Crimson Wardenby Soren MercerChaptersForewordPrologueCrimsonAn EncounterForewordOkay, right off the bat, I know a lot of people who read this story will ask the question or make the note, "This is a lot like Avatar the Last Airbender", or, "Is this an Avatar the Last Airbender crossover?" or something like that. No. It's not. Yes, it takes some inspiration from ATLAB, but it is in no way influenced or connected to ATLAB what so ever. Second, this is a conversion from a story I had started writing a few years ago. As such, the writing in it is horrible so I'm going to be re-writing it completely so it's going to be taking me a bit longer than my normal posting rates for early chapters. Third, I have no idea who the new characters are going to be, who of the MLP world is going to be in the story beyond simple names so i've left the character tab mostly unticked. They'll get updated as they show up. The characters are all at least seventeen, give or take... I'm using a human scale of age here, by the way. The chapters should show a change in writing, denoting the old from the new and should take place after a couple chapters so bear with me till then. PrologueThe legend of the Wardens is as old as time itself, some say. Others say that the Wardens are the remnants of an ancient precursor race who withstood the tests of time and the near extinction of their people; who lived before ponies even achieved intelligence. Fanatics even believe them to be an alien race all of their own, or perhaps the mere act of an all powerful deity who decided to play with equiniti. Whatever the case may be in reality, all that is known for certain is that there are only twenty worthy of the title Warden. The original four Wardens, the Grand Wardens, decided in secret to share with the world, the entirety of Equus as a whole, the secret to their seemingly infinite power; so began the Warden projects across the globe. Candidates who wished to be reborn as a Warden had undergone cruel, inequine gene therapy in hopes of joining the ranks of the world's most powerful and most respected group. Successful applicants who survive the reconstruction of their very DNA gained seemingly impossible control over one of the four basic elements that even the greatest of unicorn mages couldn’t achieve, where they would then be divided into one of five star ranks within each element type -called a faction- beginning at one for the lowest, ending at five as a Grand Warden. Over generations, successful subjects began becoming more and more commonplace, until such time as the mandatory limit of twenty began to be reconsidered to that the size of an army. As the gene pool began to spread out and expand amongst the creatures of the world, the quality and purity began to degrade thus virtually solving the overpopulation crisis of its own accord. These now-considered rejects became known as Bars and when left to their own, began to breed new variants; some able to adequately control two or more factions. But as the number of controllable factions within a specimen increased, their ability to adequately control them diminished until the point where it wasn’t uncommon to hear of a Bar becoming unstable and experiencing what became known as Rupture: where the DNA in a specimen became unstable and violently self destructed. Eventually the Grand Wardens began a grand scale purge to forcibly eliminate unstable Bars all while outlawing gene manipulation practices that offered a position as a potential Warden, upon threat of death. This naturally brought dissent among the globe's populace, with inquiries about how to tell who was pure blooded, who was just a normal Unicorn or magic user, and who was manipulated and to be put to death. Years of research later and science discovered a tagline in a pure blooded Warden’s DNA denoting their status and as such almost instantly silenced attempts to restore the race of Wardens. The Bar Hunts ended as a simple goal to let pure Wardens survive with the minimum populace of twenty, five of each faction and free to do whatever they please. Crimson"Malachi! Come here boy!" Mal's father called to him from the forge downstairs. Malachi lowered himself from just his one tan hoof to all four and with the help of a couple stewards, removed the bowls of scalding water from atop his head and three remaining outstretched limbs. He had never once spilled a drop and he didn't plan to now. Wiping the sweat from his body with a cool towel, Malachi retrieved his blackened sunglasses and placed them over his white eyes and took off at a brisk trot towards the stairs down to his father’s forge. Tossing the towel over his shoulder for the attendants to clean up, Malachi began the journey downwards taking the four flights of stairs to the depths of what was often described as hell by any other Faction than his own. Entering into the antechamber of the forge, Malachi met his father who was currently sat on a mattress with an IV in his leg and a rather large block of salt which was only half the size it used to be the day before. “What were you doing up there?” Malachi’s father demanded as he glowered at the bow with an apprehensive glare. "I was balancing on my foreleg just like you told me to, four hours ago." Malachi answered truthfully. "Did you have the bowls of water like I positioned them?" His father turned to a bottle of large salt pills while the IV replenished the nutrients lost in sweat from working in the hellforge. "Yes sir. I had the servants replace the cold water with boiling water, give myself more incentive to stay in stance." Malachi reported dutifully, standing at attention to the great man before him. "I see, you didn’t spill any then? Turn, let me see your body." Malachi complied and rotated in place to show no evidence of water burns or the like on his body; if the burns would’ve been hidden by his fur, his father would know regardless. Malachi's father nodded twice before holding a salt pill to his son who gratefully took and swallowed it, knowing exactly what was next to come. Malachi disrobed before pulling on an old smithing apron which were covered in old metal filings and crystal shards. Once his father was content with his nutrient levels, he unhooked himself from the IV and stepped forward toward the door to the inner forge itself; his son right beside him. Malachi's father took hold of the door handle, specially conditioned to resist the searing heat from within and pulled the door open with the alarm sounding a breach in the heat casing. As the sweltering waves washed over both father and son, Malachi having been knocked back a few steps by the heatwave, both males stepped into the inner chamber and the door latched closed behind them. "So what're we doing today, father?" Malachi inquired as he retrieved a red crystal hammer hanging nearby, specifically designed to smith Crystal. "Today is review. Today, you will craft a Warden’s badge which will be given to a person of highest degree capabilities. He is to be badged tomorrow, at a formal ceremony, by a representative of the Central 48 as a public event." Malachi's mouth hung slightly open, then became uneasy at the thought of crafting -by himself- a badge which signified utmost power within the four factions. At this point, Malachi became somewhat unsure of his crystal smithing skills, even though the back of his mind told him he knew he had the capabilities to smith one with master craftsmanship despite his remarkably young age of 3735. Malachi pushed the thoughts of uncertainty from his mind, setting his attention to the task at hand and began remembering the proper steps to be taken to do the job correctly, as well as safely. "Which faction am I am crafting for?" Malachi asked with a stern, yet calm voice as he made his way over to the racks of the four crystals: red, blue, green, and white. The answer his father gave him would decide which crystal material he'd have to use as each crystal would have different densities and methods of shaping. "Earth Breaking. The badge will be presented to a newly crowned Breaker. Make me proud, and remember your training." His father told him before moving to, then standing far out of the way and out of reach for help from the boy. Malachi nodded then began to feel the braille text on the crystal rack frames by the frog of his hoof, telling him which crystal type was where. Malachi reached down a bit, grasping hold of a large, solid shard of green crystal with bare hooves; something one does not simply do without years of conditioning of the skin and becoming a high ranked craftsman as the crystal had to be kept in the intense heat of the forge in order to keep it from becoming unworkable. Malachi ran his left hoof over the shard with the tip of the right tapping lightly on the bottom of the shard, allowing the young crystal smith to read the purity of the crystal through the wavelengths of vibration sent through. Malachi stopped a moment, thinking he had picked up a flaw, but after tapping again and slightly moving his hoof to pinpoint the flaw, discovered nothing wrong with the piece. Having made his selection Malachi slowly turned to the forge, placing the shard between specially conditioned tongs and submerged the shard under the liquid flames of the forge; just long enough for the shard to become pliable. His father began to slowly walk around the forge, sweating bullets, watching intensely as his son patiently waited. Malachi's hooves were becoming increasingly damp, a major issue when handling crystal in the forge's magma. Malachi carefully, slowly, removed one hoof from the tongs, wiped them on his apron and then slowly switched hooves to dry the other. Unfortunately as his free hoof was moving away, the edge of Malachi’s hoof snagged the metal of the tongs and pulled the tongs from Mal's grasp, sending them and the shard into the magma pit. At this point both father and son knew exactly what would happen, an explosion of the shard as it heated up way beyond its point of pliability. The only question was, when would it happen? Both men bolted for the door, Malachi reaching the enormous bulkhead first and tried to push it open himself but the door was too heavy for him; his father would have to open it and he wasn’t close enough. All of a sudden, an explosion went off from deep within the magma furnace; the crystal had exploded. Malachi instinctively ducked in attempts to avoid flying magma and crystal shard that he couldn't see. Unfortunately his attempts at safety were for naught, as searing hot crystal/magma shards flew up and across Mal's chest and back; the wounds instantly cauterised as the magma and flaming crystal shot past his flanks, leaving only burning scars. Malachi swung heavily at the door, sending waves of vibration out around the room trying to look for his father as the forge erupted much like a miniature volcano. He eventually managed to find an abnormal form lying on the floor: his father’s unmoving body. Malachi hoped to whatever deities were watching that his father was safe and so Malachi carefully crawled across the floor, under shelves and racks, until his muzzle met fur. Malachi pulled himself closer, constantly knocking his rear leg against something to make a vibration, anything to let Malachi see in the endless void that plagued him since birth. Once he managed to get himself where he figured he'd be safe, under a larger work bench, he pulled as hard as he could to move his father under the table with him but found it near impossible to do so without his father actively groaning or protesting. "Father! You must come here, get to safety! I'm so sorry I let it go, I didn't mean to I promise! I promise I didn't! I promise! Come on! Why won't you move?!" Malachi screamed at his father as he kept trying to pull at the body; the explosions having died down now to its normal state of mere bubbling. "I- I'm afraid I have no choice but to stay here son, you've given me no choice by dropping that piece!" His father hissed back, coughing up blood. Malachi now had tears in his eyes as his hooves explored his father’s body, trying to find whatever would be pinning his father. Without success Malachi pulled his right hoof back and sent it into the wall with such force that it dented the extremely thick metal, sending enormous vibration waves around the room to light up the body in front of him, as well as the meter long shard that fell from the pile above that pierced the male’s body and pinned him to the floor. Malachi's hooves grasped the crystal shard and then traced it down to the wound, feeling around to see where it penetrated; right through the spine, likely somewhere in the middle of the thoracic vertebrae. Further coating his hooves in blood, Malachi placed both hooves over the wound in attempts to stop the bleeding; not only to save his father, but also to save his way out of the vault-like forge. It was likely that staff heard and reported the explosion to emergency services, so they'd likely have someone strong enough with them, but he still wouldn't be entirely sure that they'd be able to get the door open. "Boy, you did this to me,” Malachi’s father paused to cough up a lungful of blood, “But I w- wa- want you to know some- something. I- I lov-" his father's voice trailed off as his heart was cut off from the signals from the brain to continue pumping. Malachi was actively sobbing now as his hooves remained on the wound, blood staining his fur as the door to the room blew open from the outside, his father's best friend as well as another crystal smith, stood in place before the door. Malachi's head hung over his father's body, body not moving, as the emergency personnel moved in wearing specially made heat retardant clothing. His father's best friend moved to Malachi, picking him up by his barrel with Malachi actively kicking, screaming and crying in attempts to not be removed from his only remaining family’s side. As he was lifted up and out of the furnace and into the outer chamber, medical personnel moved in and attached Malachi to his father's own IV and injected a salt solution into the bag; with much resistance from Malachi of course. This forced the Medicals to actively restrain Malachi long enough for the police to shackle the boy, an act which infuriated Malachi. With an almighty roar Malachi broke the cuffs, an act which no one in the room expected, and began to engulf everyone present in a steel cocoon, effectively restricting everyone's air supply. Malachi, in his fit of rage, began to bury everyone's cocoon deep under ground; unbeknownst to him, one of the officers managed to get a call to the police headquarters to bring in a Warden to contain the situation. That would be the last transmission before everyone who showed up was buried alive in their tombs. Only moments later, Malachi broke himself up through the ground, through the house he was born and raised in, and landed on the marble tiles where he had only just been standing in stance for four hours, not two hours ago. It was at this point when a low ranked one-star Warden popped up from the ground behind Malachi and had him restrained in red crystal cuffs: cuffs meant only to contain anyone capable of manipulating a Faction. The Warden was now able to securely attach the full shackles, designed to prevent breaking of any kind. Malachi, forelegs bound and tears streaming, fell to his stomach with head hidden under his body, and passed out. ~~~ 1423 years later, Malachi stood at the precipice of a large, rocky sand dune, blindly staring out into what remained of the battlefield he had just drenched in the blood of the enemy. His white eyes gazing out, only able to vaguely see the horrific scene before him. Instead of turning away in shame for his actions, Malachi reveled in his victory, bending down low and scooping up some of the drying blood staining the sand and placing it into a small glass phial; his blood rage, as well as blood lust, thoroughly quenched for the time being. Standing once more, the Crimson Warden turned and walked off, his over coat billowing in the sandy winds. He had no idea he was about to find a little sister. An EncounterThe best parts about being in costume is you get to become someone else, especially when being yourself sucks ass. This is why Scootaloo had spent so much time constructing her Harley Quinn outfit for this years Screamfest; a Nightmare Night event held in town every year at the nationally recognized fairgrounds in Manehattan. This year instead of going as a patron, Scootaloo had been invited as a model for the photo booth available for people to get commemorative photos taken. This year there was her as Harley Quinn, her now ex-coltfriend Button Mash as the Joker, her now current, though this was still a hidden fact since her ex was there still and had a rather short temper, coltfriend Rod as a skeleton, as well as a couple other, unnoticeable models she’d met before. Tonight however, there were a couple new ones: a rather large tan stallion with white eyes larger than Big Mac -Scoots figured the eyes were just coloured contacts- and a younger, smaller filly with charcoal black fur and a bright orange mane and tail pulled backwards like the captain of the Wonderbolts to distract from the fiery red eyes. They’d come dressed as Wardens complete with rather realistic looking badges and blood dripping down the stallion’s face, and had become quite popular with the rest of the characters. A couple hours into the night Scootaloo finally decided to introduce herself to the male after the filly had left for a bathroom break. “Hey, Warden!” She called out to the pony. He stood up from where he sat in the middle of the crowd and turned towards the booth, probably thinking he was being summoned for a picture but she jumped in front of him before he got there, “Sorry, didn’t mean for you to think you were being called for a picture. I’m Scootaloo, though my friends call me Scoots. Just wanted to say that's a rather awesome costume you’ve got, and I was wondering how you made such a realistic looking badge.” “Nice to meet you Scootaloo. I’m Malachi. And thank you for the compliment, the outfit I just threw on. As for the badge, I found it in a costume shop. Your Harley Quinn costume is also rather impressive for what looks like a custom work.” The pony remarked slowly, as though he were carefully choosing his words. His voice was fairly bassy, with the tinge that suggested he’d been around and seen some things. Mature, that’s what she’d describe it as. “Thanks, I think. What about your contacts? Where’d you find them? I’ve got an idea for next years costume that those white eyes would work perfectly with.” Scoots remarked as she stared up at the male’s eyes, trying to see past them for a hint at the pony’s actual eye colour. “Contacts? You are mistaken: I’m genuinely, certifiably blind. My companion heard about the Warden with white eyes and an insatiable bloodlust and decided I was perfect to go as him. Turns out he and I wear almost the same thing when it comes to fur colour and mane.” “You're actually blind? Then how do you know what my costume looks like, smartass?” Scoots smirked up at the stallion, finding out she was still at least a full head shorter than the beast before her; and she was a full grown mare now, so that was saying something. “My companion described everypony's' costumes to me when we got here. Apparently yours is an ‘impressive recreation of the psychopath who follows the Joker everywhere.’ Which brought up her question later on, why don’t you and him get photos done together, I'm told you never do?” “That’s my ex-coltfriend actually; we didn’t end things on very good terms. Also the skeleton is secretly my current coltfriend, so I had some interesting choices to make. By the way, who’s your friend with the orange mane? She your younger sister?” Scootaloo asked out of an increasing curiosity and because she and her coltfriend had a bet as to whether she was his sister or marefriend since they’d seen her comfortably riding the stallion’s back or leading him by the hoof. “Well now that is a long story. She could be considered my sister of sorts, a kind of adopted sister, though nothing official. I happened to run into her a long time ago when she had no parents so I took her under my wing so to speak.” Malachi explained as he rubbed his chin with a large hoof. “You still haven’t told me her name yet you know.” Scootaloo reminded Malachi after watching him likely reminisce for a few minutes, snapping him from his memories. “I figured I’d let her introduce herself instead of doing it myself.” Malachi told her, seemingly glancing over Scootaloo’s shoulder. Scootaloo turned around and after searching through the crowd of Nightmare Night’s characters and other patrons of the festivities, she eventually found the head of the girl with bright orange hair as she approached, adjusting her clothing a little after her break. The girl beelined directly for Malachi and hopped up onto the front of his shoulder, then with impressive agility, flipped herself up and over on Malachi’s back to get comfortable. “How is that not strenuous on him?” Scoots inquired with a curiously cocked eyebrow, resetting it after the display. “It helps that his back is large enough for me, he’s strong enough to carry me, and his coat adds additional comfort.” the small filly explained. She had to be no larger than Scootaloo was in her adolescence, a few years after finding her cutie mark with her friends. The girl’s head came up to Scootaloo’s chest while Scootaloo came up to the stallion’s chest as well. “I suppose being so young has its benefits doesn’t it?” Scootaloo joked. “Malachi and I were just introducing ourselves and I was wondering your name.” “Its Ashe and I'm not as young as you think." Ashe replied then grinned. "Before I tell you how old I actually am, I want you to guess first.” the girl added. This threw Scootaloo for a bit of a loop however, as she wasn’t quite expecting this. After a minute of pondering, Scootaloo gave her guess, “I’m thinking, around eleven?” This however brought rapturous laughter from Ashe, as well as a noticeable smirk from Malachi, making Scootaloo slightly blush at her apparent wrong answer. “Close but not really. Malachi, how old am I really?” She asked the stallion whose neck her cheek was presently lying upon. After a minute of anticipation, Malachi answered short and simply, “Seven thousand, seventeen.” This brought up an eyebrow to both Ashe and Scootaloo, though for different reasons: Ashe because she was surprised Malachi had accurately counted the years they’d been together on top of her age and Scootaloo figured he was just joking. Malachi “glanced” at Scootaloo, and corrected himself, “She’s seventeen and she’s still small enough to ride on my back.” “Well I suppose with your respective heights, that wouldn’t be to difficult to do. I’m almost sure I could probably ride comfortably on your back myself. I won’t since we’ve only just met, but you understand my point right?” Scootaloo scratched at the back of her neck with her wing as her eyes went towards their flanks, curious about what kind of cutie mark the both of them would have, however noticed that both of their outfits completely covered the marks’ location. With nothing more to say or do to continue further interaction, Scootaloo returned to her post near to the booth to invite customers. The night went on more or less uneventfully from there, however Scootaloo had noticed that both her ex as well as current secret coltfriend were both giving Malachi the stink eye as it were; probably thinking she was flirting with him. She had also noticed over the course of the night that Ashe would glance over in her direction, a certain look in her eyes that said “stay away, he’s mine.” Despite the voice in the back of her mind telling her not to do so, she approached the pair once more in an attempt to potentially gain some new, unbiased, friends. “A question for both of you,” Malachi turned at Scootaloo’s voice, swinging Ashe around to the point of almost throwing her off his back which forced her to climb her way back up into position. “I have some things I need to do tomorrow afternoon, and I was wondering if you’d like to hang out with me then; get to know each other better as it were?” Scootaloo was more than aware of the two pairs of eyes drilling into the base of her neck behind her. Ashe turned to look at Malachi, as though the two were having some sort of telepathic conversation, which for all Scootaloo knew they were considering how close the two seemed to be. “We will accept your invitation, where are you going to get everything done? We’ve got to get to a bank as well so if there's one where you’re going, we’d be glad to join you.” Malachi responded, Ashe seemed not to thrilled with the idea however. “Yeah I think there's a couple different bank branches there. Here’s the address to the mall i’m going to. Hopefully we can meet up there; do you have a phone number or other contactability I can use to find you with?” In response, though not quite the response Scoots had been expecting, Malachi reached into his pocket and pulled out a rounded, flat stone with a twelve digit phone number engraved into it. Running her wing tip over the engraving whilst looking at it, Scootaloo asked, “You guys aren’t local are you?” “What makes you say that?” Ashe asked curiously. “Well In this country, phone numbers are only ten digits long; three, three, then four. However yours is twelve. Where you guys from?” Scootaloo replied in question. “We were in Griffonstone for a few years up until last month, thus the 49 international code.” “You guys were in Griffonstone? That’s so awesome, i’ve wanted to get out of here and see what the rest of the world was like for some time now. What’s it like there? I’ve actually got a few friends from Griffonia.” “We’re really the worst people to ask that; Malachi being blind, and I can’t really hold my attention for very long.” Ashe began to tell her as her eyes were drawn away towards something off in the distance. Malachi shook his shoulder a bit, returning Ashe to the conversation. “Not to mention we kinda got used to everything having been there for so long, so we don't really know the tourist attractions anymore.” It was at this point that the regular lights in the building went on, the black light being washed away and the music dying down a bit as security ushered people out of the building for the night’s end. Scootaloo looked back towards the booth, specifically towards her coltfriend and after receiving the scorn hidden in his eyes as he was packing up to leave, quickly wrote down her own local phone number on a random slip of paper procured from the booth’s desk and handed it to Ashe, who passed it down to Malachi to pocket. Nodding a thanks as well as good-bye, Malachi turned and trotted off towards the doors.
ForewordOkay, right off the bat, I know a lot of people who read this story will ask the question or make the note, "This is a lot like Avatar the Last Airbender", or, "Is this an Avatar the Last Airbender crossover?" or something like that. No. It's not. Yes, it takes some inspiration from ATLAB, but it is in no way influenced or connected to ATLAB what so ever. Second, this is a conversion from a story I had started writing a few years ago. As such, the writing in it is horrible so I'm going to be re-writing it completely so it's going to be taking me a bit longer than my normal posting rates for early chapters. Third, I have no idea who the new characters are going to be, who of the MLP world is going to be in the story beyond simple names so i've left the character tab mostly unticked. They'll get updated as they show up. The characters are all at least seventeen, give or take... I'm using a human scale of age here, by the way. The chapters should show a change in writing, denoting the old from the new and should take place after a couple chapters so bear with me till then.
PrologueThe legend of the Wardens is as old as time itself, some say. Others say that the Wardens are the remnants of an ancient precursor race who withstood the tests of time and the near extinction of their people; who lived before ponies even achieved intelligence. Fanatics even believe them to be an alien race all of their own, or perhaps the mere act of an all powerful deity who decided to play with equiniti. Whatever the case may be in reality, all that is known for certain is that there are only twenty worthy of the title Warden. The original four Wardens, the Grand Wardens, decided in secret to share with the world, the entirety of Equus as a whole, the secret to their seemingly infinite power; so began the Warden projects across the globe. Candidates who wished to be reborn as a Warden had undergone cruel, inequine gene therapy in hopes of joining the ranks of the world's most powerful and most respected group. Successful applicants who survive the reconstruction of their very DNA gained seemingly impossible control over one of the four basic elements that even the greatest of unicorn mages couldn’t achieve, where they would then be divided into one of five star ranks within each element type -called a faction- beginning at one for the lowest, ending at five as a Grand Warden. Over generations, successful subjects began becoming more and more commonplace, until such time as the mandatory limit of twenty began to be reconsidered to that the size of an army. As the gene pool began to spread out and expand amongst the creatures of the world, the quality and purity began to degrade thus virtually solving the overpopulation crisis of its own accord. These now-considered rejects became known as Bars and when left to their own, began to breed new variants; some able to adequately control two or more factions. But as the number of controllable factions within a specimen increased, their ability to adequately control them diminished until the point where it wasn’t uncommon to hear of a Bar becoming unstable and experiencing what became known as Rupture: where the DNA in a specimen became unstable and violently self destructed. Eventually the Grand Wardens began a grand scale purge to forcibly eliminate unstable Bars all while outlawing gene manipulation practices that offered a position as a potential Warden, upon threat of death. This naturally brought dissent among the globe's populace, with inquiries about how to tell who was pure blooded, who was just a normal Unicorn or magic user, and who was manipulated and to be put to death. Years of research later and science discovered a tagline in a pure blooded Warden’s DNA denoting their status and as such almost instantly silenced attempts to restore the race of Wardens. The Bar Hunts ended as a simple goal to let pure Wardens survive with the minimum populace of twenty, five of each faction and free to do whatever they please.
Crimson"Malachi! Come here boy!" Mal's father called to him from the forge downstairs. Malachi lowered himself from just his one tan hoof to all four and with the help of a couple stewards, removed the bowls of scalding water from atop his head and three remaining outstretched limbs. He had never once spilled a drop and he didn't plan to now. Wiping the sweat from his body with a cool towel, Malachi retrieved his blackened sunglasses and placed them over his white eyes and took off at a brisk trot towards the stairs down to his father’s forge. Tossing the towel over his shoulder for the attendants to clean up, Malachi began the journey downwards taking the four flights of stairs to the depths of what was often described as hell by any other Faction than his own. Entering into the antechamber of the forge, Malachi met his father who was currently sat on a mattress with an IV in his leg and a rather large block of salt which was only half the size it used to be the day before. “What were you doing up there?” Malachi’s father demanded as he glowered at the bow with an apprehensive glare. "I was balancing on my foreleg just like you told me to, four hours ago." Malachi answered truthfully. "Did you have the bowls of water like I positioned them?" His father turned to a bottle of large salt pills while the IV replenished the nutrients lost in sweat from working in the hellforge. "Yes sir. I had the servants replace the cold water with boiling water, give myself more incentive to stay in stance." Malachi reported dutifully, standing at attention to the great man before him. "I see, you didn’t spill any then? Turn, let me see your body." Malachi complied and rotated in place to show no evidence of water burns or the like on his body; if the burns would’ve been hidden by his fur, his father would know regardless. Malachi's father nodded twice before holding a salt pill to his son who gratefully took and swallowed it, knowing exactly what was next to come. Malachi disrobed before pulling on an old smithing apron which were covered in old metal filings and crystal shards. Once his father was content with his nutrient levels, he unhooked himself from the IV and stepped forward toward the door to the inner forge itself; his son right beside him. Malachi's father took hold of the door handle, specially conditioned to resist the searing heat from within and pulled the door open with the alarm sounding a breach in the heat casing. As the sweltering waves washed over both father and son, Malachi having been knocked back a few steps by the heatwave, both males stepped into the inner chamber and the door latched closed behind them. "So what're we doing today, father?" Malachi inquired as he retrieved a red crystal hammer hanging nearby, specifically designed to smith Crystal. "Today is review. Today, you will craft a Warden’s badge which will be given to a person of highest degree capabilities. He is to be badged tomorrow, at a formal ceremony, by a representative of the Central 48 as a public event." Malachi's mouth hung slightly open, then became uneasy at the thought of crafting -by himself- a badge which signified utmost power within the four factions. At this point, Malachi became somewhat unsure of his crystal smithing skills, even though the back of his mind told him he knew he had the capabilities to smith one with master craftsmanship despite his remarkably young age of 3735. Malachi pushed the thoughts of uncertainty from his mind, setting his attention to the task at hand and began remembering the proper steps to be taken to do the job correctly, as well as safely. "Which faction am I am crafting for?" Malachi asked with a stern, yet calm voice as he made his way over to the racks of the four crystals: red, blue, green, and white. The answer his father gave him would decide which crystal material he'd have to use as each crystal would have different densities and methods of shaping. "Earth Breaking. The badge will be presented to a newly crowned Breaker. Make me proud, and remember your training." His father told him before moving to, then standing far out of the way and out of reach for help from the boy. Malachi nodded then began to feel the braille text on the crystal rack frames by the frog of his hoof, telling him which crystal type was where. Malachi reached down a bit, grasping hold of a large, solid shard of green crystal with bare hooves; something one does not simply do without years of conditioning of the skin and becoming a high ranked craftsman as the crystal had to be kept in the intense heat of the forge in order to keep it from becoming unworkable. Malachi ran his left hoof over the shard with the tip of the right tapping lightly on the bottom of the shard, allowing the young crystal smith to read the purity of the crystal through the wavelengths of vibration sent through. Malachi stopped a moment, thinking he had picked up a flaw, but after tapping again and slightly moving his hoof to pinpoint the flaw, discovered nothing wrong with the piece. Having made his selection Malachi slowly turned to the forge, placing the shard between specially conditioned tongs and submerged the shard under the liquid flames of the forge; just long enough for the shard to become pliable. His father began to slowly walk around the forge, sweating bullets, watching intensely as his son patiently waited. Malachi's hooves were becoming increasingly damp, a major issue when handling crystal in the forge's magma. Malachi carefully, slowly, removed one hoof from the tongs, wiped them on his apron and then slowly switched hooves to dry the other. Unfortunately as his free hoof was moving away, the edge of Malachi’s hoof snagged the metal of the tongs and pulled the tongs from Mal's grasp, sending them and the shard into the magma pit. At this point both father and son knew exactly what would happen, an explosion of the shard as it heated up way beyond its point of pliability. The only question was, when would it happen? Both men bolted for the door, Malachi reaching the enormous bulkhead first and tried to push it open himself but the door was too heavy for him; his father would have to open it and he wasn’t close enough. All of a sudden, an explosion went off from deep within the magma furnace; the crystal had exploded. Malachi instinctively ducked in attempts to avoid flying magma and crystal shard that he couldn't see. Unfortunately his attempts at safety were for naught, as searing hot crystal/magma shards flew up and across Mal's chest and back; the wounds instantly cauterised as the magma and flaming crystal shot past his flanks, leaving only burning scars. Malachi swung heavily at the door, sending waves of vibration out around the room trying to look for his father as the forge erupted much like a miniature volcano. He eventually managed to find an abnormal form lying on the floor: his father’s unmoving body. Malachi hoped to whatever deities were watching that his father was safe and so Malachi carefully crawled across the floor, under shelves and racks, until his muzzle met fur. Malachi pulled himself closer, constantly knocking his rear leg against something to make a vibration, anything to let Malachi see in the endless void that plagued him since birth. Once he managed to get himself where he figured he'd be safe, under a larger work bench, he pulled as hard as he could to move his father under the table with him but found it near impossible to do so without his father actively groaning or protesting. "Father! You must come here, get to safety! I'm so sorry I let it go, I didn't mean to I promise! I promise I didn't! I promise! Come on! Why won't you move?!" Malachi screamed at his father as he kept trying to pull at the body; the explosions having died down now to its normal state of mere bubbling. "I- I'm afraid I have no choice but to stay here son, you've given me no choice by dropping that piece!" His father hissed back, coughing up blood. Malachi now had tears in his eyes as his hooves explored his father’s body, trying to find whatever would be pinning his father. Without success Malachi pulled his right hoof back and sent it into the wall with such force that it dented the extremely thick metal, sending enormous vibration waves around the room to light up the body in front of him, as well as the meter long shard that fell from the pile above that pierced the male’s body and pinned him to the floor. Malachi's hooves grasped the crystal shard and then traced it down to the wound, feeling around to see where it penetrated; right through the spine, likely somewhere in the middle of the thoracic vertebrae. Further coating his hooves in blood, Malachi placed both hooves over the wound in attempts to stop the bleeding; not only to save his father, but also to save his way out of the vault-like forge. It was likely that staff heard and reported the explosion to emergency services, so they'd likely have someone strong enough with them, but he still wouldn't be entirely sure that they'd be able to get the door open. "Boy, you did this to me,” Malachi’s father paused to cough up a lungful of blood, “But I w- wa- want you to know some- something. I- I lov-" his father's voice trailed off as his heart was cut off from the signals from the brain to continue pumping. Malachi was actively sobbing now as his hooves remained on the wound, blood staining his fur as the door to the room blew open from the outside, his father's best friend as well as another crystal smith, stood in place before the door. Malachi's head hung over his father's body, body not moving, as the emergency personnel moved in wearing specially made heat retardant clothing. His father's best friend moved to Malachi, picking him up by his barrel with Malachi actively kicking, screaming and crying in attempts to not be removed from his only remaining family’s side. As he was lifted up and out of the furnace and into the outer chamber, medical personnel moved in and attached Malachi to his father's own IV and injected a salt solution into the bag; with much resistance from Malachi of course. This forced the Medicals to actively restrain Malachi long enough for the police to shackle the boy, an act which infuriated Malachi. With an almighty roar Malachi broke the cuffs, an act which no one in the room expected, and began to engulf everyone present in a steel cocoon, effectively restricting everyone's air supply. Malachi, in his fit of rage, began to bury everyone's cocoon deep under ground; unbeknownst to him, one of the officers managed to get a call to the police headquarters to bring in a Warden to contain the situation. That would be the last transmission before everyone who showed up was buried alive in their tombs. Only moments later, Malachi broke himself up through the ground, through the house he was born and raised in, and landed on the marble tiles where he had only just been standing in stance for four hours, not two hours ago. It was at this point when a low ranked one-star Warden popped up from the ground behind Malachi and had him restrained in red crystal cuffs: cuffs meant only to contain anyone capable of manipulating a Faction. The Warden was now able to securely attach the full shackles, designed to prevent breaking of any kind. Malachi, forelegs bound and tears streaming, fell to his stomach with head hidden under his body, and passed out. ~~~ 1423 years later, Malachi stood at the precipice of a large, rocky sand dune, blindly staring out into what remained of the battlefield he had just drenched in the blood of the enemy. His white eyes gazing out, only able to vaguely see the horrific scene before him. Instead of turning away in shame for his actions, Malachi reveled in his victory, bending down low and scooping up some of the drying blood staining the sand and placing it into a small glass phial; his blood rage, as well as blood lust, thoroughly quenched for the time being. Standing once more, the Crimson Warden turned and walked off, his over coat billowing in the sandy winds. He had no idea he was about to find a little sister.
An EncounterThe best parts about being in costume is you get to become someone else, especially when being yourself sucks ass. This is why Scootaloo had spent so much time constructing her Harley Quinn outfit for this years Screamfest; a Nightmare Night event held in town every year at the nationally recognized fairgrounds in Manehattan. This year instead of going as a patron, Scootaloo had been invited as a model for the photo booth available for people to get commemorative photos taken. This year there was her as Harley Quinn, her now ex-coltfriend Button Mash as the Joker, her now current, though this was still a hidden fact since her ex was there still and had a rather short temper, coltfriend Rod as a skeleton, as well as a couple other, unnoticeable models she’d met before. Tonight however, there were a couple new ones: a rather large tan stallion with white eyes larger than Big Mac -Scoots figured the eyes were just coloured contacts- and a younger, smaller filly with charcoal black fur and a bright orange mane and tail pulled backwards like the captain of the Wonderbolts to distract from the fiery red eyes. They’d come dressed as Wardens complete with rather realistic looking badges and blood dripping down the stallion’s face, and had become quite popular with the rest of the characters. A couple hours into the night Scootaloo finally decided to introduce herself to the male after the filly had left for a bathroom break. “Hey, Warden!” She called out to the pony. He stood up from where he sat in the middle of the crowd and turned towards the booth, probably thinking he was being summoned for a picture but she jumped in front of him before he got there, “Sorry, didn’t mean for you to think you were being called for a picture. I’m Scootaloo, though my friends call me Scoots. Just wanted to say that's a rather awesome costume you’ve got, and I was wondering how you made such a realistic looking badge.” “Nice to meet you Scootaloo. I’m Malachi. And thank you for the compliment, the outfit I just threw on. As for the badge, I found it in a costume shop. Your Harley Quinn costume is also rather impressive for what looks like a custom work.” The pony remarked slowly, as though he were carefully choosing his words. His voice was fairly bassy, with the tinge that suggested he’d been around and seen some things. Mature, that’s what she’d describe it as. “Thanks, I think. What about your contacts? Where’d you find them? I’ve got an idea for next years costume that those white eyes would work perfectly with.” Scoots remarked as she stared up at the male’s eyes, trying to see past them for a hint at the pony’s actual eye colour. “Contacts? You are mistaken: I’m genuinely, certifiably blind. My companion heard about the Warden with white eyes and an insatiable bloodlust and decided I was perfect to go as him. Turns out he and I wear almost the same thing when it comes to fur colour and mane.” “You're actually blind? Then how do you know what my costume looks like, smartass?” Scoots smirked up at the stallion, finding out she was still at least a full head shorter than the beast before her; and she was a full grown mare now, so that was saying something. “My companion described everypony's' costumes to me when we got here. Apparently yours is an ‘impressive recreation of the psychopath who follows the Joker everywhere.’ Which brought up her question later on, why don’t you and him get photos done together, I'm told you never do?” “That’s my ex-coltfriend actually; we didn’t end things on very good terms. Also the skeleton is secretly my current coltfriend, so I had some interesting choices to make. By the way, who’s your friend with the orange mane? She your younger sister?” Scootaloo asked out of an increasing curiosity and because she and her coltfriend had a bet as to whether she was his sister or marefriend since they’d seen her comfortably riding the stallion’s back or leading him by the hoof. “Well now that is a long story. She could be considered my sister of sorts, a kind of adopted sister, though nothing official. I happened to run into her a long time ago when she had no parents so I took her under my wing so to speak.” Malachi explained as he rubbed his chin with a large hoof. “You still haven’t told me her name yet you know.” Scootaloo reminded Malachi after watching him likely reminisce for a few minutes, snapping him from his memories. “I figured I’d let her introduce herself instead of doing it myself.” Malachi told her, seemingly glancing over Scootaloo’s shoulder. Scootaloo turned around and after searching through the crowd of Nightmare Night’s characters and other patrons of the festivities, she eventually found the head of the girl with bright orange hair as she approached, adjusting her clothing a little after her break. The girl beelined directly for Malachi and hopped up onto the front of his shoulder, then with impressive agility, flipped herself up and over on Malachi’s back to get comfortable. “How is that not strenuous on him?” Scoots inquired with a curiously cocked eyebrow, resetting it after the display. “It helps that his back is large enough for me, he’s strong enough to carry me, and his coat adds additional comfort.” the small filly explained. She had to be no larger than Scootaloo was in her adolescence, a few years after finding her cutie mark with her friends. The girl’s head came up to Scootaloo’s chest while Scootaloo came up to the stallion’s chest as well. “I suppose being so young has its benefits doesn’t it?” Scootaloo joked. “Malachi and I were just introducing ourselves and I was wondering your name.” “Its Ashe and I'm not as young as you think." Ashe replied then grinned. "Before I tell you how old I actually am, I want you to guess first.” the girl added. This threw Scootaloo for a bit of a loop however, as she wasn’t quite expecting this. After a minute of pondering, Scootaloo gave her guess, “I’m thinking, around eleven?” This however brought rapturous laughter from Ashe, as well as a noticeable smirk from Malachi, making Scootaloo slightly blush at her apparent wrong answer. “Close but not really. Malachi, how old am I really?” She asked the stallion whose neck her cheek was presently lying upon. After a minute of anticipation, Malachi answered short and simply, “Seven thousand, seventeen.” This brought up an eyebrow to both Ashe and Scootaloo, though for different reasons: Ashe because she was surprised Malachi had accurately counted the years they’d been together on top of her age and Scootaloo figured he was just joking. Malachi “glanced” at Scootaloo, and corrected himself, “She’s seventeen and she’s still small enough to ride on my back.” “Well I suppose with your respective heights, that wouldn’t be to difficult to do. I’m almost sure I could probably ride comfortably on your back myself. I won’t since we’ve only just met, but you understand my point right?” Scootaloo scratched at the back of her neck with her wing as her eyes went towards their flanks, curious about what kind of cutie mark the both of them would have, however noticed that both of their outfits completely covered the marks’ location. With nothing more to say or do to continue further interaction, Scootaloo returned to her post near to the booth to invite customers. The night went on more or less uneventfully from there, however Scootaloo had noticed that both her ex as well as current secret coltfriend were both giving Malachi the stink eye as it were; probably thinking she was flirting with him. She had also noticed over the course of the night that Ashe would glance over in her direction, a certain look in her eyes that said “stay away, he’s mine.” Despite the voice in the back of her mind telling her not to do so, she approached the pair once more in an attempt to potentially gain some new, unbiased, friends. “A question for both of you,” Malachi turned at Scootaloo’s voice, swinging Ashe around to the point of almost throwing her off his back which forced her to climb her way back up into position. “I have some things I need to do tomorrow afternoon, and I was wondering if you’d like to hang out with me then; get to know each other better as it were?” Scootaloo was more than aware of the two pairs of eyes drilling into the base of her neck behind her. Ashe turned to look at Malachi, as though the two were having some sort of telepathic conversation, which for all Scootaloo knew they were considering how close the two seemed to be. “We will accept your invitation, where are you going to get everything done? We’ve got to get to a bank as well so if there's one where you’re going, we’d be glad to join you.” Malachi responded, Ashe seemed not to thrilled with the idea however. “Yeah I think there's a couple different bank branches there. Here’s the address to the mall i’m going to. Hopefully we can meet up there; do you have a phone number or other contactability I can use to find you with?” In response, though not quite the response Scoots had been expecting, Malachi reached into his pocket and pulled out a rounded, flat stone with a twelve digit phone number engraved into it. Running her wing tip over the engraving whilst looking at it, Scootaloo asked, “You guys aren’t local are you?” “What makes you say that?” Ashe asked curiously. “Well In this country, phone numbers are only ten digits long; three, three, then four. However yours is twelve. Where you guys from?” Scootaloo replied in question. “We were in Griffonstone for a few years up until last month, thus the 49 international code.” “You guys were in Griffonstone? That’s so awesome, i’ve wanted to get out of here and see what the rest of the world was like for some time now. What’s it like there? I’ve actually got a few friends from Griffonia.” “We’re really the worst people to ask that; Malachi being blind, and I can’t really hold my attention for very long.” Ashe began to tell her as her eyes were drawn away towards something off in the distance. Malachi shook his shoulder a bit, returning Ashe to the conversation. “Not to mention we kinda got used to everything having been there for so long, so we don't really know the tourist attractions anymore.” It was at this point that the regular lights in the building went on, the black light being washed away and the music dying down a bit as security ushered people out of the building for the night’s end. Scootaloo looked back towards the booth, specifically towards her coltfriend and after receiving the scorn hidden in his eyes as he was packing up to leave, quickly wrote down her own local phone number on a random slip of paper procured from the booth’s desk and handed it to Ashe, who passed it down to Malachi to pocket. Nodding a thanks as well as good-bye, Malachi turned and trotted off towards the doors.
