The Whimsical Adventures of a Mad Tyrant
The Overlord felt himself floating through an infinite expanse of flashing colors. He was weightless, senseless, and ageless. Flying backwards through this void, he could see numerous other individuals floating along with him, in equal predicaments as he. Although, all of them were still, rather than flying through this void.
Still was a bad term. More, they were orbiting massive orbs of existence that constituted Universes. He on the other hand, had no tethers for some reason. He chalked it up to the elements of Harmony not casting their spell correctly.
He floated for what felt like an eternity, but also through no time at all. Until he felt something pull at him. He turned the half of his head that was still there to see a universe had grabbed him. This feeling was odd. It was pulling him towards itself, like a planet pulling a meteorite into its atmosphere.
He groaned in discomfort, before passing through a shimmering field of some kind, plummeting.
There was a celebration going on in Canterlot. For some reason, parties always happened before the beginning of a calamity in Equestria.
This celebration was to mark the end of the victory of a certain 6 students over one Cozy Glow. Creatures from all over Equestria, and its neighboring countries, were gathered in celebration, with cultural foods for all to eat, although the dragon food, being gems, were only eaten by dragons.
The 6 students were enjoying their new popularity. Yona was currently crushing things, which was what Yaks dream about. Ocellus was currently receiving praise by her peers from the hive, including King Thorax. Gallus had been pressed into piñata duty by Pinkie Pie, and was currently blindfolded and holding a long stick. Smoulder was stuffing herself with gems, as usual. Sandbar was catching up with the other ponies after the little fiasco that happened, and Silverstream was hanging out with her brother, showing him the many different wonders of the Surface world.
The party goers were suddenly alerted to a loud rumbling sound. All turned their heads upwards to see a white portal appear. It swirled and crackled with unknown magical energy before a bolt of pure red fire shot out of it.
The Party goers below panicked. They were confused. Nothing like this had ever happened before. The Red bolt flew directly over the city and slammed into the mountain. It bounced off it and slammed directly into the ground, directly into the center of the plaza, right where the party was going on.
Everyone shielded their eyes from the flash of the explosion. After a few moments, they all turned their curious eyes back to the center.
Within the origin of a shallow crater, was the flaming half body of a crimson changeling. The body was vertically bisected, and fire burst forth from numerous wounds across its form. Its single eye closed as it lay unmoving in the center of the crater.
"What in tarnation!" Applejack exclaimed as she strayed closer to the crater, followed closely by the other elements of harmony.
Ocellus peered at it from behind the six, along with the students who had decided to close in on the pit the changeling was within as well.
"Is it... alive?" Grandpa Gruff called out from the crowd that had gathered around it.
Thorax, who was right next to Gruff blinked a couple times then turned his head to look down on Gruff. "It?" He asked, rather offended.
Gruff looked up to him before rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean."
Gallus raised an eyebrow as he stepped out from behind Rainbow Dash. He was still holding the piñata stick from before. "Well... He sure looks dead..." He said as he closed in on the Changeling King on the ground.
Gallus bent down and held the stick with both hands. He narrowed his eyes and started poking the downed changeling monarch. After two or three pokes, his flaming eye shot open, and a clawed hoof shot up, grabbing the end on the stick.
The changeling pulled the now flaming stick out of his grip with one strong tug, and held it into the air. In less than a second the stick turned into a pile of ash, which the Changeling crushed in it's clawed hoof.
Every single party goer gasped in near unison as the bisected changeling pulled itself up, towering over all but Princess Celestia and those around her height.
The Changeling turned its head every which way as fire burst out of his side, and took the shape of a Changeling King before a shell of Carapace formed around.
"You!" The Changeling said as he locked eyes on the Elements.
The changeling stood up and effortlessly striked the young griffon across the cheek; sending him vaulting away. "Gallus!" Shouted the other students who ran over to him.
"You thought you were rid of me didn't you?" The changeling said, his horn and antlers lit aflame. The fire slowly crawled up and down his body. Swords appeared in bursts of flame, which levitated in their air gripped in a Crimson Aura. "Overlord Thorax does not die so easily scum!"
He started to madly cackle as he raised a hoof into the air. The ponies and other creatures surrounding him stared at him, eyes wide with fear, backing away cautiously with trembling steps.
"We have no idea who you are!" Twilight informed as they advanced in the opposite direction.
"Lies!" The, self proclaimed, Overlord Thorax said as a fireball formed in his hoof and his wing casing opened, allowing wings of fire to emerge.
"Now prepare for extermination!" He shouted his proclamation. Then suddenly, all the flames on his body extinguished with a lackluster poof of smoke.
The Overlord blinked a couple times as the aura surrounding the swords dissipated and they clattered to the ground. He even looked back to his wings to see that they too were no longer flaming.
"Uhhh….." He trailed off, rather comically, turning to face the elements; backing away from them with a careful gait. "Would you believe me if I said I was just joking?"
His armor shattered as the six of them, minus Fluttershy, smiled at him.
"Nope." Rainbow Dash replied, cracking her neck, making a show of punching her hoof into the other.
The Overlord pivoted on his hoofs and tried to gallop away, realising he stoof before a small mob of but extremely irritated students.
"F-fellas..." He began, stuttering. "Is it not common courtesy to refrain from attacking someling when their magic isn't working?”
Twilight appeared in front of him and grinned. "It usually is but...…"
"Mind tellin’ us where yer from before we start?" Applejack said.
"Another Universe...." The Overlord informed, deadpan.
"Neat." Rainbow Dash shrugged, uncaring, glancing to her cohorts before she swung her hoof; colliding with the changeling’s cheek with as much force as she could muster..
"Oh sweet me!" The Overlord yelped, stumbling back and rubbing his swelling cheek. "Is this how you usually deal with enemies in this universe! I thought you ponies were supposed to be nice!"
He couldn't say another word before the Elements, sans Pinkie and Fluttershy, dogpiled him.
Long after the changeling received his serious beating - his constant regeneration allowing for the mares to give him many, many black eyes - Twilight had the responsibility of disposing of the ‘ling. She dragged his aching body deep into the twin-monarch’s castle, taking him to a room filled with a large and narrow mirror. She gripped the beaten despot by the scruff of his carapace.
“Nobody messes with my students!” she barked, the despot offering only a meagre groan before the princess lobbed him through the mirror - which rippled upon the changeling’s disappearance. “And stay out!”
Author's Note
This was the first of many chapters in this wonderful tale.
If you are a writer who would love to be featured as a guest author or a co-author, feel free to hit me up in the PMs
The Whimsical Adventures of a Mad Tyrant
Author's Note
Guest Authored by: Jackelope
https://www.fimfiction.net/user/265812/Jackelope
Edited by: Maxwell_Edison
https://www.fimfiction.net/user/109902/Maxwell_Edison
The Chasing Sun
When he first emerged on the other side of the mirror, his most immediate instinct was to run back through it. He picked himself up with nary a glance to his surroundings, a furious sneer directed at his own reflection as he galloped back towards the polished glass - kicking up beneath him the composition of where he had landed. He charged through the partially submerged mirror, headfirst, before finding himself toppled over and landing face first back exactly where he just charged from. After spitting out a clump of rough, warm grains, he decided to actually observe where he had ended up. Becoming first acquainted with the abrasive yellow soil that he spat from him mouth.
Sand.
He surveyed what was laid out before him with an overactive jitter, brows furrowing at the sight of what was before him. A barren ocean - if ‘barren’ was applicable to such a thing. It was a seemingly unending hue of blue, perfectly still - the glittering of sunlight’s reflection was pretty, if not a stark reminded he was in the midst of nothing. The clouds above were sparse, and when he climbed to his hooves, he saw - more or less confirming what he already suspected - that he was alone upon a small island; sharing it with a single palm tree, and the partially buried mirror. He bared his teeth, wondering what sort of world he was cursed to bare. Perhaps he resided upon the only piece of land the world offered. Or maybe, it was a world of sea beasts - incomprehensible and insanity inducing to merely look upon. The creeping idea of hopelessness, or lack of salvation, was something he growled at. He would never accept either, not when the fire within him, that made him, continued to roar and burn…
As Thorax resolved himself however, standing with a firm posture and giving a fiery stare to the ocean that surrounded him, he waited a moment before releasing a sigh; sagging and falling to his rump. He sat, passively staring at what was before him. If he were in his own world, and was here of his own volition, he may have found it quaint. It was quiet. Not the type of quiet that followed a battle, or an order of silence, or that which came after finally choking a struggling entity of its life. It was a natural quiet. One composed of gentle winds, and subtle ripples in the ocean as a result. It was a quiet he could even close his eyes to...
He breathed. The solution to this conundrum would not come to him immediately. He’d need to wait, to ponder; primarily with closed eyes under the shade of the palm tree whilst the warm heat of the sun brushed again him. Yes, it was a torturous endeavour, but he believed himself possessing of the strength to bare it for the time being. He just hoped it did not push him over the edge into madness. He trotted under the shade of a palm frond, his hooves sinking slightly into the soft sand, before he sat under the leaf’s shadow; his posture upright and dignified. He listened closely to the ocean, the tide bringing him out and into a state of drowsiness, his mind beginning to conjure up solutions – both the reasonable, and the impossible. From trying to gather up enough clouds to form a sky barge to travel on, and wondering if he was possessing of enough power to entirely boil and dissipate the ocean around him. One of the two of these ideas was inherently foolish of course… there was nary a cloud in the sky.
Time passed. He didn’t know how much. It never occurred to him to count the passing seconds. The only only indication of him no longer being in the present was how the heat felt upon his carapace. Gradually, it went from strongest on his cheek, to his muzzle; morning to noon. Despite that, he never arrived at a conclusion, a rock solid idea. His mind actually became barren. That, too, he didn’t know how much long after it was. It wasn’t too long after the heat felt strongest on the end of his muzzle that he felt an idea coming at him. It was coming fast in fact. Something heavy. Something that… whistled?
His eyelids parted, before widening further, the deep red pools reflecting off them a prominent iron sphere that was coming down from above. On reflex, he felt his horn spark – ready to intercept or shield himself – yet his jagged horn only fizzled in reply to his whim. His brows raised, and his body simply moved on instinct; leaping backwards to the base of the tree, dishevelled, watching as the object inevitably came toward him. He flinched, and then…
Thump!
He didn’t feel anything. Unless he was dead, then that was a perfectly reasonable explanation. But he was thinking too, so surely he lived. He didn’t know why he continued to muse if he was alive, when he could simply open his eyes, yet he felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time in that particular moment: powerless. He opened his eyes. The sky was devoid, looking much alike to the ocean below it. His eyes fell down, locking onto what landed between his legs. A sphere, a heavy looking iron ball embedded in the sand. Off it, were a few wisps of smoke, the surface tinged where it had hit the sand; creating a few splinters of glass.
“Is that… a cannonball?” asked aloud, the question being semi-rhetorical; a part of him still consumed with disbelief. He looked out ahead of him right after. Far off, in the distance, completely still in the water, was a colossal ship. However, he didn’t have much time to gawk at it - registering only its stark white colour - as movement in the ocean right before him tore his eyes away from the mighty vessel.
Sailing toward his island were two paddle boats, carrying about four ponies each. When Thorax landed his eyes upon them, he noted a few raised brows, although the majority of them wore menacing grins; some even brandishing weapons between their teeth - primarily cutlasses, and knives. Which in itself was peculiar, as some of the ponies holding weapons had horns. Some wore bandanas, some simple cloth shirts and even a couple had eyepatches. Yet, the sight of armed - and admittedly, intimidating - ponies wasn’t enough to render him afraid, or even worried as he shifted onto his hooves; wearing a cocky grin as their boats grounded.
As they landed upon the sand, approaching him with a deliberate and tactful slowness, Thorax felt his grin grow wider. He summoned his armour, and conjured his flaming zweihanders; fashioning a plan. He’d kill them all, steal their boats, commandeer the even larger boat, and search for a way off this damnable world. Except he realised shortly after, his armour wasn’t attached to his carapace nor were any of his blades aloft in the air. His eyes widened in panic, and he took a fearful step back, skittishly looking around him for his impudent conjurations.
“Oy, oy, you’re a weird lookin’ one ain’tcha? Only pony I’ve seen as tall as you is tha’ captain.” a heavily accented stallion remarked, dressed in a motley assortment of white and yellow rags; grinning to his similarly dressed cohorts. His attire wasn’t particularly off putting, however, Thorax saw around his neck a peculiar necklace. They appeared to be a motley assortment of coloured cones, some spiralled and others lined. For some reason, Thorax felt his head ache.
Some of the ponies cornered him till his back touched the tree, a few others surrounded the mirror, looking over it with avarice stares. “Makes you wonder why he's got a mirror then,” another remarked, prompting a few of his compatriots to laugh. “It’s a pretty fancy lookin’ one too.”
“Looks like ol’ Shiny is getting rusty,” one of them commented pedantically, kicking the lodged cannonball before releasing a yelp, suckling her hurt hoof. “Hot, hot!”
“Still knows how to charge ‘em though,” another remarked, in jest, before throwing an eye to Thorax. “You’re pretty lucky you’re still in one piece, ya know.”
“Or unlucky,” another shrugged, the mare who kicked the ball, chuckling. “I wonder what the captain has in store for him… it’s a he, right?” she asked, joking, even if her tone was audible in questioning.
The ponies continued to leer at him for a few moments, before the stallion from before - the one who commented on his appearance - took a step towards him. “You’re a quiet one ain’tcha?” the stallion from before commented, smiling. “What? Scared of a few pirates?”
“Pirates?” Thorax said aloud, brows furrowed and audibly bemused.
“Privateers,” the stallion replied to the Overlord’s confusion.
“Swashbucklers,” the mare beside him added.
“Mauraudering reavers to a few,” another stallion commented, quietly.
“So you’re a bunch of murderous thieves,” Thorax uttered with visible distaste, sneering at the ponies gathered around him.
The mare scoffed at him. “You just described half the world, love.”
A crease formed between the changeling’s brows. “Half the world? Pirates?”
The stallion before him smirked, raising a brow. “Where’ve you been livin’ all your life?” he asked rhetorically. “The captain is gonna ‘ave a field day with you, she is.”
“Do you honestly think I’d go with you anywhere? I am so inconceivably above you all, that you may as well be mere ants confronting an Ursa,” he spat at them his conceit, snarling. “If you wish to avoid suffering at my hooves, I suggest to the lot of you to throw yourselves into the ocean and let the sea take you, because what I have in mind for each and every one of you is fire and pikes!” he threatened, baring his teeth, showing off his fangs.
The assorted gathering of pirates, all wearing neutral or blank expressions during his threatening tirade, suddenly broke out into guffaws and bombastic laughing. “Is he for real?” the mare asked between bouts of laughter.
“Oh, the captain is for sure gunna ‘ave some fun with you,” the stallion before him confirmed, wiping a tear from his eye. “You lot, get the mirror in one boat - I’m sure the captain will appreciate a nice bit ‘o loot. I’ll take ‘ol red reindeer ‘ere with me.”
“Reindeer? Reindeer!” he repeated, loudly and insulted. “I am Thorax, the Overlord of all chang-”
The Overlord was interrupted by a sucker punch across his right cheek, causing his forelegs to buckle - partially out of surprise and due to the wince inducing pain the strike wrought. “Alright, I think you’ve done enough talking, red eyes,” the stallion said, shaking the hoof he used to punch Thorax with.
“You… you punched me!” Thorax stated, rising back up with a hoof held to his cheek, mouth parted in disbelief.
“You got annoying,” he replied. “Now c’mon. Get on the boat. It’d be a shame to gut you,” he said, smiling. Thorax got the distinct impression he wasn’t genuine in his remorse.
Growling, Thorax acquiesced. He followed the mare, the stallion following him. A few of the other pirates unlodged the mirror from the sand, carrying it to the other boat as Thorax’s entourage filled the other. He was placed in the middle, about six of the eight sharing the boat as two had the job of escorting the mirror. The changeling kept his eyes low and his lips pursed, seeing out of his peripherals the menacing grins and wild-eyed stares of the ponies surrounding him. The row boat rocked gently in the water, the ponies pushing the oars back and forth heaving; the gentle breeze and rocking occasionally flicking droplets of water onto his muzzle. Again, much like how he savoured the quiet, the feeling of little specks of water landing upon his snout was pleasant, helping to alleviate the mercilessness of the sun above. Yet the feeling of quaintness was soured by being cramped between six ponies - all of which smelled rank with alcohol and sea water.
He only looked up from the splintered deck of the rowboat when he felt shade come over him, feeling something akin to awe when his eyes landed upon the vessel. From afar, and from how briefly he looked at it, he couldn’t discern its size. Up close, it was gargantuan, the entire construct creaking under its own weight. There were nine masts, the two largest easily dwarfed a small castle; each holding several large sails which gently rippled with the caught wind. The hull looked thick, and was coated in a stark white paint. The fact that it wasn’t peeling inferred that it was somewhat fresh, and Thorax did not envy the poor souls who had to paint such a thing. He felt his jaw ache just looking at it. He glanced at the figurehead, the wood carved visage unmistakably that of a bird of some sort. Its beak sharp and pointed, piercing - a subtle glint revealing to the changeling that it was capped with some sort of metal, and streaks of faded, peeling orange covered parts of it. However, what caused his brow to pique with intrigue was the name painted upon its side. It was done in a tangerine orange, in exquisite caligraphy that definitely wasn’t the work of a pirate...
The Chasing Sun
“What ‘ave you got there, you mangy scruffs?” a stout voice called from the top deck, attracting the eyes of Thorax and all in the boat.
“A bit o’ treasure, and a piece o’ rubbish, love,” the mare called back, smiling coyly to the changeling right after, who met her stare with bared teeth.
“Why not throw it in the sea then?” the stallion called back, giving a chesty laugh.
“It talks!” the accented stallion answered, scoffing. “Gave me and the rest o’ the lads such a good laugh I’d thought we’d take ‘im to the captain before we throw ‘im overboard.”
“Excellent idea,” the stallion up top concurred, just as several ropes were thrown over the boat’s railing, the ends falling below the surface of the water. “And the loot?”
“A mirra,’ rims gotta be silver,” the stallion answered, nodding to the other boat. “Captain ought ta appreciate it in ‘er quarters.”
As they spoke, a pirate at each end of the rowboat threaded each of the fallen ropes through a steel ring; each tying a tight knot with impressive speed. When each of them finished, they tugged on each a few times before the boat was heft upwards, the suddenness of it making Thorax lurch forwards - unable to balance himself. He heard a few of them laughing at him, feeling his immense vexation grow hotter and hotter in its intensity. Each of the boats were hauled up, the two apparently belonging to a reserved crane hanging that hung over the ocean.
The ascent was slow and unsteady, rocking from side to side, and eventually Thorax was able to keep some semblance of balance. About halfway up, Thorax was able to hear heaving, and then many voices, so many in fact he couldn’t discern what a single thing was being said. He could feel a general aura from it - he couldn’t help it, for he was a changeling after all. There was a strange feeling of devotion. Something beyond loyalty. Yet the most peculiar things he felt were the wide array of contrasts felt by the crew. There was a willingness to betray, but also to sacrifice. Order, and chaos. Anarchy and law. Complete hatred, but also love. Thorax snorted. If his magic betrayed him, then surely his senses did too.
With a final huff, the rowboat was jolted up, coming into its hanger; idly rocking from side to side. Thorax remained seated as the ponies got off the boat, haphazardly leaping off it onto the deck, rocking it back and forth - prompting the changeling to become firm in his posture. When he was the second to last on the boat, Throax put his hooves onto the rim of the boat, looking onto the deck from above with a sneer. He was doubtless in his assertion that such a large ship would require an equally large crew, yet the exact figure of such never entered into his wildest fantasies. He could only fathom how many resided below the top deck, as his immediate estimate of above was several hundred - the sheer size of the ship meaning that there was more than enough room for all of them to scurry about on the pale wooden deck. However, as he surveyed it, he frowned when he noted the actual space between the boat and deck. It was larger than he initially perceived, at the very least four feet, ample enough to give him a clear enough view of the perilous waters below. He’d have to be careful in his crossing…
“Oopsie daisy!” proclaimed the last pirate, before deftly delivering a forceful push to Thorax’s rear, sending the changeling vaulting towards the deck.
Thorax yelped as he crashed face first into the floor, groaning as his body ached; lying flat against the deck. “Someone’s clumsy,” the accented stallion jested, standing over Thorax with a smarmy grin.
“Go die,” Thorax replied, climbing to his hooves. “Preferably in a manner that is painful.”
The stallion nodded, his brows furrowed and his frown excessive in mock consideration; sharing a look with the small band of pirates that surrounded the changeling. Suddenly, he swung his hoof, colliding with the changeling’s left cheek; striking him hard and sending him reeling to the deck floor. “Ya got a bit o’ fire in ya,” he said, chuckling, before glancing off some to his left. “Be careful with tha’ mirror or I’ll wring yer neck. You’ll be goin’ in first,” he instructed, before striding off to his right - the ship’s stern. “Someone pick ‘im up. We’re takin’ the blighter to the captain.”
“I’m fully capable of walking,” Thorax spat, rubbing his swelling cheek. He saw a few more of the pirates gathered around - more than the initial eight - and the changeling looked off towards where the pirate was heading. He was familiar enough with the anatomy of a ship to know the rear was where the captain resided, although the bloated abode was more befitting of an aristocrat than a lowly ship captain. It was about three stories high, with sizable oak double doors, which themselves decorated with an intricate design that glittered with golden embeddings. Was this actually a pirate ship?
“C’mon then,” the mare from before nudged his rear, encouraging him on with a leer. “We don’t have time to be a’wastin’.”
Thorax huffed, and began to trail behind the ruffian of a stallion, his teeth grit. Glancing around as he walked, he saw a multitude of mares and stallions - all pirates alike - begin to progressively surround him. He noted a few particularly young looking ones, his stoic expression threatening to break out into one of disbelief at the sight of a colt - adorned in a yellow bandana, the same colours of those around him. He glanced up, seeing some looking down upon him from the quarter deck, some others from high upon the masts and shrounds. Thorax stopped when the stallion in front of him did, allowing the mirror to be brought passed him into the grand quarters of the captain.
There was something oddly… familiar about all this. Thorax raised a brow at the stallion’s straightened posture, sensing fear and respect. That feeling he felt from the stallion came strongest from the chambers, where he felt it in such abundance it rekindled within him a feeling of nostalgia for a time before he came to this world, when such feelings where directed toward him. From within, he heard general chatter, and the faint tune of an unfamiliar instrument. He couldn’t pick up from amongst all the voices that of the captain, if they even spoke at all. Several minutes passed, all the while Thorax had to avoid the stares and threatening smiles of the vagabonds, and for no reason he could discern the stallion continued his way into the chambers.
The interior of the chambers was less splendid than the Overlord was expecting. Fortunately, his eyes weren’t too affected by the low light of the chambers, giving him a decent enough view of what the room was primarily comprised of. For the others residing within, he couldn’t imagine that the little light there was - coming from a few meagre slits high in the walls, all cut into the hull in such a way as to have all the rays concentrated to the singular point in the room’s centre. Looking around, Thorax saw the silhouettes of many ponies, some with bright eyes, others directing their grins toward him. Placed, somewhat arbitrarily, Thorax saw a grey coated mare with striking purple eyes, her inky mane blending into the darkness. Meanwhile, her hooves turned a crank on a peculiar machine; a slow, melodious and somewhat ominous tune being produced by a wheel spinning against taught strings. Her expression was stoic, which oddly put the changeling at more unease than the menagerie of grins that surrounded him.
The stallion stopped after a few minutes of walking, and, in an act which prompted Thorax to raise his brows, prostrated himself to somepony before him. It was then Thorax realised why the quarters kindled a feeling of familiarity within him… it was a throne room. “My Captain,” he began, “me, Reed and the rest o’ the colts have brought ya somethin’.”
Now that he was lowered, Thorax could see where the stallion’s submission was directed. There was a raised platform, just before where the many slits of light were directed. It was either a bed, or an oversized cushioned chair. Incredibly decadent with its pillow spread either way. There were a few resting upon it, mares and stallions; their heads draped atop the overly large body who was splayed out across the unusual throne. What’s more, there was an incredibly dazzling sight behind the raised platform; the unmistakable twinkling of jewels and gold. A dragon’s hoard worth of riches was simply in plain sight, its owner either careless, or extremely boastful.
He tore his eyes away, back to the raised platform, where he still couldn’t make out the face of the captain - obscured behind darkness and smoke; the end of a smoking pipe intermittently intensifying as its smoker puffed on the burning leaf. Upon the stallion finishing his sentence, the captain’s horn lit up in a golden aura - the horn half as long as the average hoof - removing the smoking pipe and shining a slight light upon the captain’s muzzle. It can’t be, Thorax thought, his next exhale coming out in a quiver as he felt panic begin to rise up in his chest. The captain rose from their clandestine throne, the mares and stallions laying partially upon their leader groaning at the absence. Thorax took an instinctive step back as the captain stepped forwards under the directed light, the changeling bumping into one of his escort. Just in time to see the captain wear an almost predatory grin.
“Well, well, well,” the Captain began, her voice feminine yet filled with a jagged edge, uncouth and rowdy. She looked out over the room. “It looks like, Half-Horn won’t be pouring his own rum this week!” she proclaimed to the room, and was met with loud hooting and cheering, her visible chuckle unheard over the volume. “Bah, shut it ya scabby knaves,” she called out, the voices all dying down at her immediate command; the roguish smile still worn on her face. She then looked to Thorax, nodding the now named, Half-Horn, away - the stallion flashing the changeling a grin as he passed by him. “You’re certainly exotic, aren’t you?” the Captain purred, before smirking. “An oddity, and a pretty mirror-”
“Only ‘cause it reflects you, Captain!” a lone voice heckled, earning a cacophony of murmuring agreements and stamping hooves.
“Oh, shush,” she called back, smiling widely, before setting her gaze back on the changeling. The sharpness of her one eyed glare was enough to render him immobile. He matched the height of her, almost double the size of any regular pony. Much like the others he had seen, she too was dressed in a haphazard combination of things. Her mane was short, cut to about neck’s length and was partially hidden beneath a tri-pointed hat - several large feathers coming off the top of it, and a large tear where her horn poked forth from. She also wore a brown cloth jacket, which despite her large size, clearly wasn’t tailored for her; instead, more befitting of a minotaur’s frame than her own, the sleeves coming to stop just above her fetlocks. The most striking piece of apparel upon her, however, was that on her face. Covering her right eye was an eyepatch, the design of the sun embedded upon it in tiny yellow and amber jewels. She was entirely unrecognisable from his own world, but the changeling was certain of who this mare was, unmistakably.
“You’re-”
The changeling interrupted by a jab in his side, a glance to his right confirming it was the mare from before. “Speak only when spoken to, Red Eyes!”
“Calm down, Reed,” the Captain chortled. “He’s new to this merry ship. He’ll learn the rules… in time.”
“Rules? You’re pirates-” yet again, he felt a jab in his side. “Ow! Stop doing that!” he directed at Reed, who merely grinned at his irritated tone.
“We’re pirates, true,” the Captain confirmed, half-smiling. “But a loose ship deserves only to be at the bottom of the ocean. By my guns. Rules make a crew, and a crew makes a ship, Red Eyes.”
“My name is Tho- ow!”
“You don’t learn, do you?” the Captain smiled, her stare becoming intense; as if he “Now, a question. Do you know who I am?” she asked, her tone inferring that a lot rested upon its answer.
Thorax furrowed his brow, raising his chin slightly. “You’re Princess-”
“Princess?” the Captain interrupted, shaking her head as some ponies murmured around them. “I’m not a princess. Such a title is below me,” she said simply, chuckling.
He was sure this was her. Same mane, same coat, an alicorn to be sure. He raised his brow. “Then who are you?”
The question elicited a few shocked gasps around the room, and also a few foreboding chuckles. The Captain’s grin grew large, almost sadistic, as her eye widened. She gave a curt laugh, taking another step toward the changeling. “I am the Sea’s Thane, the Breaker Of Monsters and Banisher of Dark, the White Patron of Canter’s Not,” as she spoke, each pause prompting a further step towards Thorax, the gap between them shrinking. “I am the Captain of the Chasing Sun, a Queen of Every Sea,” by now, only a single step separated the two, the ivory coated mare leaning forwards, until her singular magenta eye reflected off his own.
“I am Celestia."
The Whimsical Adventures of a Mad Tyrant
Lamentations of a Cabin Colt
The quiet proclamation carried across the room, seemingly making all other sounds flee with the exception of the ship’s pained creaking. Her stare continued, unwavering, as did her mad smile. Thorax found himself unable to look away, one of his deep red pools carrying within it the image of the sun, the other, her singular magenta eye. “You’re a weird one, aren’t you?” she muttered, her head tilting a tad. “I don’t think I’ve seen anything like you before. That makes you a treasure within itself,” she remarked, continuing to speak lowly. “But I can’t very well stuff you and throw you onto the pile, can I?” she said, mock disappointment heavy in her cadance. She pulled away, wearing an expression of thoughtfulness, looking out over her silent audience, before a toothy grin emerged on her face. “I keep all my treasures. Oddities, rare things and shiny baubles. You’re not shiny, but you’re rare, and most certainly an oddity…” she trailed off, turning her back on the changeling - her tail swishing in his face before she walked back to her throne with a natural sway to her hips. “I’ll have to learn more about you at a later date. When you have earned the right to my attention,” she said plainly, vainly, assuming her previous spot; the mares and stallions upon it redraping themselves across her. “But for the time being, Red Eyes, there’s only one role suitable for a stallion such as yourself... cabin colt,” she said matter-of-factly, branding him with her words, before smirking.
“Excuse me?” Thorax asked, unsure what she meant; seeing out the corner of his eyes as a few faces contorted into massive grins; a few snickers sounding out from the mob.
“Cabin colt!” she replied with serious volume, spittle surely flinging from her maw before releasing an amused cackle, the rest of her cohort joining in on the derisive laughter.
“What does that mean!” he called back, trying to yell over the rambunctious volume of the crew, their hooves stamping against the floor in applause.
“Welcome to the crew, Red Eyes,” Reed said in mock congratulation, wrapping a hoof around his own before tugging at him to follow.
“Wait, what?!” the changeling exclaimed, reluctantly following the uncouth mare. He looked back at the monarch, who resumed smoking, seeing her passive expression in the glow of her pipe. He couldn’t comprehend what just happened. As he continued to follow Reed, almost dazed, he came to regard the scene as a weird inverse coronation. Except lacking all of the obvious attributes of one. He had been coronated the ship’s new cabin colt, a title he already found to weigh heavy upon his pride.
Being led back out onto the main deck the changeling had to shield his eyes, the sun remaining at its peak above the boat, intense and bright. “C’mon. With me, Cabin colt,” Reed beckoned derisively, leading him forwards across the deck. The crew that had, moments ago, been gawking at him like a circus attraction, had now returned to their previous duties. Whatever those duties were, Thorax hadn’t the faintest idea. He saw ropes being tied and untied, ponies climbing up and down the shrouds and the deck being scrubbed with abrasive brushes - handled by either filly or colt. It looked… efficient, at the very least, he could admit that much.
“Reindeer, Red Eyes, Cabin colt,” Thorax listed off to her pedantically, trailing behind leisurely. “If you’re going to mock me with a nickname, pick one and stick with it.”
“I’m allowed to hit you, you know that, right?” Reed informed him, deadpan, flashing a smile behind her before sights ahead again. “Cabin colt ain’t a nickname. It’s your new job.”
“Job? As in work? Are you insane?” the questions were asked with increasing volume and anger, his brows furrowing ever lower. “I don’t work, it’s beneath me.”
“Were you put on tha’ island because you were so head-boringly annoying, or because you were useless?” Reed asked with a scoff, continuing to prance ahead. “But yes. Werk. While yer on Ma’s ship you’ll ‘ave ta pull yer own weight. Or we’ll chuck ya off like we do with the rest of the waste.”
Ma? Thorax didn’t have much time to ponder, for as soon as she finished her sentence he saw a younger looking stallion pout a bucket of Faust-knows-what over the forecastle’s railing; his muzzle wrinkling in disgust. “Message received,” he informed her with a distinct tone of disgust.
She scoffed. “First good thing that’s come outta yer yap since I’ve known ya,” she replied with exaggerated glee. “Keep that up, you might work yer way up’ta cook’s assistant.”
The thought of putting anything into his mouth aboard the ship would’ve of made him gag... if he possessed a pharyngeal reflex… and if he actually required the need to consume solid foods. Actually, the longer he thought on the matter, he realised his disgust didn’t pertain to just the food he had yet to see - his expression affixed into that of a permanent sneer at all that which surrounded him.
Reed eventually led him down a set of stairs, right before one would step onto the forecastle. Immediately, he was assaulted - made to wince - by the surprisingly immense volume of the first deck below. Light came in through the large grate that covered a lot of the main deck, giving Thorax more than ample view of its composition. Ponies were greater in number below deck, and passing by so many gave Thorax the feeling of being in a small town or city rather than a ship… a heavily armed city. Along each side were many, many guns. Large, steel cast cannons, each and every one having a companion of a large box of cannon balls. However, as Thorax was led down the aisle, coming under the checkered shadow of drainage grate, he noted a peculiar detail upon one of the bloated iron balls. A small, horn-sized hole on the surface of them. But again, his stoked curiosity was interrupted.
“Ah! Sorry, Reed,” a young, coltish voice yelped. Thorax looked at him, seeing a pinto patterned colt; clad in eyepatch and bandana.
“What’d I tell ya ‘bout running, Lil’ Pip?” Reed chastised, her voice lacking the edge that Thorax had heard thus far, sensing an odd aura of affection toward the runtish colt.
“Sorry, miss Reed,” Pip apologised, head down ashamed. However, his frown and guilty expression evaporated when he glanced a look at Thorax, eyes widening and lower lip hanging in what Thorax could only read as fascination. “Who's that?” he asked, a smile forming on his face, which lessened under Thorax’s annoyed glare. “And why is he staring at me like that?”
Reed threw a discouraging glare at the changeling, and out of threat of being poked in the ribs, Thorax relented, looking passively off elsewhere. “‘E’s the new cabin colt,” she answered him.
“He’s a little… big, isn’t it? To be a cabin colt I mean,” Pip replied bashfully, trying to avoid Thorax’s glare.
“He acts like one,” she quipped, wryly smiling at the changeling. “Don’t you, Reindeer?”
“Is that his name?”
“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Thorax badgered, exasperated.
Silence hung over the three for a moment. Reed had no expression on her face, but after a few seconds she looked to the colt with a smile. “He prefers, Red Eyes.”
“Ugh,” Thorax groaned, shaking his head.
“Cool!” Pip replied, before giving the changeling a naive expression. “Is that because your eyes are red?”
“No, it’s because I get rare strains of conjunctivitis - of course it’s because my eyes are red!” Thorax chastised loudly, his words a harsh volley; earning a few glances from passing crew. Pip’s lips trembled, tears welling in his remaining eye, before the colt broke off in a bawl; galloping away from the pair. Thorax watched on, passively, until the colt disappeared down the stairs to descend deeper into the ship - releasing a bored sign. “Foals. What’s the point of the-”
His sentence was cut in half by something he was growing worryingly used to by this point. Reed delivered a swift blow to the side of his face - far harder than he had received from Half-Horn, his knees buckling from under him. Before he could voice his displeasure, another punch was delivered to the same cheek, splaying him out across the wooden floor. Again, before he could even act, Reed began delivering harsh kicks to his stomach, grunting with exertion - the ponies surrounding them carrying on like this was nothing. Despite the savagery of the beating, Thorax had to commend her on breaking several of his ribs. It was no easy feat through his carapace, although at that moment he was feeling anything but admiration for the mare.
After a few minutes of beating, the mare relented, semi-panting as she stared at the downed changeling. “Yer a real piece of work,” she told him, before spitting on him, disgusted. “If ya wanna give somepony an ‘ard time, do it to someone who can take it, ya bilge rat,” she advised, marking the end of her sentence with a swift kick to the ribs; earning another wheeze from the changeling. “Now get a move on. I better hear from ‘im you said sorry or I’ll strap ya to ol’ philomena for a week,” she threatened, before continuing on, expecting Thorax in tow.
The changeling spat out some fluid - haemolymph - which was likely to leave a distinct crimson splotch if it weren’t scrubbed away. After a minute of waiting, some of his internals moving back into place before climbing to his hooves. He gave the mare a furious glare but didn’t say anything, simply releasing a sigh before continuing to trail behind her - with a fast fading limp. He followed her even deeper into the ship, traveling down the steps he saw the colt go down. The light seemed darker down there; sun replaced with many lanterns. Almost as if he were descending into the very pits of tartarus itself… which made him feel nostalgic. Tartarus made for a very appealing vacation spot.
At the bottom, he noticed that the scene was identical to that above. Crew were scattered about, doing something or other. Bandana ponies hefted around cannon balls, others cleaned the barrels of the guns, obviously preparing them for use at some point. By this point, Thorax found counting them all internally to be overbearing, and he summoned enough will to part his mouth. “How many ponies live on this squalid bucket?” he asked, trying not to sound too curious.
“Last count was eighteen-’undred,” she answered promptly, looking off to her side. “Over two ‘undred guns. Forty knots in the right winds, thanks to the masts. She’s a real beaut,” she spoke with audible admiration, smiling.
Thorax rolled his eyes. “I asked how many ponies lived here, not its entire feature list,” he grumbled, “I need to know how many I need to kill to remove the stain this place has left on me.”
“Anymore talk like tha’ and I’ll start ta think yer serious,” she ridiculed him, smirking. “Wanna know what tha Ma’ will do to ya if you’s serious?”
“I can very well imagine...” he replied. Seeing as she was Celestia. Albeit, a more… abrasive one, he immediately pictured fire. Fire was fine. He could survive fire. Although, he was as much afraid of being left afloat in the water as well. However, if she were the sort to anger quickly, he could expect an immediate retort. Perhaps she’d use one of the many cutlesses he saw around to orchestrate a beheading. Being a head would afford him a chance to bounce back, now that he thought about it. She’d likely keep his head as a trophy. He did, not to toot his own horn, have a splendid head. Then, perhaps, one day after biding his time, he could take her throat to fang city - namely, his fangs. Her throat. Yes...
“Why ya smilin’? Some sort’a masochist?” she asked, perplexed expression on her face.
“Something like that,” he replied, lying.
“Weirdo,” she commented, turning her neck away from him.
The two continued walking…
The ship was long both in length and depth. A couple more decks down and the changeling furrowed his brows. “Where are we going again?” he asked.
“Never said,” she replied.
He groaned. “I hope at the very least you’ll be telling me what I’m actually suppose to do as cabin colt,” he said, pouring malice into the damnable title. “The only thing I hate more than being pressed into servitude is being aimless.”
She arched a brow. “Ain’t you ever been a ship b’fore?” she asked, confused. “Ya ‘ad to be put on that island some’ow.”
“Yes,” he replied, curt and simple.
“Care to ‘laborate?” she asked.
“No,” he said, firmly.
She held her expression on him before rolling her shoulders in a nonplussed shrug. “Alrighty then,” she said, looking back ahead. “You jus’ clean. Fill an’ empty buckets. Deliver messages. That sort’ve thing.”
She said it so simply, so idly and passively, yet each duty struck Thorax like an insult. He growled. “If I must. I can tolerate being here until we reach a dock, a port. I’d rather have my hooves on some land rather than-” A scoff from Reed interrupted him. He looked at her expectantly, expecting to hear an expansion upon her dismissal, but instead got none. “What? What?” he repeated, second time louder. “Care to explain yourself?”
She looked at him, expression smug. “Nah.”
Thorax nodded, releasing a curt gibe of his own. “Oh, I bet you think you’re real clever. Fine, be that way. Two can play at this game, and I’ll have you know I’m an astute games mast- hey, where are you going!” he called out to her as she picked up her pace, prompting the changeling to grumble. “I hate ponies…”
He followed her down yet another set of stairs. However, the visage of the new deck was unlike the others. On the upper decks he spotted a few hammocks, but on this level there were many, many bunks. He spotted a few stallions sleeping, and a few sharing the same mattress. Whether that was due to simply conserving space or for other more… intimate reasons, the changeling didn’t want to ponder. On the decks above he heard occasional chatter, however, down her it was far louder - coming primarily from a singular source.
“Huh, I was wond’rin’ where the first mate was at,” Reed remarked, eyes drifting toward the source of shouting.
Near one of the corners, Thorax saw a large gathering of ponies, all cheering and whooping at some unseen spectacle. He felt pain. Exhilaration. Joy. A good fight, no doubt. “How do you know the first made is there?” Thorax asked, brow raised.
“Only, Shiny will draw a crowd that big,” Reed answered, wearing a full grin.
“Shiny?” he said the name aloud with furrowed brows, before they shot up; his eyes bulging outward, fiery. “He’s the one who shot a cannonball at me!”
“Yep. Good thin’ ya got found after ‘is afternoon drink. Then ‘e wouldn’t have missed… but then again, he prolly wouldn’t ‘ave shot at ya if he hadn’t drunk to begin with. Heh. Catch twenny,” she finished with a light chuckle.
“Twenty two,” he corrected contemptuously, throwing her a pompous look, before directing his eyes back to the large gathering.
He heard sounds of exertion as Reed led him closer to the otherside of the deck. Suddenly, she came to a stop a quarter of the way there, eyeing the crowd with a grin. “E’s usually won by now. Somepony mus’ be at the end of a serious beatin’.”
“Who?” Thorax asked, the crowd growing louder in volume.
As if to answer his question, there was a gradual escalation in the roaring mob, Thorax stepping backwards instinctively. Suddenly, two figures erupted from the mob, tumbling across the deck floor until one was straddling the other. The Overlord recoiled backwards; jaw becoming firm at the sight before him. He couldn’t believe how the contrivances kept piling atop one another. He sneered at the two stallions before him, his entire body tensing on instinct. My enemies continue to pile up, he remarked internally, glancing between the two with contempt.
A gamboge stallion had his face pushed pushed against the deck, struggling and writhing in place; one of his hooves was held behind his back in forcible restraint. Atop him was an ivory white unicorn stallion, wearing a large roguish grin. He wore a purple spotted bandana, his mane greasy with either grime or gel. Thorax noted that amongst the pearly whites, there was a single golden tooth, which shone brightly... Shiny… Oh, how clever, his internal voice dripped with sarcasm.
“Now, say it for… what is this? The eight time now?” Shiny asked rhetorically, his tone mocking the stallion beneath him.
“C’mon, Shiny,” the stallion pleaded with a grunt, trying to push back against Shiny’s hoof. “I’ve been in love with your sister for years. Just let me transfer to her ship, you just gotta.”
At the mention of love, Shiny scoffed, the mob of onlookers concurred with a gaggle of mocking laughter. “I know Love,” Shiny put particular emphasis on the word, shaking his head with a chesty chuckle. “Love and I have shared words. What you have towards Twily? It ain’t it.”
“It’s for real, I swear!” the hopeless stallion pleaded, continuing to uselessly struggle against Shiny’s restraint.
Shiny rolled his eyes. “Say it, Sentry. I wanna hear you say it,” he egged on, applying more pressure.
“Arg, c’mon!” he whined back.
“Say it!”
Sentry growled. “Fine, fine! Sentry, Sentry, wets the bed-ie!” he called out. The response to this was a loud concophy of cheers from the mob, Sentry’s surrendering limerick was said aloud with mocking repetition.
Shiny released the broken stallion, standing over him with a large toothy smile, striking a raised chin pose before the crowd; earning a greater cheer in response. “Thank you, thank you,” accepted the praise eagerly, and Thorax felt the pride ooze from him in spades. Suddenly, Shiny turned his neck towards him, and if it were possible, the smile grew even larger. “Hey, I fired a cannonball at you,” he remarked casually, releasing a bray.
“And missed,” Thorax sassed, wearing an expression of disgust. It seemed, regardless of universe, Shining Armour was drawn to hindering and annoying him at every opportunity - if he wasn’t trying to kill him, that was. “Maybe you don’t live up to your reputation.”
Out the corner of his eye, he saw Reed look at him with widened eyes, her jaw indecisive on whether to open or steel itself; leaving her mouth to switch between opening and closing slightly. Shiny’s grin shrinked a little, and with deliberate steps, he began to walk towards the changeling. Thorax was expecting to be struck again - he was used to it by now - looking down at the stallion as he stopped before him. Who matched the stallion’s grin with a scowl. He watched as Shiny’s hoof rose. He wouldn’t bring himself to flinch. Not in front of Shining Armour, regardless of universe. He kept his eyes locked with Shiny’s, bracing for the punch… that never came?
Shiny patted him on the side of his hoof. “We’re gonna get along just grand,” he said, placing particular emphasis on the word, before leaving him; not uttering another thing.
“What… what just happened?” Thorax asked aloud, sincerely confused. He watched the stallion leave. Another fight broke out amongst the crowd, so their attention was immediately focused on something else.
“You just set a fuse, Red Eyes,” Reed said, firmly, tugging at his hoof; encouraging him to follow.
“Are you going to be vague with that too?”
“Yep,” she replied in a chipper voice, leading him on.
Thorax sighed, rolling his eyes… or, well, imitating the gesture. He had no eyes to roll.
He was lead to the penultimate deck of the ship. It was dimmer than those above, almost… cozy, in its own way. However, the changeling immediately noticed something distinctly off putting. Colts, and filles, were everywhere. Sleeping in cots and hammocks, wearing distinct bright bandanas. He heard some chatter, others played games, chasing and laughing; foalish joy…
How repulsive.
“Here’s your quarters,” Reed revealed, pivoting before him and gesturing around, wearing a large knowing smile. It annoying him.
“You can’t be serious,” Thorax shook his head, looking around with a smarmy look.
“It’s where all the cabin colts and fillies stay,” she informed, smirking. “Don’t think we’d treat ya any diffren’ ‘cause ya big?”
“I am over twenty years old! I will not be debased any further by bunking with… foals,” he shuddered, looking at a passing filly with disgust. “I demand better accomod-”
Suddenly, although not unexpected, Reed swung at him. It was a deft punch, not too much force, but still enough to send a message. After that, Thorax looked at Reed with a bored expression, Reed wearing a smug look. “Not in’a state ta be makin’ demands, Red Eyes,” she reprimanded. “Ya better get a new schtick. Ah’m startin’ to get bored of ya.”
“Oh, you know how much it would displease me to leave you bored,” Thorax leaned heavy on sarcasm, snorting. “You know, for the name Reed, you don’t sound like you don’t read much do you? Has anyone ever told your accent is the oral equivalent of a crippled toddler?”
At this, Reed wore a blank expression. Thorax was expecting to be struck again, but instead she simply continued to… stare at him. He grew uncomfortable, more seconds passed, and he even began to feel remorse. Perhaps, just maybe - a thoroughly stretched maybe - he went too far. After a full minute, a smile formed on her face. “Ey! Kids!” she yelled, attracting the many, many eyes of the colts and fillies that surrounded them. Thorax stepped back in fear, watching the many younglings encroach and surround. He was getting flashbacks, flashbacks to Trottingham. He gave a fearful eye to Reed. “Take a look at the new cabin colt!” she announced, and Thorax felt genuine fear fill his heart.
“Nooo!” Thorax called out as he was swarmed by the small horde of colts and fillies. They curiously gawked and prod at him. Some released awed coos, and muttered amongst themselves speculation about the changeling. He cast a worried glance to Reed, the mare simply walked past him, giving him one last deriding smile before leaving him to his fate. “Please, don’t leave me!”
“Get settled, Red Eyes,” Reed advised, throwing back to him a coy grin as she climbed the steps. “You’ve got a long life of service ahead of you.”
“Wait-”
“How old are you?” a curious colt asked, tugging at his hoof.
“Where are your eyes?” a filly asked, who leapt onto his back from a hammock.
“Are you really a colt?” a skeptical voice sounded behind him, poking into his rump.
The questions were relentless. Wherever he looked, he found somepony looking back. The tiny, beady eyes of colt or filly, all ravenous… with curiosity! He kept standing despite their accosting, hoping his continued silence and feigned lack of acknowledgement would be enough to make them simply go away. But it became quickly apparent that the litter of runtlings were starved for stimuli. Even when Thorax remained still and quiet, they continued to loiter around him, looking upon him as if he was some sort enigmatic art exhibit.
With a heavy sigh, Thorax decided to humour them. “What?” he barked over them, the surrounding foals looked at him with wide eyes. A unicorn colt with blue coat raised his hoof. Thorax rolled his non-existent eyes. “Yes?”
“What are you?” he asked. Apparently it was on a lot of minds, the mere voicing of the inquiry prompting murmuring conversations amongst the crowd.
As soon as Thorax parted his mouth to speak the voices died down, paying close attention. “I’m a changeling.”
“What’s a changeling?” asked a random voice from the audience.
“Better than a pony,” he answered promptly, vaguely; earning a few unimpressed whispers.
“Where’d you come from?” asked a filly as his side, looking up at him with her large emerald eyes… sickening.
“Another world,” he answered bluntly. “Anymore questions or will you leave me alone now?”
The answer to this was the rise of over a hundred hooves.
Thorax sighed.
The process was gruelling, and by the end of his his jaw began to ache. He felt like an overtaxed parent, forced to answer every single question that popped into their foal’s head – only he was a broodmother, and the collective entirety of the cabin colts and fillies were his brood. He didn’t keep count of time. He did feel his legs weaken, and soon he was laying on the deck floor as questions were continuously barraged him. After a while they began to disperse, their attention fleeting. The behaviour of foals was the same across realities it would seem. By then, he seriously began to long for punches over the questions. Much to his relief, the final filly that hadn’t lost a curious glint in her eye raised his hoof, despite being the only one present before him.
Thorax gaved a tired exhale. At last. The final question. “Yes?”
“W-w-w-what...” the filly had a stutter. He gave her a tired look. He was even too drained to even scowl, his annoyance stores thoroughly drained – although they rapidly refilled. She had a plain white coat, with a scarlet red mane which possessed a dizzying number of curls. “Y-your n-name?”
That was a surprise. Thorax raised his brow at the filly. The rest of them were faceless, but her, he actually deigned to remember her face. It was bookish, with a cracked pair of lenses at the end of a snout-like muzzle. He also threw a glance to her flanks. Her cutie mark was two candy canes overlapped.
“I’m... I’m Thorax,” he answered
“I’m S-Stam,” she replied, doltishly, smiling. She extended her hoof to the changeling. “N-n-nice t-to m-meet-”
Thorax prematurely met her extended hoof, forcing an end to the awkwardness. “Likewise,” he spoke in a formal tone, his expression that of authorial acknowledgement – a tinge of contempt – which compared to how he looked everybody else that day was practically a look of benevolence. “I’ll remember you. Not particularly strongly, or fondly, but you’ll be remembered by me, nonetheless.”
“Uh?” she tilted her head, as her hoof continued to go up and down with Thorax’s, still wearing that dumb smile. “O-okay!” she said with a chipper voice, before dropping her hoof to the deck. “S-s-see ya a-around, T-T-Thorax.”
With that she left him, skipping off with a cheerful gait. The changeling kept a close eye on her, before forcing them away, laying his head on the deck. Now that he was no longer the centre of attention all the colts and fillies continued doing, well, whatever it was they were doing. He saw a few run up the stairs with bucket handles in their mouths, others were cleaning the cannonballs – for what reason, he didn’t know – and a few were looking over some weird crooked devices, constructed from metal and wood. The changeling was curious, but not enough to go look at it, nor had the will to stomach more foal-talk in his ears.
Instead, his sights came to land at the end of the deck, where he noticed stairs descending even further into a dark below. He gave a final distasteful look around him. The deck was loud, bright with many lanterns, which, considering the fact they were on a vessel made of wood put him at considerable unease. All in all, it would probably be a lot better for him if he found some place else to rest. He tried not to attract any eyes as he rose back up, skulking over to the far end of the deck, descending into shadow of the below deck…
It was dark. There were a few lamps dangling from the ceiling, gently rocking back and forth as the water currents collided with the ship’s hull. There were boxes, large and small, everywhere. Some large kegs too. It looked like a large warehouse, storing all manner of thing for their voyage. It was also dank, with bits and pieces of greyish mould growing in places particularly damp. It wasn’t aesthetically pleasing, warm or by any means cosy. However, it looked like ponies rarely came down here...
So it was Thorax’s kind of place!
He walked down the box lined hall, before arbitrarily deciding to squeeze through a gap. He appeared to have walked into a maze of sorts, deciding it was probably a possibility he could get lost down here, unable to find his way out, forever damned to walk the maze of boxes for the rest of his life… but if he was lost, he could never be found. And if he could never be found, he could never be pressed into doing menial work. The prospect of which made him shudder as he navigated through the gaps.
However, his intention to find some deep dark place to hide himself brought him some to the opposite. He squeezed through a narrow gap, and came to find himself in a rather snug space, unoccupied by a large box or a large collection of smaller ones. It appeared to be a den of sorts. There was a lantern held up by a nail hammered into a box, illuminating a floor covered partially in a few different sheets and covers, some pillows were strewn about also. However, at the back near the actual hull, there was a netted hammock nailed from box to box.
The hammock was occupied by an ivory unicorn mare with a messy cobalt mane. She was spread languidly on her back, staring at the ceiling with her hooves crossed behind her head. From her, Thorax sensed a great deal of apathy. He stood there for a while, wondering if his presence had even been noted. He took a step forwards, ensuring it was heard, and yet no reaction came from her.
“Are you ignoring me?” he said with furrowed brows, disbelieving of her gall. His presence – by no means ‘mere’ - could be akin to a raving lunatic in how much attention it would draw, yet she didn’t even deign to throw a cursory glance at him. “Hello? I’m speaking to you-”
Glare.
The mare threw an eye to him, a single cerise coloured orb; filled with only a tincture of interest. She didn’t utter a word, but she didn’t need to. Thorax could sense, despite her stoic expression, feelings of contempt, curiosity and confusion. A typical C.C.C case, at least from his experience.
“I didn’t think anyone would be down here,” he remarked. At that he sensed chagrin. “I, too, enjoy the merits of isolation,” he concurred, his words were met with her affixing both her brilliant red eyes upon him; her brows furrowing. “Oh? Surprised are you? I don’t need words to know what you’re feeling, I- what? Oh, well, it might be creepy to some and invasive but I don’t think it’s all that ba- hey! Clean your head! We’re not sailors… well, technically you are, but that’s besides the point...”
Thorax went on converse with the mare, something he found incredibly easy so long as he was the only one speaking. He was able to perceive what she wanted to say but chose not to, through a combination of emotions and facial expressions. He felt a degree of kinship with her, be it because he was able to ascribe it to her due to her lack of voice, or because they were similarly red in the eye department. However, after a while, by which point he had taken seat upon a cushion close to a box, he felt the need to address a particular attribute of the mare.
“You’re mute,” he stated directly, bluntly. He wasn’t one to avoid truisms. She nodded with a raised brow. “Any reason for that? Horrific accident, traumatic event, your voice a siren’s song?” he listed off, saying the final one with a non-serious jeer, although peculiarly it was the only one that prompted thought from her. “Wait, wait. You can’t speak because it’s dangerous?” again, she nodded. This time with a shrug. “I don’t believe that,” he responded simply, earning a shrug and a roll of the eyes from her. “Well, sorry if I’m skeptical, but you don’t exactly look like a seapony. Not nearly enough scales and off-putting smiles,” he mused, at which she shot to him an excessive grin. “Close, but no,” he smirked.
“Red Eyes!” he heard a familiar voice call out from somewhere on the deck. “Cabin’ colt. You’ve got work ta do!” she continued, speaking in a derisive coo. “You can’t hide forever!”
Thorax sighed. “Do you think she’s wrong?”
The mare shook her head.
Thorax groaned, throwing an eye to the gap between the boxes that served as both entrance and exit. He had, at the very least, discovered a place of isolation and quiet from the rest of the crew. It would give him a place of semi-decent contemplation, to bide his time until a solution arose from the waves, or from the mouth of that dastardly alicorn on top deck.
He rose to his hooves.
Took a breath.
And prepared to suffer.