The Scroll of Exalted Ponies

It was the dead of night, high above the crowded and rundown tenements of the Firewander district in Nexus that a cloud lifted from the center of the district, from the roof of the old capitol building of Hollow. On that cloud a bright golden light shined, illuminating the cloud as it quickly moved to the north-east.

Almost the whole circle was on the cloud, except Cash, who had been sent to fetch Nah and catch up with them, for Nah was faster and time was of the essence. The cloud had been conjured simply to get the damaged protoshinmaic vortex out of Nexus quickly.
It had all happened to so quickly: When Red had ‘struck’ the PSV a flash of searing light had pulsed out, and after that had faded all that was left was a slightly larger sphere with a decidedly golden surface. It was roughly the size of a small honey melon. It also wasn’t hovering in the air anymore, instead simply falling – and at that point there was much more room to fall in, for the illusion that had been the changeling court also began to fall apart, revealing that the cavern the circle was in was a seemingly bottomless chasm. Luckily everyone was up on Shimmer’s back and she managed to swoop down and gently catch the now contained PSV.
What exactly Red had managed to do was still a mystery to the circle, though both Shimmer and Speaker had theories. Of course, neither of them figured that they would ever know the exact truth, for Red wasn’t really there to answer anymore…

Speaker and Shimmer both agreed that it appeared as if Red had somehow shaped the emissions of the PSV into a scene of glorious battle, with the PSV as the foe. She had then somehow reshaped herself, body and soul, into a runic orichalcum sphere that encased the PSV, containing it. The fact that the golden sphere occasionally jostled or rattled hinted that whatever was inside wasn’t dead nor simply static. Indeed, essence sight hinted that the sphere was somehow alive.

What little Speaker and Shimmer disagreed on mainly centered on exactly what the protoshinmaic vortex was. Speaker held that his first age memories matched exactly with how the thing had appeared and behaved, , making him stick to his claim that it indeed was a PSV, while Shimmer posited that it was some kind of ‘wyld seed’, or perhaps the grace of an unshaped changeling – but it was a minor point of contention: The main problem was how long Red would be able to contain the explosion of wyld energy the PSV would release.

Strangely enough, of the four ponies on the cloud, then it was Sunrise who seemed to have the most trouble holding back her tears: “Speaker, can we still save her… Red?”

Shimmer didn’t have to glance for more than a split second at Speaker to recognize the very telling expression of remorse and sorrow he displayed, Speaker simply shook his head. Whatever Red had done to herself had been both voluntary and intentional, and done in a way that - to the best of his ability – simply could not be undone. Indeed, knowing that Red had her shaping defence charm up at the time meant that only one kind of alterations could have been done to her: Shaping that was perfectly in line with how she herself wanted to be…

“The funny thing… I actually think this isn’t the first time she’s done something like this” Speaker mused.

Sunrise wiped her nose in the left sleeve of her robes: “Explain”

“Red died several dozen times in the first age – usually in glorious battle, to the point that her lunar mate at one point wrote a poem about her… how did it go…” Speaker said, his caste mark sparkling to life as he used a bit of essence to help his memories along:
“The would-be prince, and his army of should-have-beens. Ever-seeking denied glory, ever-hunting that which they cannot defeat. Always hounded they be, by death and the grave-glory”

Sullen Hoof, having remained quiet ever since they had left Nexus, wondered: “I thought poems should rhyme…”

Speaker shrugged, holding firmly on to the orb as it jostled again: “It’s a five thousand year old poem…”

“Prince? Red is a mare – I thought exaltations stuck to specific genders” Sunrise inquired.

“Don’t you remember what I discovered about your own past incarnation” Shimmer said: “Your last time around was as a stallion as well. Plus, I’ve seen enough lunars reincarnating to know that their exaltations don’t work that way. Heck, I’ve heard that Silverclaws has reincarnated as a mare…”

“Silverclaws?” Sullen Hoof asked, desperate to distract himself from the grim reality of the effective death of a dear friend, and failing at it, but in no way showing it thanks to his mask.

Shimmer explained that a according to lunar legends then he was lunar who, with every exaltation, would take on the surname of Silverclaws: “He was instrumental in rounding up the surviving lunars following the great contagion. Without him the lunar host wouldn’t be as organized as it is today, if at all”

The circle waxed nostalgic until Cash caught up with them, at which point Shimmer landed the cloud on Nah and the circle continued on towards a location just north of Great Forks, all according to Speaker’s directions.

“So what exactly are you going to do with that thing, with Red?” Cash asked bluntly. He knew quite well that it wasn’t a polite way to inquire, but his insight into how Speaker’s character told him that this was the best way to cut to the chase… and from Speaker’s worried look then there wasn’t time for lengthy explanations of the arcane science informing his no-doubt brilliant plan to dispose of the PSV.

Speaker looked at the orichalcum sphere. Over the last few hours he had, in the dim light of his caste mark via essence sight, seen the light of Red’s soul within begin to flicker and slowly diminish. Sighing and looking up at Cash, the old Lookshyan stallion furled his brows: “You remember that demesne we rescued that farm-mare from? The freaky food one?”

“That’s where we’re going? What good’ll that place do us?” Cash wondered, having earlier suggested that they instead fly west towards the Blessed Isle and drop the PSV on the imperial city… he figured that Red would have liked that.

Peering up at the starlit sky, Speaker took a deep breath: “When changelings alter a demesne to make a freehold, they basically turn it into a little wyld-zone. I think I can use my wyld shaping technique to turn the freehold’s inside into a huge void big enough to take the PSV explosion without anything spilling outside…”

Shimmer had to admit that considering what very few alternatives they had, then this was a brilliant plan, because they were far deep into Creation to get to the proper edges of reality within any foreseeable future.

The circle arrived shortly thereafter, Cash landing Nah in the clearing right in front of the eerily perfect grass-covered hemisphere they had visited… what, almost three seasons ago? On top of it wiggled and writhed a giant tree with a massive canopy that almost seemed to actively shift to catch as much moonlight as possible.

In the darkness of night, with the moon barely showing itself thanks to the giant tree’s strange behavior, Speaker made plans with the circle:

“Ok, I’ll make myself a tiny platform in the middle of the void I’m making. When I’m done I need you lot to get me out of there somehow… or before that, if the PSV starts its final rupture before I’m done – and… I have no idea how we’ll do that” the bearded solar stated plainly.

Shimmer smirked and flung a string of her spun essence webbing at Speaker. It stuck to his right flank: “Just give it a tug when you want out – I’ll rig up a little something to pull you out real quick”

Entering the demesne, Speaker shuddered as he quickly trotted over the muddy cavern floor. The whole place looked curiously… normal – but then again, there were no changelings in the freehold to warp its reality, so it was ‘merely’ a natural cave filled to the brim with raw unfiltered wood aspected essence.

Indeed, there wasn’t a trace of any freehold alterations… at all. There was no wyld energy to reshape.

Well so much for that plan.

Looking around for alternatives, beyond just dropping the PSV and running, Speaker beheld the demesne’s internal essence flows. The massive roots of the giant tree on top of the hill were everywhere, spreading down in a seemingly random but at the same time beautiful pattern to cover the inside of hill almost completely…

In fact, it seemed as if the essence that flowed into the demesne flowed into the tree – allowing it to grow so freakishly huge. Perhaps it would like to absorb a little more essence? Maybe a whole pocket reality’s worth?

A short time later outside Shimmer felt a tug in the essence string attached to Speaker: “Shit, this is way too early!”

Up on Nah and ready to get the hell out of there, Cash, Sunrise and Sullen Hoof quickly helped Shimmer tie her essence-spun string to the howdah – and then they sped off on the flying yeddim at speeds that would likely make the Mare of Journeys sport a wing-boner.

Speaker felt this sudden pull in the string tied around him as well – and barely managed to raise his body-shielding charms in time for the string to be pulled tight, which in turn pulled him out of the demesne at flesh-ripping speeds. Well, flesh-ripping in the sense that he was skidding along the dirt floor at well over a hundred and fifty miles an hour, only barely protected by his charms as layer upon layer of ablative essence tore away from him.

Clearing the demesne, Speaker found himself pulled up through the forest canopy. Limb-thick branches hurt even more than being dragged along the dirt – and indeed the impacts, on account of his speed, were too much for his shield charms.

Thus, in the otherwise quiet of the nighty, a flying yeddim zipped across the sky, followed by a limp pony and a trail of blood that rained down on the forest canopy underneath them. The faint smell of spring flowers hung in the air, even thus far up in the sky, but so did the pained and unconcious groans of the old combat medic as he was reeled in…

It was then that the demesne exploded in a brilliant flash of light. It was as if the daystar itself had risen out of the ground – only brighter. The light hurt to gaze at directly, both physically and spiritually, not that Speaker was conscious to see it.

Speaker awoke in one of his hospital beds back in Nexus. Shimmer was by his side. Everything hurt… well, right until he used his anesthetic charm on himself – but even as the pain subsided it became clear that he was not able to move himself properly.

Shimmer quickly picked up on Speaker’s return to the land of the conscious, and in turn hugged him tightly – more than the anesthetic charm could compensate for. A miserable whimper from Speaker quickly made her stop.

“How are you feeling?” Shimmer tentatively asked. She knew the full extent of Speaker’s injuries – but she also knew that he would recover: It was only a matter of time before his bones knit themselves, on account of him being exalted.

Trying to move his head – and failing – Speaker instead simply tried to breathe. That worked, which in retrospect should have been obvious… he wouldn’t be alive if he couldn’t breather, so he managed to whisper: “Like shit”

Shimmer wiped a few tears from her eyes: “You’ll be fine… now what exactly did you do inside that demesne?”

Speaker groaned. He didn’t feel like talking – but thankfully he didn’t have to in order to explain what he had done. It took some effort, but effort that hurt, to shape wisps of essence around him into shapes of light and sound. It really wasn’t that different from playing the singing staff: A creative expression of essence and willful intent. What Shimmer saw looked like the ancient first age essence-flow diagrams of manses long lost to the ages. Then came Speaker’s disembodied voice explaining that he had attempted to ‘feed’ the PSV to the demesne, in order to not only contain the PSV explosion, but to turn it into something that wouldn’t blight most of the east for centuries to come… which led to him asking a quite poignant question: Had it worked?

Shimmer thought about Speaker’s question for a few tense moments. In her mind she compared what she had seen as they had flown away from the demesne to what Speaker had just illustrated. Sure, her knowledge of essence flows and arcane architecture paled to that of Speaker, but in turn she had a lunar’s expansive mind and flexible charms that allowed her to intuit insight in the most unexpected of places. To Speaker she simple nodded: “I think so – when we left the great tree above the manse erupted into a pillar of light. I also checked with essence sight: The whole demesne had increased in potency many times over, and changed aspect as well – but it appeared stabile”

Speaker didn’t say or do anything – only waiting for Shimmer to continue.

“It had changed from wood aspected to Solar aspected” Shimmer said, leaving Red’s sacrifice unsaid but implied and acknowledged.

Speaker closed his eyes and silently gave a tear to Red’s memory as well.

With Shimmer’s charms Speaker was quickly restored to a state where he was able to heal himself completely. All she really had to do was use her shapeshifting powers on him to the extent that his limbs weren’t bent ‘in the wrong way’. Ok, among mortal ponies that would have been a tall order on order requiring round the clock nurses and doctors – but thank to Shimmer’s shapeshifting charms she was able to let Speaker rest and recover, only altering and shifting his flesh and bones when need be... and while there was a lot of need, it was fairly easy.

Ultimately, three days after Speaker originally waking up in his hospital, the Lookshyan stallion was able to get out of bed and relieve himself in ways most urgent – very much on his own.

After this he left Brookside. He said nothing to the nurses or the doctors – indeed, knowing him they simply let him go.

With his mind a mess of sorrow and confusion Speaker fell back on the things he knew: He sought the Lookshyan apart of Nexus, also simply known as ‘Lookshy town’ in the northern end of the Firehammer district. It was an austere part of Nexus. The shops there weren’t flashy, not trying to show off their wares compared to their competitors.

The whole place was mostly barracks and warehouses – and he wouldn’t let into either places. One locale Speaker did find hospitable: The Yellow Pepper, a Lookshyan restaurant.

Entering the place was like stepping into a place far from home, yet so very near to the heart. It had all the right field force sigils and banners hanging from the ceiling at various places. It was a shrine of remembrance, a place of reverence to the fallen. With this in mind Speaker strode confidently, yet with a noticeable limp, to the bar and demanded a proper Lookshyan candle-light dinner.

In many other places in Creation such a request would have hinted of romantic intents – but among Lookshyans such a request was less a time for merriment and more a time for somber reflection and introspection. The barman, a red-coated stallion with a black mane, looked at Speaker with disbelief: “You know what you’re asking for?”

Speaker didn’t deign to reply, simply nodding solemnly, stomping him hoof into the floor.

This got the attention of the other ponies in the establishment.

As the barman and chef hesitantly brought Speaker the food he had ordered others began to gather around Speaker.

It was a scene Speaker had experience far too many times in his life. He hadn’t asked for this – indeed, he had hoped to avoid it seeing that this wasn’t Lookshy proper, but at the same time he would never deny any of them a seat at the table.

Many the green soldier and junior officer gathered around Speaker. They asked about his past, and where he had served. When he said that he had served with the 1st Gunsozsha medical support scale of the 1st field force, the very best of the very best, none rose their hooves and their cups for a cheer to the fallen. To do so would be beneath those who had fallen, for they could not join in, so in accordance with Lookshyan tradition the group of military ponies sat down in silence as servants brought out more small bowls with food similar to what Speaker was eating.

It was then that a disguised Sullen Hoof appeared, looking slightly out of breath and pleased to have found Speaker as he sat down next to him and caught his breath. In his current disguise Sully appeared as a bland light brown coated pony with a short-cropped black mane - like one of the thousands of other almost identical ponies in Nexus, and with his plain off-white clothes he looked like someone’s lowly servant, meaning that none of the other ponies at the table paid him any attention: “Speaker, we have to go, quickly”

“No. This is a time of mourning. Nothing is more important than this” Speaker replied, every word, every breath, a pain to force through his windpipe, be it in or out – but Speaker showed none of it, out of respect for the dead. A few of the other ponies even scoffed at Sully, reacting to what looked like a stupid servant acting disrespectfully towards his master, who clearly was busy with something far more important.

Sullen Hoof, the expert culinarian, beheld the fried noodles that Speaker was jostling around. With Speaker’s awakened essence he could float around the chopsticks quite freely – but he did not. Speaker was nibbling directly with his mouth at the bowl of sauce and fried meats, veggies and noodles before hi m – doing so with an almost ritual pace and calm – as were all the other ponies around him. It didn’t surprise Sully that Lookshyans had poor taste in food, but he had honestly hoped that he had taught Speaker better than this.

Sullen Hoof found this frustrating. There were more important things ahoof – no time for mourning. Pleading with Speaker, he was challenged to partake in the ritual: “Eat with us – and don’t rush this. Everyone here has bled for justice and what is right. We’re here to affirm that and honor those who fell doing so” Speaker said solemnly. The ponies at the table made room for Sully, though some didn’t look too happy about it – but they complied none the less.

Sullen Hoof had never heard Speaker talk in such a somber tone. Indeed, Sullen Hoof had witnessed Speaker at failed surgical procedures where good ponies had died despite the best of his ability – but this… this was different. This was truly a ritual of mourning, which was at least what his behavioral analysis charms told him. Were they all mourning Red?

His respect for Speaker bid Sullen Hoof to partake in the ritual – despite not knowing what he was getting in to. It seemed simple enough: Eat a meal in respect for respect of the dead. It looked like fried noodles and fried veggies with bits of cheap scraps of chicken. It basically looked the same fare you could anywhere else in Nexus at one of the tens of thousands of food stands and soba shops that dotted the cityscape.

Upon the food making contact with Sullen Hoof’s mouth the culinarian quickly confirmed that this fare was not ordinary food. Indeed, to call it food was an offence to food in general. This was pain manifest, fire and suffering distilled into a solid – and… Speaker was sitting at a table surrounded by other uniformed ponies, though theirs weren’t as faded or worn as Speaker’s, silently eating the same dish. Only a few of them even had tears in their eyes, including Speaker, though it was likely more for the loss of Red than the food.

Quickly swallowing and steeling himself for the mayhem that one mouthful would undoubtedly wreak upon his bowels later on, Sullen Hoof forgot all about why he had sought out Speaker to begin with – instead he asked the seemingly far more pertinent question of: “What in all the dragon buttholes of heaven is this?”

Speaker shook his head. He didn’t expect Sullen Hoof and his refined palate to understand – indeed none at the table probably expected a non-Lookshyan to be able to understand – but Sullen Hoof was a friend, and so he was owed an answer. Floating down his chopsticks and giving Sully a long sigh, Speaker asked: “What do you know about Lookshyan cooking?”

Sullen Hoof had to admit that he knew little of it directly – but he figured that much it would be heavily influenced by the kind of food one would feed an army with, which usually meant simple meals and lots of them, preferably with ingredients that could keep for a long time… and conversely you would spice up the food that had ingredients which would easily spoil, to hide any unsavory flavors: “…is that why this is so spicy? Did I just eat spoiled chicken?”

The ponies around the table chuckled, while Speaker merely smiled: “No – but the rest of your deduction was spot on, to the extent that that was how it used to be. These days we just spice up everything for fun, though I will give you that this, the penitent bowl, is not a normal dish: It’s usually reserved for prisoners - as a means of torture. They get milk if they talk”
Sullen Hoof nodded. This was definitely torture in food form.

“…but for the rest of us it’s also a reminder of the hardships we’ve faced, and the hardships we’ll face in times to come. It’s a rite of passage for new recruits in the 7th legion to eat a bowl of this, as well as a rite of mourning for those who’ve lost brothers and sisters in arms in battle” Speaker explained, floating up his chop-sticks again, along with a big helping of – to Sullen Hoof – chicken and noodles not fit for pony consumption.

The master culinarian looked around at the table full of ponies who silently ate. There wasn’t time for this. With his culinary martial arts, and expert use of subtlety Sully manipulated the food at the table: With only essence and will, not touch or taste, Sully ‘adjusted’ the dishes so that they would gained a new characteristic, in addition to its hellish level of spiciness and otherwise bland veggies and noodles: He made it forgettable.

The effect was immediate to see, but not for those under its spell: Even with each mouthful burning, none of those who ate took much notice of the food itself. It became like eating a bowl of the most dull and tasteless rice, simply something one scoffed down – albeit at a respectful but quick pace. No more mulling over each bite to torture one self, or distract oneself from the sorrow of lost friends. Speaker certainly didn’t seem to notice, and so a few short moments later he sat up and bowed to the ponies he had dined with, then turned to Sullen Hoof: “Alright, thank you for waiting, now what was so urgent?”

Sullen Hoof sighed and rolled his eyes, then took a deep breath: “While we raced to dispose of that thing Red was holding back, all the changelings we had passed on the way down to their queen broke loose – with no master they all went on a rampage. The council is pissed, and have blamed us for all the damage and dream-eaten ponies”

“I… we should have anticipated that… but I’m sure Cash can pay for the damages, and I can heal the ponies who were fed on by the changelings” Speaker said, feeling stupid that he hadn’t thought of this happening in advance.

Sullen Hoof shook his head and headed towards the door: “Not an option. The council put a civility into effect that confiscates all of Cash’s and your business and assets two days ago while you were still unconcious – Brookside is theirs now. They say it’s to cover for damages. Today they sent mercenaries to evict everyone and take control of the area”

Speaker ran after Sully, stopping him outside the Yellow pepper. Under the gaze of the large statue to Sunipa, the eastern goddess of war, which stood at the center of the largest square in Lookshy-town Speaker asked: “But Shimmer didn’t say anything about this when I woke up – why this kind of reaction?”

“Cash was trying to figure that out when I ran off to find you. You left without saying anything so we didn’t get a chance to tell you. Right now we need to get back to Brookside quickly and salvage what we can, then get the hell out of here before the council sends the emissary after us” Sullen Hoof said, his voice sounding quite bitter.

Speaker could tell, not just from Sully’s tone of voice, but his posture, that all of this was pissing off the master culinarian to no end. Being chased out of town meant that Sully wouldn’t be able to continue whatever shadowy projects he’d been working on at night – not that Speaker knew for certain what they were, but from what little Sully had said during the many times the circle had eaten together Speaker knew that it had something to do with using his divine cooking to manipulate the rich and powerful in Nexus into treating their thousands of employees better. Indeed, the number of ponies coming in from the Nighthammer district with burns from working in unsafe forges or foundries had dwindled over the last month or so thanks to Sully’s work.

“Hold on – the hospital doesn’t have anything of any real value. Almost everything in it is made of salvage or donated second-hoof materials. Only real asset there is the staff” Speaker said as he followed Sully as they made a bee-line to the nearest gate out of Lookshy-town, past the various warehouses and import-export shops that made up most of the small enclave.

Stopping , Sully turned to look at Speaker as his illusory disguise dropped – his appearance reverting to normal, revelaing his orichalcum helmet-mask and essence-spider silk first age chef uniform: “The property itself is valuable. With the wyld fire Brookside doesn’t need your weekly wyld energy cleansing, meaning that the whole place can be auctioned off lot by lot for a fortune – hell, once the wyld energy goes away all the poor ponies slumming in the rest of Firewander will likely get bucked out of their hovels to make room for new buildings that they definetly won’t be able to afford to live in”

“Gods… they’ll do that to all the ponies we have employed too, won’t they?” Speaker said in a startled tone, realizing that the spacious apartment buildings he’d made with his singing staff for the many ponies that he had Cash employed would probably usually cost a lot more than what Cash was charging in rent. It would render them all homeless!

Sullen Hoof nodded and said that this only made it all the more important for Speaker to get back: “Cash said that once’d he figured out who’s behind this he come back and organize a mass exodus. We’ll use Shimmer’s cloud and Nah to move all our employees out of the city so they won’t get shafted by the council and whoever takes over the places they work at”

“Where are we going to take thousands of ponies?” Speaker said confused, sitting down in the middle of the street.

Sully shrugged: “Chung Do? Who knows – but you have to come back and help pack – that’s our priority right now”

Looking around in the square, the sharp clangs and noises of several nearby smith and tinkerer shops, Speaker tried to spot any open sewer entrances. He had originally crossed half the city from Firewander to Lookshy-town the normal way, not taking any shortcuts through the dank undercity tunnels… He hadn’t been in any rush to get there. Then it occurred to him: “They bar the sewer access points here – Lookshy moves too many valuables through the warehouses here to allow uncontrolled access for ponies sneaking up here from the undercity”

Sullen Hoof nodded: “True, I came here via the roof-tops. Did I ever get around to showing you any jumping charms?”
“No… but I think it’s been on my to-do list to learn one of those for a while – but can’t we just take the undercity route back via some grate you can unlock if we’re in a hurry?” Speaker suggested.

Sullen Hoof shook his head – not in a mere ‘no I can’t do that’ fashion, but as a sign of frustration: “You don’t get it! The civility signing over all our property and business went into effect two days ago – when I left to find you Shimmer was delaying the mercs sent to clear everyone out, Cash was organizing the evacuation of the apartments and Sunrise was trying her damndest to prevent a riot from breaking out – we don’t have time to sneak through the tunnels!

“But… shouldn’t an evacuation have started earlier? It doesn’t make sense to first start that now…” Speaker mused, trying to make sense of the situation.

Sullen Hoof sighed deeply and stomped a hoof into the ground in frustration: “Me, Cash, Shimmer and Sunrise, we’ve spent the last two days trying to reverse the civility – to make deal or find a way out. We never considered evacuating until it was absolutely necessary, now we need to get back and help”

“Show me then” Speaker quickly suggested, looking at Sullen Hoof.

Giving Speaker a look that was a mix of confusion and uncertainty whether Speaker was taking the situation seriously or not, Sully said: “Show you what?”

“…You do realize that there’s more to jumping charms than just leaping into the air?” Sullen Hoof inquired, but Speaker would have none of it.

Taking a deep breath and steeling himself, Sullen Hoof demonstrated the most basic of solar jumping charms, the Monkey Leap Technique. It allowed for supernaturally high and long leaps, but most impressively it allowed Sully to leap great lengths straight up or horizontally from a still standing position, without having to get a running start first like normal ponies when having to make any kind of big jump. After a few quite impressive four yard straight vertical jumps, each allowing Sully to peek over most of the nearby rooftops, Speaker said that he’d seen enough…

To Sullen Hoof’s dismay Speaker then coiled essence around his hindlegs and took a running start, leaping hundreds of yards up into the air in a south-eastern direction towards Brookside. Sighing, Sully quickly followed suit, catching up to Speaker in a matter of seconds.

Soaring high above rooftops Speaker spun slightly in the air as Sullen Hoof caught up to him: “While I admire your enthusiasm, then I say again: There’s more to this than just jumping – though pulling off a mountain-crossing leap on your first try is rather impressive”
“Yes… now I just have to figure out how to survive the landing” Speaker mused, looking somewhat concerned, even with him trying to sound as if joking.

Happy that Speaker hadn’t completely overlooked that aspect of jumping, Sully said that he couldn’t really do much: “If I try to halt your spin I’ll just spin myself – will your shield charms be able to keep you alive when you hit the ground?”
“Let’s hope so” Speaker said, feeling his altitude diminish…

Sullen Hoof stuck his landing perfectly, which gave him a great view as Speaker – now wreathed in a thin and barely visible sheath of golden essence – slammed into the side of one of the Brookside apartment buildings. Looking down into the streets it quickly became clear from the lack of ponies streaming out of that building meant that it had already been emptied of residents… and two blocks down the road was a regiment of mercenaries just outside the gate into Brookside from Sentinel Hill.

Speaker quickly picked himself out of the rubble and stormed out of the building he’d crashed into. His entire right side ached and hurt as if he’d been bucked by the side of a mountain, but beyond that then his injuries weren’t any worse than some serious bruising and other minor injuries the impact, something he could suppress with a nice anesthetic application of his charm.

In the street Speaker was met by a sea of ponies with backpacks, saddlebags and carts full of personal possessions who all gave him desperate looks. Their cries for help quickly underlined the severity of the situation: “They can’t be doing this, can they?” “I don’t want to go back to living in the gutters again… I’d rather kill myself” “Please help us”

Speaker tried to calm those around him when Sunrise’s voice boomed out from a first floor window across the street: “Take hearth ponies of Brookside – the mercenaries sent by the council are only here to vacate you from your homes. They will not hurt you if you’ve already packed and are out in the street”

“Screw that!” A coarse voice shouted from the mercenaries down the street. Speaker just barely managed to get to the ‘front’ of the crowd facing the mercenaries when he saw the mare shouting. She was clad in a uniform identical to all the other mercenaries around her, dark grey lamellar armor and a black hood which denoted them as being from the mercenary outfit the Hooded Executioners, though she also had some golden insignia and decorations that showed that she was an officer: “We have to have to – arghbppbttb - check everyone to see if they’ve stolen any – phbththt - council property on their way out… nobody leaves until we say so” Like all the ponies around her she was ducking, weaving and waving her hooves around from some kind of unseen menace harassing her as she tried to address the crowd.

It was then that Speaker spotted what the mercenaries were fending off instead of emptying out apartments: Large silvery hornets with noticeably purple coloration on their heads and backs. The swarm seemed to focus on the mercenaries up front facing Brookside, quite effectively preventing them from getting any closer.

Speaker saw this quite clearly as he recognized Shimmer’s handywork, but then one of them flew up and landed on Speaker’s nose and buzzed at him in… a strangely understandable fashion. Somehow it said “You’re here, great – you take over. Hold these idiots off until me and Cash have stashed all his silver elsewhere” Then the whole swarm of giant hornets flew off in through one of the open windows above Cash’s western art gallery’s storefront.

The three-hundred some mercenaries quickly regained their composure now that the hornets were gone – and began to march down towards Speaker – hundreds of steel-shod hooves ringing out in unison as they struck the coble lining the streets.

The ponies behind Speaker began to panic. Some shouted, some cried. Suddenly Speaker noticed that the ponies around him were all holding clubs and makeshift weapons in their mouths. He did so when one of them, a young colt with a dirty grey coat and a pale yellow mane asked: “What do we do sir?”

Looking around himself, Speaker realized that the armed ponies all wore the same blue bandana… a symbolic uniform, and blue at that: “That depends, who are you lot?”

The colt introduced himself as Stompy, saying that he and the others around him were the neighborhood watch – hired by Cash to keep the likes of the greycoats and other crooks out of Brookside. To Speaker they looked like poorly equipped and poorly trained militia…. And there were barely two dozen of them. If there were more Speaker figured that they were off trying to fetch their possessions before the mercs took control of the area.

The situation seemed hopeless. The mercenaries were barely sixty yards away, and many of them seemed to be readying sacks and saddlebags for whatever loot they would take from the poor ponies they were kicking out of their homes. Even the so-called neighborhood watch seemed to be little more than civilian ponies given sticks to fight with, judging from how they were trembling…