Surfing through the Dream Trails of Equestria has always been a favorite activity of ours, we must admit. Despite how… strange… some of our subject’s dreams have proven to be, it always brings us a great sense of satisfaction to ensure that everypony gets a good nights rest, free of any dangers the mind could present. It’s always brought that feeling, in the past. Or it might just be that the deep purples and fluffy whites of the Trails come as a soothing sight to us, but that’s neither here nor there.

Given just how much experience we have with slaying the bad dreams of our ponies, we’ve managed to pick up telltale signs of distress even before entering another’s dream. Things such as peculiar door formation, obvious signs of decay or damage, and even blockades are all fairly common signs of somepony suffering a nightmare.

Not to brag, as it wouldn’t befit royal blood such as we… but it seems pretty obvious just how good at our job we are!

Using our experience to our advantage is extremely helpful in the dreamscape and ends up making our duties infinitely less taxing. Instead of checking each individual dream, or trying to, as we did in the early days of our rule alongside our sister, all that is needed now is a glance at each door as we stride through the plane of sleep.

This particular night seems to be in our favor! Thus far, we have been fortunate enough to not encounter any signs of distress on any of the doors we’ve passed, making our routes all that much quicker. Fortune seems to shine upon us, thankfully!

Or at least, it did up until we discovered the door standing before us. An interesting thing about the trails we tend to walk is that they are overwhelmingly simple in layout. Not many turns or alcoves exist within this realm, and any that do most certainly do not have Dream Gates hidden in them. We’ve made sure of that through our many years, thank you very much!

‘So that brings an important question. Where in Tartarus did this gateway come from?!’ We think, completely infuriated with having overlooked this gateway. Who knows how long this poor subject of ours has suffered! The notes of distress around this door are deeply rooted, and from the looks of it have existed for an extremely extended period of time.

In a secluded offshoot of the trail of dreams, and completely isolated from other gateways lay a massive 10 foot tall pair of double doors. Made of rich redwood and covered top to bottom in impressive wood work, it’s easily impressive compared to most other gateways. Couple that with the brushed brass of the hinges and curved handles, and we can safely say that this particular door would rank within the top fifty most intriguing gateways we have ever happened across through our Dream Trail travels.

Or it would, if not for the extensive alterations done to the poor gate. Weathered nearly beyond reasoning for a single door to withstand, the wood was completely littered with pockmarks and pockets of splintering wood. Beyond that, the brass is almost entirely covered by the crippling remains of corrosion. In the few months since we have been back in Equestria from our lunar imprisonment, not a single gateway showed itself to be in such ruin. In fact, most were rather well kept! Usually only chipped paint or perhaps a small dent was to be found on the occasional door. Never was it anything this bad.

Then there were the locks., the chains… even razor wiring. With but a single glance, we can tell there is something deathly wrong with the owner of this gate.

Naturally, this interests us.

“I suppose this subject is in dire need of our help, this night. Perhaps many more nights to come, at that…” We end up stating quietly to ourselves. After all, there is no need to use the Royal Voice with nopony to hear it, correct? Raising a single hand up to the complete mess of metal before us, we charge the dreamscape with a slightly stronger dose of mana than what is usual. This being our own domain, no specific spells are required of us. Just apply a bit of mana and use your will to change ‘reality’, as it were! We can only just see the deep blue glow of our own magic emanate from our horn, but that isn’t what really catches the eye.

The true spectacle is the mass of metals before us, melting away from the door with out fuss. As chains upon locks upon wiring fade out of existence before our very eyes, we notice our mana going further on it’s path than even we anticipated. Small patches of corrosion seem to flake off of the metal fixtures, leaving shining brass in their wake. Nice work, to be sure! Only the best for our subjects, after all!

‘Enough of our shameful display of ‘humble bragging’, as the young ones say in Manehatten. We have nightmares to conquer!’ Walking towards the gateway with purpose in every stride, we lay our hands on both of the handles. The strength of our grip crunches and crumbles the remaining evidence of corrosion, only growing louder as we turn the knobs. With nothing more than a nod to assure ourselves, we throw the twin doors open with much more force than anticipated. Judging by the make of the gate, one would assume it to be much heavier that it actually is, much like we just have. Must be rotted, or even older than we had imagined. Either way, the force with which we threw the door open creates a loud bang that echoes across the small alcove, the reverberations nearly making me wince from surprise.

‘How shameful! To be caught off guard by a mere door… what would our subjects think?’ Beyond our mental chastising, we observe what the now opened gateway has revealed. Nothing but darkness, as is usual. One would need to actually enter the door before the owner’s dreams reveal themselves. The good news is there are no visible abnormalities in the gateway shroud.

“One point to us, we shall assume…” The sure-to-come point against us has yet to show. Huzzah for the small things, we suppose.

With what we’re sure is nothing but steel in our eyes, we bravely walk through the shroud of darkness that makes up the doorway’s other side.

Only to be blind-sided by both brightness and stench. The sudden overwhelming presence of blinding white causes us to shield our eyes for just a few, precious seconds out of shock. During these seconds, we managed to identify the near offensive scent now hosting a parade in her nostrils. After a moment, it was easily discovered that the area was…

‘Lemon scented? Now isn’t that quite the odd choice for a night terror…’ We thought to ourselves, honestly befuddled at the seemingly out of place scent in this supposed horror show. As the seconds of visual shock wear off, we take our time adjusting to the bright light of our subject’s dream. All around us was white. From the ceiling, to the walls, to even the floors were spotless white panels, all lit completely by a source unknown to us. These panels covered the entirety of the area, none different that the others and each one blindingly perfect. A quick tap of our hoof to the floor revealed much about the area, as a metallic clang answered back. If not for the metal covered everything, we would almost liken the place to a medical facility. The offensive stench really only bolsters that comparison, in our own opinion.

… We have never been one to particularly enjoy hospitals, to be quite frank.

‘To say that the room in which we reside is clean would be an understatement… it’s completely empty! There seems to be only one thing in this room at all, and that would be the closed door to our front…’ And so it is, our thoughts don’t lie! Directly in front of us, seemingly extremely out of place in all aspects that matter, was a lone redwood door. The singular door was nearly identical to the pair we had went through in the Dream Trail, with one glaring difference. This one is in pristine condition, as far as doors go. The brushed brass shines with a muted ferocity in the harsh light of the room, and the wood of the door itself appears lacquered and polished with great care.

Intriguing.

We begin our way to the door with confidence once more, resting our hand on the untarnished handle only to hesitate. Our ears have perked up of their own volition and… is that music we hear? Just barely for now… but perhaps on the other side of this door is the matter of the nightmare! We’ve seen many subjects, in our day, suffering from stage fright and all of the like-minded hesitation that comes along with it.

Confident in our ability to help our ‘Musician Hopeful’, we toss open the door without pause for concern, only to be shocked by the sheer emotion being poured into these cords.

Even if asked… we’re not quite sure that we would be able to pinpoint the exact feelings these sounds inspire in our heart. One would most likely have to ask that ‘Princess Mi Amore Cadenza’ to seek out it’s meaning. Or, if idiotic enough, ask one of those vile ‘changeling’ creatures to sample their emotions during the song. Perish the thought! Opening our eyes, we are once again struck by the sight of an overwhelmingly sterile room. ‘Uncomfortably clean’ would be a good term to use for the previous room.

However, this room is not ‘uncomfortably clean’. Where the last one was completely barren, this one had something to show. Standing in the middle of the room was a massive glass structure, housed on a raised square pedestal only two feet in height. The display glass above that raised for another eight feet, and was occupied by tall metallic posts, each one pronged on the very tops and arranged in such an order inside the case that their purpose was undeniable.

“They were meant to hold something up. Not at all dissimilar to the new age medical museums Tia has shown us…” We mumble to ourselves, at this point easily intrigued, but also immensely worried. Cautiously walking around to the back of the ‘attraction’, we discover that the entire back of the glass case has been shattered, leaving scores of broken glass covering the floor. Then, there was the blood. Entire stretches of the broken glass resting on the floor are soaked in the stuff, like someone had chose to lay in the bed of lacerations for a brief time. All this evidence brings to mind a sickening fact.

Whatever was in this case, had broken out. Whatever was in this case, was alive. And even worse, there’s a chance that whatever was in this case is our subject, and they’re obviously hurt very bad! Panic immediately runs through our mind, but is subsequently killed and used as determination.

‘We… I have to find this pony and help them. Fast.’ It’s proven difficult for us to speak in this ‘new age’ tongue, but we must admit… it tends to sound distinctly ‘cooler’ than our usual way of speech. We attempt to quickly turn toward the door, located in exactly the same place as last time, only for something to catch our attention from the corner of our eye. Looking back, we are greeted by the sight of a sliver of light, dangling in midair. Taken slightly aback, we move in closer and inspect it further, glass crunching underhoof as we move in. Being within reach of the shifting sliver, we grab it between our fingers and find…

“A string…? How odd.” We utter under our breath. Between our index finger and thumb, lay an extremely thin line of wiring, damn near transparent. We can tell easily that one end remains attached to the pedestal, but where the other is anchored one can only find out. And find out we shall! Releasing the string and turning our focus to yet another door matching the one left behind in the Dream Trail, we believe it’s safe to assume the interior won’t be changing radically any time soon. However, instead of the tightly closed redwood that we’ve become somewhat accustomed to, we instead beheld a foreboding sight.

Standing halfway ajar was the familiar redwood door. This particular door has a menacing new addition to it’s ornate decor, however. Soaking the wood in a long streak, and also covering the handle in the distinct mold of a hand was a bright layer of life-blood. All of this easily confirms my fears that whatever inhabited the case was injured, and quite gravely from the looks of it. That means this Princess has no time to waste!

Rushing towards the door we use our magic to take hold of the door and slam it open, entering the new area without hesitation. A quick glance behind ourselves has us assured. Same walls, same floors, same types of areas. Filled with confidence at being proved right about the familiar layout, we throw our gaze forward once more only to have our stomach churn at the mere sight before us. Mounted in the dead center of the area is a container much the same as the one located in the previous room. Glass walls, raised pedestal, the whole ordeal. It was however missing the metal prongs. In addition, the entire display was filled with water that could only be described as filthy.

Then, of course, was the bloated body left to rot in the tank.

An ultimately disturbing sight, if we are totally honest. Having lead a war or two ourselves, we can safely say that the sight of the dead doesn’t exactly instil much in the way of fear in us. However… this pony did not die a glorious death. This was nothing more than pure sadistic torture. Sitting before us is quite the embodiment of the phrase ‘sleeping with the fishes’. An earth pony, presumably. And from the size of them I’m sure that at one point, they were quite the catch… but not so much anymore. In the tank lay a body bloated beyond all recognition, and in consequence it’s markings lay in ruin. Varicose veins show painfully puffed up through nearly every part of the stallion’s exposed, muted orange coat. The bloated corpse’s mouth was hanging wide open, eyes entirely glazed over and turned a milky white, and brown mane floating over the poor victims head like a halo of death. Mane and beard alike were swimming indiscriminately with algae, a testament to how long the body had lived in this tank. Attached to the poor stallion’s hooves were a set of shackles, chained tightly to concrete cinder blocks which rested at the very bottom of the tank.

We’re sure that on the outside, we seem perfectly fine. On the inside, however, we’re having trouble not gagging at the thought of the putrid stench of rot being held behind the simple case of obviously breakable glass in front of us.

Disgusting…

We choose to entirely circumvent the gruesome centerpiece of the room, instead on a quest for the next door. Before we manage to reach the similarly blood smeared door, a familiar glimmer of light catches our eye once more.

Upon closer inspection yet another wire leads from the object in the room and leads through the door. The only notable difference is that this wire was joined by the one from the previous room, interestingly enough. With our ‘wire inspection’ now over, we push the door open completely. We decide to be on the cautious side with this room, given this dreamscape’s standing record. It also seems we were right to be cautious.

The room itself wasn’t any different. White walls, ceiling, and floor. At the center, was a simple wooden chair. Knocked over onto it’s side, though obviously not due to a struggle of any kind. From the ceiling hangs a massive pendulum, much like that of a grandfather clock. The pendulum does not move, but if it is due to being broken or just too weighed down, we do not know. From the pendulum hung a thick rope, tied smartly onto a hollow section near the bottom. And from the rope… we’re sure you can guess.

From the rope was a stallion of remarkably similar coloring as the bloated corpse in the room before. A muted orange coat, coupled with a matching raggedy excuse for pants. Over the head of the body was a burlap sack, making this eerily similar to a traditional hanging. The chair, though, marks otherwise. Red velvet ropes isolate the body from everything else... much like those from the play house in Canterlot. Who ever thought this was artful enough to rope off a hanged stallion from the public should be ‘fixed’. By the gods themselves, if need be. We earnestly wish to not study this particular display… we find that the subtle swinging of the body is unsettling. We move to the door, once again discover another new wire, now numbering in three.

We move through the familiar, slightly ajar, blood stained door again.

This room greeted me with a body much the same as the others. We can only assume that this is the same stallion as all the others, since this example was charred beyond all hope of recognition. Unsettling to be sure, but our sister has left examples much alike this one during the wars long past. All in all, this room holds nothing for us besides a new string and another door.

Through the next, a radically different sight was held. In the middle of the room, on a simple stone pedestal a rather nondescript urn resides, but that isn’t the what we mean by ‘radical difference’. Instead of crisp white tiling, nearly every inch of every wall was affixed with cork board, with the board then being occupied by a veritable army of notes. This caught our interest, so we decided to move forward for ‘investigation’. With pages now in our hands, it seems each note contains a nonsensical blend of medical jargon and mathematical equations…. that we don’t quite understand, to be perfectly honest.

“Honest to goodness nonsense, in our opinion! Who in their right mind would be able to understand all of this?!” Nopony, that’s who!

Just under our moment of irate attitude, we hear something that causes our ears to perk up. Immediately we cease our noise making, listening intently in hopes the sound might happen even once more.

“Where is it?” *SLAP* “I have to find it…” *SLAP* “…what’s this supposed to be?” *SLAP*

Our ear twitches in excitement as we listen to the sounds, just barely able to make out the words being said. Immediately the ‘bogus’ research papers are tossed to the floor with less than our utmost care, and we turn towards the direction we heard the voice. If we’re right, the voice we’re hearing is the owner of this gateway. If that’s correct, then we can finally free the poor stallion of this nightmare!

We just hope it’s not another corpse. One that can talk. We’ll never admit it, but a shiver just crawled up our spine.

Enraptured by the thought of finally being able to save this suffering stallion, we rush off towards the door. In our haste, we nearly miss the evidence of yet another wire attached at the end to the peculiar urn in the center of the room. Like all the others, now amounting to five in total, they lead a path through the door, anchored to something unknown to us. Standing before the familiar door, our ears perk up once again as a peculiar sound joins the constant mumbling. Every few seconds, sharp crunches would sound off through the door. This confirms our belief that whoever is on the other side of this door was undoubtedly trapped in the first display we discovered, once upon a time.

That’s the telltale sound of broken glass after all… there’s no mistaking it.

As shameful as it is, we decide to brace our gut before opening the door before us. With the current trend, it’s likely that there exists behind this door another gruesome sight. To be transparent here, we do not find ourselves a fan of them, really. Encompassing the door with our magic, we successfully swing the redwood open without a sound. As we do, the music that has been so constant throughout our trip undergoes a drastic, change. From the somewhat calming, foreboding tones of string is birthed a distorted, wobbly piece. One which makes us extremely unenthusiastic to continue.

Then comes the shock.

‘We are not sure we are particularly proud to have gotten this prediction right…’ And behold, our thoughts are proven correct once more! In quite a disgusting fashion, at that. Past that door is an area one could only describe as an ‘Organ Locker’, and definitely one with a violation or two. This room was quite a few feet deeper than all the others, making steps a necessity. Due to this, the blood had somewhere to pool. Easily a few inches deep, the entire room was seemingly flooded by coagulated, rotted blood… the smell, in our opinion, is positively putrid! Easily enough to make a weaker Princess gag… we did not ‘chuck-the-up’!

But the fun doesn’t stop there. Oh, it keeps going.

At the very center of the room lay a table-sized pedestal, made of the same white metal as all the others, only streaked a rotted brown in various places along it’s sides by age-old blood. On top of the pedestal only awaits more horrors, this one decidedly more unsettling than a mere puddle of liquid life.

An arguably mountainous pile of life sustaining organs lay on top of the surface. From here we could pick out hearts, livers, kidneys and an uncountable amount of parts we don’t have any knowledge of. In our eyes, this room has proven to be the most disgusting of them all by far!

But this room also seems to prove itself as being of interest to our host.

Standing hoof deep in the drink was the very same stallion we’ve become accustomed to seeing bodies of. The first thing we notice as we silently walk towards him, proving successful at evaporating the slushy nightmare as we tread closer, is just how tall this stallion is. Standing at a height matching our own 7 ft isn’t an easily attainable goal for what I assume is a regular earth pony. In fact, one would usually label that ‘abnormal’, if we are honest! The features don’t just end at his height, however. Turned with his back facing us, broad shoulders and a perfectly muscled back greet us. Atop his head lay a mass of shoulder-length, wavy brown locks, easily identified as his mane. Through the rags being used as trousers, we can see heavily muscled calves, and even what we can see of his biceps seem to follow the trend!

An all around ‘beef-cake’, as we’ve heard our sister say in the past.

“Not this one, either…” Announces the stallion in a gruff voice, seeming to grab something from the pile before him and toss it to the side. The object hits the tiled wall with a meaty smack, marking the sounds we heard earlier as this, and falls into the drink with a wet plop. It seems our mystery host is here. Just sorting through the pile of meat for… hearts? This nightmare is certainly an odd one, we must say. We could only fathom a guess at where its roots lay.

Then the familiar glimmer of wiring catches our vision once more. With the way they’re arranged through the room, there’s only one area they lead to… the stallion before me, still sorting through the meat. Each movement of his arms flexes his back, then shaking the glimmering strings in the harsh light. We decide to carry our stride ever closer, still evaporating the blood around us as we go, so that we may discover exactly how these wires and our host are connected.

‘Dear Tartarus! How does this stallion still move?!’

And connected quite literally, it would seem. Buried deep into various patches of muscle rest five hooks, each digging deeper with seemingly every move. This shocks us for a most obvious reason, that being any normal pony would be convulsing in pain if they were to have their nerve clusters pierced quite like the stallion before us. However, instead of even the slightest indication of pain, he acts like it doesn’t even exist.

Quite the same situation with the bed of lacerations that rests on his sides, it would seem. The blood streaming from him seems to go entirely unnoticed.

Either way, those hooks need to come out. It’s a good thing we are capable of just that. Flaring our mana, a familiar blue aura begins to envelope the hooks, subsequently spreading to the strings themselves like liquid fire and encompassing the cuts entirely. With a silent chain of commands, the hooks and wires begin melting away from existence in much the same fashion as the chains did in the Dream Trails, the deep puncture and glass wounds sealing themselves up with a generous application of our mana. This being the realm of sleep, no spells specifically crafted for healing are really needed, which I always find helpful. My mana functions as a ‘one-hit-wonder’ in all nightmares! So focused we are on freeing this stallion, that we didn’t notice that we seem to have caught his attention.

Once our tasks had finished, the repetitive sound of mumbling and sorting seems to have stopped entirely. Breaking our attention from his back, we trail our gaze upward only slightly, to see what had possibly changed.

“Ah!” Only to be startled into backing up a single step by the eye meeting our own. While we busied ourselves, it seems our host had turned his head just enough to see us out of his left eye, staring with blank interest. Regaining our posture seamlessly, we finally address the owner of this nightmare. “Hello, our dear subject. Do not feel unnecessary fear, for you are only dreaming. We have come to help banish these terrors, this night. What is thy name, sir stallion?” We ask him with practiced grace, expecting praise from our thankful subject.

Only to be met with an insufferable silence.

The stallion before us wheels himself around fully now, facing us directly with no trace of intimidation of fear for himself or the situation. We could now see his brown mane was parted messily down the middle, only a single wavy strand resting in front of his speckled green eyes. A full, fluffy beard took up residence on his face, in some places streaked with gray and nearly covering his lips entirely. Package that with the light crows feet on the side of either eye, and this stallion projected quite the handsome image.

Moving on, his waterfall of wavy hair hid a strong neck and a perfect collarbone. Slabs of pure muscle occupy his chest, flanked on either side by defined biceps. The middle of his chest, oddly enough, was covered in thick medical padding, held in place by strong-looking adhesive. Further down, chiseled abs are likewise flanked by strong forearms on either side, both being permanently stained with his Talent Rune in a deep blue, quite closely resembling the hue of our own magic. It was an oddly old style, only having been documented very rarely even before Discord’s reign.

We’ve actually been informed that the colloquial term for ‘Talent Rune’ has actually been changed to ‘Cutie Mark’. How disgraceful can you get?

“You.” He mutters, snapping us out of our… examination. “I remember you. I think…? Before all of this happened… aren’t you the Goddess of Night?” He asks in obvious confusion, voice rumbling throughout the room as he tilts his head, waiting for our answer.

“Interesting… we haven’t been called Goddess of Night in more than one thousand years. Tell us how you know of that title, stallion. Also, don’t see it as fine to ignore a question from your Princess! Now, what is your name?” A little forceful on our part, but he shouldn’t take our questions lightly! The tall stallion before us hadn’t even looked ashamed at our admonishment, the nerve of this one! Cheeky, he surely is. He hasn’t stopped looking us dead in the eye since he’s noticed us, so it’s a bit of a surprise for us when he blinks, only to continue on in his gruff tones.

“...sorry. It’s been such a long time since I’ve talked to anypony, I guess I’m a mite rough.” He pauses with an intake of breath, sighing a moment later and lowering his gaze to the floor. We are unwilling to believe he managed to ignore our question once again, so we hold our tongue for the time being.

And obviously, to great effect. He seems to almost come alive before our very eyes, shedding a dispassionate, aloof skin we hadn’t seen before. Locking eyes with us once more, now holding a steely determination that seems recently discovered, he begins.

“My name… is Stoney Slagmore. O Goddess brought before me, I must request a favor.” He announces, the tone in his voice speaking volumes of the resignation in his heart. This, understandably, shocks us greatly.

‘The cheeky stallion goes and requests a favor, too?! Just who is this pony…?’ Doing our best not to let our shock be seen by our host, we wave our hand at him, signaling him to continue. “We shall hear your request, Stoney Slagmore, and see what can be done.” What? He may be cheeky, but anypony with the girth to ask the ‘Princess of Darkness’ to help them overcome their problem should at least be heard out.

As long as they aren’t a noble of Canterlot. The single stipulation.

“Free me.” He says, stone faced as ever. It seems the brief spark of youth in his character was only so he could work up the nerve to ask us.

“Wha-?” Confused by such a simple utterance, we prepared to ask him for more information, only to be cut off by the stallion himself continuing.

“Around ten miles north of the Crystal Empire is the base of the Mount Chili-Aid. At the base of that mountain exists a tribe of Diamond Dogs that hold me imprisoned. I don’t know exactly how long… but they’ve held me as a slave for a very long while. I need your help, Goddess.” Some might not be able to tell, but we- I’m sure he’s pleading to us, at this very moment. At least to him, this might be the closest he’s come to begging in years.

“Do you not have any frame of reference for how long it’s been? Surely you know slavery is an offence worthy of severe punishment in Equestria.” We decide to dig for more details. As enraged as this stallion’s stories make us, we cannot rush off to battle just yet. After all, times have changed since the last time we’ve dealt with citizens being in the hands of our enemies…

Much, has changed.

“I do have one clue… but I doubt you’ll believe me. I… I barely believe, myself.” His eyes flick from mine, quickly eyeing the hearts that lay piled against the wall as a result of his ‘sorting’.

“Doubting your Princess, Stoney?” We ask him, causing his attention to snap back to us. “Try us.”

“Fine then. I said that I’ve been with these mutts for a long time, right Goddess?” He asks me, to which I nod my affirmation. Why would he ask this? “Did I mention how I’ve watched generations die, one after another?” His voice dips even lower as he says this, barely grinding out the words.

Oh.

Oh.

“I-infighting, we presume?” Gruesome fights such as those would bring any pony to their knees, it makes fair sense to us. After all, it couldn’t possibly be-

“Old age, Goddess. They died of old age.” He uttered, just barely above a whisper.

As his eyes bore into our own, we find ourselves at a lose for words. Old age… Diamond Dogs may be short lived compared to an earth pony, but the tone in which he speaks suggests the situation isn’t quite as simple as that.

“J-just how many generations did you live through?” We- I’m honestly dreading the answer to come.

“Well, I’m pretty sure I lost count at some point, but maybe fifteen or sixteen? It’s really hard to keep track, these days…”

…

And with that, our tiny Princess mind is blown. ‘Fifteen or sixteen’, he says. FIFTEEN OR SIXTEEN?! That’s easily over a thousand years, if those Diamond Dogs lived through the average lifespan! How can this stallion possibly expect me to believe he’s that old?! An amused snort sounds of in the room, causing our irate thoughts to come to a trickle instead of the roaring stream it was.

“I can tell you don’t believe me, Goddess. No need to hide it so well!” How he announces this with a hearty laugh is beyond our understanding. Does he take his own insanity so lightly? “However, before you ask… I have a question for you.” The stallion before us allows a faint smile to brush across his lips, looking down as he rests his hand over the medical tape on his chest.

“Tell me what you remember of a little town called Silver Agro Falls.” He finishes, the smile on his face falling with such speed that it could easily be called unsettling.

With such a simple sentence, this earth pony nearly killed us. The mere mention of that fledgling town brings back memories thousands of years old already. Memories of a similar time stamp as the reign of Discord and the rocky first years of the Diarchy.

And all the towns that were lost entirely.

Just like that, our trust in this stallion was solidified, and with good reason. For we were present during the collection and burning of those particular records and books. The only way this subject could possibly know of such a place would be tightly-kept word-of-mouth, which is extremely unlikely since the only soldiers my sister and I led through that horrible place were great personal friends, or… by memory.

As stated before, an odd stallion indeed!

“Those are heavy words there, subject. Intriguing words, at that. We shall accept your request and handle it. Personally. You’ve caught our attention, Sir Stoney, so do your best not to perish before your rescue.” It wasn’t quite a joke as much as it was a sincere request, but through the harsh shine of ambient light in the room we could see the twinkle of amusement residing in his eyes. Crossing his arms, he ends up giving me a look I can’t quite pin down.

“Thank ya for the help, Goddess. Try to make it quick, too. I’d hate to watch another generation die before you manage to get here!” The cheeky stallion has the nerve to smile at us after this, crossing his thick arms over his chest in what’s most likely pride.

Truly, the balls on this one… we- I think I like him!

“To be frank, the slaving scoundrels will die once we arrive anyway. You’ve survived thousands of years, so we’re sure a day won’t kill you.” We announce dismissively with a swish from the back of our hand in his direction. To our happiness, this makes Stoney rumble with deep laughter, filling us with a fuzzy feeling we know to be success. “You may call us Luna, if you wish.”

What? A true Princess shouldn’t act shy in the slightest! If we wish to have this beautifully sexy stallion as our friend, we shall have him!

…

Hush.

“So be it, Luna. I do hope to see ya soon, though. That part isn’t a joke.” He tells us, arms still crossed in a relaxed manner.

“And you shall, Stoney Slagmore. That you shall.” With my words reassuring him, I decide now is the perfect time to wake up. We have a journey to plan, after all! Channeling our magic all throughout this dreamscape, it begins to melt away without any fuss. After all is said and done, we channel our mana through ourselves, in pursuit of the waking world once more. With only mere seconds before our time is up, we decide to tell Slagmore one last thing.

“Be safe, our friend.” A nod was my reply, mane of hair bobbing in accordance.

The all goes white, as is typical for us upon waking from our dream walks.

POV Change - Princess ‘Chelly’ Celestia

Thinking about it, I’m not sure if there’s anything quite relaxing as watching the sunrise in this dining room. Sure, we may have sat here more than a thousand times watching the sun paint the sky a beautiful array of light purples, pinks, and oranges, but can you ever really get tired of it?

…

Or maybe it’s the cake. The biscuits? Perhaps the eggs!

Nahh! It’s definitely the cake!

*SLAM*

“SISTER! We have made a new friend!”

From the door being slammed open thanks to my dear sister, the mold of fruity gelatin on the table jiggles seductively in response. How naughty of you, mister gelatin.

“That’s great news, Luna! What is their name?” Okay, as excited as I am for her making a new friend, the fact that she burst into the dining room in full battle armor is a bit worrying. I have a feeling I’m going to need more cake by the end of this… but that gelatin is looking mighty attractive…

“He is an earth pony named is Stoney Slagmore and he’s as tall as we are!” She goes on to explain in a rushed tone, great smile on her face as she bounces around like a filly out of excitement. “He’s got long hair and a beard, and when he laughs I feel all fuzzy inside!” She shouts without hesitation, just about making me sweat drop at how transparent she is. At the very least, it seems that my little sister is finally growing up. I give her a smile, but honestly it felt pretty awkward to do so after what she just said.

The gelatin continues to wiggle enticingly.

“So tell me about him, where does he live?” Better humor the story of her new ‘friend’ while it lasts… it’s only a matter of time before she tries to ask me what the best sex position is. Rest in peace, my little sisters innocence. May you live on in memory.

“Well I met him in his nightmare, and he’s been enslaved by a Diamond Dog clan at the base of Mount Chili-Aid for a long time! He asked us for some help, so we’re going to take a pair of the Valkyrie guards and wipe out the slavers! As the young ones say, ‘Don’t wait up’, sister!” With that, she grabs a biscuit from the bowl on the dining room table and bolts off, leaving the door wide open and my mind completely off-line.

She’s too strong to fall to the danger of a trap, so that’s good. She’ll have a pair of Valkyries with her, so she won’t be caught of guard. She’s into stallions, apparently, which is a little shocking. She hasn’t showed interest in anyone besides this Mister Stoney, so…?

Whatever. She’ll be fine.

“GUARD!” I bellow, gaining the attention of the two stationed outside the opened door.

“Yes, Princess?” They ask in sync.

“Find the kitchen and get me more cake.” My eyes flick from theirs to the seductive gelatin mold once more, giving me an idea. “And a gelatin mold with bananas in it, if you can. Go.” And just like that, they take off, leaving me in the dining room once more. Alone.

What the absolute fuck just happened?

…

Well, at the very least I might get a few nieces and nephews to spoil out of this. I'll take that as a win!

Author's Note

"Yo, Yo, Yo! What it is, Muthur Fuchers?!" - Here Comes Pacman (L O U D), Circa 2438

Tis I, Father Confusion, busy bursting onto the scene with the love-child chapter of Hellraiser and Total Recall.
Can you handle Chill-lestia the Gelatin Fiend and the 'Goddess' of Biscuits and quick decisions?

On a more serious note, I decided that after 2 years of reading on this site I might as well do some shit here too. Fuch it, right?

Tell me what you thought of my demented creations if you want, or if you just wanna talk that's cool too.
(Psst! The cover art might be temporary, by the way!)

Shout out to the Story Approvers that had to sit down and read this thing. I love you, home slice.

Peace out, Home-Pones