Aesthetics of Mysticism

by Queue de Spool

Rating: teen
Tags: Dark, Adventure, Alternate Universe, Human
Length: 4243

Elysium is a world governed by Harmony. In all things it is the final arbiter, but it does not judge puny rocks, nor deadly landslides. It is a system with human-shaped loopholes...

Elysium is a world governed by Harmony. In all things it is the final arbiter, but it does not judge puny rocks, nor deadly landslides. It is a system with human-shaped loopholes.

Author's Note: I started developing this concept after Magical Mystery Cure. I used some later canon ideas to flesh it out, like the Tree of Harmony, which was exactly what I needed to build large parts of this world, but for practical purposes nothing past the S3 finale is canon with this story. If it interests you, this story has an explanation for why Luna didn't lose the nightscape behind her Cutie Mark in the S4 finale.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2015-10-05 06:46:28 UTC

Like an emaciated Jane Goodall

Elysium is a world governed by Harmony. In all things it is the final arbiter, but it does not judge puny rocks, nor deadly landslides. It is a system with human-shaped loopholes...

Westley’s cage swayed as the cart rattled over the rough terrain. His view was blocked by a tarp thrown over him, but it kept the light out of his eyes. The last several months of foraging the land and eating scraps from towns had left him weak, so he was in a perpetual state of headache. His hardships had long since beaten into him the xenophobic nature of ponies, who seemed to develop strong internal bonds by enforcing a whitelist of trust; he'd seen how the other races were treated, some welcomed, like the cows and goats, and others were tolerated, like the minotaurs. This is why Westley currently sat in bondage: a supply heist gone wrong in a large port city.

It began simply enough, Westley slept his days hidden upstream in a misty, serene forest, and he spent his nights casing the city and rummaging through garbage for anything useful. Ponies did not often create excessive waste, so pickings were slim. Or Westley didn't know where to find the good garbage. After several confusing encounters with the Law in his early days, he decided theft was too risky, but he had little choice this time: it was his fourth night in town, and all he had on his back was a pair of towels poorly stitched into a poncho, patched jeans, a child's canteen, a small box of thread and bent needles, a metal bowl, and a wrinkled map.

Westley was lying on his stomach in the shadow of an alley, his hands were pressed into the ground, ready to push him up as soon as it was safe to move. Through his shaggy hair he could see two ponies strolling together, occasionally nudging each other and giggling. He could hear their horse sounds, but couldn't make out anything he'd call words; they seemed to be on a romantic outing. It'd be a shame if they saw Westley, ruin everyone's night.

Before the couple passed completely out of his vision they were stopped by an armored pony. He'd seen ponies like this before, in the past he’d run from them. His heart began beating in his chest; his hiding spot wasn't as dark and out of the way as he'd like, but he'd yet to meet a pony with decent night vision. The cop made a loud horse noise before passing the couple, who turned to follow him. It was unusual for ponies to have such dejected looks on their faces after dealing with police; the ponies seemed to have a much better relationship with their law enforcement than anyone had back on Earth. Westley couldn't see anything obvious that would indicate the couple were participating in illegal activity, but he also wasn't an expert on pony society; he only had the bare understanding he'd gleaned after months of studying them from the shadows, like an emaciated Jane Goodall.

When the encounter was over he shoved himself up and dashed in the opposite direction from the cop until he could duck into another alley. He'd have run further, but he caught sight of a dispersing group of police, each moving down a different street for their patrols, leaving only one road behind. The safe bet was that street was also patrolled, possibly the way to a much larger group. He turned his head to the sky and noticed the heavy flapping of weighted pegasi, though he could only see their silhouettes in the distance. It didn't matter if the city's sudden police presence was because of something else, Westley couldn't shake the feeling that it was because of him. He couldn't remember being seen recently, but his paranoia had served him well, and the outcome would be the same if he were spotted.

He turned to consider his options. He couldn't walk in the open, even if they'd only see a shadow of his shadow, that was enough to spook them sometimes. He couldn't climb around buildings, that would make him too vulnerable and easy to spot; even if there were no pegasi he'd be reluctant to try that. He couldn't simply wait until day, then he'd lose his only advantage. The one thing that stood out to him was the police were apparently still in the middle of deploying. Were they just now standing watch, or was this a shift change? In the first case, his best option would be to move out immediately. In the second case his best option would be to wait for the extra police to leave the streets and move after everyone had settled down.

Westley poked his head out again and saw the street was clear; he strained to hear anything, but only heard the soft whispers of night. As long as he kept an eye on where the pegasi were, his way seemed to be clear now, so he sprinted out of his alley eastward, to the outskirts of town. He passed several blocks before he stopped himself in the shadow of a cart, he'd arrived at a store he hadn't seen before, a perfect mark, a camping supply store. If he were going to make this trip worthwhile, this was the only chance he was likely to get. He started creeping, but froze when he saw the shadow of a pegasus fly nearby; he could barely keep himself from shaking loud enough to be heard. Moments passed and his senses strained.

"Ok, man, you can do this. Don't be a coward, fear is the little-death, the mind killer, there is no do, only tr- Wait, I said that one wrong. Point is, you can't let yourself get paralyzed; this isn't a stealth game where you get to step away from the controller until you're willing to put up with the willies again.", he whispered to himself.

He darted through the night, then snuggled himself behind a barrier near the store. One of the windows was slightly agape, held open by a wooden block, which hopefully meant it was loose; he'd need to be sure it didn't slam behind him. He slowly let the window down after he entered, then he crept into the first hiding place he could find to observe the store. On the walls he spotted several large backpacks, although the straps looked awkward. There were also some jars of preserves, a selection of compasses, pots, tinder, blankets... Everything he'd need to live away from the ponies for an extended period of time. Really, it was in everyone's best interest he took what he needed.

He carefully started packing away his prizes, using numerous blankets to keep things from bumping into each other. After he was done he considered it for a moment, for it was large and it was bulky. He could get it out of the window, but he'd be vulnerable the entire time, and it would likely get him spotted. He could unpack, but he didn't want to press his luck and spend even more time in the store. He could leave it, but then he'd have to make the trip again tomorrow. His choice was made for him when he heard a hoofstep and a voice.

"Ice Cream Social, are you down here? I told you not to sneak food anymore, you're already becoming big for your size."

He had to tug the pack through the window, and an errant pot handle almost stopped it entirely, but he managed to yank it through... which let the window slam. Westley looked up and saw the terrified face of a squat mare.

"Shit."

And Westley ran. His paranoia was cranked up to 11, so he didn't care about being seen, he just needed to get away from the scene of his crime. He made it for a time until the staccato rhythm of his feet shook loose the errant pot, which clattered on the cobblestone streets. Westley didn't look back, he barely noticed it. In his mind it was just more evidence that he was being chased, which it was.

A pegasus guard came to investigate the commotion, but instead of noticing the lone pot she saw the faint silhouette of an off-balance figure. Her wings beat silently as she turned in his direction. She settled into a comfortable, downward glide that would have allowed her to overtake him if he hadn't kept darting between streets. He didn't seem to be aware of her, or at least he never looked in her direction, but he was clearly trying to shake someone. She pulled a sharp corner after his last turn, then slammed into his body.

They both collapsed onto the ground, human under pony. Westley's paranoia had finally started abating when he'd taken his breather, only for her to appear right in front of him. In his shock he flung her further into the alley, where she hit her head on a brick wall, and after a moment to orient himself he ran further into the outskirts of town to his escape.

The cop slowly picked herself up. It was uncommon for police officers to be injured in the line of duty, they were closer to civil servants than law enforcers. Their primary function was to talk ponies through their moral dilemmas and negotiate the peace, not to keep the peace by "containing" a situation. But then there were occasions like these, where they were tasked with defending the public from monster attacks. This was why Floating Bee considered herself lucky, she only had minor pains after her encounter with the "monster", it'd be trivial for a medic mage to treat her. But then, was that the monster? It seemed smaller than she'd been lead to expect, and nothing about it seemed like it was another of Lord Animus's more vile creations; it was nothing compared to a manticore. Still, after determining it was gone, she flew to the Pegasus Corps base of operations, a conspicuously large cloud, and reported her findings, which were soon relayed to the Ground Corps and to a contracted mage named Trixie Lulamoon.

"So is this it?", Trixie asked while she rode in the back of a flying chariot.

"We're not sure.", Spade Chunks said. Since Trixie was on contract for her special talents, and not for her formal police training, he was her handler, designated to keep her safe. "The consistent reports suggest it might not be him." He was also her pegasus taxi.

"Consistent?"

"Floating Bee and the store owner both said it was a poorly dressed and balding slob."

"That might mean he's not using his glamour.", she said.

"I don't know why he wouldn't use it, though. They're supposed to be difficult to do, but not particularly draining."

"When Trixie was traveling on the road, she often became too hungry to cast. He's only stolen food, right?"

"No, he's stolen other supplies, but it all points that way. He does seem less well-to-do than most people.", he said.

"Then again, Trixie supposes her own experience with illusions may not apply to him. It's not like we know what kind of creature it is."

"I'd stay quiet. Talking like that is an easy way to get your contract nullified; we'll believe you if you say you're incompetent, and I don't think someone in your position can afford that", he said.

"And just what do you suppose Trixie's position is?"

"You don't hide it as well as you should. Most ponies wouldn't spot it under your cape, but police are trained to spot Stigma."

"Trixie... I see. I'd hoped that part of my contract would stay hidden.", she said.

"This will sound crazy, but a lot of us prefer working with contractors when they have Stigma. We know how you're going to act, so it's easier to plan around you."

"Trixie is so glad you're finding her disability convenient."

"Hey, now, I don't mean it in a negative way. Most cops end up with at least a little bit of Stigma before they retire, so we get training at the Lodge every year. The way I see it, you're closer to being a by-the-books cop than a villain.", he said.

"Just what Trixie always wanted to be."

"It's a noble profession. Have you detected anything yet?"

"No, just keep flying. Trixie will tell you when she does."

Below them, hidden beneath a dewey canopy of leaves, Westley collapsed to his knees. This wasn't his closest encounter yet, but he attributed that to luck more than skill. He slowly straightened himself out and relaxed against a tree. Before he went to bed he'd need to climb it to ensure he was safely out of sight, but for now he could hydrate and eat. After his third handful of strawberry preserves Trixie pinpointed his location, and he was captured.

A Better View for the Irreducible You!

“They didn’t have to cover him up. Trixie could have broken his illusion.”, she said.

Spade Chunks shrugged. “If he wants to to take it off, he can.”

“I know, but seems like you’re not using Trixie’s talent as much as you could. ”

“Don’t worry about it, the job’s done for now, and that’s all that matters.” They were both riding in the cart lugging Westley, though to him their conversation was a low mumble.

As time passed Westley’s headache lessened and he poked his head out of his cover. The terrain had changed from dense foliage to rolling meadow, a place he’d never been before, but his memory of his confiscated map told him they were headed west. He glanced at the sun’s position, but like usual it did nothing to confirm his direction; when it was not rising or setting, it held motionless in the zenith of its path.

The seasons were changing, which he could feel when the occasional small draft reached him. He pulled his tarp closer to his body and let his mind wander, though his thoughts stayed on his uncertain fate.

‘If this were home I could expect a plea bargain to a low security prison to expedite the sentencing. I might have even been able to get some career training out of it depending on the facilities and the warden… But I really don’t know much about ponies. They seem gentle with their own kind.’ He paused to study the police pony guarding his cage for a moment. She seemed to be avoiding his gaze. ’I’ve stopped running and I’m not in immediate danger. At the very least I can get a roof over my head for a little while, maybe get to know a little bit more about this world.’

The swaying of the cart and the rhythmic sound of hooves was hypnotic, almost like a quiet, somber marching tune. Westley gently hummed a simple melody and soon found himself in a mindless tranced only interrupted by the occasional outburst from the other occupants.

The scenery changed several more times through the course of the day, from meadow, to farm land, to rocky terrain, to another forest, a remote location from the rest of society, before the journey was over. The sound of more and more hooves hitting the soft, trampled soil alerted Westley it was time to move. He made sure to tie the tarp around his body, good fabric was hard to find at the fringes of society, before he was ushered out of the cage. When he stepped out the first thing he saw was a giant sign on the side of a large facility:

WELCOME TO HARMONY LODGE

A BETTER VIEW FOR THE IRREDUCIBLE YOU!

The slogan… was not what Westley expected from a jail. Or perhaps it was a corrections facility? It seemed to hint more towards rehabilitation than simple holding. He turned to the one who’d ushered him out, a pale-green earth pony.

“Might as well let you keep that.” She gestured to his crude covering. “Better than the alternative.”, she said.

“Thanks?”

“Not a problem.”

“This place seems cheerful enough, doesn’t it?”

“It’s a riot.”, she said.

“Well, let’s hope not.”

“Patients go to check-in first. Follow the guards in the rainbow uniforms. They’ll get you sorted.”

Westley looked until he spotted them and confirmed their uniforms. “Seems… garish.” He began walking towards them, closely shadowed by Pale-green and some other police ponies. He didn’t know what to think about being called a “patient”.

“It was Princess Celestia’s idea. She thought it’d build on the theme. It’s just tacky.”

“Oh. Well, not everyone can be a fashion designer, I guess.” He wasn’t sure how to respond. This was the first real conversation he’d had in months, and pale-green’s replies weren’t inviting. “I’ll see you later, then.”

“Probably not. I’m not due for training for 10 months.”

And then the gates closed. Westley turned and started following his new captors into the facility with a handful of his previous escorts, including a blue unicorn he hadn’t seen before. The campus was large, containing numerous buildings, several guard towers, and an area filled with ponies doing various activities, like gardening, sculpting, basket weaving, dancing, putting, and one even seemed to be snorkeling in a large aquarium. If he ignored the guards it looked like a small country club.

“Name?”

The question pulled him from his musings. “Ah. My name is Westley. Westley Vrana.”

The off-white clerk gave him a nervous look, barely meeting his eyes. “Strange name...” He scribbled for a moment. “Here’s your nametag.”

Westley stared at it for a moment before putting it on. It’d been a long time since he’d realized he’d inexplicably been able to understand a foreign alphabet, but seeing his name garbled into a naive approximation of its meaning, “Crow of the West Field”, was a reminder of how alien things were. “Weird.”

“Indeed. It’s not often we receive non-ponies here. Take a seat in the lobby until we can assign a room for you. Do you have any problem bunking with others?”

Westley hesitated. Living with someone else would give him an opportunity to socialize, but being cooped up with a mental patient sounded like trouble. “I don’t think that would be a good idea, at least not in the beginning, but I’ll do it if I have to.”

“That’s probably for the best. Not everyone will appreciate your... appearance, and you’ll progress faster if we can keep you from temptation in the beginning.” He flipped through several pages in his book before continuing. ”I’ll see what I can do, but you’ll probably be in one of the farther barracks with the violent offenders if no one’s willing to give up a room.”

“It’s that packed here?”

“Not usually, but there’s been trouble lately. Princess Celestia’s taken some of it pretty hard, you know.”

“I’ve heard that name several times now. Besides the obvious, who is she?”

The off-what clerk gave him another funny look. “You must be a rock farmer.”

“If that’s your way of saying I’ve been living under a rock, you’d be right.”

“Indeed. Princess Celestia is the Diarch of Equestria and the Sun Raiser.”

“She raises the sun, or is that figurative?”

“She raises the sun.”

The explained somethings. “Ah. So… You been here long?”

The pony stood up and presented his flank. He pointed to his branding, which was speckled with dark marks, before sitting down again. “I’ve been a graduate of Irreducible U. for ten years now. When there was an opening for a filing position I decided to stay. Oh, that’s what we call this place sometimes. Much more catchy than “Harmony Lodge”, don’t you think?”

“It’s a clever play on the slogan, yeah.”, Westley said.

“It is? Well, you’ll see when classes begin.”

“And here I thought I’d never go to school again. 20 years is too much for me.”

“If you’ve had that much education, do you mind me asking-- No, this is a place for new beginnings. It’s generally considered poor form to ask about such things; most ponies like to forget the darker parts of their lives.”

“Thanks for the heads-up, I’ll keep that in mind.”

Westley sat down in a small classroom, no more than 15 people were with him, most being ponies, though there was a single minotaur. It was arranged by sets of three people at four long tables, and the final table was crowded with four. Next to him sat a grey pony with salmon hair, who quickly scooted his seat away after he noticed Westley.

“I can’t be that repulsive, can I?”

“Eh… You’re just… I’m scared of spiders.”

It was the last reply Westley had been expecting. He looked down at himself and patted his “clothing” for a minute, trying to find anything vaguely arachnid about himself. “What.”

“D-don’t mind me, It’s my problem, not yours. They wouldn’t have let you in the common rooms if… if you weren’t safe. I know I’m being...”

“Chicken shit?”

“What? No, I was going to s-say prejudiced.”

“I’m confused. I’m not a spider.”

“Y-you have eight legs, eight eyes, and fangs as long as my hoc--”

An cheerful, cerulean pegasus mare interrupted him. “No he doesn’t! He looks like a big potato!” The commotion caused everyone else to look their way. Some were more composed than others, but all seemed disturbed by his appearance.

“What? A spider? A potato? Are you people blind?”, Westley said.

The largest of the group, the Minotaur, stood up, pointed a gigantic finger at Westley, and bellowed. “THEY PUT A CHANGELING IN THE LODGE?”

“Honest Bronze, be quiet! If he were a changeling we’d all see the same thing.”, yet another pony, a strangely reflective unicorn, said. “Poppy Loam saw a spider, Spruce Goose saw a potato, and I see a living suit of armor. What do you see?”

“I SEE A CHANGELING!”

“Oh. Well he’s obviously not. If you paid more attention in class you’d know they can’t function around us.”

“YOU THINK CHRYSALIS WOULDN’T FIND A WAY AROUND STIGMA AFTER A THOUSAND YEARS?”

“I told you to be quiet! You’re making a scene! And that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

‘I’m in a mental hospital.’, Westley thought as he crept to the door. ‘They’re all crazy.’ Before he could make his exit he backed into a pony. “Oh! Sorry.”

“It’s… fine. But what’s going on here?”, the pony said. He was a tan pegasus stallion with a brown mane, who wore a padded vest and a necklace with a round pendant.

“They looked at me, and then… this.” Westley gestured to the growing chaos.

“Why did you let this happen?”

“What? I didn’t do anything.”

“Do not lie to me. You need to stop this.”

“That’s a mob!”

“Fine, I’ll handle this, but we’re going to talk about what you’ve done.” The pony walked to the head of the room and lifted his pendant. At first nothing seemed to happen, but after a minute Westley went to his knees as his headache worsened and throbbed. At the fringe of Westley’s attention he noticed the crowd had settled and looked like it was in a hypnotic trance. The pony was in front of Westley again. “Get up. Guard Giant Hoof here will escort you to your quarters.”

Westley could barely hear, however, and he stayed on the ground. “W-what?”

“Get up. Go to your room.” He was holding his pendant aloft again, and Westley’s headache worsened again. “My name is Luminous Path, I am your keeper. You will obey me. Go to your room.” He waited, but Westley did nothing but cradle his head. “Hoof, take him away, and tell Billiard Ball to watch everyone. I need to see the warden about this.”

“Sir, he looks like he’s in pain. Should I take him to the medical wing?”

“He’s just resisting more than most do, so I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“If you say so.”, Giant Hoof said. He fumbled before hoisting Westley onto his back. To Giant Hood Westley looked like a rodent of unusual size, so his first attempt to grab the kneeling figure failed.

The hallways Luminous Path walked were spartan until he reached the outside doors, in which a relief of Equestria’s emblem had been carved. He exited the building into the populated courtyard of the campus, where few ponies were working on various projects. The staff quarters were on the other side of the main walkway, which Luminous crossed with haste.

When he reached the warden’s office he knocked, then was called into the room.

“Luminous? Aren’t you lecturing right now?”

“There was an incident with our newest resident.”

The warden, a pure-white mare named True Sleeve, rummaged through her drawer before pulling out a file. “You’re talking about Crow? The illusionist?”

“Yes, I don’t believe he’s fit for group therapy. He demonstrated no understanding of how his illusions affect others. He caused a panic. Until we can get him under control we’ll have to do things the hard way.”

“His treatment will take much longer if we have to wait to socialize him. Are you certain?”

“I had to have him carried back to his room.”

True Sleeve glanced at her file again and sighed. “Very well. If he’s that bad you’ll probably need Trixie’s help. I’ll rearrange the schedules.”

“Thank you, I’ll be returning to my class.”