?” You keep your voice low in a bass growl, hoping it doesn’t crack and that you don’t have to fake an even lower register.

“Not really. He said a few not-so-nice things about my mom. I mean, he could be right, she is an old grey mare, but she was never all that flabby or disappointed. At least, I hope not.” while dropping to all fours, she shoots a glance over towards Rainbow Dash for some confirmation, “I mean, that would be pretty terrible. But we left on good terms and e-”

“You, Gremlin. I’ve got one question for you.” Your interruption silences Pinkie as you approach the defiant creature. It juts its jaw out at you and bears its teeth, but its chest flutters more and more arhythmically with every step you take.

“I’m not going to sssay anything to you, Cryssstal Eyess..." as you produce the sharpened axe blade and hold it up in front of its eyes, the Gremlin's facade crumbles like a house of cards. It leans back and pulls its face away from the glinting metal surface and starts breathing far more deeply.

Crouching down in front of it, you narrow your eyes and smile at it while letting the pale lantern light reflect off the menacing weapon's edge, “How many Gremlins does it take to tell me a name?” You slowly grasp the ragged scrap of cloth from the mewling creature's lap.

Pinkie’s pensive pondering produces a loud ‘hmmm’ as she scratches her chin. “Is thiiiis a trick question? Rightly? Rightly, is this a trick-”

“One.” Grasping its long pointed ears, it yowls as you force the material in its mouth and shove it face first into the ground. It can’t look back as you shove the creature to the floor, overturning the chair it was in and watching it writhe and squirm.

You stride over to the other creature and wind up, “Rightly?!” Pinkie’s voice jumps an octave, “W-what are you doing with that axe?” The Pegasus quickly reaches forward to grasp the tensing Earth-pony and holds her back despite squirming with a mounting discomfort. “Just listen, liiiisten, no-no-no, we ca…” you take a quick breath and wind up. Even as Pinkie struggles, Rainbow keeps her pinned. The terrified Gremlin’s eyes simply roll up into the back of its head as the proverbial sword of Damocles hovers over its head. Going limp, it slumps down with a thump and lies senselessly on the baseboards.

So far it’s going according to plan.

“Suga’cube?! Uh, is everythin’ alright up there?” Applejack’s apprehensive voice creeps up the stairwell.

Holding up a hand, you press a finger to your mouth as you stride forward to fetch one of the canvases. Taking one of Pinkie’s portraits as well as the paint, you put the stretched hide against the insulating tundra cotton and quickly splash some of the paint on it. It's crude, more of a vegetable dye than a more familiar house paint, but thankfully the smell isn't as pronounced. Maybe you would get away with this after all. With the canvas dripping in the runny crimson you wind up, and strike it with the axe. The less satisfying sound still works as the razor sharp axe embeds itself into the cotton bale, spattering your face and the front of your coat as well. Wrenching it out with a grunt, you head back to the senseless Gremlin and pour the rest of the paint around it.

“Well, that’s one thing down, and now we have one more. The nice thing is, I saw a few more of your kind in the house next door. So, really, I don’t need you, you’re here just for my convenience.”

Channeling Jack Bauer, or maybe Batman, is about the only way this is going to work as you slam the 'bloody' axe down in front of the creature. A terrified squeek tears itself from the creature's throat as you slam the weapon into the floorboards. Its eyes widen, "So, first of all, I’m going to ask a question, and you’re going to give me an answer. If you don’t, well, I’ll let you use your imagination and then I’ll use mine. Deal?”

It gets a dumb nod from the Gremlin; silence is all that comes from the pair of ponies in your company. This is outside of their experience, glancing up at their faces, even Rainbow Dash, who knows about it, is wide-eyed and looking at you. Pinkie’s mouth gapes wide open.

Maybe this is a bit too far?

Already your heart sinks in your chest, but you can't stop short now. You have to make this count.

“Where are those Unicorns?”

“C-cassstle.” It draws back away from you like you had recoiled from the Timberwolf.

“That little whistle sounds like a nice little kettle. I could smash a tea kettle pretty easily, and you wouldn’t want me to think about breaking things, would you?” You tilt its chin up, causing it to gulp and nervously shake its head, “Don’t you lie to me. Where in the castle are they? And are they all alive?”

Its breathing rapidly speeds up until it's nothing more than ragged gasps and breathless whines. The Gremlin's hyperventilating sends shivers through it and a whooping cough from its throat as you snap your fingers, causing it to look straight into your eyes. “Where in the castle? Are they all alive?” Every word is punctuated by as much gravity as you can invest into such a simple question.

It nods rapidly, “Y-yesss, all alive, all five of them. All alive, in the north wing at the s-sssummit room. All taken care of, I ssswear!”

You don’t nod; it is a conscious effort to appear unimpressed. “How do you know?”

“I f-feed them, we all do, rotation, every day! I s-s-swear!” It keeps pulling away while glancing over its shoulder. Each ragged breath betrays its anxiety as it can't see any details, but it can feel the senseless weight of the other Gremlin and watch as it ostensibly sees the pool of blood. Its nose has to be weak enough, or its brain too scrambled to pick up on anything but the colour and fear its own mind invested it with. That is what you had counted on.

“How many of you are there and how can we get in the castle? Is the winged Unicorn okay?” Your voice grabs its attention once more.

“T-two hundred s-ssseventy, none but the Carrion Lordsss are allowed inssside. Winged… Aesssir, of courssse. Yesss, yess, the Aesssir will reign when the day of renewal arrivesss.” The Gremlin’s bob and muted unintelligible speech makes it quite clearly a prayer. But a prayer to home? Much of what it said sounds almost religious. You file that away for later and ask the obvious.

“What’s an Aesir? Where is she?” You pull the jabbering Gremlin up, face to face.

“L-like their weakening Celessstia, but greater, much greater. The great one, now here, before an apoth… apothe…” it simpers, fumbling for the word, as if part of a barely understood catechism. “In the throne room, always in the throne room, with her attendant, and the Hetja, Ulf the Red.”

“How do we get in…” something else slowly bubbles to the surface of your memory as you fight to recall the details. “And what is Muninn?” The crouch is starting to burn, but it was giving you good answers. Fear is a powerful tool, the creature is far too afraid to lie to you.

“There isss none for your kind, the chosssen kind. Corax. None but the great door. The winged one…” his stiff nod toward Rainbow Dash is obvious, “Can go to the high avery. Without flight, there isss only the door. The Muninn are the holy Raven-kin who carry word back to the Hetja, he-hero, the one called Ulf.”

It makes sense, but you have one last question, “Where are your docks for the sky vessels?”

“Aesssir, forgive me.” It scrunches its eyes closed and takes a deep breath, “To the eassst, along the mountain pathsss.”

“Thank you." You quickly slip the gag back up and inside its mouth before yanking the axe free of the floorboards.

Turning around, both ponies are in shock and now a third is waiting at the top of the stairs. The bright green eyes are a swirling myriad of confusion and uncertainty. Even Rainbow’s once solidly smarmy expression is dull as she looks at you again, searching, much like the day Princess Luna had arrived and spoken of their tasks. Rainbow is searching once more, hoping you aren’t the same as Ulf.

You had been harsh, far too harsh for the likes of ponies. It leaves a vaguely hollow feeling lingering in your breast.

Don't look at me like that, you weren’t getting anywhere! It was necessary.

It was necessary. Faint pangs of indignation rise in your chest as their eyes lock on you. But you could at least draw some measure of comfort from that. “Come on. We’ve got to get three things, Rarity, Twilight, and a way out-”

Pinkie doesn't make a move, instead, she shivers once and takes a nerving breath, “Red.”

You loft a brow as the pass phrase challenge echoes through your mind. Pinkie's face is surprisingly calm and devoid of smile or that bounce of nervous energy. No, all that greets you is a slightly chilly stare from ice blue eyes. “Uh, scarf?” Is it a joke?

Pinkie mutely nods and turns towards the staircase, “Just checking something. Never mind.” She plods down the steps and disappears without a backwards glance.

“Well, and the other ponies here, too, right?” Rainbow pips up quickly.

“Of course, if we can.”

“If?” Applejack cocks her head towards you as you quickly wipe off the drying paint onto the cotton bales.

“Sure, Twilight and Rarity come first. It sounds like we still have time. Rainbow Dash, you and Pinkie go hijack us a cloud barge. You heard him, it’s up on the east path at the docks.” Given her impulsive nature, it would probably be best if Rainbow Dash was well away from any source that would make her jumpy or hasty. Likewise, the bellicose Pinkie should stay clear for much the same reason.

But it is still a castle. And if the castle was built with Gremlins in mind, you need to know how they think. Fluttershy should be able to help with flight and psychology if she doesn’t freeze up; Applejack's still considerable strength would be just as useful for her no-holds-barred insight. Plus, she's as dependable as anypony alive. Looking to them all, they stare straight back at you while milling about uncomfortably.

“H-hang on, why can't-” Rainbow starts but is swiftly stymied when Applejack’s hoof slips across her muzzle.

“Okay, if yer sure that’ll be the right choice, ah’ll go along with it.”

Still, they are far more quiet than before. Looking over again, you spot that strange Earth-pony portrait, the tan and grey one with that slight grin, “Who was that one?”

“Oh, nopony…” Pinkie bites her lip as her voice trails off into oblivion.

“Alright, then let's get going. We storm the front gate, head to the throne room, then the north wing. There’s bound to be windows we can access. It’s bound to be easier helping one pony along than five. From there, Fluttershy will give you a signal, you come and pick us up. This shouldn’t take more than an hour.”

♣

You had endured weeks of cold weather, it should have been normal by now, but this unnatural wind still cuts like a butcher's knife. It numbs your fingers and stings your face, whipping the rasping flakes like a scarf of frost around your neck. The winds had picked up when the snow fall slackened, creating a chest high band of sandpaper-like snow ripped from the drifts by the howling dirge. The billowing sheets that skiff along the ground could have obscured a pony, and, for that matter, they did.

Applejack and Fluttershy trail behind you, a hoof up over their eyes while taking the trek across the edge of the courtyard one step at a time. Rainbow and Pinkie trudgel alongside as you pass cold grey dwellings with the dilapidated slate roofs. New Trondheim is still a primitive ruin. But here the path splits to the right, a small retaining wall winds up a twisting trail that looks to be little more than a protected goat path.

“Hey, what is the signal?!” Rainbow bellows over the thin, straining wind.

“You’ll know it when you see it. Just keep a lookout for the windows up there.” You point towards the castle, seeing the vague outlines of the monolithic edifice. However, as you search, you can see the vague ribs of buttresses and supports, but there were no windows to be seen through the gloom. The lofty spires and towering turrets stretch skyward like a needle.

“And what if we can’t see it?” Rainbow protests as she stares up at you through layers of uncomfortable cloth and an impromptu visor made from scarves. “You said an hour, we’ll see if we can figure that thing out and get in within half an hour, then. See, your plan, not mine! I just want this to work!” She flings a foreleg up in resignation and shakes her head. It is as if to say ‘I wash my hooves of this’.

“If ya tip off any of them Gremlins, they’ll be on us like flies on a honey waggon.” Applejack’s voice rises only enough to cut through the slackened breath of the wind. The discomforting aura affects everypony alike, causing the whole party to stop.

“I thought you were the most loyal pony in Equestria? You don’t have to like it, but damn it, Dash, just do it! We don’t have time, and if you’re worried about not getting the glory, then you can tell everypony that you did it when we get back.” A quiver runs down her spine as you say it.

The indignant Pegasus puffs her chest out, “Why you smu-”

“Rainbow!” Pinkie’s interjection cuts everything short. “We gotta’ go look at our ride, promise, it’ll be fun. You can be captain Dash the magnificent again and I’ll be first mate Pinkie Pie.” She throws up a quick salute and ends with quickly grasping Rainbow’s tail.

It is enough to get the Pegasus to stamp her forehoof down before she harshly prods it into your stomach. Your breath leaves you in a rushing cloud and an unpleasant ‘oomph’. “One hour, not a second more. Starting now.” With a final snort that leaves rising steam trailing off into the open air, she turns quickly and gallops up off the path.

“Rainbow Dash? Rainbow?! Wait up, you have longer legs than me!” Despite the protestation, Pinkie tears off up the pathway and is lost to the thinning haze of snow as well. It there was a difference in speed, you aren't sure you could spot it.

“You sure that was smart? Rainbow didn’t seem to like that none, and she can get ornery.” Applejack quietly murmurs while trotting on the spot to keep her hooves from freezing.

“I’m only sure that we need to get Twilight and Rarity out of there now. Without question, it has to be done. We’ll never get another chance.”

“T-there’s somepony at the window up there!” Fluttershy’s nervous echo drifts over the courtyard as you gaze up just long enough to see a flash of red material disappear from a tall window overlooking the square.

“I didn’t see them, what did they look like? Unicorn?” Perhaps that was the case, but ahead of you lay an alleyway between a pair of three-story buildings, then a short causeway flanked by that same retaining wall and unlit brazers. The wind quickly dies as you hurry across the naked causeway towards a narrow flight of stairs leading to a great oaken door. The breeze is swiftly replaced by an even colder chill as if exhaled by the castle itself.

“No, no, I think he might have been like you.”

If that’s you, Ulf, I’ve brought your damned axe back.

“A troll?” You stare up at the now empty window.

“No, like you.” Fluttershy insists. Looking back at her, you open your mouth… she knows. She probably always had, but she didn’t question it, she respected it, and the unsure hiccup had been the only reason why it was ever brought up.

Gazing over at Applejack, she just keeps staring as well. No, she hadn’t been tricked either, you had been the only one foolish enough to believe that it worked. “Well, come on, then. We’ll get them, get out, and deal with him.”

“If we have to.” Applejack adds and gallops along beside you.

“Of course. If we have to..." reaching the tall arched door, you spot the iron ring handles. Each loop rests in the mouth of a brazen Unicorn decoration. The door opens with a weary creak and you swiftly slip inside.

Act 4- Chapter 5: To Find a Butcher

To Find a Butcher
Proofread by TehSporkBandit

Far from the darkness of the caves under the mountain or the oppressive pall of a few soot-blackened lamps, the inside of the monolithic tower lays bathed in light. Torches rest in wall sconces while iron rings suspend a myriad of tealights which lather the cold stone in soft autumnal hues and banish the abyssal shades from the farthest nooks and crannies. Dozens of tiny lights sit on two large trestle tables flanking the doorway, watched over by a plethora of large tapestries hanging on the adjacent walls, the blood-red fabric are each emblazoned with a slanted cross and embroidered with black wings. The ceremonial-looking arrangement leads up to a single winding staircase that overshadows a half dozen innocuous doorways.

Despite the brightness, a pervasive chill draws the warmth from your bones and saps your strength. The castle might have all the brightness of a midsummers day, but it is still as cold as the grave. “Somepony really tryin’ ta keep all this real warm. Look at them candles.” Applejack whispers harshly. “They ain't doin' a good job, but ah guess they're tryin'.”

You clear your throat to silence the mare. “I guess we head upstairs. Which way is north?” Trying to be quiet is difficult in the stony halls; every sound seems like it's amplified by the corridors and your whisper turns into a veritable proclamation to the rest of the room.

“Left.” Applejack motions in that general direction.

The myriad of doorways and the sheer size of the tower presents a problem. A Gremlin could appear from any quarter and run in any direction. You quickly check the axe again; tinges of red remain around the handle where the paint hadn't been cleared off, but for the most part the weapon appears perfectly fine. You rewrap the leather thong around your wrist.

It's time to confront the raider, the kidnapper, the murderer. Ulf.

With a single wave, you motion everypony towards the stairwell. The regular clap of hooves on the dim granite floor makes a racket in the hall, but that can't be helped. It doesn’t take long to reach the second floor. Your companions catch up a few moments later. Fluttershy pants as her wavering steps catch your ear and Applejack isn't much better off. The sharp incline and human-like architecture barely registered in your mind as normal but this wasn’t an effortless climb for your companions. “Are you two alright?”

Applejack nods, but her muzzle twitches as her hind hoof spastically taps the floor a few times. “R-right as rain.” It might be best to ignore her as she catches her breath with a visible twitch on her muzzle. The wave of discomfort was plain to see crossing her face.

You peer out beneath the archway entrance of the second story. There is a door that can close the whole floor off, almost like a fire escape in an office tower. It rests back on its hinges, kept open by a block of stone. The hallway is laid out in front of you like a cross: back to the stairs, left, right and straight ahead. It's lit in much the same fashion as the ground floor, banks of wall sconces and tea lights suspended by cords light the way with remarkable clarity and yet disappear in a curving hallway before you. Something slightly unfamiliar wafts past your nose. It isn't the fecund stench of death and decay, but a cloying pall with a sharp acrid tang. The scent settles on your tongue like ash. Someone, somewhere nearby, is burning oil and incense.

“Smell that?” Applejack steals a glance down each hallway. Sure enough, it isn’t just you. Fluttershy peeps in around the corner, eyes fugitively darting left and right in a hope that there was no Gremlin or other monster that would sneak up on her. Applejack scrunches up her nose and gently reaches out to touch Fluttershy's withers. She ‘eeps’ and goes rigid as Applejack's eyes glaze over in thought, “That’s one of them stickle shrubs, licorice, hmm. Nope... huh. Balsam, maybe?”

Fluttershy’s nose seems to wiggle like a rabbit's, a little sniff, a pair of awkward breaths, then a petite sneeze. She wrinkles her nose again, “Excuse me.” She brushes her muzzle with the back of her hoof, “Balsam of cicily.” Fluttershy sagaciously nods back, “Myrrh.”

Your eyes widen further, “Myrrh?” So it has to be incense of some kind. “Is that normal?”

Both Fluttershy and Applejack exchange a mutual look of surprise, “Shoot, ain't nothin like a drop a' myrrh ta' set a toothache right in no time.” The farm mare smiles thanks to the supportive albeit non verbal agreement of the Pegasus caretaker.

That wasn't the first thing that came to mind. “It's not that common where I'm from. Ulf's behind it, he has to be.” Already there are those portraits, the painted posters in the city and the proclamation; everything seems to be pointing towards more of a religious or ideological facade with every passing moment. Holding a finger to your lips, you call for silence then proceed back to the stairwell before trudging up the steps.

The lengthy climb gives way to quietness and concern. The second, third, four, and even fifth story all yield the same perplexing silence but none appeared notably different. Each hallway likely has some immeasurable worth and value; whether stores of food or vast vaults of gold, yet neither are your goal. You don't care about some hoard of wealth, just a pair of precious gems: a white diamond and the amethyst jewel of Equestria's Crown. Still, each door could have been locked tight, but they aren’t. It was safe to expect a prominent guard detail given how much effort they'd gone to in order to capture the Unicorns and the Alicorn. Surely there wouldn’t be just a few haunting echoes of scuttling feet, sounds that eat at the edges of your senses.

Of course, that's assuming they're alive.

At some point between the mountain and here, your optimism had given way to the quietness of concern and a rising discomfort. Soon, you arrive at the sixth floor. All the rooms you’d passed had been honeycomb-like, each the same and easy to mistake for one another. As you stop on the verge of the sixth floor the cloying grip of incense hits you hard and sends your head swimming from the noxious vapors. Applejack’s rather loud sneeze breaks the monotony of foot and hoof falls.

You turn and look back at the Earth-pony behind you as she fans her stetson in front of her face. “Sorry. It's gotten a bit warmer in here and that burnin’ smell is gettin’ mighty strong.”

“Yeah, I guess it did get warm, didn't it?” You had barely felt that incremental change, you'd been too busy listening to four different sets of steps.

… four sets?

You look up sharply, nearly colliding with a gangly red figure.

A Gremlin, toting a mountainous stack of dull pewter dishes, had turned the corner of the hallway and blindly walked into the stairwell. Now it just stares at you, and you stare right back. The momentary bewilderment that grips both of you is snapped in less than a heartbeat.

“G-” your warning is cut off as the impish creature drops the plates which clatter and bounce down the stairs in a hideous cacophony.

The beast itself takes to its feet with superhuman speed, sending up a wailing shriek as it dashes pell-mell away from you and bounces dumbly off the wall in its mad flight upwards. You take a lunging step forward only to step on an overturned plate. You wobble, but quickly regain your balance before taking off after the screaming figure. The Gremlin has a headstart of no more than two seconds, but it’s running as if chased by all the furies of hell.

“Ah can't get 'em with mah rope in 'ere! The stairs're too narro-Woah!” As if to prove a point, Applejack stumbles in the narrow and unfamiliarly steep climb. You rush up the steps, passing the seventh story, then eighth. Slowly, you gain ground until you could practically reach out and grab the imp. It doesn't look back as you stretch out to catch it by the ears. Its lightning-quick reflexes kick in as it flings itself into a door as the staircase abruptly ends, leaving your hands grasping air where a long dagger-like ear had been just a fraction of a second before. The stairway ends in an alcove with a bank of wax candles and a iconographical painting identical to the tract you saw in the warehouse. You ignore it and race after the Gremlin.

Your nails rake across the creature's leathery back, bearing it to the ground as it squeals in terror. It lashes out with its feet in blind panic, catching you across the brow more by luck than skill. Its nails open up a small stinging cut before you bow your head to protect yourself from several more panicked kicks. You dig your fingers in and wrench the beast's leg to the side, awkwardly trying to restrain it as it wails.

“AJ! Rope!”

“Ah'm a’comin’!” Applejack shouts. Admittedly, the clattering of her hooves on the rough stone would have been evidence enough.

You immediately look around and take stock of your surroundings as the sound of rushed cries and pattering feet dies. If they didn't know that you were here, they sure did now.

To the left is a short hallway ending in a thick oak door bound in wide bands of iron. To the right is a great room some twenty feet tall with a single radiating fireplace that crackles with life. Another grand trestle table is laid out with a red and gold embroidered cloth just in front of the large hearth. Beyond that lies another iron banded door. Yet in front of you is one last wide dual door that two Gremlins duck inside of before slamming shut.

“H-Help!" The creature’s squeal bounces around the cavernous hall.

“Hold ‘em there.” Applejack darts up and into the room with Fluttershy a few paces behind. The latter gasps from the climb, but the sturdy farmpony flings herself at the Gremlin. She slams into the creature with her shoulder and swiftly slips the ropes around its arms and legs like it was just a rodeo act.

The clack of the opening doors heralds the arrival of something else. Something unwelcome. There is nearly no other possibility, and as you glance up from the struggling Gremlin, those suspicions are confirmed.

Seven Gremlins spill from the gaping maw of the large double-doors, each clad in ragged patchwork grey habits cinched with frayed lengths of rope. The septet halts as an eighth shuffles out from behind the clique. Burdened with a living cloak of twitching wings and spasming beaks, the figure plods towards you as the procession parts.

A raw, rasping tone wheezes from scabrous lips, “None but the Carrion Lords shall remain. Your cities will crumble, your people will writhe in agony, and their death throes spasm and seep their malignant waste to the uncaring ground. I see it, I see it in your eyes, earth-born, and you sky-born. But you,” it points a hooked claw at you while you wind the thong of the hand axe around your wrist and slowly stand, “you are nothing more than a transcendent redundancy. Certainly nothing more than a mistake, birthed upon the world and fated to blight it. You will disappear, unmourned and forgotten.”

Applejack looks like she had been ensorcelled while her neck keeps jerking backwards. Fluttershy trembles as the Gremlin's cracked lips twist into a thin smirk. You had felt the weighty prophetic words before, too.

It's nothing but a threat. Just an empty threat.

The creature spreads its arms out, face still obscured by an onyx sackcloth cloak, “Cry, rejoice and scream. For your doom has co-”

Surging up from your knees, you throw yourself at the cloaked figure. The grey figures stand stock-still, mouths agape as you bring the war axe high over your head. The Carrion Lord’s eyes widen as he hops back, sending up a plume of obsidian birds that sweep around him and shroud him from sight.

A howl tears itself from your throat as you sweep the hand axe left and right. The weapon's keen blade hisses through the air with a deathly whine, just short of clipping through flesh and fabric alike as the agile creatures are finally awakened from their stupor and scramble away from the seeking blade. Many take to wing and flee from the onslaught, you barely even catch a glimpse of the cloaked figure from the corner of your eye as it crooks a gnarled finger at you. A few incandescent wisps of blue form around its fingertips as your hair stands on end.

“Look out!” You are already starting to drop as a whirl snaps the air and a sudden grip tightens around your leg. With a sure tug you are tackled face first to the floor. A blinding flash of light and smell of burning ozone are enough to make you sick, but the ringing crash and discordant pulse of nervous energy swamps your senses. It is disorienting for a moment, but it's the vengeful calls of a swarm of Ravens that cuts through the fugue. You hear the washed out drone of a garbled voice, but whose is impossible to tell.

The onyx swarm of raking talons and snipping beaks never descend. Instead, one or two grey habit-clad figures are the only assailants as the considerable weight on your back rolls off. A shock of orange fur isn’t a concern as the snarling visages of the uncertain Gremlins greet you, and you greet them with several hacking swings. One such stroke sweeps across one creature's arm as it hops back a moment too late. It yowls and recoils while clutching its forearm, the only evidence of what happened being the light red smear across the leading edge of your axe. As you pull yourself up to your knees, the Gremlins edge back.

The fervent voice turns into a roar, and slowly, you make out its words:

“That's right, I'm talking to you! All of you!” Fluttershy’s commanding tone rings out in the stone halls.

“By Hugunn, find your enemies and tear out their eyes, rip their hides, feast on their flesh! Your Lord commands it!” Like a sudden cloud obscuring the sun, the reinvigorated tide of Ravens circle and croak all the more ferociously as they’re driven into a frothing frenzy. They swirl around you like a tornado, reaching the tallest vaulted ceiling and sweeping by inches from your face. Applejack backs herself against Flutteshy, who the Ravens seem unwilling to attack.

“... Ashamed, you hear me, you should be ashamed!” The Pegasus cries out but is once more countered by the demagogue who picks up an eerie dirge.

“The Carrion Lords will not suffer you to live. Surrender yourselves and we may show your kin-folk some mercies.” The heavily-draped form still hangs back behind a wall of ashen-clothed servants beyond that living curtain that swirls around you.

A flurry of beating wings streams all around you as a sharp pain throbs on the top of your head. A single peck tears off a bit of scalp as you blindly swing the axe in retaliation. It likely doesn’t hit that Raven in particular, but a spray of blood coats your knuckles and even spatters across your face, leaving several droplets on your glasses. One of the Gremlins reaches out, grasping your hand holding the axe. It twists and pulls at your limb, hoping to pry the weapon loose, but your free hand brings down a reflexive punch. It catches across its brow, gashing open its face and splitting open your knuckle on its bony brow.

Another Gremlin surges forward to grasp you around the neck and yank at your collar. You twist and turn, feeling several more clambering, clawed hands grasp at your throat as Applejack's yowl breaches the crescendo of caws. “Y'all let 'em go! Ain't nopony, no one, gonna' lay a claw on 'im!”

You set the axe to the inside of your collar and quickly slide it down, shearing off a dozen brass buttons and a flap of gnarled skin from a Gremlin's right hand as well.

Twisting away from the vice-like grips, you pull yourself free of the blue and yellow coat, leaving three confused Gremlins in a single tempting line. Applejack’s quick charge through the obsidian cloud is masked as she pivots on the spot, using the twisting momentum before her hind legs shoot out and smash into the unfortunate Gremlin whose hand you'd bisected. The force of the impact catapults him into the other two Gremlin and tosses all three across the room like ragdolls. The trio smash into the nearby table.

“Fer Land’s sake, Fluttershy, curb them things or they’ll cut us ta’ bits!”

The swirling melee of feathers and claws is a constantly shifting myriad of dangers, and worst of all, in the sudden rush you'd lost sight of the Carrion Lord.

It’s like being back in the forest fighting that Timberwolf.

You don’t have to close your eyes, but you know you are being hunted. It is getting around, finding your blind spot, seeking out that one perfect position to launch itself from. Fluttershy is to your right, Applejack just behind you to the right as well.

Where is its opening?

The answer presented itself almost by reflex.

You push Applejack clear and whirl the axe blade up behind you on the left. “Juoo-Daan!” Your instinctive bellow clears the squall of Ravens for a moment as the black figure materializes from the cloud. It hesitates, no longer an unarmed cleric, but a vicious imp clasping a narrow, twisted, stone hatchet in its skeletal hands. It holds it, poised over its head, aged brown stains and spatters of dried blood still clinging to the blade. The Carrion Lord's eyes open wide as the war cry resonates in its ears, the last it ever hears. You bring your own axe down in a savage arc. The shining blade screams down an inch wide of its neck, slamming deep into the Gremlin's collar and biting a full foot through its chest.

The twisted stone handaxe clatters to the ground as a hush falls over the room like a veil had been cast over it. It’s broken only by an inhuman wheeze interspersed by a profane splutter. The Carrion Lord’s mouth opens with a froth of pink foam as it spasms and twitches. A mist of arterial blood sprays across your face, making you reflexively mop at your cheek and lose your graip of the axe buried deep in the Gremlin lord’s flesh. The creature quickly collapses into an ignoble pile of blood-stained fabric and ruined meat.

No one says a word as the creature convulses and shakes. A bubbling rasp of breath whispers from its lungs one last time.

The remaining Gremlins take flight, clambering over one another towards the stairwell while the Ravens swarm through the double-door frames in the exact opposite direction in their panic. Moments later, there’s nothing left but an impenetrable silence.

A sanguine puddle spreads from the mangled body of the fallen Carrion Lord. Several more ragged scraps lay nearby; remnants of Ravens cloven in two or brained by the axe still buried in the creature's chest. It is sickening as the slow pump of adrenaline relinquishes its grasp, shaking your limbs and slowing your heart to a deafening arrhythmic heartbeat 'thump'. A bitter surge of bile crawls up your throat, stinging your mouth with its acidic bite.

Though no more than five feet from your two companions, they remain terrifyingly silent. As you stare into those glassy eyes, it is all but impossible not to feel alone at that very moment. All the notions of rescue and heroism drains away with one sudden realization:

I killed him.

Author's Note

Yes, this is basically the single scene that I wrote that big warning for in the prologue, so, my ppologies if it's a bit graphic but I figured "no need to desensitize or glorify" so it's not meant to be either. It's just, well, it is what it is and it felt cheapened or lost without it. :unsuresweetie:

Anyhow, happy to hear what you think about it too, never easy to decide exactly what goes into some of these chapters. Anyhow, hope ya'll are good, and maybe got a chance to see Rainbow Rocks. Take care now, eh?

Act 4- Chapter 6: The Queen is Dead

The Queen is Dead...
Proofread by TehSporkBandit

I killed him. It was so simple.

The blade passed through the Gremlin with shocking ease, biting clean through his collarbone and halfway into his chest before stopping just short of its lowest rib. You’d cut through most of its vitals and it had died in a few seconds. But those few seconds seemed like ages, they still do as time ticks by at an indolent crawl.

Sure, the Gremlin had an axe and would have tried to kill you. But you were alive and now it lays in a pool of blood that silently creeps across the floor. There was no surreal red fountain like a box-office movie and it wasn’t some gory display with chunks of red ‘bits’ ripped out like a video game either. It wasn’t like chopping through a block of wood at all, and neither was it done in slow motion. You’d almost jerked your arm into a swing and bright it down, having missed its head which was the original target and… what happened, happened. Acting on the impulse had been easy, but looking over the grim results was hard.

“Hey, c’mon. Suga’cube?” An insistent prod shakes you back to your senses. Applejack’s concerned face hovers almost in front of you. She'd reared up on her hind legs, and now set a forehoof on your chest to stabilize herself while the other gently taps your cheek. The bright emeralds blaze in front of you, but she says nothing more.

“I, oh, Applejack. I’m good, just…” it catches in your throat as you slide a foot back to avoid the creeping tide of crimson spilling through the stone cracks in the floor.

“Nithingers!” A furious shriek booms from the stairwell. “Get back here! Where are they?!” A voice calls from down the stairs. It was certainly not Ulf, but it has a commanding air of authority. The scrambling scuttle of feet subsides.

“Ah guess we ain’t got much time.” Applejack looks back at the door to the stairwell and away from the revolting scene of bloodshed. “Listen, forget about that’n. You an’ Fluttershy go on and fetch Rarity an’ Twilight. Ah’ll hold em up a spell.” The orange mare starts to unwind some of her outer garments.

“AJ-” Fluttershy begins before being interrupted by a hoof clamping over her muzzle.

“Ain't no two ways about it, Fluttershy.” Applejack shakes her head before heading straight for the door. She shuts it with a bang and hops up to brace it with her hind legs. Them’s a narrow set a' stairs. Nopony and no Gremlin’s gonna' get past me, ah aim ta’ keep it that way! Now don’t neither of ya’ll fret none, Bucky McGillycuddy an’ Kicks McGee have got this well in hoof, uh, in manner of speakin’.” She bobs her head in finality.

“Come on.” You reluctantly pull Fluttershy away.

Tremors course along the Pegasi’s spine as you touch her, “The Crystal Eyes… Huh, are we going home? Where are... where are they?” Her eyes glaze over as she stares at the body of the Carrion Lord.

“We’ve gotta find Twilight, bring her right back here. AJ’ll keep them out! Ain’t that right, Suga’cube.” You give the farmpony a wide wink. You don’t feel it, your voice is still shaky and hollow as you try to avoid the macabre sight.

“...Sure as sugar.” The hesitant lack of conviction is just as apparent in her voice as yours. Still, she tries on a smile, but the craggy lines and telling dimness of doubt betrays her.

You set off through the doubled door where the Gremlins had fled and gently guide the Pegasus along. She follows, as if nothing more than a wagon to be pulled along behind you. Fluttershy's legs occasionally cross over themselves, making her stumble and awkwardly plod along at a painfully slow meander.

“Fluttershy, come on, don’t quit on me now. I need you.”

“W-we kil… it was alive one second and we just… we killed…” The kindly Pegasus takes a rattled breath that sets her limbs to shaking as her breath turns to an uncontrolled gasp.

“You did nothing, I killed it.” A shortness of breath grips your chest. You had stood there watching the Carrion Lord’s eyes roll up into the back of its head. You were there when its skin started to turn pale as a grotesque stream sprang from its blood slicked robes. You had even listened to its last choking breath as it spasmed on the ground. What did that mean? You recalled questioning the Gremlins in the loft; there wasn’t too much fundamentally different between them and ponies. Was Rainbow Dash right to look at you like she did? Were you a monster in disguise?

It had been an unforeseen shock, there'd been no accounting for something like this happening. There'd been no question of whether or not she, or anypony else, could take something like that. It had been a mistake, but without her you might have been torn to pieces by those Ravens. Or, worse still, you may have been blinded by the Ravens long enough for the vicious Carrion Lord to tear into you with that axe and leave you bleeding and ripped apart by his minions. No, it was no mistake, nothing more. For Twilight, for Rarity, Fluttershy had to be here, despite the toll it could take on the good natured mare.

Gently tracing a hand over Fluttershy’s withers, you mumble, “C-come on, can’t leave Applejack doing all the hard… all the work.” Your words feel token and hollow, but they are no lie. Still, Fluttershy stumbles against you once before bobbing her head. The sudden shift of weight, even from a slender Pegasus, is nearly enough to topple you. With your nerveless hands and shaking limbs, all that is left to do is gently coo and massage under her jaw before setting out. Now supported, side by side, you resume your awkward advance in pursuit of your friends.

A short hallway lies beyond those doubled doors. Pillars on either side show a great deal of architectural thought; massive stone slabs are held up by equally impressive columns capped in admittedly primitive carving and spiked with wooden gables spanning the length overhead. Up ahead, a giant stained glass window dominates the room, with a bisected staircase leading in both directions left and right. In the jagged and shattered jigsaw of coloured glass, you can see the dull unilluminated picture of a great white Alicorn, with hair as fiery as ruby, head tilted down, and wings tucked in. Around her brow is an amber circle and below it rests an empty throne, flanked by two humans. Both figures are instantly recognizable: Ulf and Olaf, each backed by a host of Gremlins like some Luciferian horde.

You select the left path, just like you had in the Castle of Twin Sisters, far away in the Everfree forest. Heading up the tall, unrailed steps, you look back at the tall narrow corridor. It resembles Canterlot's royal palace; in fact, it feels like a deja vu of your first few moments in that long, sprawling hallway in the depths of night when you’d first arrived in Equestria. That felt like ages ago. However, something else resonates in your mind. This also resembles the hallway Twilight described when she had recounted her vision of Theophilus.

Shaking your head, you look into the open hallway. It is dark, almost pitch black. Unlike the rest of the tower, there are no lights here, just a bank of windows on the right and a half dozen doors on the left. At least, you are fairly certain they are doors, It was possible that they are really nothing more than shallow alcoves. Several shrine-like banks of dwindling candles glint at the end of the hallway, some twenty paces away. They shed very little light, just enough to grant an illusion of a single portrait that, if you squint, vaguely resembles Twilight.

“Wait." you squeak out, surprised at the raspy quality of your own barely recognizable voice.

Clearing your throat, Fluttershy bobs her head and places her cheek against your stomach. A wetness spreads across your shirt as she nuzzles against you, her tears soaking through the fabric. She snorts and whimpers in a far less than dignified fashion, merely waiting for the world she knew to return and whisk away this nightmarish realm.

“Something’s wrong here.” The doors are all cracked open and the suffocating pall of incense lingers heavily in the air, masking some other cloying smell lurking just beneath the sticky pall. Rot. It was just like the first time you'd stumbled across the aery at the mouth of the mountain.

“It’s all wrong.” Fluttershy trails off, but once more nuzzles the fabric as you realize she was just wiping her face clean. She stops simpering and slowly opens her mouth to draw in a few deep breaths.

You look back across your shoulder at the other hallway. It’s lit by torches. “Come on, lets take that o-” raucous shrieks fill the air as flocks of Ravens spew from the darkened doorways. “Fluttersh-”

“You will stop this very instant!” Fluttershy’s voice cleaves through the din, causing an immediate halt as the birds wing down and settle on the unlit wall sconces, the floor and even the door knobs, albeit with some difficulty.

“Go.” Fluttershy sharply commands in stark contrast with the quivering remorse stricken mare from moments before. Her red-rimmed eyes stare at the veritable sea of black birds. “Now.” It isn’t a shout, but it might as well be.

“You need some protect-”

“I do not. We can’t just walk through them and if we let them by, they might go hurt Applejack. Just go. Find our friends.” Fluttershy is speaking sense, but it feels not only risky, but wrong. You are leaving them both, her and Applejack.

They understand, it has to be done. Besides, they’re both fully mature mares, capable and reasonable. They don’t need protection.

The Pegasus flairs her wings, blocking you from view of the Ravens and letting you slip out without being a distraction. There's little choice except to nod as Fluttershy clears her throat and finds her voice again. “You think that you can just pick and peck on whomever you like? Anypony at all? I know what you are, I know what you eat. Each step in nature has its place.”

She breaks into a lecture as you step back, crossing the stairs to the far side and giving the Pegasus one last look. With her legs widely set and wings flared out, she is dug in and wouldn't be moved. Determination. That is her choice, and now you have to make yours.

Stepping foot into the other hallway, it is still properly lit. Every step down that discomforting and now quite lonely corridor is wrong; every panting breath and every footsteps’ echo sounds far too loud. Thankfully, every door in this hall is firmly shut. You are rapidly coming up to the portrait and shrine at the landing of the stairs, a mirror of the same trappings that existed in the other hallway as well. Whether it is the incense, or the parchment script, or the candles and iconographical shrines, the whole upper story is steeped in a liturgical ambiance of a church cloister.

Turning the corner, it goes up only ten more feet, then bends sharply to the right again. As you crest the stairs, you stumble upon a very different world.

You emerge into a cavernous room. Plush bearskin carpets have been strewn across the floor while large wooden couches covered in pelts cozily face an enormous hearth that blazes away with a suspiciously merry charm. Censors hang from large staves on either side of the doorway, the wafting scent is fairly pleasant and masks the scent of death and decay. The room's walls are covered in tapestries to reflect the warmth from the fireplace. The charming incandescent glow that caresses every sharp corner and dulls its rugged features provides a pleasing warmth that your body can't help but be thankful for. The whole room spans the length of the tower, windows are placed at either end, though, their shutters remain tightly sealed A single, monolithic, alabaster door stands in the middle of the room, dwarfing every other display and edifice.

It isn’t until you draw yourself up and move towards the center of the symmetrical room that you hear the low, lilting trill behind those massive doors.

“... When thy blazing sun is gone,
When She nothing shines upon,
Then ye’ show thine little light,
Twinkle, twinkle, all the night…”

The voice is distant but its lilting trill is unmistakable, “Twilight?!” You rush headlong for the doorway, “Princess Twi…” A shadow descends over the far end of the room, cast by a tall figure cloaked in red and clad in brass.

Ulf the Red, the Unicorn Slasher, emerges and even flashes you a wry smile. He holds a rope in his mailed hand, a lead that trails off into the darkness. With a single beckoning hand, he waves you closer to himself. His weathered face is chipped and scarred like a granite cliff face, carved and lined with the weight of innumerable ages and countless experiences. He doesn't stop you, he just tugs the lead taut. A gagged Fluttershy trails along behind him like a pet. You hadn't been gone more than a minute. Was he right there in that hallway, merely waiting for the moment to swoop in like the angel of death?

As you reach for the brazen rings of the door, behind which the song’s melody continues unabated, Ulf’s hand flexes across a narrow stabbing dagger in his waist belt. “I really didn’t think you would come, Angle. By all means, go ahead.” He gestures with the hand holding Fluttershy’s rope lead, cinching the rope taut around her neck, showing where its rough fibres had already rubbed against her throat. “Burst into Her majesty’s throne room covered in the blood and say you’ve come to rescue her from her palace.”

"Palace?" You look down, realizing you were spattered in blood, but the Alicorn was so close. Your friend was just on the other side of the door, but as Ulf keeps the rope halter lead tight, Fluttershy seems so far away.

Ulf wanely gestures towards the door, “Go on. Call her. Alternatively, you can listen to an offer.”

Another rattle and rustle echoes from behind you. A pack of Gremlins slink up the staircase accompanied by a familiar growl. Applejack is shoved into the light, restrained by no less than six rope fasteners around her limbs while two crude iron chains wrap around her waist, each held by a pair of Gremlins who keep her under some token semblance control. A small cadre of grey robed figures lead her along with a motley band of others staying close behind. Some of them look broken and bloodied, nursing limbs, and one in the lead sports a rapidly swelling black eye. Applejack hadn't gone quietly, though it was certainly quick.

Ambushed, you had all been ambushed. The look the mare gives you is readable: her bright emerald eyes narrow and she gazes at the door and nods. ‘Go on! What happens, happens.’

“Well, Ulf," you reply with some caution, "am I just supposed to trust the promise of a murderer”

“Which of us is the one covered in someone else’s blood? I kill, and by that stain, so do you.” He breathes deep and sighs. The giant of a man doesn't revert to some berserker state, his voice remains firm, but still inviting. Instead, he just lets out a small huff of breath as Twilight's humming pricks your senses. “You don’t have to trust me, you only have to listen. I give you these,” he pulls on the lead and then nods to Applejack, “Keep them, sell them, eat them, it’s not my concern. I promise you will leave here alive and unmaimed: no death, no bloodshed, no tricks. Take them, and any creature else skulking around and go. Just give me that axe, and you will come to no harm. Otherwise, I let them decide what to do with you and your animals.” He pointedly stares at the mob of Gremlins.

You swiftly search for a solution, there is just one and it relies on hoping Gremlins are fundamentally cowardly. “I’ll fight you, Ulf. A du-”

“No.” It’s almost too quickly dismissed.

“Are you afraid? Has all that courage leached out like your hair colour?” His eyelid twitches and he grinds his teeth. It is antagonizing him, but to no end.

Ulf jerks hard at Fluttershy's lead as Applejack bucks against her assailants. For a second, it looks like Applejack is about to break free, and she very well may have just as you might have thrown the doors open, had you not seen the glitter of steel. Ulf's lightning quick motion dragged a long stiletto from his belt and pricked Fluttershy's neck. “That's your choice, Angle?” Applejack settles down, seeing the blade as well.

You pray for some miracle, for Pinkie Pie or more likely Rainbow Dash to just appear, to solve all your problems. Seconds pass, but there’s still no divine intercession.

“I’m waiting.” The Viking growls.

You hear your own teeth grind together, it would have been a genuine relief to take that axe and throw it right at the man's head. Mel Gibson could do something like that, but it was really a one in a million shot. You could scream, shout, rage and spit at the man, but looking at the wide-eyed Fluttershy as she jitters and shakes like a leaf, there's little you can do without compromising your friend. Fluttershy finally wavers and crumbles, slumping to one side with a faint gasp of fright. And yet, Ulf keeps a tight hold around her neck, the dagger pressing under her chin.

With a final snarling grunt, you toss the axe to the ground. The murderous blade makes a low thump and stains the dark brown fur carpet where it lands.

“A wise choice.” Ulf’s evident smirk of self-satisfaction is strangely devoid of any particular malice. Instead, he merely walks towards you and sheaths the stabbing dagger in his belt before almost offhandedly gesturing to the cluster of Gremlins, “Escort them to the quarters, prepare them some food. Now that I know you are, hmm, reasonable, I have a better offer for you-”

“Ulf, is that you?” The weak voice of the Alicorn echoes from behind the door, making your heart jump. She sounds worse, ensorcelled, entranced, as if under some foul spell.

“Yes, Lady Sparkle, Queen of Twilight.” His booming reply is respectful, regal, and the small smile that hovers around his face is nothing but genuine. “It is nothing.” He eyes you. You bite your lip, ensuring your silence. “Just a few new house carls. Nothing to be concerned about.”

“… Oh." she replies as if only vaguely concerned, "It’s cold, it’s cold…” the Alicorn princess’s feverish voice breaks the uncomfortable pause.

“I’ll add some more wood and charcoal to the fire, your majesty.” He promises before fixing you with a steady gaze. A pair of armed Gremlins arrive on either side of you and Ulf merely nods before unceremoniously dismisses you with a casual wave. Ulf stoops down to pick up the axe, cleaning the edges on the furs as you are herded back towards Applejack.

Twilight lets out a deep sigh before quietly intoning, “Thank you, Ulf.”

Act 4- Chapter 7: Frozen Hymns

Frozen Hymns
Proofread by TehSporkBandit

”Here, in here!" The malice-laden voice of the Gremlin rings in your ears as its sharp claws bite into your arm. Another jabs you in the back with a crude hatchet, goading you none-too-gently into a rather plain looking room in a nondescript hall two floors beneath the throne room's audience chamber.

It isn't a cell like you expected, rather, it seems more like an empty room renovated with a fresh coat of paint. It is plain and dull: whitewashed walls surround you, a primitive wooden pallet bed rests in the corner as if cowering before the open expanse of the rest of the room, a pewter chamber pot idly sits like a decorative urn, and a rickety three legged stool stands out against a bare wall as if not wanting to associate with the rest of the furniture. Another jab with the primitive axe drives you farther inside the stone prison before the door slams shut.

“Hey!” You rush back to the door and slam your balled up fist on the wooden panels, “This isn’t what Ulf said would happen! Those ponies are supposed to belong to me now!” They'd hate hearing it, but at least they would be protected by the deal… no doubt furious, but protected. You rap against the door again, “Do you hear me out there?!”

The door rocks back on its hinges, bowling you backwards as an Applejack is hastily flung into the room. Several shabbily cloaked Imps appear in the doorway wielding makeshift weapons from crude kitchen cleavers to tiny pronged window poles. Nervously nipped lips and small rivulets of sweat betray the impish guards; not one wanted to confront an enraged tiger. And with the soot streaks stippled across her coat, Applejack was a fairly close approximation of that exact creature. None of the dozen Gremlins packed in the hall behind that doorway wanted to be confined in the same room as her. You could see it as they quickly haul the rope ends out, one even swings a dying wicker torch at her to say 'stay back!'

Even as the stars clear from your clouded vision, the hefty weight rises up off your chest. Applejack's near mocking laughter rings to the molded ceilings and harshly echoes in your ears, “Ya'll are pretty good when ya' got a pony all trussed up like a Canterlot miser's purse at a gala! How ‘bout ya’ll come back here and try yer luck again when ya wash all that yella’ off!” As the guttering torch is once more shoved to her muzzle, she distastefully looks at it and snuffs it out with a single huff. The Gremlin's eyes open wide as saucers as Applejack tenses and threateningly leans forward. The creature clambers back over itself, tossing the spent torch behind it as it beats a bumbling retreat.

You slowly get to your feet and pat yourself off. “Where's Flutter-”

The door swiftly springs open again as another pony is spat out from the hallway before the portal is sealed up again. The Pegasus neatly skids across the floor as you sidestep the next proverbial 'strike' waiting to happen, “Wooaaaah there.”

Fluttershy meekly steps back as Applejack awkwardly rushes the door only to be rewarded with the scrape of metal and a loud thump. The halter and ropes slow her, but she turns and bucks against the door once before giving up. She hits it with a forehoof in frustration, then prods it again as she presses an ear to the wood. “Solid bar. Hmm, ain’t no knocking that down if its staples are pinned in the stone.” You were sealed inside your prison.

You gently pat Fluttershy's side and nod towards the bed, letting her take it as you stalk around and pull up the three-legged stool that would be exceptionally uncomfortable for a pony, and is notably too small for yourself.

Thanks to a single oil lamp hanging by a peg, you can at least see, though it isn’t helping with the warmth. Frost creeps over the wall like vines and your breath billows out in frigid ice clouds. Thankfully, there is a hearth in the back of the room along with a reasonable supply of dessicated wood piled against it. That seems to be the only comfort in the desolate room. Rubbing your arms, you stay nearer to the oil lamp, though it can’t be too comfortable for either of your pony friends either.

Applejack struggles with the rope halter for a moment before knocking her hat off and unwinding the material that the rope had fouled itself in. “Confangled rope! More knotty than a hawthorn.” You stoop to offer her a hand as she twists and turns in frustration.

“Here, I’ll get it” The rope crosses in and over itself in two different ways, forming a rather convincing Gordian knot.

“We’re trapped.” Fluttershy sniffs and tearfully looks around, “No windows, we’re so close and we’re trapped…” her squeak trails off ignobly. She wasn't wrong.

“Trapped nothin'. Rainbow an' Pinkie'll get us out. Always do.” Applejack nods and quickly sets to tearing at the rope as she miserably shakes her forehoof in frustration.

Picking apart one knot actually helps with most of the others as you untangle one of the leads just enough for another to form and make the whole thing worse. It gets a frustrated sigh as Applejack calls out, “Hold it! Just… stop what yer doin’ for a second there. Ah got an idea. Here.” She flicks her hoof up, kicking her stetson onto your head like a game of horseshoes. It even spirals around before drooping over your brow where it slips down over your eyes. Evidently, she has a bigger head than you. “Hold that and don’t let go.”

She paws at the rope loop around her neck as you obediently crouch down in front of her and hold the loop as wide as you can. Twisting and squirming, Applejack manages to jerk and spastically pull back until she’s slipped off most of the ropes by sliding out from the protective cloth wrapping her up. In a few seconds she is free from her material cocoon and has only a pair of socks on her hind legs. The farm pony quickly shakes out her mane, freeing the filigree ends of her glittering golden locks, tossing them back over her shoulder with a tired but satisfied grin as if to say ‘got it.’ “Thanks sug-uh… oops.”

The serpentine twist and myriad of labyrinthine turns had freed her only to find your arms bound up despite a few quiet protests of 'just a sec' that you'd mouthed. You hold up the tangled mess as she giggles, even Fluttershy's sniffs are spaced out with a bubbly trill of a laugh. You flash her a smile, “Yeah, don't worry about it. Listen, AJ, I’m… well, I’m sorry.”

“Fer what?” That catches you off guard as you assumed she’d be angry, like on the train.

“Well, for not going inside and getting Twilight so we’d be done with thi-”

She waves your concerns away with a hoof, “Ya didn’t even know if that door was locked. Besides, ah reckon’ he wasn’t jokin’. Ya’ did yer best and that’s all we can ask. Trust me, if’n anypony knows that, it’s me.” She pads up to you and gives you a soft, good-natured punch on the arm. “Hey, after what happened… well, we're still here for ya', too. Ain't that right?” She quickly looks to Fluttershy who smiles weakly through tear-stained eyes. The Pegasus stands and flits over, giving you a hug instead of a verbal response. Applejack wraps a foreleg around your neck, too.

Applejack leans her face in close and hums quietly as she brings her face in, her breath washing over your face as her muzzle creases into a grin.

What the hell is she doing. She can't, she isn't, she's not...!

Her muzzle changes course as she cranes her neck up, then bites the brim of her hat situated squarely on your head, sending it flipping up with a simple flick. It cartwheels through the air and lands on her brow, perched perfectly and jauntily in place.

“Thanks again pardner.”

You cough to cover up the burgeoning blush on your cheeks, “Yeah, I make a first rate hat rack.”

“Yep, and a first rate friend.” The farm mare bobs her head looking Fluttershy's way, “Ain't that ri-”

“Shhh.” The mare lifts a hoof to her lips and silences her friend. Applejack's bright green eyes seem to mist over as her jaw drops, completely dumbfounded as Fluttershy's muzzle twists up into a wry grin. A sparkle in her eyes gives it all away as she gingerly points upwards and whispers, “Listen.”

You cast Applejack a glance as if to say ‘do you hear something?’ but she just flicks her ear up and listens with a slowly spreading grin as she bites her lower lip. As you slip closer to the open fireplace a cold downdraft of air makes the room like an icebox. Still, you narrow your eyes in concentration and listen.

“Daaaaarling, it’s cooold outside.”

You strain to hear but a pony’s hearing is still better than your own, but with that frigid air comes a soft, lilting tune.

“This evening's been, anything but niiiice.”

The familiar little ditty worms its way into your mind as the first few flashes of clarity dawn on you.

“Please hold my hooves, they’re cold as iiiiice.”

Rarity!

“My sister will start to worry…”

Finally, unable to keep her silence, Applejack chortles and calls up the flue with a cupped hoof, “Hey Rarity, you got a beau up there ‘r somethin’?”

“Beautiful, what's your… Applejack?!" There’s a sudden scramble of hooves across a carpeted floor, “If you’re just in my head, then kindly take yourself to the curb, I’ve had quite enough of you!” Sure enough, the fashionista’s voice echoes down the chimney. “But if that’s really-really you…” her haughty indignation gave way to cautious optimism.

“It’s really us, Rarity. Well, most of us.” Applejack’s reply is loud enough to make your ears ring, but she scoots over enough for you to look up the hearth as well. Further up the chute is a slight bend as the chimney twists to the side, but you can still see the faintest dusty grey of the mountain sky. Moreover, you can see the cast iron grate about fifteen feet up. It’s like an antique grill over a window, peppering you with light and ash. “You alright?”

“Am I alright? The food is atrocious, I can’t possibly take a shower, there’s nothing even remotely interesting as far as inspiration goes, and I’ve been living in fear of what could happen to me since I got here!” Her voice trails off as it echoes in the chimney for a few more moments.

“So, aside from your fire going out, it’s as good as it could be?” Applejack calls back with a particularly smug grin. Her shoulders slump and her back slopes a little like all the tension had poured out of her. Her eyes close, her smile stretches from ear to ear, and her chest puffs out as she takes a deep rejuvenating breath.

“We’re so very glad you’re alright, Rarity.” Fluttershy’s long shaky breath mirrors the same tone as Applejack’s.

“Is there anything up there? I mean, anything that’s different.” You call out muttering, “RD and Miss P are C-L-O-S-E.”

“Why’d ya’ spell that out?”

“... I was hoping hoping that Gremlins were too stupid to understand.” Both mares break into unrestrained laughter at your attempt at secrecy. You try to hide the smile of relief and temporary respite from the world, “Well I don't see what that-” a swift rap at the door ends it all. The wooden beam is quickly pulled free with a rusty scrape as all three of you quickly back away from the hearth.

An impish head pokes inside, “You, Hetja Ulf will sssee you.” It bares its fangs amidst the nervous shuffle of clawed feet just out of sight in the hallway. Actually, that awkward scuff is a little reassuring, as if meant the Gremlin had simply plastered on the scariest face it could in an attempt to cow you into submission.

You are quickly stopped as a hoof touches your side. Looking back, you see Applejack looking up at you with an expression as clear as words, ‘are you sure you want to go?’ At any other time she’d probably protest more vocally, but the thought of leaving Fluttershy or Rarity alone likely quietened her objections.

You pat her hoof, “I’ll be fine. If he wanted to get rid of either of you or me, I think he’s had his chance. Twice.”

Fluttershy slips over, ostensibly to give you a nuzzle, but it is principally so no one could hear her whisper, “We’ll see if we can find a way out. You go on, before Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash get excited.” A second more genuine nuzzle sends you on your way. You hurry off to the door, which opens only briefly to let you through before summarily slamming shut.

“So, what now?” You ask the small pack of Gremlins that nervously shuffle around you. They don't say a thing, rather, they merely hem you in with their assorted array of rusty implements and dilapidated weapons. From meat hooks to pick hammers, knives, axes, and lengths of gnobbled hawthorn branches, each seems to hover around you, wielded by a wide-eyed Gremlin who quails when you look directly at them. One more of the gangly, dark hooded figures glides silently by among the band's rear-most ranks. Despite the living finery of Raven plumage, the Carrion Lord walks without a stoop or bow. It flashes you a single fanged grin. Iblis.

“My my, if it isn't the Nithinger himself that decided to pay us a visit. The Crystal Eyes cometh. Welcome, weeeeelcome to the carrion city of New Trondheim.” The loathsome fiend twirls his hand and bends a knee in a courtly mock bow. “I only wish I could have been the one to greet you when you first arrived. I'd have liked a few moments to catch up. Oh, I've been so very-very eager to see you again.” His venomous tone drops even further as the smile grows wider, “You can't imagine, I'm sure. Likewise, I'm sure we can relive some old, fond memories when Ulf is done with you.”

He flicks a claw up towards his neck, a rusty sickle slides past the skin of your collar, its tip tickling the underside of your chin, halting anything you might have to say. Iblis ghosts behind you, a jagged claw tracing over your back and shoulders as he whispers, “But I see you got my message after all. Charming…” he crooks a pair of fingers and waves the band forward, “Come you-heh, righteous lot. We wouldn't want to keep Ulf waiting.” A sharp prod in your back might have even broke the skin as you twitch away from what feels like a dagger point.

Author's Note

Naturally, the little ditty is a parody of Frank Loesser's Baby its Cold Outside. Blame one too many Bing Crosby movies for that one showing up :twilightblush:

Act 4- Chapter 8: Negotiations

Negotiations
Proofread by TehSporkBandit

”Listen carefully, Nithinger. Can you hear it? Can you hear the voices, the ones rising upon the black pinions of the great carrion birds?" Iblis's loathsome whisper carries in a breathy hiss as intimate and venomous as a jilted lover. His sanctimonious reverence passes by needlelike teeth and pencil-thin lips that twist into a mirthless smile. The Gremlin pulls away, though half a dozen claws latch onto you and roughly shepherd you down the hallways and up to the staircase once again. All of it, ostensibly, to bring you to Ulf, but they were taking the most roundabout route imaginable.

At the second floor from the top, you glimpse an earthy blur from your periphery. Turning slightly, bringing the object into focus, the ragged tail of a robe materializes just long enough for it to disappear again inside a wide doorway. The heavy double doors are shut loudly, but one rocks back on its hinges with a tortured groan. From behind it rises a low harmonic chorus with dozens of sibilant voices melding together in some deluded hymn.

A liturgical tone rasps, “…and up, up to the lands we take flight. Upon the wings of change, down to the valley of death, all await the Day of Destiny…”

You slow your jaunt and try to linger; another sharp prod in your lower back drives you up the steps. A short climb up the circling stairwell brings you back to that room you’d fought in. The Carrion Lord's body is gone but the gristly stain still mars the ground. This time, you are directed to the right, towards the door near the disordered table with its two broken chairs. Flecks of wood and one shattered chair leg still lay under the trestle table itself.

The first of your escort props the tall door open for you. An uncomfortable moment passes before Iblis waves a claw to usher you inside.

Even before setting a foot inside, you catch the beckoning scent of roasted meat, fresh breads, and a plethora of other delectable temptations. The sterile light grey gives way to something slightly more sumptuous, though admittedly it’s not as grand as some halls you’d imagined. To your left is the very end of a long trestle table trailing off further into the room and a number of crude wooden table settings large enough to seat an army. Opposite it is a great roaring fire, its flames lick at a roasting spit while a cauldron bubbles away, collecting the drippings beneath the bent bough of what could be venison or something uncomfortably close.

“Angle.” Ulf’s unmistakable voice booms out as a Gremlin scurries by with its head bowed and an empty clay pitcher in claw. You walk past the small intervening stone corner and see the rest of the banquet hall runs the full length of the tower. A series of grand stained glass windows cover the far walls, letting in little light but lending the room a regal bearing. At the very end, seated beneath a great white banner with a Raven and a two pronged cross, is the aged marauder lord. There was no throne of skulls, horns, antlers, swords, or anything else particularly decorative. The fur cloaked barbarian shovels a hunk of bread in his mouth and licks his fingers clean. He smiles, a strange sight indeed, but not as strange as the welcoming wave he gives you, “Come in!”

Along the last quarter of the table are large platters of baked fish flecked in almond slivers, steaming heaps of diced potatoes and carrots, golden breads, soft white cheeses studded with nuts and savoury ornamentation, roasted bird and chunks of amber glazed meats. Aside from Ulf, yourself, and two scuttling servers, the room stands empty.

“Sit, sit.” He entreats you with a jovial tone. With his ruddy face, thick fur cloak, and deep green garments, surrounded by a decadent feast and the pleasant hues of candle light, Ulf uncannily resembles Dicken's Ghost of Christmas Present. The uncomfortable shuffle across also removes you further from the comforting warmth of the fire. “I always thought that I would be long dead before I actually saw another man. When we saw signs that we might be wrong,” he halts and chortles; the noise sounds like rolling thunder. “I said you nothing but their cowardly fear of mecome back to haunt them. My chief retainer and thane, Iblis, said he could deal with any spirit. He said he found and destroyed the witch, claiming it was just a reflection through an unholy mirror. But here you are, alive, in the flesh. And you are an Angle! By the will of God and work of the Nornar, to good omens!” Ulf raises a two tined fork with a hunk of meat on the end.

Every step closer reveals more detail in his sanguine visage. Even the scratched lenses don’t obscure much as they look like just one more line on the man's craggy face. He isn't as you first recalled; beneath the great helm is a mop of wiry white hair as untamed as the north wind, matching his thick white beard that curls at its ends like a stereotypical wizard. His face is leathery and wrinkled with age though his green eyes gleam with the shine of an intelligence honed by wit of age rather than the neglect of youth. He wasn’t dressed in fine adornments, he was no Olaf, but cloaked in rough homespun with a broad cloak fringed in white rabbit fur as the single touch of elegance. The only other notable item is something you had seen in dreams: the threaded Alicorn horn. The Icon of Theophilus hangs around his neck, the knowledge of its presence seems to dispel some of the disarming charm on display.

“The Carrion Lords call you ‘Crystal Eyes’ because of those.” He casually points to your face, and thus your glasses. “They tell me that those improve sight. Much like a…" he trails off for a moment before uttering a guttural curse, likely directed at not having a word for what he meant, “a vision bottle!”

His apparent pause seemed halting, as if awaiting confirmation. As your eyes skim over the table, you could see the paint flecked axe just to his left, well out of your reach, where as a carving knife rests alongside his plate, jammed through a roasted ham hock. In that interminable silence, you take your seat and nervously look up at him. What went on in that man’s twisted mind? Was he some bipolar warlord capable of the greatest boons and most horrific crimes?

This couldn't be the Ulf that haunted your memories, it neither looked nor felt like your dreams. You were never supposed to look a king in the eyes without permission, yet Ulf just leans on his elbow as if devoid of any notion of lordship or nobility.

“And what do your pets call you, Angle?”

With a loud 'harumph', you clear your throat and try to keep your voice from wavering, “My friends just call me Rightly.”

“Then, I hope to be able to call you by that before the end of the day.” He leans back and points towards your cup. A Gremlin scuttles out from the darkness and upends a wineskin, pouring the deep sanguine drink into a wooden goblet where it pools and froths. Nevertheless, it looks all too similar to the blood spilt over the floor in the next room.

“Why would a warlord care about that? You could call me Princess Amadala if you wanted to and what say would I have? I’m a prisoner, as are my frien-” you are cut off, but not by a blade, or by some harsh bellow, but a surprising laugh that echoes around the halls in a mocking retort to your vitriol fueled start to a rant.

“You’re no prisoner or slave! My Lord wouldn’t tolerate that.”

“Well it’s not like we’re dinner guests either.” You spit back but already this was faring differently from some grand confrontation and ‘kneel before me or else’ confrontation.

Instead, the warlord pushes over a plate of meat with the sharp serving fork. “Not yet, but you might still be welcome guests. You and all your pets… I am hospitable.” The grease dripping meat was pig, deer, or maybe even a pony.

The thought that you could have just been offered meat from a sentient being bubbles up unbidden in your stomach and causes it to flip. On a technical level, if you ate them, it wasn’t cannibalism but it certainly fell into some grey territory. For the sake of alleviating that worry you reach for something else, a stunted apple perched on the side of the plate as if it were garnish. You pick it up and take a bite. The crab apple had been crisp and sour at one point, but soaked in grease and roasted along with tripe and ham hocks, it has turned tepid, sour, slippery, and mushy. It is revolting.

Choking back the revulsion is difficult and you hear Ulf’s amused chortle. “Not one for meat? Hmm, I imagine enough time among the Horses of the Lowlands would change your taste. Tell me-” he interrupts himself with a whistle which summons a pair of Gremlins tending to the spit roast, “bring some of the Five’s food for our guest.” With that done he looks back at you, “How long have you been here, Angle?”

“A few months.”

“Then you have picked up their language well. It is similar to Saxland, your ancestral lands.” He leans in and waves you over as if letting you in on an inside joke, “Now and then I catch some of them speaking Vollundi.” The name flashes across your mind as a name belonging to Northern France, they were words etched in your memories from the visions bestowed by Princess Luna. “I’m surprised the Nortmann received us so poorly. No matter. You have been here for months, I have been here for thirteen years. For ten I have traveled the mountains and subdued the Gremlin tribes. Remarkable, fascinating creatures, but prone to squabbling. So, not much different from home.” He erupts into gales of laughter, prompting you to imitate the gesture. It is hard to tell if he meant that as irony or a joke.

Settling down, he continues his narrative while pushing a plain wooden goblet your way, “Eventually, they saw reason. Part of this was that I became friends with Hunnin, Corax, the gatekeeper. He and his kin liked the stories of the old gods, and the Gremlins came to like them as well. It’s nothing more than tales, but a good tale is yet a good tale. A strong tale.” He leans back in some golden memory spawned fugue. You could have picked up that knife and tried to slit his throat, but the vicious thought passes as much by your lack of determination as the suddenness of the repast.

“So I saw in the paintings.” You recall the iconic murals spiraling up the staircase from the undermountain passages. “Why am I here?” You look at the drink, seeing that it is deep red and figure it is probably wine. Taking a sip, it was warm and something far thicker and stranger with a sweetness that warms rather than burns the back of your throat.

“Kondition. It’s a spice wine, like the Latins had. A friend had a fondness for it, and took the recipe with him when he left that land. He was much like the others you deal with, and like all my guests. Unicorns.” Ulf explains unprompted. Perhaps he is trying to build a bridge, perhaps you being a human had some becalming effect on him.

“So I take it you’re not killing them like you did the others?” It was blunt, but ‘killing’ is still more diplomatic than ‘murdering.’ You shift uncomfortably, ready to roll back and sprint to the door, hoping he couldn’t throw that axe or knife with that much precision.

“No-no.” He waves and turns up a lip, passing the accusation off as if it were nothing but a pedestrian quibble. “They’re here for a very important purpose. A purpose that I had hoped you could come to understand. Tell me, are you aware of the Embodiments of harmony?”

Alarm bells ring in your head. Sure, the whole ‘Elements of Harmony’ thing had come up, and two of them were imprisoned by Ulf. The question was, did he know that? The name is wrong but so close that it couldn’t be coincidental. You take another swig of the sweet wine and answer, “Vaguely. I have heard about them.”

“Then let me explain. Each land has five fundamental ‘embodiments’, remnants of something purely good.” He holds up a hand, spreading his fingers, “Five chances, five guides. They impart succor without question, they give without reward, they trust without proof, they include others without limits, and they will never mislead you. Together, they create something new, and once you find it, the secret of lasting peace is yours for the taking. If you find the magic element, you rule the land and can do so to create a new golden age.” He lets that all sink in, though you were already well aware of the purported Elements. It was nothing was strictly new, but he seemed to be driving at something that was already self-evident. “The magic element, unity.”

What? ‘Unity’?

Ulf continues as you mull over what he said. “Everyone must find this out, every people, every world, and every realm has the five. The sixth comes with the combination of these elements. Unity. Peace. Olaf, my king and king of the Northmen, embraced these five tenets. He started to pave a way to peace and prosperity, but treachery and selfishness claimed him and the Unicorn seer, too.” With a languishing sigh he reaches for his drink.

Was he saying that for effect, or did he actually believe it? It wasn’t like telling him the truth of the matter was liable to actually help. “So the sixth element is ‘Unity’?” It gets a simple nod. “Under who?”

Ulf pauses for a moment or two before commenting with complete detachment, “Us, of course.”

And there’s the catch.

“We found the Icon, it was meant for us. You and your Angles are part of that. Me and the five Embodiments of Harmony will open up the land, solidifying rule under one who understands this well. I believe the Alicorn, Twilight Sparkle, to be this very element.” You choke back surprise as a platter of fruit and wheat settles under your nose, delivered by one of the cowed Gremlin servers. Food was inconsequential; Ulf had touched on something but was just strange enough for it to matter. He was right about the individual, but entirely wrong about her relevance.

“A-and how…” you clear your throat, “do you know that it’s Twilight Sparkle and not Princess Celestia, Luna, or Cadence?”

“Cadence?” A note of inquisitive interest lingers at the edge of his voice.

Son of a bitch, was I not supposed to say that?

Regardless, Ulf continues, “Once, I sought their audience in a manner that I was told by a very reliable source of knowledge. He saw it, so it did work and I am convinced. But did either volunteer the knowledge? No. Did either take notice of us? No. At least, not until I took action. Then they noticed, the Carrion Lords were right all along, power and fear of losing it awakens any from their slumber. Shock them, and you will have their attention. Iblis said it was so, and he was right. These Carrion Lords, the Gremlin tribes,” Ulf swirls his goblet and quaffs the rest with a sigh, “They know the Horses. I am not so prideful as to doubt them and their expertise. They've served very well. Rest assured, the Princesses know and this for the best.”

Silence, that is the only operating sound for a few moments longer. Ulf obliviously sips his drink as recognition crosses your mind. Something is off. Sure, this was all before the incident with Nightmare Moon, but he had conquered the Gremlins and now he listened to them regarding the Equestrians. But the Gremlins hated ponies and seemed to prey on them. “So Iblis told you all that?” Ulf nods. You continue after a moment of thought, “So what do you want with me and my friends?”

“Nothing.” He flatly quips and drains the rest of his goblet.

“Then why are we here?”

“I assume you’re here to cause problems. But, now you know what is at stake. I feel convinced that after the Day of Destiny, the day where a renewed vision and the Embodiments combine, the Queen of Twilight will return me home to finish the work Saint Olaf began.” To Ulf it was merely a few trifling years, not the millennium time difference you knew.

“So you’re not out to kill all Unicorn-kind?” He furrows his brow at you in surprise, but the assurance of safety was a necessity.

Seeing your hesitance, he raises one hand, “Of course not.”

“Then why did you focus on them?”

He shifts to his side and drums his fingers on his goblet rim, “I didn’t. Many were just requirements of Unicorns being so close together. I couldn’t afford letting the Embodiments of Harmony run away and not understand the true nature their importance.”

“That’s not what the messages said. Besides, what if they already know and are dealing with it in this world, hypothetically speaking that is.” To that he remains quiet.

Another discomforting shift brings Ulf forward. This time there is a hint of malice playing across his weathered brow. “I am kept informed by my Lieutenant, Iblis would have known so I would have known. Do not take me for a fool, the Five did not even known each other or their purposes when we took them it. Either that's ignorance and we will help them see their potential, or lies and we will make them fulfill their potential. You see, this is for all who dwell in these lands. I'm doing this for their own good.” He nods in finality and leans back while waving over his servants to refill the goblet.

You sit in silence and process his plans. A smile once more returns to his face as he continues, “The Gremlins merely received word of the truth first, the Day of Destiny. The Horses will come to know this peace in time. Their tyrannical monarchs will be replaced, and Twilight Sparkle will rule Equestria. I collected the five hidden Embodiments like my omens said I should. I found each of the sigils. With their help in creating the sixth, we can bring about absolute good. And with the power of an Alicorn, like that who came before her, we can go back home to reveal the truth of the Five to all corners of the earth. We can make everywhere better. I don’t believe you are as vile as the Swedes, though you wore their coat and colours long enough. You see? After the Day of Destiny, you and your pets may go. I give them to you.” The tone is nearly apocryphal.

“I’m supposed to listen to a butcher? Celestia and Luna have done everything possible for their people, their ponies. How much more ‘good’ can you get than that? You, you cut six ponies to pieces! You’re terrifying ponies into submission. Why would you let us go?” The outburst that tears itself from your throat is shocking in retrospect, and more than a little unwise.

Ulf’s blink of confusion doesn't stop him from flexing his hand around the hilt of the serving knife. “Six what? I have done no such thing. You think us predators? You have heard of the Changelings, yes? You have heard of beasts which prey upon terror and revel in destruction. I will protect them all, not the individual, but everyone from the lowest thrall and carl, to the greatest chieftain and queen. I will give them what they need, not what they want!” He stands, and in a flash, draws the carving knife. With a bellow he brings the glittering arc down, causing you to recoil as the knife slams down through the ham hock, shaking the whole table.

His calloused hand reaches out and grabs your collar, wrenching you forward and dragging you halfway across the table. “Ask the Gremlins, ask the changelings, ask your buffalo, or the many other creatures not included in Celestia's order! This is for everyone, there is nothing that I will tear down that I will not build up even greater than before! I have taken nothing for myself! Unity, that’s what you don’t understand! By the grace of the Alicorn Queen, we’ll spread the Embodiments back to our world, and to whatever lies beyond. I… I...!” He stops and suddenly tosses you back in your chair before letting go of the knife, “I am generous. You will live. Like I promised Olaf.” Ulf continues after pulling the knife free, “You stay here, you and your... friends, taken care of, fed, and when the Day of Destiny comes, you will leave. Iblis!”

The door creaks open, “You called, Mighty One?” The one-fanged creature slinks into the room, keeping his gaze down and all but groveling as he spreads his arms wide with a bow.

“Take him back to his chambers with his Horses” Ulf flicks his wrist at you dismissively.

“Yes, Ulf, of course.” He grins, flashing a broken fanged smirk as a dozen armed Gremlins clamber into the hall to whisk you away.

You're harangued back into the main room and pushed into the stairwell where Iblis shuts the door behind you The group stops cold and looks at their leader. “Why'd we-” you start for just an instant, half turning as you feel a strong pair of clawed hands slam you in the back, sending you tumbling down the flight of stairs.

Your heart jumps as you claw out, furiously trying to stop your descent as the first narrow step rushes up to strike you in the face. There's no handhold or chance to arrest your fall as you bounce off the stone, each sharp edge sending fresh bolts of pain radiating through your body. You come to a stop, sliding down a few more stairs and lay in a bruised and battered heap. Your glasses awkwardly hang off your nose, one of the arms bent at an unnatural angle and the right lens has a crack running right through the center.

The sound of footsteps swim through your mind as you vaguely register the Gremlins racing down after you. You reach out to feel the wall just as the robed figures appear again. Iblis drifts behind a few of his cohorts, “I said the post-mortal winds would find you, so I’m not going to kill you. But thank you, human, you’ve done a lot more than you know.”

“Screw you.” Yyou wheeze out and try to rise to all fours, clutching the carved stone for support.

He smiles and squats in front of you, perched like a gargoyle and grinning like a lunatic. “I really thought that by tearing the guts out of that one Pony that looked like you, I'd kill you, too. Pity.” He gently and almost kindly tilts your chin up, “He had a spine, too, and I broke it as well. Oh, but I have a little memento for you.” Your vision swims as he raises his balled up fist and brings it crashing down in a vicious haymaker. There is a sharp throbbing pain as something rattles around in your mouth. You spit it out and listen to something hard skip down the staircase before it's lost to sight.

A moment of sickening revelation dawns on you: the coppery taste of blood is overpowering and your left incisor throbs as you feel the sharp broken edge of the tooth with your tongue. Every breath of air is enough to send stabbing pains through your body. “I could tear you to pieces myself, or just tell Ulf you did that and he’d probably do it for me.” You spit out blood as another stream dribbles down your chin.

The Gremlin leans towards you. Iblis is close enough that you could probably whip your arm around his neck and snap it like a twig before any of his guards could aid him. You'd killed one Carrion Lord, surely Iblis would be easier. “Yes, he probably would. But think about that carefully, human.” A hook from a window pole jabs your back as another group of raggedy Gremlins on the steps behind your nemesis flash a haphazard array of curved blades and vicious picks.

You place your palms flat on the stone and heave yourself up, seeing that grin hovering in front of your face. It is now a mirror of one of your own smiles. “Feel free to tell Ulf anything you want. By all means, Nithinger, go ahead.” He pats the rapidly swelling side of your face, plunging you into a fresh world of pain, “But tell me, what do you think he’d do to Miss Rarity? You wouldn't want him to know one of his ‘Embodiments of Harmony’ is a worthless fraud, would you? The cover up is convincing, but it won’t last forever without me and my kind overlooking it. For now, I’d recommend you just, hmm… roll with it.”

He shoves you tumbling into space, and the only thing to hear is the cascading echo of Iblis's mocking laughter.

Act 4- Chapter 9: Run For It

Run for It
Proofread by TehSporkBandit

”Now then, Crystal Eyes, you’re home. Get!” The grasping hands finally let go of you, sending you reeling through the air and crashing down on the cold stone floor. You roll to a stop as a clamour of hooves meld with the crash of the slamming door. Pain from your broken tooth lances through your jaw and blood still trickles from your lips as you suck in a few breaths of air through your nose to avoid the potential daggers of cold air.

“Suga'cube?! Y'alright?” Applejack races over, skidding to your side as you raise your head and spit out a mouthful of blood.

“Yeah.” You swallow back the pain that swiftly changes the shock to nausea. Strong hooves lift you up from the floor, even if all you needed was a little support to steady your shaking limbs.

A gentle caress brushes against your lip. “You’re bleeding. My-my, hold still. Applejack, may I have one of those scarves? That is, if you aren’t using it.” Fluttershy tilts your head up but you thrust your palm up to redirect some of her concern. “Saw 'ahhh'” she mimes opening her mouth.

“I’m fin for now, kinda. Look, Ulf is waiting for some Day of Destiny thing. We’ve got, like… what, ten minutes before Rainbow Dash and Pinkie Pie screw something up? And we still can’t get to Rarity-”

Fluttershy whispers back to Applejack while you carry on, “At least we have some balsam for that tooth.”

“-or Twi.... wait really?” She had mentioned that it solved toothaches here, which made your mind divert into the thoughts about painkillers. It was brought to the forefront above your other concerns when Fluttershy’s gentle pat on your swelling jaw, made it feel like she’d shoved a needle into your gums.

“Sure as sugar do. Rarity's been complainin' about the smell. And the food, and the company.” Applejack shakes her head with a resigned sigh. “Besides,” she quickly pats the dust from your pants, “we actually got a real good idea about how ta' get Rarity outta’ there an’ escape.”

“How?” You spit out some blood and realize they were both looking at you again.

“You si’down proper like an’ ah’ll tell ya’.”

You shake off the idea, “Look, we don’t have time, Ulf is hellbent on using the five Unicorns he’s caught for some ‘take-over-the-world’ scheme. He thinks they’re the Elements of Harmony. So he’s using them and the Gremlins to set up the world here however he wants it, and then he’ll get Twilight to open another mirror rift thing and get back home to... get…” You’d inadvertently painted yourself into a corner.

Well, no way out of this one.

“Ahem,” you clear your throat noisily before continuing, “Ulf wants to leave and do this again somewhere else.”

“Maybe so, but ya’ ain’t looking well. Ah’ll sit on his chest and hold ‘em still for ya’, Fluttershy. An’ don’t you think ah won’t.” Her narrow green eyes and pursed freckled face softens to a worry creased smile, “Sit.” The farmpony helps to pull you up into a seated position near the fireplace.

“We really have to look at that tooth,” Fluttershy insists and gently mops your brow where sweat had formed without you knowing, “otherwise it will be very-very troublesome.”

Applejack sits with her back to yours. Soon, you hear her rifling through her pack while Fluttershy pokes and prods your tender cheek. You try to look back at Applejack but Fluttershy holds your face still, “They didn't take that away from you yet?”

“Nah, don't think they fancied a tussle o'r one little ol' bag like this.” Applejack sighs, “Too bad we don’t got pitons or anythin' like that. Buuut, it still might be useful.” The indistinct pause is broken by the sound of tearing cloth. The industrious mare produces a needle and thread from one of the pack's many pockets.

“Alright, but we don't have time for this. Not even to sort out this toothache.” You gently pull back from Fluttershy as a little trail of saliva runs down her hoof, “We have to get Rarity and Twilight out of there. It’s too dangerous, if Celestia falls into that trap then there might not be a functioning Equestria left.”

“Ah know it’s scary, but yer worryin-” Applejack’s comforting words only spurs on the rising surge of irritation.

“You said you had a plan, so what is it?” Fluttershy quails and dips her head at the sound of your raised voice.

“Quit yer huffin’, now.” Applejack barks back abruptly. With a sigh, she stands and peers up the soot stained chimney, “It ain't gonna help and yer just gonna’ be in more of a fix. We’re waitin’ on Rarity. She’s tyin’ most of them scarves an' blankets together ‘cause our rope ain't long enough after ya' cut it in half back in the swamp. Yer a sight bigger than either of us and yer legs are longer’n ours. So you can probably get up there easier than either of us. Ah know, ah tried. So, ya' wanted to know that plan, right? Here it is: you shinny on up that chimney and help us up when ya’ get ta’ Rarity's room-”

“There’s a fireplace grate up there. What if it’s sunk into the wall or locked?”

“It ain't, now hush up.” Applejack even smirks and gives you the faintest cuff up the side of the head. It's not enough to hurt but you feel a flush and a smile wiggle across your face. “Anyway, you can slide up there, the grates just pull right off, so ya’ can get to Rarity-”

“Yoo-hoo.” An urgent stage whisper echoes down the chimney flue as Applejack makes a strained huff of irritation at the second interruption. “Do hurry up, but mind the silk. And please, don't let it catch fire. It stinks if it starts to smolder, and it's a tremendous waste. Catch.”

She was smart, the bottom two or maybe three lengths were made of silk which didn’t burn well. The tiny fire was no threat, and it would give you some warmth without much smoke.

“This is attached to something, right?” you call up and see Rarity silhouetted against the bleak sky like an Equestrian version of the madonna, halo and all.

“Mais bien, sûr! I’ll help as best I can.” As you ready yourself to climb, there is a calming blue aura that starts to coalesce around you, pricking your skin with soft bubbly sparks. The weight lifts from your shoulders rather suddenly, like all the tension is gone and you are nearly floating on air.

Turning back to Applejack, you smile and nod, liking where the plan was going as you interpret the rest, “Then I get up to Rarity, tie the rope somewhere, help pull everypony up, get a guard’s attention, get them to open the door to break out, then get Rainbow and Pinkie to pick us up. Then we break Twilight out of that throne room, and be out in a few minutes.”

Your two friends merely look at each other, then back at you, “What about the four other ponies?” Fluttershy ventures.

“And? What about them? We need to get Rarity and Twilight out, then ourselves, then the others if we can find them.”

“Well who’s going to get them out if we don't? What if Ulf hurts them, or worse. He might if we escape with just Twilight and Rarity.”

“They might be dead or wish they were dead already. Rarity's here but she's only been here a few days.”

“Rarity said they weren’t.”

“Yeah, well, Rarity…” you rethink that. “Well, what do you expect? We’re right here; we can't just endanger everything blindly looking around for a few Unicorns elsewhere. It’s already a miracle Rarity is so close by. I mean… I don't like it, who would, but don't you think a castle full of Gremlins are going to notice us wandering around with a string of terrified ponies trotting behind us, then just waltz out the front door? No. More likely, we get noticed, lose the element of surprise, and then have to make a break for it and hope Rainbow and Pinkie can get to us in time. That's pretty much a best case sce-” A hoof quickly closes your mouth as Applejack looks into your eyes.

“Dumplin',” Applejack’s calm and collected voice is as soft as it is patronizing, “yer talkin’ about leavin’ all those ponies behind. Just calm down. Ya’ ain’t thinking so cle-”

You emphatically toss a hand up, slapping her hoof away in the process, “Screw them. We're out to get out friends back, everypony else is irrelevant.” The silence in the wake of that statement is deafening.

“Y-you don’t mean tha-” Applejack starts but a hollow sucking howl like the gasp of a grave rushes down the fireplace chimney with a deep sweeping curl of cold, smothering the fire and her shocked protest.

The fireplace isn’t just cold, large sprawling floral trails of frost are left in the wake of the primeval roar, like it had never been warmed since the dawn of time. Shivers, unrelated to the temperature, course through your limbs, “What the hell was that?!”

You cast a look to your left, only to see Applejack’s eyes open as wide as saucers, “No-no-no. Whoa Nelly. Ya' did hear that, Fluttershy, it wasn't just me, right?” The farm pony looks over at Fluttershy.

The gentle Pegasi's stiff and automatic nod said it all, “I heard it, but I really wish I didn't.”

Taking the rope you grunt and set your back against the rear of the fireplace. “Just calm down. I'll go get Rarity and pull you two up one at a time, then we’ll look for the other missing ponies. Maybe Rarity's room will be easier to escape from. After all, there’s only supposed to be one pony there, right?”

You quickly grasp the rope as Applejack fastens the pack around your back. The top had been half-torn and stitched up so the lead was hooked through a nearly torn eye-hole so Rarity could cinch up any extra slack and keep you from plummeting back down the chute if you lost your footing. “Ah know you’re scared, but that’s okay. Just do what’s right. Take care now, ya’ hear?” Applejack nuzzles under your arm before giving you a hearty pat on the back to send you to the chimney.

There was time for a single look back before you had to divert your attention up to that dismal grey light so far above you. “I hope we have one damned window room so we can get Rainbow’s attention.” You take the rope, and pull.

This is a ridiculously stupid idea. We should get go straight up to the roof, what are they thinking?!

Looking up into the yawning abyss, the interior of the chimney was all crystalline as if you were inside a geode. Some of the ice crystals were upwards of an inch long, like a toothed maw. “A-Applejack, the fire went out!” Rarity’s voice fills the narrow passageway as you scrape your collar against the soot and frost, leaving a blackened trail with your back while your feet churn up a flaked grey mixture with every kick.

“You’re doing really well.” Fluttershy’s encouragement would have been pleasant if it wasn’t after just three and a half feet of climbing. It wasn’t going to be easy, but, you start your way up, hand over hand, walking your way up to Rarity’s level. Every footstep, every shrug or twitch of your back, sounds like it was cracking a thin pane of glass. It’s tiring, the soot encrusted sides fleck off and the chilling winds drift down with a lonely whine. Thankfully, there isn't another of those bone chilling screeches.

“Come on. Not too much further, dear.” You listen to Rarity’s whisper, watching her throw the metal grate open with a languid groan. A shower of soot and dust rattles down the chimney on top of you, coaxing a ragged cough from your lungs. Your back aches and fingers feel numb, but the haze of magic must be keeping anything from getting worse. Closing in on that grate, Rarity keeps it pushed up against the stone wall. The Unicorn is only a few feet away now as you twist, just enough to get your fingers on the edge of the small ledge inside the fireplace.

“C’moooon, yer almost there!” an encouraging Applejack calls.

“Now, you’re going to want to turn, and slowly twist to your right, eaaasy and smooth. One hoof, err-claw... finger, at a time. Theeeere.” The cooingis almost insufferable but Rarity’s gentle grasp under your arm makes it apparent she isn’t just supervising. “Rarity's got you, darling.” Pulling you up, there is a resounding cheer of accomplishment from the floor beneath you, singing your praises to the apathetic skies. You, on the other hand, have been pulled a few feet across the floor and now marvel at Rarity’s room.

Its large, open design is a far cry from the simple dour room down below. Each shelf is lined with exotic looking bottles and fetishistic artworks made of carved ivory and stone, several wooden stands hold large basins of water that shimmer with beaten brass linings. Lamps are hung at every corner of the room, giving light to the furs and tapestries lining the walls. As you gaze up, crude but colourful frescoes wheel overhead in tall, arching vaults like an Italian chapel; each picture portrays scenes of stars and moons, pictures of triumph and sorcery, Humans, Ponies, Gremlins, Dragons, and dozens of other mythic and non-mythic legends alike. Aside from that, a great canopy bed with blue drawn veils sits nearly made on the other side of the room. It is a suite, a grand medieval chamber that could have easily sated the needs of the greatest medieval king. Unfortunately, there is still no window here either. Rainbow and Pinkie would have to be signaled some other way..

Rarity’s prison is a true gilded cage and you are nothing more than an exhausted pauper muddying up the view.

On the other hoof, Rarity is cloaked in white linens and swaddled in wide bolts of airy gold fabric. “My knight in shining armour!” She pulls you to your feet, “Dear, are you hurt? Let me see!” She insists, tugging at the few blood spattered blotches on your clothing.

“No, no it's not too ba-Ah!” She lifts a hoof to your jaw and strokes your swelling cheek as the painful wave washes over you like the tide.

You only vaguely make out what Rarity says as she almost seems to fade amid the pulsating pain in your jaw. The Unicorn returns moments later, giving the shockingly pained cheek a quick kiss as a motherly apology before pressing a hoof to your chin and gently pressing down. “I'm ever so sorry, dear. Toothaches can be absolutely horrendous, truly beastly. Be a good boy and say 'Ahh'.”

Like Fluttershy, she coaxes your mouth open and winces, eyes welling up,, applying a strangely sweet golden oil to your mouth. “Sweet Celestia, how in the world...” She winces while pouring a strangely sweet golden oil from a shallow dish into your mouth. It strings from the cold for a moment, but in moments the fragrant balm takes effect and deadens the pain. “How did you acquired such a positively dreadful wound?”

“Gremlin.”

“They're always burning this bothersome stuff until I said it gave me a headache. Which it did. Cloying sweet smoke is anything but good for a perfect white coat or a nice complexion, and right now… oh, I’m sorry, I know, I look positively dreadful. But I couldn’t take a bath like I wanted and remain incognito. I shudder to think what these barbarians would do if they caught on to our little ruse.”

Well, one Gremlin does know. Why he hasn’t said anything is something else entirely.

“I might not be a knight, I’m just a squire you know. Still, you look great, all things considered.” You pat her cheek, though your shoulder suddenly pops with a faint release of pressure. Combined with the coolness on your jaw, it doesn't feel half bad.

Rarity’s quiet murmur and needy nuzzle against your hand melds with an exaggerated sniff and breath, “You’re just saying that…”

Damn it, this better not be an ego thing, we don't have time.

Rarity's eyes stand as azure pools of fear and relief; it is hard to fault her for wanting some reassurance. She'd been here for days, alone and with the constant threat of death hovering above her head. The embrace causes her to keep bubbling up all the other repressed feelings as she lays her chin on your shoulder and you awkwardly pat her back. Nevertheless, it wasn’t overly comfortable as her horn keeps rubbing against your neck. “It’s o-”

“Hey, y'all almost ready there?” Applejack's echoing question jars you back into the present.

“Give me a second.” It’s probably a terrible job at comforting her, but there just isn't the time to spend that you needed, or the tea and cakes to smooth things over for that matter.

“Rarity,” you look towards the large carved door off to your right, “no one’s going to barge in, right?”

“N-hic-no.” Rarity hiccups as you gently pat her on the back.

“The other Unicorns, they’re back there?”

Rarity bobs her head and loudly sniffs, “P-pardonez mo-hic-moi. Yes, yes, the wardens check on us every hour. I’m almost certain it’s just the five of us, and Twilight, but she’s upstair- hic-airs. They’ll be checking on me again in about ten minutes. Hic, I told you I was a mess.” With her mascara running and nose an unsightly flush red, she is starting to actually look it, too.

You’ve regained your breath and given her a few moments of attention, rubbing her withers in tight concentric circles. “Listen, I’m going to get you out of here, you’re going to be safe. You’re going to be fine. I’ll pull Applejack up and you’ll help. Then Fluttershy. After that, we’ll need your best dramatic performance to catch the guard’s attention. Something dreadful. Does everypony here have their own guard?” She shakes her head to keep the unsightly warble in check. “Hmm, alright. We’ll signal Rainbow and Pinkie, pick Twilight up, and we'll be on our way back home.”

A lingering pall of reluctance pries you from Rarity as you watch the pony staring at you through tear-stained eyes, a trembling muzzle, as if she would never see you again. Her chest, her back, even her cheeks are soot streaked, but a little grime hardly matters now.

You quickly unbuckle the exceptionally uncomfortable Equine harness with the rope tether and call down, “Heads up, AJ.” Tossing the harness down, you cross over towards the bed where the impromptu rope is hitched to the bedpost in a few pleasant bows. Thankfully, it comes loose in a trice and you wind the linen cord around the post then around your shoulders. “Alright…” that feels like the only thing to say as you head back over to the fireplace. Taking the rope, you tug on it a few times.

You hear the low murmur of voices down below and hope that they aren’t talking about what you said earlier. Rarity didn’t know… well, she might have heard a bit, but she couldn’t be certain. That little slip had stunned them as much as the sudden axe blow to the Carrion Lord. How would Rarity deal with that?

“Alright, ah’m comin’ up.”

You set your back to the edge of the fireplace and look behind you as Rarity skips over towards the edge, tactically avoiding the soot and clinging to the opposite pillar. Her horn begins to glow and she gives you a nod. “Alright.” You mumble and heave. Your back pops as your shoulder pulls. Applejack is a solid, tough, dependable, but extremely heavy pony. She isn’t plump like Twilight is, and that muscle makes her all the heavier. There is that awkward memory of having her sitting on your shoulders, that burden was bad enough but now it was having to haul her up a whole floor as dead weight.

As your grasp begins to falter and your fingers throb with the first pulsing pangs of a cramp, it’s hard enough to keep a grip on the taut rope let alone pull any further. “Rarity, tie the rope, tie the rope!” You seeth as your strength begins to fade.

“Just a touch more, dear.” As the burning strain in your chest and arms becomes unbearable, you open your eyes and see an orange hoof slide up to grasp the edge of the fireplace.

Rarity stretches over to hold the grating up and keeping it from falling on Applejack’s head as the farm-mare scrambles into the room. “C’mon, little bit of a swing… Be a dear and lend a hoof.” Rarity calls back as you cinch the line tight and drag yourself over.

Applejack scrapes at the edge of the chimney, gritting her teeth while muttering, “Ah'm fine... just a little, hmmph-” she grunts as Rarity, then yourself, grasp her under her forelegs. The farmpony strains as you set your feet in the fireplace, her head practically in your lap as you drag her backwards onto you and Rarity.

Rarity squirms out from under the pile Applejack swiftly pulls herself to her feet. You look up at the mare who looks just as sweat-stained and disheveled as you. Her usually glimmering coat is caked in soot, smeared and fanned through every inch of fur in chalky black and grey ash, including her golden mop of a mane. “Leg still hurting?”

The Dickensian chimney sweep of a pony flashes a thankful smile with a warm emerald glitter in her eyes. “Nah, just keepin' it fully out like that's a good way ta' stiffen it up. Besides, it's icy.” She stamps a few times and scrapes the bottom of her horseshoe against the stone edge of the fireplace.

It is enough to cause a smile to spread across your face. “You got a little something there.” You gently pat the side of your face as she reflexively moves to do the same, caking on another layer of soot rather than cleaning it off.

She realizes the ruse in a heartbeat smirks, “Har-dee-harr-harr.” Applejack's tap on your uninjured shoulder sends up a puff of black powder. “Looks who’s talkin’. Now c’mon,” she quickly worms her way out of the harness and drops it back down to Fluttershy. “Fluttershy, put this on and we'll haul you up. Okay?”

A mousey ‘okay’ filters up from the deeps below you despite the concern and encouragement. Applejack circles back around to take up the slack on the rope, adding add her considerable strength to your own. Fluttershy was easily scared, and the nervous jangle of buckles and unsteady tap of hooves is definite. “Don’t worry, you’ll be right up here with us in a few seconds, alright?” You quietly call down to the mare.

Small tendrils of white mist creep down the chimney like spreading tentacles. Whether soot or stone, wherever the mist touches, ice formations bloom into existence in sinister snaking patterns that crackle and pop to life. Even your toes feel like they have been plunged into a bucket of water. You quickly kick away from the rapidly cooling fireplace.

“You sure recover quick, AJ.” You blink and look at the mussed up farmpony, golden locks frayed and stuck out at odd angles. The brown stetson is nowhere in sight, “Hey, your hat!” You cast a glance around for the prized possession.

“Don’t you fret, Fluttershy's keepin' it.”

Rarity smirks back, “Recover quick, hmm? Well, Earthmares do. Anyway, is everypony ready?”

Applejack pokes your hip with her hoof, “Might as well get behind, else ah’m just pullin’ down on ya.” Taking up a grip behind her, she picks up the linen cord, “Reggy!” She flicks her tail and waves it left and right like the starting flag at a race track. “Seht…. Powl!”

The rope whips back and coils at your feet as she yanks the lead and backs up, “Gah, not so fast!”

The strength of the Earthpony was impressive; there's no need for a slow pull-and-cinch crawl like you'd managed before with her, you can actually hear the rope knots rubbing against the stone edge of the fireplace. You stop only once, winding the impromptu rope around the bedpost before pulling it around like a spindle before Fluttershy pops out of the fireplace like a rabbit from its hutch.

Rarity helps the Pegasus up to her hooves before embracing her with a coo. The shaking Pegasus had been hauled up as quickly as an elevator despite a few mewling protests, and her hooves, chest, and muzzle are completely covered in soot and thick ice crystal formations. You and Applejack just rest on the floor for a second, looking over the pair. She pats your side, a quiet and affirmative ‘good work’ which brings an involuntary smile to your face.

There is a scrape at the door, a bar being shifted by scratching claws. A thin weedy voice calls from the other side of the thick wood, “Mistress, we have to be sure of your fire and food.”

“Be ready.” Applejack whispers and crouches as you kneel alongside her. It is easy to see the course of events: the way would be unbarred, the door would creep open, Applejack would buck it back and knock the creature flat, you would slip around and fetch the keys. It was foolproof.

The locking bar scratches along the metal and stone ties.

Just one more se-

There is an earth-shattering rumble that courses through the floor, shaking the walls and ceiling. Plate slabs of plaster rain down from the cracked ceiling, kicking up an impenetrable white cloud. “AJ, door!” The farmpony bucks hard, cracking the door right down the middle. Throwing your shoulder against it, the wood buckles, smashing a gaping wound in the dessicated wood as a whole plank gives way.

“Move!” You barely roll out of the way as Applejack bucks again, demolishing the damaged door, sending only a few scraps of wood rocking back against the wall on bent hinges. The rest of the wooden structure scatters across the floor like matchsticks and kindling. The Gremlin lay sprawled in a twitching heap a few feet away, knocked senseless by a hefty chunk of now pulverized plaster that turned its ruddy hide stark white.

Outside the dust choked suite is a large well-lit rotunda covered in the same vaults and plaster with various tapestries of gold and taupe. Around you are four other doorways, each embossed with the distinct emblem of a separate cutie mark above the lintel, and each is sealed with a thick oak bar and iron lock. But on your left is an open hallway with its flimsy wooden door unbarred and unguarded. You glimpse what lies on the other side: it's a single familiar hall with a broken chair and blood stained floor, across the hall is that banquet hall you'd met Ulf in not long before.

“If that crash was from upstairs we’ve got to get going!” You wave your companions forward into the open hall. All three want to help the various ponies stuck behind these doors but a terrible feeling churns in your guts: hopefully, Rainbow Dash and Pinkie Pie hadn't gotten ‘bored’ and spoiled your one chance at getting everypony out. “Please-Please-Please don’t do anything stu…”

You glimpse a Gremlin Carrion Lord and its retinue as they rush up the steps into the banquet hall behind you. It looks over, beady red eyes locking with yours. “Keep running and don’t stop!” You dart up towards the stairs, thundering ahead while the drone of clattering hooves on stone rings behind you. You don’t dare stop now.

Up the flight of stairs you race, three companions hot on your tail. “Right!” The left is a hallway chock full of Ravens. You fling yourself right and through the empty hallway before climbing again, nearly skidding to the far side of the wall on the landing, and up the last short flight of stairs before careening into the grand chamber. The great dual doors loom up in front of you, brazen knob, stately finish, and elaborate etchings towering above everything else like some millenium vault. All are ignored as you throw your shoulder against the wood and press the brass lever.

The doors thunder open with a laborious groan, spilling you into the wind-lashed chamber beyond.

Act 4- Chapter 10: Who Dares

Who Dares
Proofread by TehSporkBandit

The reverberation of the thrown-open door echoe to the highest vaults and bounce off the sheer marble pillars lining the massive hall. Lashing wind sweeps inside with a howl of rage through a massive rent carved through the bank of implacable stained glass windows. A twisted mass of black iron seeping liquid smoke spills in from the shattered walls leaving heaps of ruined masonry and a carpet of shattered glass scattered across the room. The storm barge’s angular bow carved a sixty foot wound in the wall and knocked down three thick pillars before coming to an abrupt halt against a fourth. It left behind pouring eldritch smoke that is casually whisked back outside from the empty windows and reclaimed by the rapturous winds.

On your left rises a massive stepped throne of carved white marble backed by brazen censors wafting fragrant clouds of myrrh. Ensconced upon the monarch’s seat is the frail frame of Princess Twilight Sparkle. Ulf, the great cloaked figure garbed in burnished mail and a blood red mantle, unsteadily rises from all fours on the lowest steps of the alabaster throne. He is bleeds from his nose and has several gouges across his face, almost certainly inflicted by shards of flying glass and bits of splintered masonry.

“Twilight!” call five voices, including your own.

You hurry forward, crunching the coloured glass underfoot as Ulf staggers to his feet. Before you step closer, he emphatically raises a hand and bellows, “Be still!”

The mad rush halts at the man’s ringing voice. He draws his blade and unslings the shield tossed across his back, it displays the image of Twilight’s cutie mark emblazoned on the surface. The sight stops you for a moment as a shiver of recollection pulses in the back of your mind.

A roiling roar rumbles in his throat, far removed from the shrill cry of the wind. “You violate sanctuary, the palace of the Queen-between-lights?” He bellows, flecking spittle in an incandescent rage.

“Hold it, Skins!” A familiar husky tone calls out. From the tangles of twisted metal and crumbling piles of stone, a lean, athletic pegasus bulls through the wreckage in a tatter of fluttering cloth that streams from her wings like pennants.

“Yarr, what did you want us to do Captain Dash, sir, ma'am, sir?” Pinkie Pie emerges behind her, several garish bands tied around her brow like a pirate.

Flanked from either direction, Ulf turns his shield towards Rainbow Dash while flexing his grip on the sword pointing in your direction. A greater clamour rises behind you from a rising cacophony of stamping feet and thrashing wings. The Gremlins are coming.

“Get the door!” You call out and take a step forward.

“Got it!” Applejack and Rarity, muscle and magic, slam the door shut and not a moment too soon. A harsh thud hammers behind you as the door violently shudders under a sudden impact.

You turn to regard Ulf, staring at the bulky warrior casually perched on the lowest steps at the foot of the throne. He is surrounded, outnumbered, and deprived of his magical support. “It's over, Ulf. Give us Twilight and that'll be the end of it!”

Twilight mumbled groggily as if drugged. “Be still your Majesty,” Ulf whispers back to the Alicorn, “I’ll deal with the desecrators.” Twilight’s forelegs begin to tremble as she weakly tries to rise, only to slump back in her seat.

Ulf turns his attention back to you and Rainbow, “Why would you would take away this chance to enshrine Universal good throughout all the land when we are so close!? It would benefit every living soul in this world and countless others!” Ulf points across the hall with his sword, and then at both of you again. While you fear a trick, you take a quick glance back across and see a shimmering brass mirror opposite to the throne. It looks almost like a sun disc, plain, practical, and ordinary.

“'Benefit every living soul'?” Rainbow spits out a confused indignation, “Hah! Yeah, pull the other one.” She waggles her forehoof, “You've got dead Unicorns and you kidnapped our friends. Yeah, I got some proof that says you're a total nut!” She points to Rarity who shrinks back behind you. Something else seems to bleat and call through your brain.

Deja vu?

“Drop it and back off!” Ulf calls as Twilight shivers and convulses. You finally get a better look at the Unicorn and in moments, you wished you hadn't. The princess's fur has no healthy shine to it, it's well-brushed but her skin seems to stick to her bones with each and every rib showing through her coat. Her limbs look atrophied, almost wasted and thin with blackened rings encircling a hollow face.

“Twilight?!” Fluttershy darts forward.

“Rrraaaah!” Ulf takes a halfhearted swing at her, singing through the air with a hiss as Fluttershy leaps away from the sword stroke.

As she springs back, you place a restraining hand on the shivering Pegasus. You gesture at the intemperate man, prodding at the air in much the same way he stabbed his sword at you moments before, “You said you were looking for the five embodiments to find the sixth, the sixth which would herald in a new age.” Ulf stops and listens, eyes still blazing with suppressed fury at your intrusion. “Ideals like honesty, loyalty, generosity, kindness, laughter.” You point at Rarity, “You had one of them in your grasp and you didn't even know it or know why! You were too blind to look for the real signs, you-”

“Silence!” Ulf's shout loosens a few more glass shards from their frame. “I've done nothing but live for those ideals. Like Olaf wanted, like Clover wanted, and like his paragon wanted!”

“Pfft, liar.” Rainbow's one simple word turn's the warlord's face scarlet as he snarls like a wolf. There is a subtle motion, but you catch it: Twilight's forehoof slips forward and nudges Ulf's back, which causes him to stiffen.

The touch quells Ulf's rage, but a burning malice still smoulders around him. His voice is low, gravely, and all too controlled, “Look at me, you pagan horse runt, if you really were a rainbow, I'd walk right over you and get my reward. For now, hold your forked tongue.”

Ulf's growl was still leaving his mouth as Rainbow's mocking laugh rose to meet him, “Bring it!” Springing up from her aggressive stance, the Pegasus takes off with a rattling burst of rushing air, plunging at the Norse warrior.

Your heart skips a beat, but you follow after her with a howl. Storming the throne, Ulf readies his shield and fans it out with the blade poised just behind it. His own scarlet cloak billows in the freezing draft that hisses through the shattered windows like seething malice through broken teeth. A prismatic blur streaks by as a trail left in Rainbow's wake.

Rainbow Dash's flying kick slams against the shield with punishing force, cracking the wood and numbing the warrior's arm as he grunts and stabs out. The spinning blade snaps and twists in the air, sweeping out as the Pegasus recoils and barely avoids the blade from cleaving through her hindquarters. The icicle-like blade slices some of her feathers in two.

Pinkie's ruby-like rush seems poised to run straight into the Norse warrior as he nimbly lifts his shield and draws back the glittering sword in a vengeful arc. It's nothing but a feint as Pinkie springs to the side, opening up a small opportunity for you as she stays on one side and you on the other.

This is your chance. You raise the axe and grip the wooden heft in both hands as the Norse warrior pauses in a half crouched, seemingly open as his numbed arm loses the grip of his shield. It loosely drops in his arm as he flexes his shaking hand and covers it in the cloak.

“Rightly!” The fashionista shouts a warning as you see a pallid blue glow from the back of Ulf’s belt and recognize it as an axe he’d been reaching for when he loosened his grip on his shield. Ulf snatches the concealed blade, flicking it out and towards your throat. You skid to a stop and crane your head back while madly batting back at the hand axe with your own. The deathly edge collides with his weapon in a shower of sparks. The vibrations rush through your forearm like someone had struck it with a hammer. Ulf howls and turns back towards you as you stumble away from a single quick sword stroke that snips by a hair’s breadth from your chest.

The low rhythmic chanting echoes from the hallway, each refrain rises upon a myriad of voices:

“The Day of Destiny approaches, seized from our claws and enacted by the Crystal Eyes!”

“…” Twilight croaks something inaudible and convulses as she tries to rise from the throne.

“The doors!” Fluttershy calls out. Rarity had turned her magic from it for a moment. The blue aura dissipates as Applejack keeps both her forehooves planted on either side of the doubled doors and plants her rear legs against the shiny marble. It was only by a feat of Herculean strength that the door isn't forced open right there.

“Sorry, I'm sorry!” Rarity's panicked apology rings in the throne room chambers as the magical sapphire aura spreads across the wooden doors and metal hinges like a cloth.

Rainbow rockets by, sailing through the air with a flying kick aimed at the brawny man. The Norse warrior flings his shield up and rolls with the hit as the impetuous mare slams into it like a freight train. Despite the deafening peal and groan of cracking timbers, Ulf remains upright while Rainbow’s momentum flings her into the wall in a jumbled heap of feathers.

“…P” Twilight's breathy whisper is still impossible to hear.

The shield had blocked you from view for just a second, and you rush in again, flinging the blade overhand on his blind side. The shining edge skips down his back, shearing through most of the cloak with a dragging torque on your wrist. He yowls in pain, arching his back before slicing at you, though this time you are able to nimbly skip back. Rainbow's assault bought you a much needed distraction as Ulf hisses through clenched teeth.

Images of the twisting, sweeping swordplay enters your mind. A spin, a chop, and a riposte back from veteran warriors fighting for hearth, home, and king on the bloody ships of Olaf's fleet in the far northern seas.

A slash behind garners an arcing swipe low against an opponent.

Luna's imparted vision burns in your mind as you see the Norse warrior's response, flicking up his shield under the Jom's chin and running him through.

You shove yourself back from Ulf, almost tripping over the man's cloak hem as he spins the loosely held shield up. It passes inches from your face as he stabs his sword out from under it. The shining metal snips past your stomach as you bat it away with the hooked head of the axe.

“Washed away in the stream of time, the Day of Destiny dawns!”

The chanting from the hallway picks up with another thundering impact.

Pinkie skips in under the slash, innocuously trodding on Ulf's cloak tail and threading it between his legs.

“…op.” Twilight's voice begins to resonate in your mind as its warble rises.

Rainbow streaks towards the ceiling and dives with the wind at her back. As quick as Ulf is, she is still faster; the shield flairs out as Rainbow rolls to the side and lashes out. It didn't strike him, but latches on to the Alicorn horn around his neck. The cord snaps with a loud crack, “Mine!”

Ulf's reaction is still shockingly fast as the swing that missed Rainbow initially is flung back. It clips her back with a resounding crack, driving her to the ground in a spiral and sending the artifact spinning across the floor towards you like a macabre pinwheel.

“You'll never have the icon!” He lurches in your direction only to stumble haltingly for a moment. Pinkie’s simple trick, wrapping the cloak between his feet, had saved you from the Northman’s sudden charge. He wobbles on the steps and drops his shield completely, it bounces on its rim before Twilight's cutie mark lands face up on the floor.

Ulf's blood-flecked eyes met yours as he twitches with bestial rage mingled with fanatical contempt. He sucks in a breath as you feel your chest constrict with a fledgeling pain. He bellows loud enough to stun you for a moment before lunging at you with a single lurching strike.

His sword flicks out at neck height in a decapitating arc, letting you spin away from it and duck down to avoid the thrumming axe in his other hand. You strike at the sword like a baseball bat as it pings off the sword edge leaving a sizable notch in the blade. Ulf's grunt of irritation is a frightening bass noise as you see the second windmilling axe strike force you back another step. Even as the Norse warrior reaches down to pick up the Alicorn horn, you kick it, spinning it across the floor. The scrape stops with a surprised 'eep' as Ulf follows the sound right up to the scuttling Fluttershy who reflexively kicks it away towards Applejack and Rarity.

“You-”

“Olé!” Pinkie grabs the hem of Ulf cloak and yanks it back, pulling him off-balance as the sword screams towards you in an uncontrolled swipe. The blade bits into the axe haft, lodging fast for a second as Pinkie causes him to recoil. The brutish warrior wrenches the sword down. The strength in his arm drags your arm as the thin slicing edge grazes your upper arm, then draws free with a sickening sound of parting flesh and torn fabric.

You can only gasp, feeling a sharp pain as a rent opens up across your arm, churning your stomach but not stopping the descending blade. You practically fall onto the back of the axe head, sending the sharp blade straight down to the floor, scything down across the very end of Ulf’s foot.

The axe blade bites as hard as the sword as a surge of red splashes across the grey floor. You let the weapon go and stagger back, clutching your arm and hoping not to vomit at the sudden intense pain and sickening tide bubbling up your throat. A single look to your left arm shows the fountain of red and the twisted red ridge of parted flesh beneath the tattered cloth.

You look back at Ulf, having partially expected to be confronted with an axehead in mid-swing that would bury itself between your eyes and split your face open. Instead, you watch him drop the weapon to the ground, clanging as it comes to a rest at his foot. The warrior draws back, clutching his calf as the tip of his foot comes off. Your grip loosens on your weapon as your arm seizes up in several eye-watering muscle contractions.

“And on that fateful day…”

Another thundering crack rocks the door back on its hinges with several whizzing ricochets. One hinge breaks clean off as Applejack's hind leg slips in her Atlas-like lean, the weight of the world on her withers.

“...we see the truth at last!
When the Day of Destiny arrives!”

The Gremlins spill in as Applejack finally scampers back towards you while Rarity loops her hoof under her friend's shoulder as support.

Scores of habit clad figures flood in, forming a rough blob of thin sickly imps. A line of malicious zealots stretches from the arched doorway across the glass strewn hall, stopping just short of the shattered windows themselves. Four of the Carrion Lords remain, you can see them as some sort of high chanters surrounded by their procession. The motley robed host brandishes a ragged assortment of weapons from cleavers to crude iron axes, saps, spiked clubs, and hooked window poles.

“Stop!” Twilight's ragged shout silences the hall completely.

The Alicorn had forced herself upright, but now she stands unsteadily. Her hindquarters slump almost uselessly on the cushions while her forelegs jitter with effort. Fluttershy slips forward next to Twilight, the grotesque icon's severed cord wrapped around her foreleg. Pinkie and Applejack both step back, hoof-over-hoof, and draw back to stand beside you.

Twilight just looks to Ulf but remains silent. He breathes heavily, shedding the cloak, “Hypocrites, usurpers, killers, each of you,” he turns to you, rivulets of blood spilling down ruined rings of aged chainmail from the jagged wound torn across his back. Ulf takes an unsteady step forward, swaying awkwardly and mopping away the pink foam from the corners of his mouth. “You. You say you came here to 'reclaim', but you come here to retake only what you had when it served your own devices, and the plans you approve of. What makes you better than me?”

“Well, I didn't murder anypony.” You croak out awkwardly.

The Norseman weakly gestures to the Gremlins, “The body of one of my thralls yet cools on a stone slab, and you dare claim yourself innocent of murder?! Or are 'ponies' and kinfolk the limit of your reservations? Did you not sneak in here when, last we met, I said that I would meet with you again?”

You feel the eyes of your friends and the horde of creatures fall upon you, “At least I'm trying to follow those 'embodiments'!”

“Don't say they didn't give you a title, or was it privilege, perhaps a sum of gold? Didn't the two queens only extend their boons and graces to ponies like themselves? What about the others in this world? Where are the Gremlins, the long-horns, the great serpents, or even the hounds? Where are they in your perfect world?” The room lies still, silence greets Ulf’s question. “ And what have I taken? Nothing! Do you see vast treasures behind me? This isn't for me, this is for the Queen, it's for my people, it's for those striving to make a new and better world under the proper embodiment! I've given my youth, my energy, and all the time I have. Is that not the act of a generous benefactor?!”

The silence lasts for a few moments before Rarity pips up. “Pardon me for saying, but you're doing it for yourself in the end. Your ideal and your… vision, as you call it, are still for you and by you. Its not like we had any say in the matter, and it wasn't for anypony else. If that's generosity, it lacks consideration for those whom you say it’s for.” Ulf blinks and stares daggers at the Unicorn.

You wearily count on your fingers, showing five left, “That’s one down, Ulf. Care to try for Loyalty?”

He snarls and unsteadily straightens his spine, “Arrogant whelp. Your queens turned on each other once before, one was exiled! What loyalty is there in that? You yourself left Smike when you yourself are just as obvious as him. We knew where you were almost every moment of every day, so where is your loyalty to him? I… I have only ever done anything for others. I followed the will of Olaf Trayggvason. I stayed true to that, for everything. It wasn't for me. This wasn't my idea, it was fate! I decide nothing! My oath binds me to that!” Ulf points at you then to Rarity, “You abandoned your 'friend' on the bridge that day, didn't you? You all did!”

“Uh, yeah.” Rainbow starts, dragging herself onto all fours. “But you're just blindly following an idea, if you're forced to do something that's just obedience, not loyalty. You know, sheep work. I never abandoned Rarity, I never forgot about her, and I never stopped trying for her sake. Even if we did have to let her go.” The Pegasus shrugs, “And it's 'Spike'." She looks over to you as if saying 'although that's true, and pretty lame.'

Ulf just growls and looks at you again, then Rainbow, “Wasn't it you two that broke in and terrorized a house of the sick in the northern city? Did you not push them into doing what you wanted? What kindness is that? I am making this new, an equality for all creatures. I'm creating this to last for the ages, to stave off predators like the Changelings, Sirens, Bugganes, and other monsters of the world! I will prevent the destruction of the whole, protection and goodness for all: not protection and consideration for one or one kind! I have killed, yes, but I never did it to sow fear or to loot. I renounced Viking ages ago!”

Fluttershy looks up as she nudges Twilight's under her forelegs to keep the glassy-eyed Alicorn upright. “Um, excuse me? I couldn't help but hear… but don't you think that you might be missing the trees for the forest? If you're not showing the kindness and compassion for one pony, how can you set an example for everypony else? If you can't have compassion for the least of them, then how can you have a heart for any of them?”

Ulf halts, but his resounding growl echoes in the silent hall, “You pathetic, mewling, spawn of a goat.”

Fluttershy looks like she is about to scamper behind the ailing Twilight, but she stands firm and puffs her narrow chest out. “You are a miserable, evil, unkind monster who couldn’t do a nice thing if they forced you!” Fluttershy’s outburst is news to you, but it stops Ulf for a moment.

The Norseman stiffly draws himself up, obviously favouring one side thanks to the wound to his foot and his back, “I would have given them festivals, I would give them great days to follow. I would have given them feasts, rituals, and drink…”

Pinkie hums, “I guess that's a start? Maybe? You know, it's not really all that fun sounding or joyful when somepony is cracking a whip above your ear saying 'Hrrr, yer gerda do what ah' tells ya!” She adopts a weird, deeper accent and pulls a sniveling face with a comic frown. “Anypony can laugh, but it only counts if nopony is forcing you to. Comedy is all about timing and happiness is more than just covering up all the bad things in life. It's about making them better, giving ponies something to look forward to, not just escape from. I’m not going to say you lied, but that’s, well, not exactly true. Is it?”

Ulf grumbles and stretches a hand out, “Never once did I lie. Did your princesses tell you what you were doing here, Angle?” His spittle-flecked words and blood-smeared teeth flash in a vicious snarl. He hefts the sword again as you edge back, trapped with most of the others between himself and the horde.

“Well, ya' ain't doin' what yer’ doin’ with any tact. Sketchin' on walls in fake blood 'n mud ain’t the way to go about it. Yer 'honesty' is lackin' integrity.” Applejack concludes while hopping on top of one of the piles of rubble and crossing over towards Twilight with some caution to keep away from Ulf.

Ulf snarls and rounds on Twilight, causing Applejack to protectively spring between them. “I only ever wanted unity. How could you, of all creatures, not understand that?!” Twilight is the one that can send him over the brink either way.

A few moments of silence passes as Twilight takes several wheezing and ragged breaths. When when speaks, it is hoarse and dry, “Unity can never last if it's in coercion. It's through friendship that it remains possible. It's about all of these things, not just one. You can't push the elements on anypony or anyone, it's up for them to accept. And they might not.”

One of the Carrion Lords steps towards the group and bows low with open arms, “The Day of Destiny dawns. You can feel it, a cold wind blows to carry us forward!” He smiles, showing the ruined fang.

Iblis.

Act 4- Chapter 11: Winds of Change

Winds of Change
Proofread by TehSporkBandit

Iblis was right about one thing at least: from the breeze whirling inside you can smell the frigid air, it has all the staleness and stasis of a freezer. Something pricks at your ears, a low muffled moan of the winds that bring with it a chill that saps the warmth from your blood. The Gremlins aren't immune either; a nearly electric current surges through them like a wave stretching from the window to the door. Excitement and fear are readily apparent on their expectant faces, twisted up in fervent anticipation.

Aside from a few seething breaths, Ulf remains silent. Twilight's presence, as pathetic as it might be, has an effect on the horde; few Gremlins would look up at the Alicorn.

“And shall you now lead us forward, to dispose of the vile queen and ascend to our rightful place as the wardens of these lands. As you promised…” Iblis's phrase writhes with a poison of malignancy, a festering entrapment of entitlement and promise disguised as devotional reverence. “Or are we to abandon our sacred responsibilities to heed and bow down to a clawful of overly-emotional livestock?”

“Livestock?!” Rainbow bursts out as Applejack clamps a hoof over her mouth.

Ulf's voice shakes as he draws a deep breath, “You say the day has come-”

“It has.” Iblis cuts him off.

Applejack and Fluttershy slowly pad towards Twilight, but Rarity, Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash still have to inch back from the salient between Iblis's Gremlins and Ulf. Rainbow whispers from the side of her muzzle, “Get to the barge, on three.”

Ulf stands up straight, dragging the notched sword up in his shaking grasp, “I wasn't aware you were a seer now, Iblis. Be very careful.”

A shock shivers through the masses of Gremlins, all but their leader shuffle back and bow their heads. Iblis holds a hand up with a smile before stepping back into the midst of the horde. A single large Raven settles on his shoulder. “As always, I am careful, Ulf I see another day. I listen to our… Queen, our prophetess. In the evening light, I see a great tower rising in the sky so close to completion. I see the evening star, a last light to guide us ever onward-”

“I don't like the sound of this.” Fluttershy's warning trails off in uncertainty.

“I see a kingdom, a vicious enslaving land that divides itself from others, laid down brick by brick. I hear the postmortal winds howl and wend their ways through the ancient rafters, lifeless and cold. I see the empty cities, and a whole land wreathed in the rebirth of a new day.” Iblis smiles, his tone rising in some grand metre of prophetic providence. But he has diverged from what they'd said before, you remember the Gremlin's speech etched into your mind. Iblis had changed it.

Ulf growls, “Watch what you say, Carrion Lo-”

“Oh? Surely, that wouldn't be a threat of force now would it, O' exalted hero? Not after you just said force wasn't the way to perfect unity. Besides, you've always done your very-very best to uphold your ideals.” Iblis smirks, “Like you did before.”

Ulf's face twitches as he snarls and unsteadily stumps forward.

Iblis holds up a hand to quell the few discomforted murmurs among his kind, “Like you did when you subjugated us!” It doesn't take a mastermind to determine it was best to avoid getting in the middle of this. You and your friends back off towards the barge, clearing a path between Iblis and Ulf.

Iblis's voice rises to a roar, “You struck us down and you slaved us to your will! We groveled to you on bended knee, we had to, didn't we? And now you say fate isn't in your hands to decide?! Which is it, Ulf? Now there's something else not in your hands.” The Gremlin stoops and picks up the severed cord with the Alicorn horn suspended from it. Rarity and Applejack never had time to pick it up. "Now is our Age. Kneel before me, exalted one, see if I'm merci-"

“Juo-daaan!” Ulf's roar sends the masses of Gremlins scurrying off in all directions as he barrels towards them with his sword raised high overhead.

“Don't run away, kill him, kill him!” Iblis calls out as a mindless panic engulfs the Gremlin host. Ulf wades in, sweeping the shimmering sword in a deadly figure-eight arc. The blade spins, cleaving flesh amidst the hideous wails that fills the chamber. The Norseman slices straight through the middle of the host, closing in on Iblis. Some of the Gremlins fling themselves out the broken stained glass windows into the murderous cold while others race out the main doors. Those that stay, whether paralyzed by shock or offering some fitful resistance, are cut down by a gore drenched blade wielded by the juggernaut.

“C'mon, go, hop on!” Rainbow goads everypony towards the half-ruined Gremlin vessel embedded in the wall, its crinkled black frame wafting noxious black vapours. The closer you get to the rubble and gaping hole, the colder it feels. It isn’t just the ragged injury you clutch in a futile effort to stem the blood, something else casts a deathly cold pall over the room.

Iblis stands alone before Ulf, a single rock before a crashing wave. A cascade of sparks form between Iblis's hands before he reaches out towards Ulf. The man sweeps the shield up as the lightning bolt strikes, smashing the wooden shield to kindling with a monumental crack, sending flecks splintering off in all directions. The arcing flash splays out, dragging a craggy black scar across the marble. The room is quickly choked by the stink of scorched hair and burnt ozone.

Ulf stumbles ungainly, blind and dazed, but he lumbers forward sweeping the sword out like a scythe in a field. The Gremlin springs back, surprised by the onslaught as he flexes his claws in a myriad of sparks. With a flick of his other hand, his cloak dissolves in a flurry of black wings that blots him from view and swiftly circles around Ulf like a vortex. In moments, it spills out the door, leaving Ulf to stumble about in a daze, “Where… where are you?! Damn your eyes! I'll rip your guts out for this! Iblis! Nithinger!”

While the Norseman howls and curses the Gremlin leader, you and your friends try to swiftly board the vessel. Twilight struggles towards the pile of crumbled masonry, neatly propped up on either side by Pinkie Pie and Applejack. The whirl of the wind streams through the shattered wall, bringing with it a cutting chill that sucks the moisture from your skin. Plumes of hoarfrost bloom across the floor in wispy patterns. Ulf's ragged breath billows out in frozen clouds as he slowly turns towards the shattered barge. “He took it… he took it because he knows it works.” His mirthless laughter echoes in the confines of the hall.

Pinkie quirks a brow, “…all aboard the crazy train.”

A glimmer of insanity shines in Ulf's eyes, orbs of madness, sigils of desperation. He grips the sword, white knuckled and unsteady as he stumps towards you in a bedraggled shuffle. “So I need another… I need another Alicorn horn.”

Your group recoils as Ulf approaches, sweeping the sword in front of him like a blind man's cane. The deadly blade tip traces across the floor with an eerie scratch as Ulfs arhythmic voice flutters with the deceptive trace of a bubbling laugh on his lips. “I'll tear that horn from your skull-”

“Go, go back to the door!” Applejack hisses back as Rarity, Fluttershy, and Pinkie try to whisk Twilight away.

All across the crumbled frame of the storm barge, fern-like formations of ice blossom and spread. Tongues of frost lap up along the shattered masonry and take hold of the edges of the room, creeping up the sides of the tower as if it were a living being clawing its way to the throne room. It spills inside and spews across the floor towards your feet.

“I'll tear up your hide to put on a new shield. A martyr. Yeeees, that's what we need, a martyr. Come, my lady of Twilight; you'll be greater in death than you ever could have dreamed! Saint Twilight.” The glint of madness sparkles in his eyes as the cold wind blows with a whine that turns into a bestial snarl.

The sound is heard across the room, making hair stand on end and freezing blood in veins. The air current changes; the cold, gusting breath of winter turns even more stale and more frigid. The black vapours of the Storm Barge's prow crackle and cease their streaming as they twist into onyx icicles.

“No, no, that is not good. Everypony, get back!” Fluttershy's surprisingly loud cry brooks no argument.

“Aren't we taking the barge?” Pinkie asks but Rarity quickly catches her by the hoof and pulls her behind as you stumble towards the door.

“I'll cut you all to pieces, get home, and find the five! I'll make Olaf's dream come true, I will have unity if it kills me! You will get me home to continue his work!” He shambles forward, dragging his oozing foot while waving the swords towards you. “Just give up and die!”

The Norse thane raises the sword as you hear a few strangled gasps and cries behind you from your friends. The grey haze of fog that spread across the floor humming with a crystalline crackle suddenly spills across the blood soaked killing edge of the sword. The red turns black as small crimson ferns race along the metal blade, encasing it in solid ice.

The wind shifts perceptibly as an ice fog drifts into the hall from the remnants of the shattered window. A cloud slithers through the air as tendrils writhe and lash out like a Lovecraftian monster. A deep nicker resonates through the hall. Each wisp of cloud that touches your skin feels like the rasp of sand paper. Ulf turns for a moment as the skitter of hooves clatter behind him. Twisting to blindly sweep at the sound, the blade buzzes through the air but does little else.

A dark form manifests in the mist, congealing with a snort of curling vapours. An equine muzzle made of semi translucent ice rears up from the amorphous clouds that filter in through the gouge in the fortress wall. The creature is large, bigger than a draft horse on earth, a mane of prickled spines swept down its bony neck like quills. Its icicle teeth overlap its maw while dull glassy eyes emerge like bulbous beads. When it moves, it skitters; its hindquarters lost in an ethereal mass of serpentine coils.

“Demon.” Ulf growls.

The abomination twists its neck, looking him over with an inscrutable glare.

Ulf pants and flares his nostrils, mopping aside the frost forming in his beard and under his nose, “I'll kill you, too!”

“Windigoes!” Pinkie's shout shatters the discomforting quiet as the world explodes into a chaotic maelstrom. The clatter of hooves reaches your ears as a sudden tug on your sleeve releases you from a moment of shocked entrancement. Rarity's pale blue glow spreads across your arm as she pulls you towards the door.

The vicious nightmare beast lunges at Ulf with an otherworldly scream. There is no rip, no crash, no flail of hooves, just that skittering charge and a burst like water over his left side. The Norse warrior swings his blade, carving through the semi-coalesced spirit. He stumbles forward several more steps, clutching his left arm as the creature reconstitutes itself within seconds, scraping across the floor more like an insect than a horse. As the Norse thane turns, you see his arm; there was no frost coating, no video game-esque encasement, the material is stiff, the metal links of his coat are dull, but his hand and flesh are shriveled and black. His face reflects it, the skin of his neck looking burned and blotchy while his mouth twists into a thin mirthless grin showing grey teeth.

You dart towards the door, hearing a last resounding cry of defiance behind you as the thane is struck from behind by another predatory Windigo. He howls, twisting the blade in the air at the elemental spirits as the door slams shut behind you.

Author's Note

Well, sorry about that unscheduled haitus everyone who may still be reading, managed to pick up a fairly serious ilness and then the net died. Ah well, C'est la vie, eh?

Act 4- Chapter 12: Ice Clad Steps

Ice Clad Steps
Proofread by TehSporkBandit

A shriek follows in the wake of the bone-chilling wind. The unnatural cold encases each hair of the fur rug in ice, earning a noisy crackle with every step. Warning chimes in your mind spur you forward, an instinct of desperation there to put as much distance between yourself and the horrid apparition as possible.

A blackened husk lays crumpled near the left staircase, its fingers twisted and gnarled around an icicle-encrusted dagger. The grating cry of Ravens is swallowed by Applejack’s shout, “Right! Go right!” Your group veers towards the right staircase, away from the macabre remnant of death in its weather ravaged vestments.

The low rattle echoes from the cooling hearth. A gust of wind sweeps out the last guttering embers as that deathly breath of cold rushes down and coalesces before your very eyes. Its thin insectoid legs and semi-translucent body tenses. The Windigo drags itself towards the closest source of food and warmth: you and your friends. It glides across the floor on a carpet of mist, but you know how quickly the predatory spirit can move; you've seen its unnatural scuttling crawl as it wailed like a banshee.

The Windigo’s disquieting visage disappears as your flight takes you down the curling steps and past the broad landing. Something explodes like coal beneath your feet. You wobble for a second before steadying yourself against the rough stone wall. An unfamiliar black carpet spreads down the last flight of stairs and across the hall. Here and there, curved yellow beaks and ice coated talons stand out from the frozen matt. It’s a whole flock of Ravens, flash frozen by the unrelenting beasts that must have pursued the Gremlins from the throne room. The carrion birds lay in contorted heaps, gripped in a thick layer of hoarfrost that shatters at the fiantest touch. A torpid scream erupts from behind you.

“Get going!" Rainbow’s hesitation is palpable as everypony halts.

Fluttershy quakes and shivers uncontrollably at the dismal sight in the hallway despite Rainbow Dash's urging.

“T-there ain't nothin' you can do, Fluttershy.” Applejack tries to coax the aghast Pegasus forward to no avail.

Hearing the sounds of pursuit, Rainbow Dash growls irritably, “Seriously, what's the hold up!?” She’s stuck near the back helping everypony else keep up, but she leaps up and cranes her neck forward to take a look. Her hasty wing flap barely carries her a few inches in the air; the cold robs her of flight and she sinks back down after catching a glimpse at the horrid scene. “Horse apples.”

The rushing hiss of wind brings with it a cutting wind as you turn to see the Windigo at the top of the stairs. The cavernous mouth unhinges, showing row upon row of icicle teeth as its eyes roll back in its head.

“Mo-” you start to cry out but are swiftly cut off by a rush of frozen air.

Rainbow turned when you did and had seen the creature. She swiftly flaps her wings, pushing the icy cloud bank back. The rapid beat coats her wings in ice, first slowing, the beast, then disintigrating it into an amorphous haze. Already, the scrape and clatmber of another Windigo echoes down the corridor.

It takes only a moment to grasp Rainbow by the scruff and pull her forward, “Come on, that won't last long!” The Windigoe’s unearthly roar rings through the hallway. Instead of being tugged along, Rainbow butts you forward, careening into everypony else and forcing them over the charnel carpet.

It’s simply easier to close your eyes rather than watch the figure you tread over burst like ice cubes underfoot. All down the hallway towards that landing, the glass windows cracks as gelid mist cascades down the widening fissures leaving fern-like ice formations in its wake.

“B-be a dear and slow down!” Rarity chokes down a disgusted grumble in her throat. The sound of hooves behind you may be mostly hesitant but at least they follow.

“Hurry your haunches up!” Rainbow goads the flagging ponies behind her.

The film of frozen air drifts down the wall and across the floor, turning it to glare ice. “Watch it, it's slip-”

“Woah!” Rainbow's hooves slip and scrape across the mirror surface. She halts herself at the first step to the other hallway as a thin layer of haze creeps over her right forehoof. The Pegasus hisses and skates backwards, her eyes going wide as she tucks her hoof against herself and darts down the steps to the iron clad doors with the rest of the group.

“Dashie?” Pinkie gallops over as everypony else retreats from the waterfall of mist pouring down the staircase.

“It's not bad.” Rainbow says, plastering her ears back as the bright azure nail peels in jagged layers. Pinkie cringes, clutching it in her hooves and turning it over as you take a look over Pinkie’s shoulder.

“Uh-huh.”

“Just felt like it was burning for a second or two. That's all.” The skin on the underside of her hoof is darkened like old leather.

“Yeah, but you were only in there for a teeny second, like, a micro-second.” Pinkie winces and looks up as Rainbow impatiently taps her good forehoof.

“Look, we'll patch it up later on. We don't have time for this.”

Pinkie quickly takes off her 'pirate' headband and binds it across Rainbow's hoof. “There, for now.” You nod and pat her withers.

Another voice calls from down the landings and beyond the hastily closed doors. A fervent chime rises to a crescendo, “Forward, forward you curs! The Day of Destiny is at hand!” The scent of smoldering incense and scorched ozone churns your stomach.

An earth shattering thunderclap rocks the hall and shakes free sheets of ice from the ceiling.

Raising your arms over your head, a thick plate sized section slams over your back. You hiss and strain, feeling like you've been hit by a baseball bat. You grit your teeth past the painful throb and throw yourself at the wide double doors.

With a resounding crash, you burst into the central chamber. Amid the swirling mass of bodies, dozens of robed Gremlins and their seething swarms of Ravens clustering around a trio of phantasmal Windigoes. Two of the spectral predators scurry across the walls, their spindly legs gaining some demented form of traction across the slick surface. Another settles into the high rafters, twisting its head around the wrong way and hanging like a limpet as its mouth yawns open.

As your group spills into the hall, it attracts very little attention except from two Windigoes already in pursuit. The breath leaves one as a hollow shriek, clapping the marble pillars in ice as the small hanging lights all go out all at once and sprouting icicles from their metal casements. In moments, the wide hallway had been transformed into an icicle-hedged maw of a cave fit only for the otherworldly ice wraiths.

The creature's howl alerts a single cloaked form; Iblis twists and spots you. His mouth twists in a conceited smirk as he conjures feathery blue sparks in his swirling claws. Tossing yourself backwards, you flatten Pinkie, Applejack, and Twilight, shielding them as Rainbow bowls Rarity and Fluttershy flat. The burst of lightning rakes overhead, bouncing off the stony corridor to slam full tilt into the onrushing Windigoes. One explodes into whirling bits of frozen shrapnel while the second's legs splinter apart, turning it to mist.

The three remaining Windigoes wreck havoc in the chaotic room. The candles on the table flicker then die in a single tumultuous gale spewed from the beast in the upper rafters; its deathly breath cuts a swath through the Gremlins, withering limbs and blackening ruddy flesh amidst a cacophony of tortured screams. The other two ice spirits dart among the Gremlins, lashing out with seeking tendrils and embedding frozen shards in their victims.

The other two Carrion Lords direct their efforts at the malicious spirits. Lancing arcs of energy scythe across the roof, pulverizing the plaster frescoes. The hanging Windigo is caught in the mouth, blasting its head apart, leaving just a roving eye and half a muzzle. Iblis snarls and gestures wildly, “Slay the ice horse, kill them! Then butcher the false queen and her Unicorns! Our time has come!”

Despite Iblis's frantic urging, or its grievous wounds, the hanging Windigo doesn't disappear. The mist congeals around its ravaged face as the translucent skin reconstitutes itself. In a scant few moments, there is no indication that half its head had been missing seconds before. Another Windigo is hacked at as huge gouges split from its crystalline frame without a single note of pain. It rears, snapping at the creatures fruitlessly chopping at its icicle quills.

You pull yourself up and look down the stairwell leading to the ground floor. “We'll have to go right through the middle of them!”

Twilight mumbles something that Pinkie quickly translates, “She says we have to go get the other Unicorns first.” Pinkie lifts herself up and points at the unguarded door to the right. Still supporting Twilight between them, Pinkie and Applejack furtively shuttle the weakened Alicorn to the room, skirting the edge of the swirling melee encompassing dozens of shrieking Gremlins, darting Ravens, and writhing Windigoes.

One of the remaining Carrion Lords lifts his arms up, the stone blade of his knife held like a sacrificial dagger. “Stand up, take heart, for the day of Destiny has-” The pair of Windigoes formerly pursuing your group stream in from the hall and focuses on their next victim. They lungie into the mass like a tidal wave and wash over him. In a trice, all that's left is a wretched husk, arms spread out like some twisted angel.

“Oh my goodness, oh my goodness. Follow me, please, I don't want to see you get hurt. Any of you!” Fluttershy calls out to the wheeling mass of black birds desperately avoiding the deathly bellows from the Windigoes. Some of them draw off from the frenzied mob, no great mass exodus, but enough as they plunge through the open doorway at the side of the room, Fluttershy at their head.

Iblis's gaze burns like coals as he grinds his sharpened teeth, then quickly ducks into the imperceptible mass of similar bodies. “Death to the thieves, reclaim the Queen!” His voice rings around the room as all eyes turn on the escaping ponies.

With a frothing howl, the mass of Gremlins launch themselves at you, swinging gnobbled clubs and flint-edged axes over their heads. You have no weapon, your arm isn't working well, yet there has to be something. A flat gleam catches your eye; a discarded lid to a serving tray glistens from amid the ruins of the table.

“Get Twilight in there, I'll be right behind you!” Your feet barely move, the shuffle is quick but it almost feels like you're gliding as a ringing buzz fills your ears. You stoop down, picking up the metal serving lid and bringing it up to your body just as the first fervent imp flings itself forward.

“The Day of Destiny has arri-”

'Bong!'

It careens into the serving lid with the sound like a gong before toppling over, stunned. You grip the metal lid, feeling the vibrations shiver down your arm. The zealots pour in, flailing their primitive weapons as something familiar forms in your mind:

It was one of a barbarian horde streaming up a staircase into a narrow breach with just two armoured warriors holding them at the ship's forecastle. The mass of bodies hampered the attackers, turning strength to weakness as they were picked off in quick succession.

“C'mon!” Rainbow howls as you keep the makeshift shield flared out, held away from your body as the creatures direct all their rage at that simple piece of metal like a bull attacking a matador's red cape. Slowly, surely, you edge back towards the door, avoiding the wrathful swings held by a blood crazed mob bereft of sense or reason.

A clawed hand finds the bottom of the makeshift shield only for a blue flash to windmill into it, pulping it to the stone floor. Rainbow follows up the thrash by stepping on its stomach, knocking the breath from it in a wheezing huff, “Hey, he might be an idiot, but if anypony's going to brain him, it'll be me. Back off, snipe-snouts!” The Pegasus quickly fans her wings out protectively.

“Thanks.” You edge back, protecting the group as Fluttershy keeps the door open for the Alicorn and her two assistants.

A Gremlin rushes at Rainbow with an irate screech. She merely lunges forward, headbutting it and sending it on its rump where a quick follow up punch drops it to the floor in a groaning heap. “Don't thank me until we're out of here. But when we are out, I'll expect it in hayfries and housecleaning work for how awesome I am saving your sorry butt!”

“I'll worship your damned hooves and the clouds you walk on if you get us out of here!” You lash out as the edge of the impromptu shield shatters a Gremlin’s flint dagger.

“Yeah, scratch that 'hoof' thing, but that's the spirit.”

The Gremlin's remaining leader stretches a hand towards you, spilling out what looks like a spider web from its palm. Sweeping up your shield, its oozing squelch spatters on the other side.

“Drop the lid!”

You just stare at the silver shield as blackened blots spread across the metal like it’s melting. Letting go of the handle, it drops to the ground, turning to a mass of sticky tar. “H-how did-”

A chair, encased in a blue haze, sails past and flattens another knot of Gremlins. Rarity calls out from a few steps behind you, “I'd hate to think I'm stifling your bravado, but would you two so kindly mind not going looking for trouble when a lady's trying to escape?”

The Windigoes lunge in among the masses once more, taking advantage of the stalled advance. They sweep through the ruddy imps like reapers, and slowly the mass of Gremlins ebb. The once fenzied horde trundles back, claw-over-claw, retreating towards the staircase despite the showl of rage and myriad of curses spat from their irate leader. The Carrion Lord froths as he's swept up by press of bodies surging to safety, “No! Stand fast, the Day of Destiny dawns! Will you shirk your responsibilities now?! Will you-” he suddenly looks up, coming face to face with the Windigo staring down from the ceiling.

The glassy stare reflects in the Gremlin's eyes as his mouth opens to shriek, though he gets no farther than that. His agonizing shrieks of pain and fright are swiftly silenced amidst a victorious bellow from the otherworldly predator. The horrid spectacle is the last straw. The Gremlins break and flee pell-mell down the steps, leaving behind a motley array of primitive weapons amid dozens of black husks strewn across the floor.

Two of the haunting spirits bursts into clouds and billow down the stairs, pursuing the Gremlins as the last looks straight at you.

“Hurry!” Fluttershy's gasping cry echoes out as the Windigo scuttles forward with a scream. You and Dash both throw yourselves through the open door as the nipping frost of the Windigoes snaps at your heels. Fluttershy slams the door shut and flings the oaken bar down, sealing the nightmarish monster out for the time being.

Your chest heaves you look around the elaborate prison room hub. There are no windows and next to no light; there no way out. The rotunda would become your tomb.

Weren't there lights here just a few minutes ago?

Act 4- Chapter 14: The Last Question

The Last Question
Proofread by TehSporkBandit

”Alright, y’all, let’s get this thing open. One, two, three, hup!” The door disintegrates in a flurry of ice dust that sparkles like diamonds in the bright morning sunlight. Every frost-kissed surface glimmers with the radiant beams of a fresh new day as light pours through the shattered window at the end of the hall. A cool wind billows through the empty mountain stronghold, whisking away any semblance of death and disease.

The night of terrors had passed, the walls that felt as if they closed in on you by the darkness of night had been held at bay. You sat between friends, curled up in a swath of impromptu blankets around a cozy fire as the windigoes raged and wailed just outside that rickety door. One by one, the ponies had drifted off to sleep like stars fading in the night sky.

The heralded dawn is bright and clear, a new day springs forth to melt away whatever horrors stalk the lonely palace.

“Darling, button up or you’ll catch a chill.” The brisk breeze brushes your neck as the scintillating hum of magic purrs in your ear, a scarf made of an tapestry hem cozeies against your skin and neatly tucks itself away. Rarity slips beside you, “Ah-ah, hold still.” The red and yellow tassels dangling from the ends of the scarf are jostled to and fro until the Unicorn finagles them into something she’s satisfied with. “There, et tut Finis, proper and dandy, if I do say so myself.”

Applejack trundles back out from the shadow cloaked room and peers out into the sunlit hall. Rainbow darts behind her, hoof on Applejack’s back and head thrust out just a little farther into the corridor as both peer left, then right, then left again as if synchronized. “Shucks, ain’t seen that one before. Hey, all ya’ll better take a look at this.” Applejack’s voice crackles as a flicker of a smile hovers around her muzzle before breaking free. The relief shines across her face as she closes her eyes and lets her shoulders slump before taking a deep cleansing breath.

You flash Rarity a thankful grin and give her a quick hug. She peeps in surprise before you dart off towards the door. The slick floors nearly slide your feet out from under you, but you grasp the door and steady yourself.

There's nothing to harm her; the hallway is scoured clean by the sun’s rays. There is no bodies, no scars, and no blood bath to be seen, just the tiny ice diamonds that cling to every surface. The glorious golden morning glows warm and bright, sweeping away even the darkest vestiges of the night that shrouded Equestria for so long.

The fresh breath of a new day is crisp and sweet. “I guess it is the dawn of a new day after all." you say, then drink in the fresh alpine air.

“It’s always a new day. Good or bad, you just gotta suck it up and make the best of it, eh, champ?” Rainbow bumps your shoulder and grins. You wince and hiss as you rub the already painful spot, making Rainbow fix you with an amused smirk, her smarmy expression easily readable as she rolls her eyes, ‘what did I just say?’

“New day, new day! Haaaah! This is why I love getting up each and every morning. New day, winter day, fun day, fun day!” Pinkie blows past the pair of mares blocking the door in a hurtling cartwheel, scattering them like ninepins as she slips and slides happily on the ice-slicked floor.

“Steady on, Pinkie.” Rarity huffs and rasps in a stage whisper, “We still don’t know if it’s safe out there. There might still be some of those ghastly horrors roaming the halls, waiting for us to come out. We should wait until everypony is ready before going anywhere.”

“Hmm,” Rainbow chuckles, “what do you say, scouting party?”

“You read my mind!” Pinkie beams as she glides down the hall with a swooshing motion like she were on skates. “Scouting party is a go!”

Applejack just looks up at Rainbow and smirks, “Ah’ll go help them ponies back up on their hooves.” She gestures back at the cluster of Unicorns who are slowly starting to stir amid a myriad of confounded blinks and wary glances cast towards the entranceway. Fluttershy is helping one up and giving a few reassuring pats as she flits from pony to pony to keep them placated. Applejack softens her voice to a whisper, “They'll be ready ta’ go by the time yer back. Don’t worry, Fluttershy’ll have ‘em right as rain, lickety-split.”

“I…Uh, I think I’ll stay back and make sure that… um, that Twilight doesn’t need anything, of course. Yes.” Rarity nervously licks her lips and backs away from the door towards the purple Alicorn laying in a cozy-looking ball beneath a few blankets among the Unicorns.

“C’mon, we better get going before somepony gets worried about you staring. See, a few of them are shaking in their horseshoes because of you. C'mon, lets go."” Rainbow pokes your ribs with a smirk and slips out into the hall.

“Nah, I think they’re just happy to be out. And who wouldn’t? I mean, stuck in a room for weeks at a time. It’s like being grounded for a super-duper long weekend. Besides, I think they might be shaking from the cold, or maybe that’s because there’s no bathroom nearby. Hmm, anyway, I don’t think they’re scared of him.” Pinkie blithely comes to your aid as Rainbow rolls her eyes.

It’s enough to suppress a chortle as you step outside into the ice crystal coated hallway with Pinkie and Rainbow. The latter of which has a scarf and vest, but her wings are unwrapped and she seems to relish finally being airborne again. Sucking in a deep breath, she lets it out with a happy sigh as Pinkie hop-slides over the icy floor.

Something is starting to dawn on you while carefully picking your way through the rotunda. Something rises to the forefront of your thoughts; you were currently standing on the same spot that Iblis did when confronting the Windigo. All that is left is an unsightly pile of black ice broken up like lumps of coal encrusted in purest white.

Crouching down, you inspect the black chips and spot an irregular shape: smooth and long with a twisting spiral down to its splintered tip. It’s the Alicorn horn, the Icon. Dust and crumbled remains are all that is left of the vile would-be tyrant. For all his guile, his experience, his practiced deception, there is nothing left of him apart from those few innocuous and nearly unrecognizable fragments. You gingerly pick up the ivory spire, a single recognizable heirloom and the source of everything here. With a gasping breath, you secretly slip the ashen horn in your pocket.

“Hey, you okay?” Rainbow’s voice echoes from the corridor.

“Yeah, sorry, just thinking is all.” You hurry to catch up with the other two. “How are we going to get out of here?”

“How do you feel about hiking up a mountain rim trying to avoid avalanches, canyons, rock slides, and sheer drops? Because if you’re okay with that then AJ’s path will be totally great.” Pinkie answers with nary a sign of sarcasm.

“With all those shaken up Unicorns?” Rainbow quirks a brow adding, “I’ve got something waaaaay better.”

Pinkie hums as you enter the main hall, “Is it a good idea?” Dash’s indignant huff and strained glare of irritation bounces off Pinkie’s unflappable exterior as she smiles, still waiting for an answer.

The silence only lasts a few heartbeats as you enter the room where the swirling melee had occurred the night before. There is no great heap of corpses, no blood-streaked stains, no contorted expressions from pale bloodless faces, it’s a hall scoured clean by the ravages of winter. Every step churns up a bit of black, but it could have been discarded pebbles from the side of an asphalt road if you didn't know better.

“You’ll see.” Rainbow Dash trails off ahead, up the staircase and back towards the throne room. You and Pinkie tramp after her through the sunlight spilling in from the shattered windows. Outside is a clearer picture of the snow fields and empty flats across the mountain caldera, a wide plain reaches to the rocky slops which stretch off in every direction. It passes out of sight, and you are brought to the relative darkness of the landings and hearth room. The door to the throne room had been cracked open, letting in the the howl of wind through the ragged gap in the walls.

“What are we gonna' see, when are we gonna’ see it? C’mon Dashie, we’re waaaaiting!” Pinkie’s excitable chatter bursts into the throne room as Rainbow noses the door open enough for the squeaky protestations of frozen hinges to break the stream of questions.

Rainbow Dash shoulders the weakened barrier aside and smirks as she pants, “Ta-dah! Told you I had the perfect plan.” The ruined hall is in the same condition as everything else, but there is one obvious addition through the large bank of windows: the crumbling pillars still show the grey cloudy wisps and angular metal body of the cloud barge that had carved through the castle wall.

“Huh, I guess that works.” You blink and wonder just how stable a half-cloud and half-metal skeleton nearly crumpled to scrap metal would be. The pile of rubble acts as a half decent gangplank as Rainbow is the first to skip over to it and land on an inky cloud.

“Just stay on the plank and on the runners. Don’t worry, I’ll get us through.” Rainbow pats the side of the ungainly flying machine.

“It’s true, she was a captain before. Yarr, it be captain Dash, Arr.” Pinkie growls like a pirate before sidling up to you and stage whispering, “The ‘Arr’ stands for Rainbow.”

“Yeah, I gathered.” Giving her mane a pat gets that bright ever-present grin to spread across Applejack's face before she bounds up the plank and onto the airborne barge.

Pinkie pops her head back over the precipice and waves you up the rubble heap, “C’mon, let’s give it a test drive, uh, test fly! Lets go!” It's she won't take 'no' for an answer.

The metal oozes beneath your feet as Rainbow chimes in, “Yeah, just stay near the front end, the back’s all clouds, so falling through sounds like it’s a bad idea.” Emerging into the sunlight, Rainbow quickly sets out here and there, lightly nudging or punching the cloudy bulwarks, turning the deep grey barriers to fluffy white bastions as she manipulates the vessel to what she wanted. “See, told you Storm Gremlins are just amateurs playing the weather game.”

“So what’s this cutie’s name?” Pinkie affectionately strokes the bow of the ship, “It’ll be super sad if we just call it That Thing or the Whatchamacallit or Junky McMast.”

Rainbow Dash snorts, “Yeah, well, why not the Rainboom?”

Pinkie wiggles her nose, “Why do I get the feeling we’ve already used that?”

You venture a single thought, “Well, that’s not a bad one, but you did just take all the darkness out of the thing so it doesn’t sound as threatening. What about Captain Rainbow Dash’s Illustrious Skywalker?”

Rainbow Dash merely shrugs nonchalantly, but the gleam in her eyes betrays her. “Yeah, sure, that can work good, I guess.”

“See, now you’ve got a name. Ah, I’m so-soooo happy for you!” Pinkie pats the railing before her head sharply rears up, “Wait! Don’t they have a celebration for naming a ship?”

Rainbow blinks and looks to you, “Actually, yeah, I think they do. But I don’t think now is the time.”

“Time?” Pinkie blinks, “We make time! And cake, confetti, banners, balloons… sure, we don't have those, but ice cream is another story. We can probably make a bajillion buckets of that."

“There's more to ice cream than ice, Pinkie.”

“Just think of it as lactose-free all natural ice cream with no flavours or preservatives added. You got to think healthy with that much ice cream.” Pinkie quickly pads off to the bow as Rainbow Dash pointedly ignores her in favour of coaxing the vessel to life.

The floating ship pulls free from the ruined chamber, raining broken masonry down onto the snowy slopes at the foot of the fortress. The Gremlin airship slowly yaws wide and lazily drifts out over the open world. Rainbow Dash stands behind you on a raised walkway with a tiller in her hooves as the ship slowly circles the great stone walls of the citadel; its imposing granite peaks and flush surfaces are a marvel to behold among the many arches and windows decorating its upper floors. There are valleys and plains, even what looks like a lake below with that single little town. The great 'carrion city' of New Trondheim looks like nothing more than a long abandoned village with snow drifts piling up in the streets and an empty row of storm barges laying anchored at their docks on the cliff ledge overlooking the town. It’s all so simple, so pristine. the vessel hoves closer to the sheer rock face of the castle and drifts to a halt.

“Well then,” you start off as the barge glides back to the large window bank where everypony could be loaded onboard, “I suppose that we should head back to Vanhoover and drop everypony off. You and me, Rainbow, we’ll just… try not to be seen.”

From her position of captain, Rainbow Dash cackles a defiant laugh to the north wind, never any more confident than when she was flying. “I’ll give the orders around here! But yeah, lets pick ‘em up and head to Vanhoover, then Canterlot. Pinkie Pie-”

The burst of pink that flares past you stops mid-gallop towards the aft section of the sky barge, “Aye-aye, first-mate Pinkie the Pie-rat ready for orders, Arrrr-D.” She tosses up a quick salute.

The Pegasus points her hoof dramatically at the bow, “Make ready for boarders and batten down the hatches.”

You can already see the little parade of ponies take their first nervous steps into the hallway. The great dark barges which had abducted so many now stand as their ticket to freedom. You expected them to balk at the sight of it, to cower, to flee.

Most of the ponies look mildly afraid of you, each staying back and no one volunteering despite a few words of assurance from their helpful watchers. Twilight occupies the exact middle of the group, a blanket tossed over her back as she wobbles unsteadily at every step. Despite the dark rings under her eyes and the plodding, methodical motions, a smile slowly stretches across her muzzle. Rarity presses against her side to keep the princess stable as she approaches. Twilight takes a half breath to avoid yawning and looks to the other five ponies, “Don’t worry, he’s really okay. Trust me.” The mass of ponies respond with a few reluctant nods.

While they pause, a familiar voice calls out, “Come now, we wouldn’t want to linger. Lets get you all set up and we’ll be home before you know it.” Fluttershy emerges from the low entranceway, looking back at the stalled column of ponies and offering a hoof to them. The gentle voice coaxes the first Unicorn forward. A wide-eyed, blue-coated colt unsteadily inches towards the vessel.

You smile, holding out a hand to say, “Welcome, sir, aboard the maiden flight of Captain Rainbow Dash’s vessel, the Illustrious Skywalker. If I may.” You wink and try to reassure the colt. His golden eyes widen and a small gaze of awe appears on his face. Gently grasping his hoof, you and Pinkie haul him aboard the ramshackle bow of the damaged ship.

“Alright, everypony,” Applejack calls out, “all ya’ll heard the mare, lets git movin’.” Applejack trundles forward, taking Fluttershy’s place as the weaker Pegasi drifts back to help any flagging individuals.

It takes about ten minutes, but one Unicorn after another is brought aboard and situated where it is safe. Thanks to the help, everything goes smoothly. Twilight, Rarity, and Applejack are the last aboard..

“Your Grace.” You smile at the gaunt figure; Twilight still has that spark in her despite her hollow cheeks and glassy gaze. You pull her up and gently resettle the blanket over her. In time, she would be well again.

“Ahem, must a lady beg for a little bit of help?” Rarity asks once Twilight is being led away by Fluttershy and Pinkie. You nod and return to the side of the vessel, bracing a foot on the low railless bow.

Reaching out a hand, you draw them under her forehooves and pull her up while Applejack gives a grunt of discomfort. “Sorry, dear, I swear I’m not doing that on purpose.” Looking over, the Unicorn’s hind hooves are placed on the farm mare’s back though a misstep had flattened the top of Applejack's hat over her brow.

“Got it. One, two, three, push!” Between Applejack and yourself, you manage to pull Rarity onboard; though the last ungainly pull sends her sprawling on the deck in a jumbled heap.

Whatever dignity Rarity had lost, she hurriedly regains; the Unicorn smooths her coat out and rises to her hooves with a petite cough. “You’re both tremendous, I seriously can’t thank you enough for your help and timely intervention.”

Applejack hurriedly travels back to check the room again. “Need a hand, AJ?”

She stays silent for a few moments, letting the wind billow through her mane as it sweeps further into the vacant hollows of the ruined keep.

“AJ? Something wrong?”

She breathes a sigh and lets her shoulders slump before turning to look over her shoulder. “Nope, everything’s good. Everything’s finally alright.” Darting back the last few paces, she vaults up and onto the deck as the last instructions filter down from Rainbow and her ‘first mate’ Pinkie Pie-rat.

“Alright, ya landlubbers, ya heard him! We be takin’ you out of here. Aaaall aboard who’s coming aboard. Next stop: Vanhoover. Get your tickets ready at the door and air sickness bags are located nowhere, so we’ll try to keep this thing niiice and level.” Pinkie ties one of her scarves into a headband, jauntily keeping it stretched over one eye as she squints the other.

Pinkie Pie, never change.

It is done; you’re finally left to rest against the bow, letting the worry and pain relinquish their hold on your tired body. A sharp and uncomfortable object prods into your side. The twisted length of Alicorn horn peeks from your ragged pants pocket.

Almost done.

☘

The bright sunny day had been a boon for you and your companions; punching through the cloud cover which had endured for weeks and bathing the world in vivid colour once again. The bow of the Illustrious Skywalker bobs up and down on the wind like a vessel on the swells of the open ocean. The cold snap was broken, its frigid memories ebbing like the tide. You drift above the clouds, looking over the faint islands showing the soft whites and greens of Equestria in the winter. Sunkissed mountain peaks slip beneath you on the airy main like reefs under a glass bottomed boat.

Yet, as the sun sinks in the west, you look over the incandescent brilliance and lower your head to the barge's gunwales. Something else occupies your mind as you toy with the twisted length of ivory you'd picked up in the fortress that morning. It is such a simple thing, a broken horn with a shattered tip, nothing more than a misshapen relic now.

“Something the matter?” Twilight's tired voice carries just above the gentle whisper of the air currents. You quickly tuck the macabre token away.

The last rays of sunlight stream across the white clouds, turning it into a field of gold as far as the eye can see. While the crumpled bow of a ship was hardly a fitting location for a dignified conversation with royalty, it seems somehow okay. With the world laid bare and pretensions brushed away, it felt like a fitting court for honest feelings.

“Not really. I'm just thinking: I'm done here, right? So that means I suppose I'll be leaving soon.” Those words leave a bitter taste in your mouth as you say them, but it’s only voicing that last pertinent question.

“Ah, a case of melancholy. You know, despite this all being a mistake, I'm glad you came here. Whatever you might think, we’ll miss you if you leave.”

You look over at the princess, seeing the resolute mare stare out over glittering expanse. She closes her eyes and breathes deeply, savoring every moment of being awake and alive. You could see it in her smile, in her poise, in that nearly tangible aura around her that you sorely lack.

It takes a moment or two before you reply, “Melancholic? Maybe a little. If I leave? Staying is an option?”

Twilight sighs, lowering her voice noticeable, “Maybe. If it doesn’t cause some wild imbalance. I have heard a lot of theories regarding what could potentially happen between transdimensional spaces with these issues. If there's another corresponding pony here that is like you-””

“There’s not. Iblis said he killed a pony like that, hoping it would get rid of me.”

Twilight remains quiet for a few moments, “Then it might be possible in a way. I'm sorry, I didn't know he... that he would...please, don't blame yourself for what happened to him. Okay?”

The thought draws to the forefront of your mind, “Well… I didn’t up until you said it, but I guess if it wasn’t me it would be somepony else.”

“Iblis was evil, right to the core but I hoped that Ulf might see reason. I suppose he never did, did he? He wanted power and everything else, he wanted to be in charge and that was what it was all about.”

You hold that silence as Twilight looks back, silently letting you speak your mind. “Ulf was right about a number of things, though. What if I am just like him?”

“You're not.” She insists without pause.

“When we were captured, AJ asked me what the plan was when it came to getting all the other Unicorns out, I said I didn’t care if any of them got away, so long as you and Rarity did.”

There was a moment of silence, but it was broken by a quiet question, “And?”

“And what? I mean, I smacked her hoof away when she said I wasn’t thinking, and I… well, I’m not sure I didn’t mean it either.” You lean heavily on the bow. Part of you wondering if this would be the perfect opportunity for Twilight to tell you to leave, thus, solving that lingering question.

“But you didn’t abandon all those ponies. You stood up for them in the end, you stuck by our friends even when you knew the danger. Reluctance might have been in your head, but you stayed true to your heart and did what you knew was right.”

“That may be true, but I’m not sure AJ or anypony else is going to just forget I said it. It’ll probably be in the back of her mind even if I did say I didn’t mean it.”

Twilight looks over for a moment, “If you’re that worried you’ve hurt Applejack’s image of you, then why don’t you go and ask her about it? It's one thing to say you're sorry, it's another to ask for forgiveness and work towards making it right. But, I’m sure Applejack would be willing to forgive you for wanting to protect Rarity and myself. You would probably say the same thing if it was her instead of us, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah. I guess Applejack would tell me if she didn’t trust what I said. Still, what about all the other things? You heard Ulf. Well, unless you weren't quite in your right mi-”

“I heard him perfectly fine. He said a few things that most ponies have problems with. It doesn't make you a terrible person, all it does is tell you that you have room for improvement. All ponies do.” She stops for a few moments, the quietness bringing with it the muted conversation of your other friends at the other end of the vessel. Yet Twilight remains ever confident, looking sunward and basking in that salubrious glow.

“Then what was wrong with Ulf? How do you know this won't do the same thing to me?” You reach in your pocket and pull out the broken Alicorn horn. “I kept it, too, doesn’t that mean something?”

Twilight balks at it for a moment, lifting a forehoof but remaining seated as she wrinkles her nose. In a few moments she shakes her head with a sigh, “Perhaps it does have the power to do exactly what Ulf said. Maybe it'll bring you all the wealth in the world. Celestia and Luna could reward you with treasure, but I'm sure it pales in comparison with what could be bought back in your home where magic is so exceedingly rare. After all, gold and jewels aren’t the real treasures of Equestria. So, if wealth is what you think is the best reward, you could always take that and leave. You would probably be a king back home if you did. I won't stop you.”

You think about it a moment and stare at the simple remnant of an antique horn. Men would kill for it and worship it. Real magic, tangible magic could certainly be sold back home. Men would revere it as a creator of power, for glory, for their own means and benefit, even if it was nothing more than a macabre token. Yet the inert spiral of ivory exuded nothing. It was the source of a dream, a will for something selfish in the memory of one entirely selfless. From the shores of Scandinavia to the heart of Equestria, the Icon of Theophilus would be remembered as nothing but the legacy of a madman and his infernal minions.

Better that it never existed at all.

But it did exist: whether it was to plant the seeds of illumination revealing the elements of harmony, or as a twisted mockery of those very values, mattered little. It was the last physical remnants of an ancient Equestrian paragon of exceeding virtue, melded into the symbol of something else.

And it belonged back in Equestria.

With a single flex of your hand, the horn shatters into dust. Opening your palm, the errant wisps of the evening breeze whisks it away in a cloud. It hangs on the air for a few moments, the hum of magic thrumming as it shimmers like diamonds, before the playful breath of the mountain winds carries the sparkling motes away. All that's left is the dimming rays of gold, and the first crepuscular finger of night as dusk settles over Equestria.

“That’s proof.” Twilight sidles up closer to you, leaning heavily on your side as you both stare at the myriad of fiery hues painted in the clouds. “It’s not for me, it’s for yourself. Nopony is perfect, you can’t expect them to be. You’ll find that out, too. It’s a start.”

“Just a start?”

“A new start, on a new journey”

You look over at the tired Alicorn and gently place an arm around her shoulders. As the sun slips below the horizon, the world eases into night's comforting embrace.

Several minutes pass by as you drink in the last few moments of precious daylight before the beautiful night descends on the land. Twilight's sarine breath is just as peaceful as the world that drifts by unhindered as she slips into the realm of dreams.

You sigh, looking out at the last brilliant fingers of light that creep across the horizon in all its glory. Twilight was right: the greatest treasures rest in gold or jewels, nor the power to control or coerce. The greatest treasures lies in the closeness of your friends, in the memories you create, and the difference you make helping others.

What would you need with vast stores of gold and jewels if you lost the boundless riches that money wouldn't buy? As day fades into night and the moon’s silvery crescent rises from the distant hills, a sense of relief and sureness settles over you.

Your question had been answered.

Epilogue

Epilogue
Proofread by TehSporkBandit

The western winds whisk over the far western hills, sweeping up the curls of snow into frothy peaks and building up grand drifts that cover the fences around the orchard. Those trees look like clouds now, laden branches bending under the impressive weight as a few last sparkles dance in the setting sun. The golden rays touch every surface as the last moments of the day draw to a close. It’s picturesque, staring down into the shallow valleys and listening to the crackle of the hearth downstairs. The rocking chair creaks and groans as the excitable din of hooves hurtling up the stairs is met with a reproachful yowl to curb the youthful enthusiasm. All feels right with the world as you stare out the window.

A honey-coated mare in a wide brimmed hat and candy-striped scarf winds her way down the country road. The buckle on her saddlebags glimmers in the sunlight as she gets closer, like a star in the daytime, alerting you to her return. Applejack had been a speck on the horizon for a few minutes, but now you make out a slight hesitation at every hoofstep as she nears the farmhouse. It was about time to haul yourself up and help a friend.

You gather the hem of your robe and rub the life back into your legs before lumbering towards the door. Winter was supposed to be a time when everything slowed down, minus Apple Bloom and the Crusaders of course, but there always seemed to be something to do on a farm. Stepping out into the hall and down the flight of stairs, it was more by habit than anything else that you greeted Granny Smith as she lounges in her rocking chair, and head to the kitchen.

A kettle was left on the stove, still piping hot if the heat from the stove and the scent of fresh rolls were any indication. You place a turnover in a frying pan with a tab of butter, then finish making up the drink: a good tablespoon of molasses and a smidge of cream is all it needs. With that done, there's little left to do but wait for the mare.

“Evenin', y'all." The door quickly opens for a moment before being shut almost as swiftly. The country mare shivers and unwinds the scarf from around her neck.

“I'd ask if you're cold but winter is just like that, right?”

Applejack sighs, “Pretty much."

“Here."

Prompted with the hot drink, she smiles thankfully, shoulders drooping in relief. “Thanks, ya' ain't got any idea how cold it is unless yer out in it." She grasps the oversized handle and makes her way towards the kitchen. “Apple tart sure smells good."

“I was working outside with Big Mac earlier, so I know. I think he’s taking a bath, he stayed out for a while after I came in. Oh that?" You gesture towards the kitchen, still following her inside. "Actually, it’s just a turnover."

“Yer fryin’ already baked goods now, huh?" Applejack lofts a brow. “Oh!" Almost as an afterthought, she draws out a letter from her pack. “Ah nearly forgot."

The paper is neatly rolled with a faint purple and bleached white watermark on its outside. It was once sealed by a bright red seal emblazon with the Canterlot royal signet, but that was broken in half. “Let me guess, something big and scary and official that Twilight gave you to give me?”

“Heh,” she smirks and nods, “yeah. Princess Luna could have just sent it by the mailmare otherwise, right?”

“Well, you do have a point." The letter didn't have any folds or wrinkles, but it had been opened:

To Our faithful subject, Twilight Sparkle and her ward,

While the ordeals of this past winter have left Us most depleted, We believe that the conditions can be met to return your ward to his homeland. Though it could take some additional effort, and no small amount of preparation, We can return him within the week. Any and all recompense shall be bestowed-

You don't bother finishing the letter. There was nothing in it that you didn't know: the time had come, and you had a decision to make.

“So, Princess Luna said she can get you back home now, right?" Applejack quirks a brow and waits, sipping her Blackstrap Special noisily but patiently.

“Twilight already told you?”

She shakes her head, “Not exactly, but it wasn't hard to tell. She was a might bit bothered by it."

You simply fold the letter and nip the inside of your lip, “She was, was she? Well-” you unceremoniously fold the parchment again and rip it lengthwise before opening the stove and tossing it in the ember bed. The letter swiftly bursts into flames and turns to ash, all before the wide-eyed mare. “There’s no reason for her to be."

“That wasn't particularly diplomatic of ya."

It coaxes a smile to your lips, “It is when that won't be necessary. Back home, people might be starting to come to terms with all this. I could probably go back and try to explain this, but I doubt anyone would beleive me. And I might very well regret not making the best of the situation. I'd rather stay. If the Princesses will allow it, that is."

Your golden-maned friend seemed flummoxed, bewildered, and yet a smile creases her muzzle. “Ya' don't say... Well, I sure wouldn't mind. It ain't easy comin' ta' terms with losin' a good friend. But are ya' sure? Ah mean, Twilight might be able ta' find a way back for you ta' visit every now and then."

You mull it over quickly and shake your head. “I think I'd like to stay here."

Several seconds pass before Applejack musters up a response. Placing the mug down on the countertop, she smiles and crosses over to grasp your hand. “Well then, ah guess ah'll be the first ta' welcome ya' to Equestria right and proper like!”

The heartfelt welcome and continuous shaking of your hand finally wanes. You laugh and take a breath, “Assuming that the royal sisters don't have a sudden change of heart-” Applejack's sharp snort says that isn't likely, “then I suppose that's exactly what this means. Though, I still don't think I'll take a trip out to Vanhoover any time soon."

"You don't have ta' be as smart as Twilight ta’ know that’s a good idea." Applejack nods. A wry smirk sneaks across her muzzle, "But, ah reckon' it wouldn’t harm nopony ta’ remind Rainbow.”

"Probably. Still, now that everything can calm down… AJ, there's something I'd sort of like to ask you."

The hoofshake dies quite suddenly after that. Those bright emerald eyes blink once in confusion, before it dawns on her. Applejack smiles, “Go for it."

☘

The ragged old church still thrummed with the sound of worshipers and pilgrims in its nave. The tightly packed hall was getting more and more crowded by the day as bright linens from Constantinople melded with the rougher homespun of the thronging masses from across Europe. Off in an alcove, set among a rough slab adorned with etchings of gold and all but obscured by a layer of hard wax from a hundred candle stubs, lay a simple cross-like pattern carved in the floor.

Two pilgrims stand by it, separate from the crowd as the first rays of light stream through the cracks in the church's roof. A blond haired man, cloaked in humble sackcloth and linen, hums and touches a finger from his forehead before offering a sign of reverence to the shrine. “There's more pilgrims every day, the locals aren't happy about it."

The thus silent figure, far shorter than the pale giant, nodded sagaciously. “Worldly needs obscure otherworldly ideals here. It is as it always has been."

“War is coming, isn't it?”

The hunched figure ponders for a few long moments. The choir continues, but a call to prayer is heard in the distance, spoken in a far-different tongued then that which is uttered in the cramped cathedral. “Almost certainly."

“Even here, to the Holy Sepulcher itself. Hmmph, some City of Peace this is." The man sighed and rubbed his eyes in exasperation. He was older now, each line on his face told a different tale and his eyes no longer shone with the fires of violence like they had long ago.

“What is built of stone will last for a time, what is built from an idea can last for an eternity, Olaf. We just have to work towards it. Do you regret not reclaiming your crown?" The figure tossed his head back, a sharp horn protruding from his equine face. Clover turned to look at the Northman as if his sightless eyes could truly see every single twisting expression on the man's face.

“Yes, and no. I regret what I could have done, not what I did, Clover. If they truly need me, then I will be there for them." He settled back a step, bowing to pay homage to the holy site.

The sudden clamour and calls of a commotion erupted through the hall again. It seemed to come as no shock to neither Man nor Unicorn. “Come,” Clover smiled, “I think we've lingered long enough. I'll tell you a story about a land of Peace and Plenty, but for now, there is someone that I would like you to meet. She's an old friend of mine that lives east of here. I have a feeling you will like her."

Prologue

Author's Note

Warning :

This chapter contains an atypical style.

This is about as graphic as this story will get. If you want, you can skip it and go right to Act 1. Blood and fighting will crop up but this is about the worst extent of it, so it ain't too bad. So you won't have to put up with chapter upon chapter of gore, anguish, depression, and that sort of thing. The themes are around at times though so I don't want it to come as a shock. As such it's essentially coalesced here.

Righto: with that out of the way I guess it's time for an intro. First story, first chapter pre-story, and the first bit of fiction I've written that wasn't either pen&paper based or for a manual. So comments, suggestions, that sort of thing is greatly appreciated (actually I'm still debating the ratings and tags so that should say something). Hopefully it isn't all that bad for no pre-reader and just a twice-over. A little bit more about what you can expect from the whole tale is contained in the Act breaks.

Prologue

The twisting groans of the rickety floor boards echoed with every hoof step. A pungent waft of stale air hung thick and impenetrable in the musty two-story farmhouse, while the chill-winds raked over wooden steps and scraped by the gravel road leaving serpentine drifts of snow in the darkness. Inside the aged estate wallpaper peeled where it met the warped wooden molding that ran along the corners of the room like a seam. Black water stains dripped down forming oily streaks across the cracked walls and sagging ceiling. There were no lights and no signs of life in the empty husk of a farmhouse. Despite the presence of candelabras, candlesticks were nowhere to be found while empty lantern hooks jutted out from bare walls. All that remained were dust motes shining in the pale glow cast by two dim lanterns. It was a meagre defence against the encroaching darkness.

A quiet tone harshly whispered in the gloom, “Right, look this is hopeless. There's nothing in here. Just another false alarm, ponies get that way around Nightmare Ni-”

“Shuush. Somepony reported a scream and it's our job to ensure there's no harm done.” silence pervaded the room once again before the quiet groan of the bellying roof met the dull monotonous patters of fireflies against glass lantern walls. “Constable, what do you notice about the floors?” a mare's harsh whisper grated through the darkness.

The edge of the light reflected with a glimmer off the path that flashed a gold leaf and matching tiara. The light blue maned earth stallion wore the dull blue uniform of a local constable and yet his young age said he couldn't have been part of the constabulary for long. His ears began to twitch before they folded back against his skull. However, his bright green eyes rolled around as if never properly set to any one item or spot.

The older Unicorn mare shook her head as the faint amber glow of her horn held the lantern up and beside her face. It showed a severe looking frown pinned to taupe muzzle that seemed nearly disembodied amidst the dancing sparks of dust caught in the pallid yellow light of the fireflies “Take your time to think, what do you see, Outreach?” her tone was professional, quiet, and calming in how detached despite it being slightly rusty.

Constable Outreach gulped audibly and took in the room at a glance. “Furniture is covered by white cloth, dust settled over them suggests they've been unused for quite some time. Several are missing in the corner though: two lamp stands and a large chair. It, hmm-it suggests that the home owners may be away for the winter but the boards on the windows mean it could be abandoned.” The icy breeze filtered through the cracks in one shattered window with a mournful dirge that stirred the dust back to life.

“Correct constable. Now look at the floor.” The stallion's accompaniment lowered the lantern in front of her to illuminate the cracked floorboards. Beckoning with a hoof, the taupe and grey maned mare pointed at the weaving pathway between the furniture.

“Yes, Miss Maple-”

“Inspector Maple.” she corrected with a snort of derision.

“Y-yes, Inspector Maple. Ma'am.” his voice shook, his body quaked from apprehension as there was a far louder groan upstairs that sounded like the roof could collapse from the faintest breeze. The inspector's cleared throat once more drew his gaze down.

The constable began poking and pawing at the wooden floorboards along the indicated section of floor with the snorting sound of a hog looking for mushrooms. The answer came after a few moments of searching, “No hoof prints, but it's been swept out and there's a scratch here... I can't tell from what.”

“Good, very good. They lead this way.” The inspector's chilly demeanour matched the wind which whistled through the empty gaps leaving the earth pony to glance back.

Barely catching the tail end of the lantern light he hop-skipped forward so as to not be left alone. Without pause, constable Outreach trotted through the front living room and to the hall where it grew even darker. A single door yawned opened into a blackened abyss showing the gaping maw of descending stairs. “It leads this way.” Inspector Maple merely gestured with the swinging lamp.

Squinting hard, constable Outreach nodded his head to the right at the end of the hall. There lay the faint outlines of wooden spindles framing a swirling staircase upwards that seemed ghostly and insubstantial in the gloom, “Another stairway up too.”

“Yes but this is where the scratch leads.” She insisted. “Come on.” then left no time to argue as the pair cautiously made their way down the croaking steps.

Holding the lantern in a hoof constable Outreach focused on his surroundings rather than staring at the bobbing tail and flank of the mare ahead of him. Keeping his eyes averted, Outreach mumbled, “Ceilings are pretty high up for a cellar.” Mildew formed on the walls and the old warped wood groaned in distress at every ounce of pressure. “Inspector!” he seethed, voice hoarse and high-pitched while emerald eyes opened wide.

“Hmm?” Maple stopped and turned back. It was hard to turn around in the close confines of the stairwell so she awkwardly sat and craned her neck back to look at the spot he indicated.

A long scrape of white trailed unevenly down the cold unfeeling stone walls. The scars bore traces of resistance, embedded in the groove were splinters and flecks of iridescent blue that caught the light of the lanterns. Droplets of blood stained the edge of the wooden steps. Inspector Maple squinted at the edges carefully; the very edge of the wood had been splintered. Something heavy had been forcefully dragged downstairs.

The steps rebelled again as the Inspector hushed the stallion. The motion drew a puzzled glance from the stallion but was quickly dismissed. Dabbing her hoof down she held it up to the light. At the very edge of the dull coloured nail the faintest smudge of blood was visible. Inspector Maple's tongue flicked out, tasting the blood, then swiftly spat it out, “Pony, recent. Yeeack.”

Outreach's stomach churned at the sight of the unnatural act, but the Inspector knew better than almost anypony how to qualify evidence. “Quiet and quick, lets see what's downstairs, be on your guard.” she replied seeing his disgusted expression that hid his true anxiety.

Maple shook her head and resumed her descent to the bottom of the stairs, “stop fidgeting, it's distracting.”

“Inspector?” he asked quizzically.

Turning around, the stallion hadn't moved. Something twitched in her mind but it was filed away into the farthest conscious reaches. Descending into the dreary basement there was no pretence of being a nicely fixed up rural farmhouse.

The ponies stood in a dull cellar under the house. Grey stone closed in around them and rusty iron rivets and girders held old wooden support spars in place like columns would in a royal palace. It was a long room with thick wooden trusses and corners cluttered with empty wooden crates. At the far side of the lantern's paltry glow, was a small workbench. Tools hung up above it, with an awl and various woodworking instruments were commonly seen scattered around as if tossed about at random. One of the missing furniture covers from upstairs caught the eye almost immediately. Dust stained grey or not, it lay on the work bench at the very back of the cellar near a bend for a furnace. Something had been bundled up within it. A rank copper odour clung to the rafters and small specks of hay that rotted in sodden clumps in the soggy corners out of sight.

Maple wordlessly gestured the constable forward while making another motion; tapping her eyes, her nose, then swiftly pointing at the corners of the room it was telling him to pay attention. An affirmative bob of his head said the stallion would do just that, and moments later they slowly approached the work station.

An offensive smell of waste soured the air as they got closer to the wrapped sheet, something moved within. Caution thrown to the wind the constable darted ahead, “Vanhoover Constabulary. Be still a moment.” the clatter of hooves across the uneven stone was just as clear as the inspector followed in his wake. The wrapped up object went stiff as a board, then began to thrash. It did the figure little good. Broad leather belts encircled clasped in sturdy iron buckles spanned the white sheet in three different places.

Outreach reached the flailing bundle first. Placing his lantern aside he pressed both forehooves down to steady the straps as he used his teeth to pull the belt free. His attempt swiftly bogged down as each belt had been crossed over itself then knotted in a very peculiar fashion. “Maple, ma'am, could you give me a hoof... looks like some pony's been trussed up and hurt.” No help was quickly forthcoming.

“C-constable, the wall. The bucking wall!” She called out, voice crackled with fear and distress.

Still tugging at the first belt, Outreach finally worked the first belt loose and unbuckled it. Pulling the shroud down he uncovered the exposed rump of a mare. Her ankles had been roughly bound in leather which had rubbed her fur away and left ligature marks on her blue coat. Her legs had been further lashed to her stomach showing a fleur-de-lis shaped cutie mark.

The constable halted for just a second; that cutie mark was the same one he'd seen printed on the dispatch of a missing pony form a week ago for a Unicorn from Vanhoover. Finally the panic-stricken voice of the inspector drew his gaze. Just to her right was some horrid runic script written in the dark brown stain:

Befæsten fífirúnwitan ic ánþing gebannum
fífincundnessa ond bréosthord
gebrogdene fífigéosceaftas bótum ætstalas
hwonne áne ácordaþ, sy ácumendlicnessa
án

“That's not Griffonic, or Saddle Arabian....” Maple said as a chill snaked down her spine. “Constable as quick as you can-” she turned to face the terrified stallion standing over the restrained mare.

A great shadow loomed up behind him; twice as tall as a pony and garbed in an assortment of ragged furs and sweeping curtains of metal rings. The beast stood on its hind legs, face hidden behind a great bell-like iron helm with slit like eyes which, even in the lantern light, was lustreless. The rasp of metal rings and flap of cloth was barely a warning as it lifted a horrid hewing axe high over its head.

It swung the axe down in a horrid crescent, the thick metal biting flat across the constable's back with an anguished howl. Outreach's hind quarters slumped flat while his forelegs scratched and scraped in a moment of writhing agony. He loosed a rattled breath before his eyes rolled up into the back of his head.

Maple backed off swiftly; the horrid giant had stalked up like a ghost and caught them entirely by surprise. The squeak and muffled squeal of the trussed up Unicorn mare was being drowned out by the rapid thump of the Inspector's terrified heart. Panic was swiftly setting in as she backed up into the tiny corner of the basement. Maple looked left and right in desperation for something she could defend herself with. Sweat beaded on her nose tip as she caught a swift glimpse of a sharpened awl which she seized onto with a flash of amber sparks. Wavering to the left and right on uncertain hooves she menaced the giant with the solid steel punch though it looked like a sewing needle in comparison.

The horrid giant stepped on Outreach's bloodied back and wrenched the axe free. Every muffled hoofstep made the metal swish and scrape. She swung the awl hard, sending it for the monster's face. A great twisted mane hung from its thick jaw as it loomed up in front of her. Sweeping his backhand out, it raked across the metal hand sending the awl spiralling across the room with a metallic clatter.

Maple feinted then darted right, towards the entrance as she hoped the scaffolding would hold up the monster just long enough. The swing of his hand axe swept downward, spattering the wall with flecks of blood. She kidded and reared back, arresting her progress but avoiding the bone splitting sweep. Turning on a bit she tried to leap back and gallop back from the beast, anywhere really. A rough kick flung her against the wall as her head hit the stone with an audible crack.

Dazed, confused, Maple's senses swam as she groggily gazed up at the enormous figure that loomed over her. Its rancid breath washed over her, the smell of old meat which made her blanch and try to rise with a hoof over the mare's muzzle. A bolt of pain forced her down on her side as she screamed; his heavy hoof had stamped down on her leg leaving it unnaturally twisted. A simpering moan passed her lips as she was roughly grasped by the neck and her leg stepped on so she couldn't move at all.

Choking and gasping the Unicorn was nudged in the side and rolled over. “Lets see.” the thick grizzly voice growled like a bear while Maple choked and gasped for air. Her cheek pressed against the cold stone floor, eyes twitching and head throbbing at the treatment as husks of straw stuck to her fur and the tap of fireflies against the lantern glass seemed to absently grasp at her attention. A petrifying brush of blood soaked metal grazed the fur of her flank, then against the grain as she quivered under the predatory inspection. In the darkness of the ghoulish basement, her soft fur bristled from the razor edge, revealing the diamond dust like pattern of a white curled leaf.

She barely heard let alone comprehended when the figure spoke again. “Gods be praised. I am in fortune's favour, as are you.” Maple groggily looked up at the horrid apparition. It lifted its sharpened metal axe high, shining in the dull lantern light. Terrified cried echoed in the empty room. Slowly, almost lazily, it brought the terrible weapon down. The haft slammed down hard between her ears, consuming the Unicorn in the empty embrace of unconscious darkness.

Act 1- Chapter 5: Waking Up is Hard to Do

Waking Up is Hard to Do

Proofread by TehSporkBandit

The raucous cheer and sudden surge forward was more indicative than trumpets, more heart-lifting than soaring standards, no herald needed to cry the news to their leader. Fifty men had caused the delay, in the end fifty more dead and dying lay strewn on the sanguine banks of the brackish river. The causeway was theirs. A booming roar from the great Bear was heard as a clarion call that echoed over the flat lands and across the misty waters. His hand pumped into the sky, gripping its gory trophy by auburn locks matted in clots of blood. Sigvald's tide of cheering warriors dispatched the last few foes, fallen and fleeing alike. Swept up in the cheer, the great raven banner fluttered in the wind, gripped by the hands of the Lion's banner thane.

“Ulf.” the thane gazed towards the voice and saluted with a hand axe, “Lead them forward… ” the great warlord strode forward, hooking his arm around his banner-bearer, “See to it that they don't chase them back to their homes and burn them out. If they're lost we have no leverage.” a razor-sharp edge danced about his words that warned he would not abide disobedience. The older man seized his thane's cloak, drawing Ulf close enough that only he could hear him, “Bring me Bright-Courage alive if possible. I'd like a word or two with him before his head decorates someone's belt.” The Thane rubbed his neck where the thin metal chain had sawed uncomfortably into his flesh, leaving a red welt. Turning, he tucked the butt of the standard into the straps at the back of his shield and hurried off to the front of the formation.

Men stood aside, parting for him and bowing their heads in salute. Even the exalted warriors showed their respect, all but Sigvald. The massive man's war-frenzy had abated, and despite the new parchment white head dangling from his belt by unkempt locks, he craned his own neck up as if that would grant him better sight. “We aren't going to be waiting for his Lordship while bandying words are we?” His hollow voice confirmed he certainly hoped not.

“No, Kolbjorn is organizing the left wing.” Ulf's voice might have been bass, but it couldn't hope to match the cavernous depth of the giant. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, staring out across the low flat field, flanked by trees that appeared as ghostly masts in the mist, Ulf added, “My Lord hopes that we can take Bright-Courage alive.”

“Does he, now.” came the almost friendly reply. It gave way to a gravelly chuckle that could have frozen the blood in Ulf's veins, “Olaf will have his wish, I'll bring him in alive.” The amicable reply seemed to have stunned the banner thane. The masked man looked squarely at him, his breath rasping through the chainmail that covered his face in a fringe from the cheek-guards of his helmet, “He didn't say in how many pieces did he?”

“N-no.” The sound of a horn bleated off to the left wing of the host but something else was already making its presence felt. A few almost innocuous voices barely made it through the humid air from their opponent’s formation across the pristine grassland. The zipping shafts falling from the sky with a stinging snap caused the first few surprised grunts and cries as others noisily rebounded off metal or impacted deep into wooden shields and spear hafts. The banner thane waited, knowing the signal even as the man next to him made a peculiar sound. Ulf hadn't seen it, but looking over, he saw the man bewilderingly clutching at his throat. An arrow had pierced the chain on the warrior's mask and lodged in his chest causing him to wheeze then slowly slump forward. The back of the arrowhead visibly jutted from between his shoulder blades while a patch of spreading crimson marred his white cloak. Collapsing to his knees, no one around seemed to do anything but look to the sky, shields up, waiting for the lethal rain to cease.

There was no end to the barrage that descended from powder blue skies. Instead, the lethal rain was followed by a thunderous peal of trumpets. It heralded the beginning of the storm of battle, not the end. From a few steps away, another such horn bleated and stopped the warriors as another far cry matched it. Left and right, the great human tide began to wildly beat axes, spears, and swords upon their shields, creating an awful din.

Ulf looked to the left and to the right, placed square amidst nearly two thousand men at the head of the most exalted contingent. “ Juo-daan, Juo-daan, Juo-daan!” each syllable punctuated by the ring of weapon hafts on shield rims. The great Bear, with arms like tree trunks, pumped his axe in the air.

The trumpets pealed again as a call of "Juodaaaaaaaan" ripped from Ulf's chest, drowning out the cries of agony as the chant loosed from thousands of maws. The war-host raised their shields up and stamped across the moist field, churning the spring-tide grassland to mud. It sucked at their leather wrapped feet, hindering them at every step, but by now they surged ahead as a tide. They braved the storm of arrows, then that of thrown spears, until they were face to face with their enemies. A sea of mail, colourful round shields, emblazoned with white serpents, and an intimidating hedge of spear points bristled in the morning sun as pennants rustled and snapped in the breeze.

The thane had been in many battles before and cursed the familiarity. He could smell the sweat under his helm and could only see through the directed vision of those damn visor slits. His breathing was almost the only thing he could hear beneath that great iron helm as the mask of chain bounced in front of his lips, just as suffocating as a wet piece of cloth.

Battle lines clashed, spears held in iron grips thrust over shields to rake at narrow visors or seek out unprotected limbs while arrows rained down like infuriated wasps. The shield wall trundled forward and ground mounds of corpses beneath its titanic weight.

Above them all stood the Angle's own armoured giant crowned with a cascading white mane. Banners waved around the Angles' giant while his huscarls and shield bearers crowded beside him. His slender as spear thrust out, impaling one of the sea-folk warriors through the chest. Shield were quickly rent asunder, their metal bosses smashed and dented by repeated axe blows and thundering swings of maces. The aged man pointed towards the host eliciting a response from his own retainers. Bright-Courage, Byrhtnoth, had reared his head.

♣

“Up'n at'm, Rightly! The sun don't wait fer nopony 'cept one!” The door bursts open allowing light from oil lamps to stream in from the hallway. It dispelled the pleasant veil of darkness and rest that had recently proved so elusive. Thoughts, memories, they were never dispelled into the barren straits of forgotten dreams as they ought to.

Slowly, you kick your way out of the tangle of sheets on the small canopy bed and raise an arm to block out the harmful haze of the oil lamp. In the time it takes for your human eyes to adjust to the painful light, you only get a glimpse of the offending mare. Dust motes twinkle like flecks of silver, swept up in a small spiral that dance about her before slowly falling like a radiant rain. A shimmering coat of beaten bronze with her mane and tail flowing like the finest of spun gold. Models on earth couldn't do that without the presence of a bank of thousand watt bulbs for shampoo commercials. And yet here in the rustic warmth of an aged farmhouse kept in lovingly good shape, she reflected that unnatural good shine. In an entirely objective sense, you figured L'Oréal would make a fortune if they could make people's hair as nice as a pony's.

“Yer up, ain’t-cha?” her mouth crooks up at the edges as those bright emerald eyes narrow; she'd tip the blasted mattress over to get you up if she needed too. Point in fact, she had… twice. In a week and a half, waking up at a bit past four and awkwardly looking at your phone had become a ritual.

She has the hair of an angel and smirk of the devil.

“Yes ma'am.” you stifle a groan and yawn while screwing your eyes shut.

“Y- Hrrrmph. I done told ya, there ain't no reason tah be sayin' ‘ma'am’ tah me. What's Rarity been fillin' yer head with?” It always flustered her and that was enough to buy you a precious respite. Hand across your brow, eyes quite closed, you wait for the world to go away. That wish never came.

If that mare came back you would certainly end up on the floor in a jumbled mess of sheets, so slowly and unsteadily, you stare at the canopy of the bed to let your eyes adjust to the waking world. Restful sleep was still elusive and after the plethora of recurring dreams it was hard to be lulled into a deeper sleep. That peace ended far too thanks to the peppy voice of that mare. Damn her and her good humours, it was completely unacceptable. Nobody should be that cheery at, well, your phone still said 2:13 PM. At least your dumb as a brick phone thought you were enjoying sleeping in.

Slowly you stand up and swing your legs over the edge of the bed, feeling them hit the floor all too soon. The bed was so low it was like stepping out from a sports car, just without the connotation of money. Bouncing on the firm mattress, you ponderously lurch forward to your feet and take a moment to stretch your protesting joints. A faint 'click' and 'pop' somewhere in your back precede an involuntary moan.

The door was still open, though privacy had become less of an issue. Ponies were naked almost all the time anyway, so the few times you've been caught weren't even vaguely awkward to them, your bumbling awkwardness at their lack of any protocol had seemed vaguely charming to them. Now, well, you still weren't over it but waking up naked and quickly slipping over to the armoire which held your meagre selection of clothes wasn't too bad. Still awkward in front of mares and especially fillies who, you learned, were curious about everything.

Picking out clothing was never difficult, you had one pair of clothing on hand and a few extra shirts made up thanks to Rarity. It turned out that the only real difference between humans and ponies in that respect was size, well, and the relative position of a collar, the resting rotation of the sleeves… alright, there were a few differences but none that were insurmountable. Thanks to a few customers’ requests there were a few breezy nightshirts which gave her material to work with. While not truly ‘off-the-shelf’ it only took a bit of material to straighten out the collar, you had a new shirt. Each of the three extra garments were made of breezy silks with loose gathered sleeves that wouldn't have looked out-of-place in the palace of Versailles. Not your usual style, pretty much no one's “usual style” for a few hundred years, but acceptable. You kind of looked like a pirate, even if you didn't want to be one.

Quickly pulling on your pants and grasping your shirt, you dart outside your room in a mad rush for the washroom.

If I don't get there f-

“Oh, heya, Raghtly!" An enthusiastic and overly chipper voice greeted you as you crossed over the threshold of your door and turn into the dimly lit hall.

"Morning, Apple Bloom." you partially fake a smile, though you sincerely wish her a good morning, you'd lost your race to the shower. The red-tailed filly was already at the door to the bathroom and looked back at you, red mane cascading loose in sweeping curls unbound by that pink ribbon.

"Sleep well enough? Huh, what's those?" She pointed a hoof at you.

"What?" you look, checking over the linen shirt and your pants.

"Well," she stroked her chin with a hoof before pointing at you again, "ya got teats. An' they're way up there." her wide-eyed innocent expression was confounding.

"Yeah?"

"Well, ya ain't a mare, raght? Stallion's don't have 'em. Can y'all nurse foals?" trying to pick your jaw up, she merely seems curious, though it was obvious by that sparkling smile and eager glow she was hoping for an answer.

"N-no!" You were aghast at the question.

Although there was that one story in the news a while back...

Rather quickly, you raise the ruffled shirt up to your chest and shake off the meandering thought.

"Hey, AJ." it got an affirmative “yeah?” that echoed from the bedroom next to yours, "Stallions don't have teats, do they?"

The muffled guffaws answered the question, "Hah! Nooo, Apple Bloom, they don't need ‘em." laughter still echoed from the adjacent bedroom until it felt mildly insulting. A faint flush rises to your cheeks as a lump forms in your throat.

"Oh, huh, neat." she smiles again, then enters the bathroom.

Well damn.

You feel the pangs of body-consciousness and it’s all thanks to a miniature horse. That sounds more like a symptom than an issue, yet there it was. Struggling to quickly put on your shirt as you slip back into your bedroom, it was already a poor start to the morning. There wouldn't be any pre-breakfast shower, Apple Bloom always took a ludicrous amount of time preparing for the day. In the ten days that you had been here, that had been a constant.

Actually, if there was anything that defined the Apple family, it was consistency. Everything from wake up times, to work apparel, to breakfast conversations, even Apple Bloom's search for her cutie mark, everything was constant.

Cutie marks. You'd burst out laughing at the name when Twilight had told you about that little facet of pony culture. Of course, the more you thought about it, the more fortunate they were in a sense. At least it replaced some parts of a typical résumé and really, you never had an excuse to say you were never good at anything. Some analytical part of your mind had said that such an assurance might have helped build something into their culture psychologically speaking. It might explain why the comfort and assurance of worth on their hip was more comfortable than a gun or blade. Not that they had guns, none that you had seen anyway. It was just, well, a thought that came and went.

“I ain't gonna have ya' goin' hungry even if I have tah stuff it in yer mouth, Rightly!” You blink again realizing you'd quite literally just wobbled in the door frame with your shirt on backwards and sort of paused there.

The sound of the shower was clear enough as mist crept out from under the door. Rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand, you pulled the door to your room closed and made your way down the rickety stairs to the living room. Light caught every surface, from the roughly hewn wood grains of the planking at the edge of the steps, to the warm green fabrics over the large arm-chair just on the other side of the banister at the landing. It was a comfortable home and modest by most accounts. Sweet Apple Acres wasn't just a house, barn, and a few sections of land, but a comforting well-font of hospitality and familiarity.

It was like this every morning, a slow slog before sunrise from your room down the steps towards the kitchen. The scent of warm food, the promise of a few snippets of good conversation, and a lay-out of everything expected of you that day. From sun-up till noon you worked with the rest of the family tending what tasks you could. Oh, sure, you weren't half as strong as Applejack, let alone Big Macintosh, and you had about the same stamina as Apple Bloom –which had come as an embarrassing shock– but that wasn't to say you were useless. Sure, for the first few days you were pretty close, but you'd gotten the hang of what you could do better than ponies. The list was fairly impressive even if most of it was maintenance.

“Applebuck” season had come and gone, it was hellish in it rigours, no question about that. The two elder siblings had done most of the grunt work “from orchard to barn” and you, Granny Smith, and Apple Bloom had picked, sorted, and started on methods of preservation. That had kept you busy and, point in fact, you still weren't done. Oh, no, soon enough you would be more instrumental and thus more ragged than ever. While picking trees and doing inspections for bruises, rot, and parasites had been laborious, the steps alluded to by Apple Bloom and Granny Smith had your head spinning at how all the other forms of preservation could be so complicated. Cold storage, preservation, drying, jam making, tart making, brewing, candying, and then cider making were all a long way from over.

Honestly, you had thought the whole apple harvest would be over but different apples were harvested at different times so it was a legitimate season of harvesting from late summer right up until winter. It was a loose cycle that gave the two harvesters something of a break. It shouldn't have been a surprise with names like that, but what they seemed to instinctively know about their profession was stunning even without the scientific explanations. Now you get to be part of that. Sure, it was to earn a living but it covered your room, your board, and gave you a vote of confidence from one of the most well-regarded mares in town. That last intangible benefit was worth more than the monetary compensation that you were given.

Besides, that wasn't how you made money, half a day's work was going to give you enough to live on but it wasn't going to be buying you some castle keep any time soon. On the other hand, a second job proposed and approved by a certain anxious clothes-horse, might. Half the day would be spent on the farm, part of the day running errands for Rarity, and then a lesson in reading or writing from Twilight or Cheerilee marked your usual day.

For now, it was enough that your tired mind was able to comprehend 'food' as if there had been some electrical short that pulsated through your brain. That little jolt all but erased every other thought in your mind or heaped it into a corner to be sorted out after your stomach was full. A whiff of biscuits, gravy, oatmeal, and dumplings with fresh bread, butter reaches you. All that food was waiting just downstairs.

“You gonna be waitin' down there like a billy goat's troll- ah, uh… sorry.” Applejack just sort of awkwardly tails off as you look over your shoulder at the top of the stairs. She looks at you sheepishly, a faint flush to her cheeks. After the awkward self conscious flush she'd inadvertently caused you, she deserved at least that much.

“No offence taken.” seeing her stuff her hoof in her mouth was fun from time to time, as she was always quite outspoken. Applejack paws at the ground and looks away. Besides, it's hard to be offended but feigning some indignation was healthy to your identity. Would she ever actually live up to her threat and shunt you aside from the stairs? You even considered it for a moment, just to see what happened, nothing more.

Charging a biscuit toll as a ‘troll-keeper’ isn’t a bad idea.

Stepping aside, you proceed into the kitchen saying, “So, what's on the agenda today?”

Taking the initiative helped her jump right back into the conversation. “There's just a few last minute things needin' tah be done tah get before winter. Then, makin' enough a' everything to keep us around 'nd in business. Oh, and cider, that'll be right good, ah promise that.” while Applejack's promises were as good as gold, “fun” in that context might not be the same word you used. Why couldn't her brother be this easy to prompt? So then, it seemed like there was truly going to be no end of things for you to do and that was only half the day. Half the day in the fields, well… you could probably do a whole lot worse.

Entering the kitchen, you take your seat at the far corner of the table. The spot was between Applejack and Apple Bloom given they needed less room than Big Mac while Granny Smith shared her space with the serving plates. The fare given out by this family of savoury food purveyors was certainly enough to break the belt of anyone with a sedentary lifestyle back home. Watching Granny Smith for a few moments as she stirs a few concoctions and retrieves others from the stone hearth, it was more cramped than usual: there was a legion of veritable legion of empty glass jars, various pots, cauldrons, and bowls set up around the kitchen preparation area. It seemed that much had been set up for the morning's work already.

You look at the single item on the table; a large mug with wafting steam rising from it. The blue stoneware was a constant fixture set out for you as well. “Thanks, Granny Smith!” You smile at it. Coffee, rich, fresh, foreign coffee. The exotic drink was for you, and you alone. “ Anything I can help with?” You feel compelled to ask.

“Ehh?” comes a creaky voice accompanied by the light rattle of a ladle clattering into the rim of the cauldron.

“Did you need me to do anything, Granny Smith? Can I help?” you raise your voice for the hard of hearing matriarch.

“Oh, ah think ah know what ah'm a-doin' young'n. The ol' wheels might be'a slippin', but ah… ah'uh… hmm.” there was always the risk of insulting her if anypony tried to jog her memory. Sparser coat, white hair, weathered hide, and yet the bright sparkle in those topaz eyes said that she was still mentally there. Winking at you, the whole act was a bit of a joke. Realizing the ruse made it hard to suppress a laugh.

“Well, ah'll get the plates when everything's ready, then dish it out. Ain't nothing wrong with that, raght?” you do your best to imitate your hosts without sounding insulting.

Well, after a bit of a laugh from Applejack who trotted in behind you, the younger bronze mare socks you in the shoulder with a hoof which would almost certainly leave a bruise, “Ain't nothin' wrong with that at all. Now, then.” she'd snatched her stetson and tossed it on the table where she'd sit rather than setting it on her brow. It was a nice little habit it seemed, after all, when the hat was on, she was all business. Up until then, she was no employer, no blue-ribbon winner, no businesspony, and no relentless taskmaster seeking perfection, she was just Applejack. Leaning on an elbow, you rest your head in your open palm and blow a few rising tendrils of steam from your cup.

Stalking around the kitchen, Applejack checks in on her elder, gives her a nuzzle, and then takes a seat to your left. “Paper's out today, should be innerestin' tah see what this week’s big story is. Ye mind pickin' it up while yer o'r at Rarity's?”

"Sure." It was a game, a bet as it were, guess the event or guess the city. It might have been fun for her, just passing the time while getting to keep up on current events. Despite how focused she was on her work and how disconnected she could be in her intensity, it didn't mean the mare was ignorant. Again, it could be her covert attempt to help you become more aware of Equestria and its culture. No doubt Twilight had a talk with her about that. Head-mistress Sparkle wouldn't miss an opportunity to educate any sentient life-form, even if it had to be done vicariously.

You come up with a reasonable guess in seconds, “Manehatten, new concert review.” Cartnegie hall was always uncovering some great new talent and no doubt the autumn season meant more people going to events.

“Hmm.” she puts her hoof to her chin, bumping it a few times as if dislodging the answer in her mind. Looking over, the farm-pony smirked widely, the bounce in her forelocks reflecting her smug mood perfectly, “Hoofington Harvest festival.” She smiles, “Nightmare Night's comin' up and it ain't a Nightmare Night without a Hoofington pumpkin story. Ah guarantee it!” She closes her eyes with a little nod, a flounce of her mane, and a smile of complete self-assurance. It was all about as subtle as stamping her hoof on the table to emphasize the point.

It was enough to garner a faint warble of amusement as you sip the harsh but reinvigorating brew, calmly tapping a finger nail across the lip of the mug which produced a faint musical chime. A few moments to think and a sip of coffee confirm your wager, “If I lose, I do all the dishes until the next issue comes out.” You did them almost all the time anyway, one of the big advantages of having fingers over hooves.

She grins back, “If ah lose, ah'll be ah fixin' tah try yer craw-fee 'till then.” Applejack hated the smell of the foreign beverage so it was a fairly ‘serious’ bet in that sense. “Deal?”

She spat on her hoof and extends it towards you. To say you didn't hesitate at that would have been a lie, but with a smirk you copy the gesture, spitting into your hand and shaking on it. “Deal.”

The resounding thump of hooves said Big Mac had reached the bottom of the landing. Applejack hollered aloud, "Scoot yer boot, Apple Bloom, ya don't want cold oatmeal!" it had enough force to get you to wince. Standing up with a light stretch, you clasp your hands over your head and head off to the kitchen-proper to start serving out the morning meal. It would just be the first of many tasks for the day.

Author's Note

Alright, not a ton to really say this time over. I had to keep the Seinfeld reference in though, it was stuck in my head for a long while. ~~Aside from that, second guessing the 'Gore fic' tag, wondering where the line it with that but oh well. 'Tis just musing.~~ decided to kill it off.

If you got any questions, thoughts, anything really I'm always up to hearing them.

Anyhow, y'all take care now and see ya' next time, eh?

Act 2: Untold

Untold

Hynan þær héo leofost wæs?
þær hie hire heorðwerod,
holdost wiste.
...
Where was she the happiest?
There amongst her council,
knowing their devotion.

Author's Note

Okay, so Act 2, we start to get into some of the meat to the story. It's the start of the real adventure plot though you'll get one more chapter (just as a time shift) just to set things up.

Speaking of one chapter, I suppose I'll cut down the updates to once a week instead of two. With literally no feedback I need to second guess myself a lot more than I expected. Plus, this way it's not overburdening anyone who's reading 8,000+ words per week in one story. My apologies for that. So it'll just be one chapter. But, in other news, It looks like the story will be running a little longer than I expected, so there should be probably 4 Acts now.

So, where as Act 1 was slice-of-life, Act 2 is more about the adventure itself. It should be about the same length (9-10 chapters) as Act 1. It'll also see the rest of the mane 6 show up fairly quick so that shouldn't be too much of an issue.

And that's about what you can expect. If you've got any questions, comments, anything really, this is a pretty good spot for it. Anyhow, y'all take care now and see ya' next time, eh?

Act 3: Havoc

Havoc

Hige sceal þe heardra,
heorte þe cenre
mod sceal þe mare,
þe ure mægen lytlað
…
Our hearts must grow resolute,
our courage more valiant,
our spirits must be greater,
though our strength grows less.

Author's Note

Alright, we've just crossed the 50% mark in our story and things get to, well, heat up just a little bit. Act 3 is geared more towards the adventure/mystery feel and hopefully that's how it all works out. Oh, and no more flashbacks, we're done with those. Now it's going to be more chances to 'use what you learned' :twilightsmile:

Like Act 2, Act 3 should be about 10-11 chapters long, with one chapter poster per week I don't think there's any tag changes yet, pretty much got those hammered down but if anypony's got a suggestion I'm all ears. Any commets, questions, anything like that can be put here for just general 'bits and bobs' in the story.

Anyhow, y'all take care now and see ya' next time, eh?

Act 4- Chapter 1: Under the Mountain

Under the Mountain
Proofread by TehSporkBandit

Amidst the settling dust, beneath the streaming shaft of light that spill down and scythe through the gloom, four ponies and yourself slowly grow aware of the precarious nature of your surroundings. The shattered heap of timber and rattling fall of pebbles and other detritus that rained down had subsided but its lingering dust cloud chokes the life from those thin rays of light that pour down from the ruins. You found yourself looking up at your feet and at the four slats and rays of light that trace across your weathered boots. The back of your head throbbed in a dull roar where it cracked into the cold hard ground, though it was no less sore than your arched back, twisted into some sort of a contortion from the fall. It was, admittedly, quite a bit softer thanks to your pack, or something. A harsh cough is the first indicator that your backpack wasn’t the only thing that broke your fall.

“Now I know why Rainbow said she couldn’t fly with you at the hospital.” The mewling simper wasn’t helping you much but you did try to lift yourself off of the figure who you were trying to identify by voice. The raspy tone and unhappy sound disguises the speaker fairly well, but there’s no awkward flap of pinned wings, and it couldn’t be Rainbow unless you’d concussed her into talking in the third person.

Your mind assembles it in a few moments, “Pinkie, are you okay?” You flip yourself over and let her slide out from under you. The leather thong from the axe bites into your wrist and the grit scrapes your palms, but at least it was still there and hadn’t hurt anypony in the fall.

“I’m okay. Next time, can I not be the cushion? It’s not all that fun and it kinda’ hurts too. Wow, that was a doozie. I wonder why it didn’t try to dig down here. I mean, it’s not a dog, but it was pretending to be a guard dog.” She shifts away but other low unhappy moans of discomfort pierces the darkness.

A dust induced cough melds with a chuckle as Rainbow slowly stands up some distance further in the dark. “Pinkie, if that was a guard dog, it didn’t do a very good job. After all, we’re in here and he’s out there. Score one for the good guys.”

“I don’t know Dashie. He howls pretty good and his doggie paddle seems to be at least at the advanced level. So he’s got the dog part down pat, it’s just the ‘guard’ that he has to work at. Oh, and he needs to be more adorable. Right now he kiiinda looks like a big snake, or maybe more of an fish, a snake-fish, which I guess is an eel, but with legs. He’s a guard dog-leggedy eel in training.”

“Trained by who...” Fluttershy’s demure tone trails off in a few mousey coughs.

“Ah reckon we’ll find out soon enough.” Applejack’s voice was close enough in your ear that it actually made you jump. She’d barely cleared the rain of debris and the shift of a few broken planks attest to another close call. Nevertheless it didn’t shake her confidence, at least vocally. The scratch of flint and tinder sends a few bright sparks shooting in the darkness.

In a few moments a cheery glow from a relit oil lamp lends your surroundings some much needed definition. The rough hewn rock walls were neither professionally carved nor worn smooth by water, but roughly chipped away leaving sharp gouges and ridges. You are at the terminal end of the tunnel, laying in the debris field with the last twisted remains of the shattered ladder and a fairly sizeable mound of splintered wooden shoring. No, there was no way anypony was getting up there, at least, not in a hurry or without considerable help.

You were on your hands and knees, casting a glance over your left shoulder to the mare who held the oil lantern up above her head. The shadow from her dust smattered hat hides her eyes, showing only the slightly unnerving curves of her jaw and chin in the rough lambent firelight. A pair of bright glowing magenta eyes down the cave was equally unsettling as they flashed like mirrors.

“What? What’s wrong?” Rainbow brushes herself off with her wings like a feather duster. The glitter from her eyes was discomforting. Ten paces or so behind her, the world seemed to simply disappear, hidden from the pallid sheen of the lantern light.

“Nothing.” you reply.

“Uh, really? Shoot, and I thought it was ‘something’ because we’re in a dark scary cave without a way out, guarded by a Hydra, with only one lamp between four ponies and an honorary pony.” Pinkie leans against the wall for support.

“Honorary pony?” you venture.

“What, I didn’t say that before? Aaah, where’s a party cannon when you need it? I mean, it’s an essential but Applejack talked me out of it. I toooold you it might be important.” She pulls a face of frustration, sitting herself down before petulantly crossing her hooves while staring at Applejack.

“Pinkie, you want ta’ use a cannon in a tiny space where the ceilin’ got shaky rafters, the floors just are packed dirt meanin’ thise here path goes down further and there’s clearly claw marks right here?” Applejack scrapes the dust with her forehoof as you lean over to look for yourself. Sure enough, three toed claw marks and a wide sweeping pattern were stamped in the compacted earth. This must be a well trafficked route.

Something catches your attention, “What’s this brushing pattern right down the mid-”

A plaintive cry and scrape of backpedaling hoove cuts you off in a trice. Snapping your attention from Applejack to Fluttershy, you watch as she tumbles backwards across the narrow corridor. The Pegasus rears up, back pressed firmly against the opposite wall while pointing a shaking hoof at the spot where her nose had almost touched moments before.

“Fluttershy, gal, calm down. Ya’ look like ya’ve seen a ghost!” Applejack hops over one jagged spar as Pinkie sidles up along side her. You felt the same initial urge to comfort the Pegasus but the oil lamp catches a curious glimmer halfway up the far wall.

You get closer and drag yourself up to inspect the strange glint. “Pinkie?” You reach out and pick at the flecks, several come loose from the rock and fall into your palm; it was a sliver about half the size of your fingernail. Holding the small wafer up, it was translucent like the enamel of a tooth and a pale violet in colour with a completely smooth texture. “You’ve got a sister that likes rocks right?”

“Uh-huh.” Pinkie tears herself away from Fluttershy’s side with a last loving stroke of her mane.

“This isn’t quartz right? So what’s purple, smooth, and slightly greyish? Maybe amethyst? Does that flake off like this?” You hold up the strange piece for her to inspect.

“Well I’m not Maude, but I can take a lookie here.” Pinkie pie relinquishes her spot as Applejack and Rainbow Dash gently calm the still shuddering Fluttershy in the comforting warmth of the lamplight. “Hmmm.” Pinkie takes your wrist and twists it in a few awkward directions. Even as you wince against the treatment she lofts a brow, “Iiii don’t think this is a rock. I could be wrong, but it looks more like a chip from a tooth or horn.”

The reflexive revulsion got you to drop the horn splinter and rub your hand against your pants. It wasn’t just horn, it wasn’t bone, it was purple and your mind already went straight to ‘Unicorn’. Worse yet, a stomach lurching mental image of the red-eyed, Twilight Sparkle flashed in your mind as you shut your eyes and shook that terrible thought away. The scratched wall, the scraping on the floor, the hidden and guarded entrance, “We’ve found his lair…”

Dear Celestia, please say we didn’t just find a mass grave.

Were they all dragged down here in the dark, kicking, screaming and lashing out against the unknown as they fought tooth and nail to the point they hurt themselves? Could this have been a passage of horrors frequented by those who simply disappeared?

The miasma slowly lifts from your eyes, as if blinking awake from an ephemeral dream after dozing off in the midst of the day. “The Gremlins are here too. It feels like them.”

“Forget that it feels like them, pah, it smells like them.” Rainbow mutters and waves a hoof in front of her muzzle. “C’mon, it looks like this place slowly goes up. There might be a cave or chamber up ahead. We better keep the light dim so we don’t give ourselves away.” The impetuous Pegasus nods further up the passage as you sniff the air. It didn’t seem any different than it did before: stale, thick, heavy and rank with the weight of ages. You don’t know what she smelled, or what she knew, but you make a conscious decision to trust her judgement.

“Alright, Rainbow, why don’t you and me go on ahead and see where this tunnel leads. If we see any entrances, cracks, any place we could get ambushed then we’ll head right back here. AJ, Pinkie, Fluttershy, you can stay here and collect yourselves.” Your voice was practically a bark which catches you by surprise but it gets four nods of silent agreement.

“Yeah, I don’t mean to be a drag, champ, but how are we gonna see anything? We’ve only got one lantern.” Rainbow cocks her head to the side.

“Hmm.” you look at your scarf and sigh, “Rarity would be so disappointed with me.” You bite your lip and pull the wool scarf off before wringing it out. Standing up, you still had more than a foot of headroom as you slip back down the passage to the collapsed entrance to sift through the debris for a sizable wooden spar.

“Woah-nelly, suga’cube, if yer thinkin’ what ah think yer’ thinkin, it’s a good try but wool don’t burn. At least, not well. That and you’ll get a smell worse’n a stink bug on a skunk tail.” Applejack chuckles as she slips off some of her outerwear. “Here.” She produces a fine red linen kerchief from around her neck; one you’ve seen her with quite a few times before. She holds the fabric out and fixes you with a bright smile. Seeing your reluctance she flicks her hoof a little more to say ‘go on, take it’ which finally you do.

“Thanks.” It was still hard to ruin a token like that. Rarity would still be upset. Biting your lip you finally impale the fabric on the end of the stake with a loud rip. Twisting the red kerchief around it a few more times, you fashion it into a workable torch, “I promise, I’ll get you another one when we’re out of here AJ.”

“Don’t worry about it pardner, it has ta’ be done.” Applejack opens the shutter of the bullseye lantern and you let the fire lick up around the blood red material. It catches fire quickly, producing an admirable flame for a makeshift tool.

“Hah, alriiight, lets get goin’. Oh, we’ll leave a few Gremlins for you to flatten, too! Lets get dangerous!” The Pegasus smiles and slams her forehooves together in front of her vicious looking sneer.

“We’ll be back soon.” You wave then hesitate for a moment, “Oh, just in case we need to identify each other and want to make sure it’s us, not us or some monster, then say ‘Red’, and you’ll answer back ‘Scarf’.” Your idea is greeted by a chorus of acknowledgements.

Pinkie’s eyes light up for a moment as she nods almost hard enough to hear whatever was inside to rattle around, “Ooo, it’s like a puzzle or a joke where only we know the answer… okay so if it’s a joke it needs work, and if I say Red that’s not the first thing that comes to mind. Maybe it should be ‘Hot Sauce?’ Or ‘Cherr-”

Applejack muffles Pinkie with the fringed tassels of one of her own scarves, “Scarf’ll do just fine.”

“C’mon, lets go kick some tail!” Rainbow’s voice echoes from up the corridor, having went on ahead as you turned back.

“Hey Rainbow.” Applejack grins, “Red.”

“Scarf, yeah-yeah I heard you the first time.” Rainbow trots on the spot and as you peer back over your shoulder; she strikes a pose with one hoof in the air, head back, and that same devil-may-care smirk. “C’mon, we’ve got to get back before supper’s cold.”

You shake your head and hustle forward, the blazing torch in one hand and war axe in the other.

♣

Forging ahead in the dark was an uncomfortable experience, not to mention disquieting. There were small specks that glowed in the torch light. At first you thought they might be eyes, and they still could be, but other times it was just errant flecks of quartz embedded in the rock walls or roof. It should have been a relief that you didn’t come across any dark chasms or gaps, even when the corridor expands another five feet to either side and two feet in height. It was nice additional breathing room but still there was a lingering sensation; too many times the winking gleam disappeared and there was no gem or shiny stone to be found.

“Hey, you hear that?” Rainbow’s husky voice echoes loudly in the dark, though she couldn’t have spoken in more than a stage whisper.

“Hmm?” You keep your attention split between the long orange hue reflecting down the upward sloping corridor and the nearly imperceptible descent behind you. The passageway was still bare and featureless aside from the scuff marks on the floor. Some time between here and the entrance way, the dirt had disappeared and left only the cold bare stone.

“Huh, you really don’t smell that?” Rainbow’s sudden inflexion and stare wasn’t comforting.

“Give me a break, my nose isn’t as good as yours. So what is it?” The snippy little reply cut her short. After all, you didn’t want to be chattering and having every creature in that tunnel as an audience. You were already hoping anything predatory might be blind so it didn’t see the pale flames of the torchlight.

“Garbage, or something somepony left out waaay too long. It could be old hay or something, but I don’t think so.” She waves her hoof at you and takes the lead again before trotting off, making you jog just to keep up.

In a few seconds you catch the first rancid waft in your nostrils just as Rainbow had warned. It’s cloying, almost sucking the breath from your lungs as the fecund smell turns to a bitter taste as it settles on your tongue. Grimacing and scraping your tongue to your teeth did little to rid your mouth of that rankness that poignantly hangs in the air. It was sharp, and it quickly dawns on you, “There’s a -”

“Breeze? Yeah, I figured I didn’t need to tell you about that. I think I see a bend up there.” Rainbow gestures further up the pathway with her head. You both could feel the slope start to dramatically increase so there was little need to say anything. Slogging up the incline, the world seems to suddenly wrap into something different: a meticulously smoothed and cut landing with brazen wall sconces greet you, and beyond that is a spiraling stairwell.

“Huh, well that’s new. And a little creepy” Rainbow’s voice wavers with a gulp of discomfort. Your attention and the Pegasi’s is swiftly directed to a few splashes of colour and the empty torch sconces. The walls had gone from shallow carvings with a rough pick to smoothed down stone, and something else sparkles on the wall. You see a halo, not a real one, but something was gilded in gold leaf as small shocks of red, blue, and white catch your eye. Hurrying the ten paces towards the bottom of the stairwell, Rainbow was slowly pattering up the steps while throwing cursory looks to her left and right. “Huh, like the glyphs in Sapphire Stone.”

Each surface is richly adorned with gilding and plastered walls intricately painted with rich vegetable dyes unblemished by age or exposure. It was as precise rendition, accurate, almost lovingly depicting something that tugs at your mind: humans, or something close to them for the most part. To your left was a great heroic figure on a mighty vessel sinking into the watery main. His cloak billows behind him, sword aloft, and behind his head is a nimbus of light made from gold leaf that melds with the blue and white swirls of colour. His opponent was a hulking giant clad in chains and skulls, a piggish snout and great twisting horns sprouting from his demonic helm as he wielding an axe far too large for a person that size. Behind him follow faceless hordes brandishing all sorts of ugly curved glaives and sharpened hooks. Between them lay the fallen figure of some nigh angelic being with the same gold leaf halo; his chest was torn open, a sanguine stream trails down with his hand clasped across the gash, surrounded by heaps of slain barbarians and masses of sundered armour. The seas run red with blood as shattered masts and shredded sails jut out from stylistically rendered waves.

This feels uncomfortably religious. It’s a history written in the eyes of those who view its heroes as martyrs, paragons. Gods.

To your right, along the outer spire of the stairwell, was something you didn't recognize in memory but its figure was unmistakable.

Ulf.

The panel shows a warrior dramatically bursting forth from a alpine pool, his hand pumping the air, an upraised Alicorn horn firmly in his grasp. Panel after panel showed near herculean tasks, lifting a boulder like Atlas to reveal a mountain spring, standing over the bloodied body of a chimera with its gory mane gripped in hand illuminated like it was a holy icon. All the while that single Alicorn horn never departed from him, and was never depicted without the tracing lines of gold filigree etched in the hard plaster fresco. Ulf had come here, that much had been apparent by nature, but how long ago? His beard grew longer in each rendition, turning from brown to speckled grey and then to white as pure as sriven snow.

“This is it, Rainbow. We've definitely found his lair. But look at this...” you point to the next, showing him interceding between Gremlins, a great host of ravens behind him as the petty impish Gremlins point, hiss, and stamp in their own ugly little squabble. Above them resided Ulf, some paragon as unmoving as the mountain peaks.

“Huh, that stallion kinda looks like Twilight.” Turning to see what she was talking about, you see the purple Unicorn clad in grey with the symbol of a sun behind his head shaped in the burst of a clover with radiant beams of light streaking out and touching every corner of the rather large picture. Beneath it is a small ledge drizzled with hardened wax festooned with candle stubs and small strips of parchment.

“It’s a shrine dedicated to Clover the Clever.” You bob your head. Rainbow hums for a moment or two before losing interest and heading up the staircase, all the while looking over the scenes and halting every now and again to look more closely at the battle scenes.

You look over the script and notice the Equestrian writing, “By Celestia… Rainbow, what language do Storm Gremlins use?” It had to be a trick as your eyes scan across the liturgy:

Befæsten fífirúnwitan ic ánþing gebannum
fífincundnessa ond bréosthord
gebrogdene fífigéosceaftas bótum ætstalas
hwonne áne ácordaþ, sy ácumendlicnessa

Se sy þæs strangan stapol.
ac me sceal wæpen niman,
ne þurfe we us spillan,
wið freode and niman frið.
Gehyrst þu, hwæt þis folc segeð,
and þam wordum swealg
And mid friþe ic ferian.

Se sy…

“It’s just a messed up version of Equestrian. Why?” She proceeds up the steps, the sound of her hooves growing fainter with every moment. Your eyes widen as you look over the Equestrian translation written neatly next to it.

Now that my patron has perished,
I shall now go, lordless, on a journey.
Having turned away from battle,
I shall be taken by beloved horses.
She had a dauntless spirit,
be not afraid of Her words:
“You shall not take our treasures!”

With five I call on one,
five hearts, five minds,
five destinies entwined to aid
When all concur anything is possible.

It is their foundation of strength.
no death by arms,
no need for the slaughter of one another,
we move towards peace and receive peace.
Now hear what these people have to say,
and heed those words.
And with peace I depart.

It is…

Something was wrong, the last line was missing, as if incomplete and left that way to posterity.

‘It is’ what? Why would anypony or anyone use just one section of this? What the hell is going on?

“Hey, get your flank up here!” your companion seethes from farther up the stairwell.

“Rainbow, this is important!” You pick your way over the scene of a horde of prostate Gremlins with Ulf standing upon some great mountain top clutching the shattered Alicorn horn in his grasp. Behind him was five subordinate but unbowed figures; each with a Raven perched on their shoulders. You could see the stick like limbs and wasted, emaciated hands crossing their chests to form a symbol that looked like a bird with outstretched wings.

“Yeah, so is this!” she insists and even whistles, though you heard something else reply instead of yourself; it was the crooning croak. “Hey, shoo! Go on, beat it! Gah, get lost!” Rainbow hovers in mid air at the top of the stares, staring at a large fat Raven that wobbles and hops towards her. A pale light illuminates her bright plumage and glints off the obsidian feathers of the Raven. She sweeps her wings out with a gust of air that whisks the carrion feeder backwards in a flurry of feather with an agitated caw.

“Looks like I found our way out.” She smirks and heads towards the carved archway marking the exit to the stairwell. You’re left with little choice but to dutifully follow the impetuous mare.

Author's Note

Well, mares and gentlecolts, I'm back from a little vacation. Oddly I didn't plan it out that this would be the first day most are back at school, but I hope ya'll had a good summer too.

Always looking forward to hearin' from you and glad to be back. Take care now and see you next time, eh? :twilightsmile:

Act 4- Chapter 13: Dreams and Nightmares

Dreams and Nightmares
Proofread by TehSporkBandit

Your ears detect something like a ragged sheet flapping in the breeze, but a quick look around the ostentatious room reveals nothing amid the shifting shadows. Each laboured breath stings your lungs as painfully as if your chest were being scraped from the inside.

“Ah hate to ask, but ah don't suppose anypony's got a plan to get out, do ya'?”

“You know, there are still four other Unicorns in here.” Rarity calls before her voice drops to a terse mumble, “Now, where did those lights go to? I know it's cold, but does it have to be cold and dingy?”

“Ah know that, Rarity, ah'm just saying that it's somethin' we need ta' know or else we're just stuck here.” She shakes her head in the dark, illuminated almost strictly by the narrow beam of light from beneath the door and the surrounding entrances to the rooms that cage the other abducted Unicorns.

“Hey, relax. We'll take a two minute rest, get back on our hooves, then make a break for it.” Rainbow shrugs as if it was no big deal.

“Oh, maaaarvelous plan. Truly brilliant, did you think that maybe not everypony can sprint down an unseemly number of stairs, through the hall, across a wide dreary plain in a snowstorm, past a pack of miserable, blood-sucking feather-brains, and then… then… whatever else is between us and a sensible pot of tea and a comfy west coast bed-and-breakfast?” Rarity huffs as she uses her magic to light up an area no larger than a candle. “There must be lanterns somewhere around here. Pinkie, be a dear and help me look for one.”

“Don't take it out on me. It's not like I figured there'd be Windigoes to go around.” Rainbow blows her bangs out of her eyes.

“We put our hoof in it, didn't we?” Fluttershy murmurs as the Ravens roost around her.

Rainbow rolls her eyes, “Yeah, well, it could be wor-”

The door creaks ominously as the bar strains to keep it closed. Several worried looks are exchanged before you and Rainbow fling yourselves at the weak wooden barrier. As you slam your good shoulder into it, you can barely hope to lean against the door and use all your weight to keep it shut. Perhaps the creature is merely testing the entrance before going around another way. Maybe another is making its way down one of the chimneys at that very moment, it’s hard to say.

“Rarity, find us a light so we know what the hay we're doing!” Rainbow grits her teeth as the door suddenly groans and bulges again.

“It ain't no picnic o'r here either Rainbow! Come hay or high water, y'all gotta gimme' a few seconds ta' get these here ponies out! Pinkie, gal, do us a favour and get a fire started. Ah'll go knock down a couple'a doors. It's a heap easier kicken' 'em in this way than it is from the inside.” Applejack's voice is anything but perky, but the confidence in being told what to do is comforting. It was hard to object to that.

You might not even have time to object as the pulsing pressure builds as you strain. The door itself begins to hiss again, and in the last vestiges of azure light cast by Rarity's dwindling magic, you can see the door turning from dull brown to putrid black as the timbers wither then warp. The first jolt of pain quickly lances through your elbow where it touches the metal hinge.

“Gah, this is really starting to burn.”

A rebellious smirk forms on Rainbow Dash’s muzzle as she strains against the mounting pressure, “Oh, it's not that cold. Tough it out.”

Every breath is painful and your joints are feeling like they are literally freezing. Each breath produces frost clouds that are drawn towards the minute cracks in the doors.

“Howdy there, don't you fret none, we're here to help. Hang on just a spell and we'll have ya' all out a' there.” Applejack's softer coo drifts through the darkened void. “Fluttershy, mind taggin' along? Ah reckon it'll be nice ta' see a friendly face after that's happened.”

“Then what?” You grunt and hiss, trying to get around the metal bands holding the door without easing up. “The storm barge is too far away. You think we can fight through them then outrun the rest?”

“You worry too much.” Dash snorts and shakes her head.

“Yeah, and you worry too little!”

She just flicks her tail in derision, carelessly dismissing you. It only serves to elicit a growl of irritation, “Well, it is true, you just don't-”

“You don't think we'll get out of here, do you?” Rarity asks out of the blue.

“Well…”

“Well?” Rainbow grunts and eyes you again with a narrowed glare, telling you to spit it out.

“It's not that I don't, it's that I can't see how.”

“Oh, you can't see how? Weeeell…” Pinkie draws it out with the distinct sound of scratching flint. The first flickering light grows in the darkness. A single oil lamp is lit, bringing the pink mare into sight and illuminating the exhausted Alicorn. “Ta-da! Now you can see how.” Aside from your friends, you can't make out anything but the shifting shadows in the rotunda. “W-woah.” Pinkie shivers and looks around in confusion.

“That's not quite what I meant, Pinkie, I still don't exactly-” There is a loud bang as Applejack's solid buck demolishes another door.

Fluttershy coos indistinctly, but several moments later the pair of ponies emerge with a gangly looking Unicorn. The mare stumbles out ungainly before slumping forward, nearly falling flat on her face before she catches herself. She brushes the forelocks from her eyes and peers out into the gloom. There is something about it all of a sudden, watching the single mare hold a hoof up to block the insignificant light source like it’s the noonday sun. Dirty, emaciated, and unkempt, none of that matters as she takes a deep racking breath and clings to Fluttershy with a garbled hiccup and babbling note of gratitude that dissolves into a racking sob.

Something had changed in that moment, something that makes you close your eyes and dispel the reservations you'd had about helping them when your friends were at stake. A life is a life, even if you don't know them, even if you can't see them. It’s more than just a random picture in a police file now.

A second kick bursts another door to kindling. An exhausted tan mare emerges, a sour expression still locked on her face. She takes a step to the side and juts her jaw out at you. Not one step back. A look of recognition passes her muzzle in the gloom of the darkness, something genuinely discontented at you being here. Fear, mistrust, and even hatred sweeps across her face as Fluttershy directs her towards Twilight with a soft gesture and a reassuring pat.

You wordlessly hold your position, but the freezing cold has worn through the door and even as you start to dig your feet in and push against the frame you realize your strength is waning as the creatures grow ever stronger.

Pinkie spasms and shudders again in the dark, nearly convulsing before shaking her head to ward that off.

“Pinkie, could you please help me? Rarity, you too, we need to make them comfortable after such a horrendous ordeal.” Fluttershy's gentle request coaxes Pinkie to canter ove, though she still casts her gaze around. Rarity nods as well, primping a large pillow in the middle of the room and setting Twilight on it.

Rarity glances back over her shoulder, hesitantly eying her old room, “There’s a few serviceable blankets and pillows still in there. I suppose that would help. I’ll be back in just a moment.” She nervously slips back towards her room in search of .more comfortable furnishings

One after another, Applejack smashes the doors flat, releasing the other imprisoned Unicorns. Though you could see the mesmerized looks of relief, fear, and joy on their faces of each and every captive equine, something else bothers you.

When did the oil lamps from before die? There's no frost in this room.

A thin reedy scratch whispers among the rafters. Looking up, the playground of shadows spins and creeps across the vaulted dome as the oil lamp's lambent pall bounces shades of red and gold across the plaster. A ragged shape moves from its lofty perch, high above Twilight, poised like the sword of Damocles.

A glimmer of ivory sparkles in the darkness along with a glow of beady red eyes. Your protector, your teacher, your friend: Twilight rests limply in her seat, eyes fluttering open as her muzzle forms a smile. It’s relaxed, unguarded, a soft gaze of unequaled serenity.

“Twilight!” You may be her ward, but in a flash, you are the protector as the bat-like shade descends.

“And now the light goes out forever!” A vicious shout echoes in the deeps as Iblis all but materializes from the gloom, a single spar of horn held like a dagger. Time seems to slow, as if by magic. He chose that moment to strike, knowing that everypony was watching, everypony was occupied, everypony was helpless. A sinister grin of devilish glee erupts across the Gremlin's hateful visage as he hurtles towards his intended target.

Your quick action pulls you over top of Twilight like a shield. A burning pain screams from your back as the Alicorn horn plunges deep into your flesh. A few fuzzy crackles of energy crackle across your skin as the lancing pain grows even greater and more insufferable. You scream, and that cry swiftly cracks and fizzles as if distorted by an electronic filter.

Your senses begin to fade, leaving you in that immutable gulf of static, deaf, dumb, and blind to everything but silent, floating flakes of black and white dust.

♣

The scintillating haze of dust slowly starts to spin around you in a serene, monorhcomatic whirl. A vapid pressure pulls you forward into its soothing embrace, moving towards the eye of the silent storm. You can't see your hands or feel your legs, the slow drifts feels natural but insubstantial. You are nothing but a disembodied wisp, like a dust mote borne aloft by the evening breeze wind and as formless as mist. A silhouette slowly forms from the miasma.

Your palms touch loose gravel and small pebbles dig into your shoulder.

The world is just as dull and lifeless as in the static storm. “Where…” Your own voice trails off as a thieving zephyr steals your words away. All around are the last crumbling edifices of an aged manor; freestanding plaster walls and wooden beams jut out from heaps of crumbling masonry and rotted thatch. The vaguely familiar ruins loom up just off the gravel path.

The mournful dirge whistles by you, stale and cold. Meandering down a lonely causeway, flanked by the desolate shells of empty buildings, you instinctively follow your feet. The crackle of debris and the rasping of loose grit in dismal cobblestone streets passes by unchecked. There is nopony, no hint of anything as monochromatic shades shroud the world in stygian gloom. You mindlessly meander through the streets and cross a little footbridge past boulevards belted in shriveled trees and wizened split rail fences. Even the grass is little more than brittle grey blades that disintegrate into ash at the slightest disturbance.

A familiar entrance to an acreage looms up as you turn off the deserted path and cross under a sign. It creaks as the wind toys with its lonely plaything, and abandons it just as the world seems to have abandoned you. The spectral image of a ruined farmhouse appears out of the perpetual dusk. The roof bellies inwards as red paint peels off desiccated grey wood. Every numb step forward brings with it a sense of dread. Something is crudely etched above the door's mantle in a fiendishly familiar language:

They will curse your name as postmortal winds howl through the skeletal spars of empty cities and the whole land decays when the light goes out forever. And there you are, whether you know it or not, at the last toll of the daylight hour before the sun begins to set and the last glories leave this land.

As you read the inscription, scratched on the wooden beam, a throaty rumble of thunder rolls over the vacant hills and desolate orchards. A darkness sweeps across the sky like a veil, dragging the world further into the dismal mires.

A single glimmer winks from inside the derelict dwelling.

You shove against the door, hanging awkwardly on its hinges. As you slip inside, navigating the awkward heap of debris, you see a mirror laying on its side. A reflection twists and swirls inside, creating a distinct picture in the maelstrom. The familiar outlines of a school and a street full of yellow buses greets you. You can see the flagpole, a few scuttling students, a dull, late autumn day; they are the last images you remember before being dragged to Equestria.

A disembodied voice whispers in your ear as if carried upon a stifling breeze, “You've done your part well. Superb.” The whisper is a familiar serpentine tone. Turning around, there is no figure, no form, just Iblis's drifting voice. “Now I'm going to give you what Ulf wanted, a chance to go home. There's nothing here. Go back, go, leave, thank you for your assistance. We'll be in touch.” His lowly cackle swells in volume as you stare at the beckoning mirror's glittering surface.

Within moments, a white crack splits the floors like so many luminous spider webs. Iblis's cackle disappears just as quickly as the world itself peels away. The woodwork cracks, the plaster walls shatter and fall in sheets, leaving nothing but a swirling white expanse around you. Only the brazen mirror remains in the vast gulf of purest white light. Radiating pulses seem to surge through your open palms, tracing up your body and easing the tensions of disaster and failure.

There is a soft trill of a meadowlark, and as you bring a hand up to your eyes, the fulfilling warmth of the sun beats down upon your shoulders. Bright springtime grass pricks your palms and a vast rolling field leading to rolling foothills spreads out before you in dappled islands of light and shadow. Dark thunderheads rumble and the fresh scent of rain fills your lungs. Taking a deep breath, you look over the quickly moving clouds in the bright blue sky. A muzzle touches your back, a hoof around your waist. There is no scent of lavender, it’s something as earthy as damp soil after the spring shower.

You try to turn and catch a glimpse of whoever it is, but a quiet 'shuush' stills you. Instead, you find yourself staring at the brass mirror propped up against a tall poplar tree. It still shows the same scene, the late autumn, the pavement, and human students flitting about from bus to bus.

“Dreams and nightmares. Both are the same thing.” A gentle feminine voice whispers in your ear, but while the touch of breath soothes your skin, there's no one there. Yet, you are not alone.

A single figure stands upon the crest of a hillock in the distance, silhouetted by the sun. Try as you might, you can make out nothing but the most vague outline of an Equine. Her soothing voice has a deeper sense of gravitas that commands your attention, “Hopes and fears, one in the same thing, intangible but just as powerful. To help or to heal, to heal or to harm; each impulse feeds us all and drives us onward. You merely have to choose which. I have seen it, the same request, a wish for a land of peace and plenty. It isn't the same as your own. But you may go back and make it that way, if you can follow the same truths you know so well. You may choose to go, or choose to stay. A mirror or a dream. Just reach out and touch it and you'll be home, free to live your life just as you did once before. Or, close your eyes, awaken as another.

The choice is yours. I give this gift to you.”

You look at the mirror, knowing that this is no dream, but some vision, or a space between spaces. Perhaps you are dead and you just couldn't accept it yet. Slowly, you reach towards the mirror, feeling that embracing figure slowly loosen its grip. The mirror's swirling surface spins like a whirlpool inches from your fingers.

Slowly, closing your eyes, you withdraw your hand and lift your face towards the sun.

♣♣

“Suga'cube?!” you awaken with a gasp and a dull throbbing pain lancing pain through your torso. You slump past Twilight's prostrate form and land heavily on the floor. The jarring impact drives the breath from your lungs, accompanied by the ruffle of freathers and clatter of hooves. The bubbling croaks of Ravens fills the air as you're swiftly enwrapped by the buffeting cloud of flapping wings.

But for the first time, they aren't ripping and tearing at you, rather, they swarm about you like a living shield.

“Shoo, shoo, go away! You are not welcome here!” Fluttershy's remonstrates the Gremlin that lashes out with the dagger-like Alicorn horn. Iblis spins and reels with a howl of rage, stabbing in every direction while being pecked and harassed by the relentless flock.

A fuchsia flash speeds past you, scampering behind Rarity and tugging her backwards. The Fashionista's protest goes unheeded as Rainbow is left to struggle against the door. Your hand slowly grips your side while a sliding hoof bumps your ear as a pony skids to a step over you and in front of Twilight.

Applejack's protective pose just lets you look out from under her forelegs like a foal, seeing the harassed Gremlin as it seethes and stabs. “Just you try'n hurt him ya' two bit, slacked jawed, rag-tag, slime skilled, no-good varmint!”

“For fur-and-feather's sake, somepony get over he-” Rainbow's muted curse is cut short as the door is rocked open by a single great push. The Pegasus shoots across the room and slams into a high-backed chair before sprawling out in a heap. The door hangs open wide as a Windigo scuttles inside with a shrill howl. Pinkie sprints forward, grasping the scruff of Rainbow's mane and pulling her back towards the group as the Ravens stream back out of the way and behind Fluttershy.

Iblis waves the last of the retreating birds away before fixing Twilight with a malicious grin. The Alicorn's return gaze is nothing like the Gremlin's; it's sad, laboured, and pained. She casts her gaze down and looks away from him. Iblis barely manages to turn, confronting the monstrous horror snorting clouds of frozen crystals from its nostrils, lips peeling back to reveal the mangled rows of blackened teeth. It tenses as the Gremlin's hands crackle with energy. With a yowl, Iblis throws his hand up towards the lunging Windigo.

The winter spirit strikes first, snapping at his shoulder and biting in as Iblis shrieks in pain. The loose crackle of lightning dissipates from his fingers as the Windigo shakes him like a rag doll. With a few last dog-like snaps, it flings him to the ground and stamps on his back. The icy tendrils slow his movement as he crawls on his elbows and uselessly flaps his lethargic wings. The Gremlin twists to confront the Windigo, just as the ice-wraith's spiked hooves crash down onto his unprotected back. Iblis's hollow screams ring throughout the rotunda before being cut mercifully short.

You feel yourself being dragged backwards towards one of the empty rooms. Even as you try to stand up, the insistent farmmare never lets go, and ceaselessly pulls you back as your feet push against the floor. The Windigo gazes up from the now still Gremlin. A soft breath echoes from Twilight as she leans against the frame of the shattered door. A graceful and sublime smile crosses her muzzle for the most fleeting of moments:

“And in despair I bowed my head;
‘There is no peace in here,’ I said;
‘For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace in here, good will to all.’”

Her thin tone slowly begins to swell into something more substantial. A clarion voice arises from the tired haze, rejuvenated and powerful. Even as you try to force the rickety door shut and draw pained breaths, a hoof gingerly touches your back.

Looking over your shoulder with a twist that sends an agonizing jolt of pain down your spine, Pinkie Pie tugs at your sleeve, “Come on, join in. It'll be fun, I promise.” Twilight continues her song as the fragmented voices of other ponies emerge:

“Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
‘Good is not dead, nor does it sleep;
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace in here, good will to all.’”

The melody rings throughout the comfortable chamber. Despite the wailing and gnashing of teeth outside the door, the irritable snorts of lethal cold, and the occasional glimpse of the smoky translucent body, the rickety door holds against the onslaught. Applejack eases you into a cushioned seat before sitting down on the edge of the same pillow. You're just another among the Equestrian throng, another voice trying to pick up the lyrics as you go with a little bit of prompting from Pinkie and Applejack. Pinkie's enthusiastic, albeit off-key caterwauling even brings a weak smile to your lips:

“‘And on the day of jubilee,
All ponies 'round shall come and see;
With hearts most true,
We welcome you,
There's peace in here, good will to all!’”

Author's Note

Well, second last chapter and last of the major actiony bits. Yep, getting rid of the Windi's one song at a time, because I'm not entirely sure how to kill an ethereal non corporeal spirit otherwise.