Some Notes on the Text and a Preface From the Author
“Sir Cherry Chaser, age 119, died today in his home at 52 Solaris Street, located in Clover Terrace, a suburb in Lower Canterlot, of natural causes at 10:45 AM. A decorated war veteran, Sir Chaser held a 55-year long career in the services of Her Majesty Princess Celestia during the tumultuous periods that were the Unicornicopian Regime and the subsequent Revolution, earning a knighthood and the title of ‘Hero of United Equestria’ (shortened to simply ‘Hero of Equestria’ after Grand Ruler Celesto was overthrown), with further services during the early years of the current Second Age of Friendship, before retiring from active services at the age of 74 and taking a brief stint as a teacher at the Canterlot Royal Guard Academy. The community had mixed opinions on Sir Chaser, such as one stallion who described him as a ‘raging old drunkard’. His neighbor Rainy Days, however, descrIbes him much differently:
‘Mr. Chaser was a drinker and rather crotchety, yes, but he was also a real softie, especially around foals. Sometimes I’d see him playing a game of hoofball with his great-great grandchildren whenever they’d visit, and sometimes I’d ask him to foalsit my daughter Puppysmiles when he wasn’t busy. He’d tell her all about his adventures, and it just brightened his day whenever we came over to give him and his wife freshly baked cookies or even muffins. It breaks my heart to know he’s with Faust now, but I hope he’s in a better place.’
Sir Chaser is succeeded by his wife Fizzlepop Berrytwist, and his great-great grandchildren, Fireball Cinnamon and Vanilla Bourbon. A memorial service is being held later this week at the Royal Veterans’ Cemetery, with a reading of Sir Chaser’s last will and testament beforehoof.
-Obituary for Sir Cherry “Renegade” Chaser, The Canterlot Times
The times leading up to the Second Age of Friendship are certainly the most eventful in regards to Equestria’s history, with such historical events such as the return of Twilight Sparkle, the sieges of Starfleet’s prison planets, and the public trial of Grand Ruler Celesto (and the subsequent execution) among them. What this writer has taken an interest in, however, are the contributions of Sir Cherry Chaser, bearer of the Solar and Lunar Medals of Honor, receiver of the Celestial Cross, and several other titles that, if written in full, would take up (at most) two full pages.
To say that Sir Chaser is a rather divisive figure in regards to the events of Starfleet’s overthrow is putting it mildly. Some say that he fully deserves his reputation as hero and an important factor in the Revolution, and others would say that his importance is absolutely undeserved, his title would be better off if it had gone to the Elements of Harmony, and that Sir Chaser was nothing but a cad with an overinflated ego.
I am highly inclined to believe that Sir Chaser would agree with the latter group.
But what, exactly, is meant by that? Well, in order to answer that question, we must go back to how I acquired what you hold in your hooves right now, dearest reader.
At the reading of the last will and testament of Sir Cherry Chaser, there were several items bequeathed to those in attendance, mostly the sort of things you would expect from the sort of nobility that the deceased (technically) belonged to: land, heirlooms, belongings, that sort of thing. I, a representative of Princess Trixie Lulamoon, as well as the Canterlot Historical Society, had come to the will reading at her request since she was an ally of Sir Chaser during the Revolution (both were members of Princess Luna’s Umbra Circle), as well as his professional (and, if one went by rumors, personal) liaison during said events. Accompanying me were two other ponies, also representing the Canterlot Historical Society, but also friends of the deceased in his later years: Legend Bringer, writer of Fall of Starfleet, Rebirth of Friendship (one of the foremost historical works on the Revolution, co-written with Princess Twilight Sparkle herself from primary sources written during the period) and Purple Patch, known for his works focusing on the pre-Hearth’s Warming period of Equestria’s history. Presiding over the whole affair was Sir Cherry Chaser’s lawyer, a stern and no-nonsense mare by the name of Nachurally Harmonik.
The will reading had been a fairly standard one, that was, until Miss Harmonik read out the following sentence:
“Unto Their Majesties Princess Trixie Lulamoon and Princess Twilight Sparkle, as well as the Canterlot Historical Society, I bequeath my personal memoirs which until now have been kept in my attic unperturbed.”
We had stared silently at the mare, certainly surprised. Although Sir Chaser had written an autobiography shortly before the Revolution had begun, that had been merely propaganda commissioned by the Grand Ruler, and as such had to go by the state’s strict media standards resulting in a work that was, especially in the eyes of its author, absolute trite. But personal memoirs? This was an excellent find, seeing as the Historical Society had already been wanting to document Cherry Chaser’s efforts but had no primary sources aside from said autobiography. So, once the reading was finished, Legend Bringer, myself, and Purple Patch all made our way towards Sir Chaser’s home and more specifically to the attic, where the memoirs were held according to Fizzlepop Berrytwist.
The attic itself was a cluttered, filthy, and musty sort of place; a dust cloud hung over it like the sort of fog one might have seen in the swamps. It appeared to not have been cleaned out in a good long while, perhaps months at best and years at worst. Among the trinkets, old foalhood toys that had belonged to Sir Cherry’s children and their offspring, comic books that seemed to still be in mint condition, and emptied bottles of liquors and spirits, there sat a rather large chest, almost several feet long and several feet wide, with figures in positions from the Caramel Sutra (both male and female) carved at the top and sides of the lid. Within, we found several more comics (these being much more raunchy and pornographic affairs starring Princesses Celestia and Luna), a half-drunk bottle of Wild Pegasus whiskey, and most importantly, an untold number of yellowed papers, disorganized and ineligible in some places from spilled drinks and more...unsavory fluids. Heaving the chest back to Canterlot, the three of us promptly got to work analyzing and organizing the papers in order to see if these were indeed written by Sir Cherry and not by a forger. After some weeks with assistance from both Princesses Lulamoon and Sparkle, we were able to confirm that not only were these written by Sir Chaser over the three decades after his retirement (concluding when he was 104 years old, only 15 years before his death), but were chronologically organized according to the three periods of his career. Initially only intended for the CHS’ benefit and not for public viewing, these papers have been collected according to whatever adventure Sir Chaser had undertaken, with explanatory footnotes and cross-references to events and other works of the corresponding period. It is only because of the preface that was pinned above the first page in the chest, written by the author himself, that these volumes have begun publication.
So I say to you, dear reader, to decide for yourself: was Renegade a true hero, or just a pony who ended up with that title through sheer luck and cunning?
-Yours truly,
Tseresa Lei
Head of the Chaser Archives, Canterlot Historical Society
To Whomever It May Concern:
I am a rather old pony, I must admit. Although you may not consider the ripe old age of 74 to be “rather” old, it is for me, given my extraordinarily fruitful life. In my line of work, death is a certainty. If you’re not careful, one wrong move or slip up of the tongue can mean your demise. And yet, through my sheer luck and determination to save my own skin, it’s a miracle that I was even able to survive my first mission with the walking bullseye known as Starfleet. Even less so, I somehow usurped the title of “Hero of United Equestria” from its most celebrated representative Lightning Dawn, of whom became my fiercest rival and later on my greatest friend during the uprising and destruction of Grand Ruler Celesto’s government. In fact, it was thanks to the efforts of both himself and his wife Her Majesty Twilight Sparkle that I even began setting quill to parchment in order to write down what you see before your very eyes.
I have written of my military career once before, and that was during the months that led up to the clusterfuck-yes, that what it was, there is no doubt about it-known as the Revolution. I believe I was approaching my late twenties, or maybe it was my early-to-mid thirties, I cannot remember. But anyways, I was approached by the propaganda department of Celesto’s fascistic autocracy to write what was, in essence, a childish, almost comic book-like diatribe on my various adventures that seemed to take more inspiration from the episodic dramas based on them rather than my actual experiences. For that, it has only contributed to my divisive reputation among military and history experts, and I do not blame them for it. In fact, I feel the only reason I was not executed or even imprisoned was because doing so might have caused the population to revolt against the government much sooner than they actually did. In any case, I absolutely hated it.
And this brings us to the sole reason as to why I started writing these memoirs in the first place: in order to expose the truth behind the myth. During my long career in the services of Celestia Herself, I built up a reputation as a brave, dashing hero; one who could easily vanquish enemies with a single glare if some rumors were to be taken at face value. This was only helped by the aforementioned propaganda, of which my opinions have already been stated.
I only offer the truth, and the truth is that I am an alcoholic, a cheat, a thief, a lecher of both genders, a liar, and most importantly a coward. My career is one large falsehood, earned through my quick wit, exploitation of those around me, and my incredibly useful skill of running away from one situation and into the clutches of another.
I also had a lot of sex, and regret none of it.
So, dear reader, if you are brave or foolish enough to continue onwards, then read on as I tell you of my adventures.
-Sir Cherry “Renegade” Chaser
I: In Which the Author Gives a Short Biography of Himself, and Describes His Ascent Into Heroism
- IN WHICH THE AUTHOR GIVES A SHORT BIOGRAPHY OF HIMSELF, AND DESCRIBES HIS ASCENT INTO HEROISM
Perhaps, out of formality or maybe even out of admiring myself, I should describe (albeit briefly) my appearance, my origins, my whereabouts in regards to the Unicornicopians’ invasion of Equestria, and my recruitment into Starfleet. For starters, my appearance of that of a deep cherry red, with a black mane and tail, my cutie mark being that of a map and my eyes being brown, specifically of chocolate shade. All in all, I feel I am a fairly average (if rather handsome, if the mares I have slept with over the years are any indication) stallion. As for where I was born, I can’t remember due to age catching up with my memories; I am fairly certain, however, that it was somewhere between Ponyville and Canterlot.[1] Wherever I was born, however, does not matter. Nor do the memories of my childhood, at least for the first 11 years of my life. It was fairly standard and therefore boring: two loving parents who taught me, to the best of their ability, of the joys of friendship being magic or somesuch.
I was never the most sociable of ponies, and this carried over into my adult years. I eventually earned my cutie mark at about perhaps 9 or 10, so you might call me an “early bloomer” in that regard. I, for my part, had no idea what my mark being a map meant, and it still confuses me now. Though I suppose it ties into my inexplicable ability to somehow find myself in new locales and new perils thereof, but more on that later.
What you, dear reader, wish to read about is the Unicornicopian invasion. As any history teacher in the past century or so can tell you, the Unicornicopians essentially invaded Equestria under the pretense of looking for three villains that they dubbed Dementia, Rep-Stallion, and Mysterious; all three of them were under the command of Lord Titan. While I do not remember the full details, apparently the trio were working under Nightmare Moon when they were supposedly defeated. In truth, these were just lies perpetuated by Celesto’s government in order to reinforce their so-called “superiority”.[2] Furthermore, the creation of the humanoid bodies that were forcibly given to us was not as portrayed in the propaganda. Speaking from experience, everypony across the planet suddenly blacked out, and when we awoke, we were greeted with the sight of our equine heads upon gangly, apelike bodies; myself being only a foal of 11 years, this was especially terrifying for me. There is a certain term that describes the appearance of such bodies perfectly, and that is the “uncanny valley”.
When looking at a Unicornicopian, it only served to highlight their sinister, otherworldly nature. And then came the subjugation. We were treated as inferiors, almost dare I say like common animals. In the years of my adolescence, it was drilled into my head that I would never be as good as, say, Lightning Dawn, or hell, the Grand FUCKING Ruler. I never believed it for a second. So, I adopted an aloof, almost apathetic stance; it was during these formative years that I developed the only positive takeaways from all this: my love of drink and ladies. I remember my first experience with a mare rather well. I’ll spare you the details, if only to keep the privacy of the other party intact (for she certainly would not feel honored having her dirty laundry aired in public; that is, if she would even be alive when these memoirs are eventually discovered and published), but I will say that it was a life-changing experience. Soon afterwards, I discovered I liked stallions as well, and according to Starfleet law, that was a huge no-no. Not that I cared, however. I was a proud bisexual, as well as an equally proud lech. I would do whatever I wished, consequences be damned.
And this determination to rise above what Celesto’s regime had deemed me as was what prompted me into joining Starfleet’s ranks. I was not seeking to be a hero, as I have made abundantly clear. All I was seeking was an excuse to show those damned Space Ponies that I was better than them. I had seen the recruitment ads, and borne witness to enough battle footage; at the time, it had been five years since Twilight Sparkle had died. It looked easy enough, I had surmised. All I needed to do was master flashy karate moves, fight a monster every week, and live off the pay the service provided. And so I, a young unicorn stallion of 19, one who was already versed in the ways of drinking and lechery towards both genders, enlisted in the ranks of Starfleet. 'For Faust and country' was my motto.
...If I had any sort of inkling as to what sorts of trouble I would get into, I might have asked the Grand Ruler himself to execute me. But he might have refused, and possibly taken great enjoyment that I, an 'inferior' Equestrian, would risk getting killed in battle. And to that, I would have told him to go shove all three horns up his flank, the ignorant sod. So, with new vigor, I strutted into my local Starfleet recruitment office. It was a fairly standard building, the walls colored a drab beige and the chairs in the waiting room an equally boring grey. Behind the solid mahogany desk sat a Unicornicopian mare, her coat and mane a blinding white and her eyes a steely grey. I half-expected her to start hurling insults and attempting to demean me for trying to join her “superior” race’s organization. Instead, however, she spoke rather dryly, as if she had seen ponies like myself come and go over the years; young wide-eyed heroes hoping to make a difference.
Or, in my case, young weary cynics looking for what amounted to a sinecure. Getting back on topic, the mare’s greeting to me was dry, flat, and straightforward: “Looking to join Starfleet, huh?”
“Of course!” I said proudly, puffing my chest out a bit as if to make myself look more important. She did not seem impressed at all. In fact, I don’t think her expression changed whatsoever. She grabbed a small slip of paper, scribbled something down on it, and handed it to me. I raised a brow. “What is this?”
“It’s your number. Ya go sit down, wait for your number to be called, then ya go to fill out the recruitment papers.”
“I...see?” I responded, utterly confused. Who knew getting into Starfleet required some sort of bureaucracy? I did not argue or debate, however. I just sat at a random chair, briefly looking over my number: 42. It, at least to me, was a seemingly random and fairly odd sort of number, but I took it anyway. And so, I waited for a good several hours or so, noting how the receptionist was deliberately avoiding calling my number; I can likely conclude that this was due to the Unicornicopians’ inherent racism and that was something I was all too used to by this point. Once she was certain I was the only one left in the room, she called my number and I made my way to the recruitment office, only to find yet another Unicornicopian behind the desk. He was completely different from the receptionist in both appearance and demeanor. Whereas the receptionist was a snow-white mare, the recruitment officer appeared to be a solid, almost rocky grey. And, furthermore, his eyes were an almost oily black. The receptionist was calm, her racism either hid behind or forced upon her by the auto-bureaucratic mandates of the government. This officer, however, was openly sneering at me, as if to say, “I’m better than you because the Grand Poobah says so”. I gave him a glare back, and so desperately wanted to punch the smug look right off of his face.
“So,” the grey Unicornicopian said. “Ya wanna try and get into Starfleet?”
“That’s right.” I replied, not even bothering to hide my curtness. “I wanna join.”
“Ha!” the Space Pony laughed (at least I assumed it was a laugh; it sounded more like a quick wheeze), obviously amused at what I guessed was the fact that an Equestrian would join Starfleet, which in his eyes was a Unicornicopian-only organization. “You think you got what it takes, punk? Everybody that comes through here-”
“Everypony.” I smarmily corrected. I had, and still have not, understood why Celesto had mandated we Equestrians drop sayings such as ‘everypony’ and instead use words such as ‘everybody’, when such terms make no logical sense in a society such as ours.[3] While it is true than not all of us are ponies, there are perfectly good terms one can use in their place, such as ‘everycreature’.
But I am not here to discuss semantics, dear reader. Instead, I will divert your attention back to my encounter with the recruitment officer. To say that he didn’t react well to my deliberate use of the ‘p-word’ as I termed it was an understatement. His face grew as red as some sort of overripe tomato, and what appeared to be tiny veins growing in his forehead began forming, sweat going down the sides of his face as he tried his damndest to not explode in front of me. My reaction to all this was nonplussed; I merely sat quietly as I filled out the paperwork required of me. It was fairly basic stuff - name, age, reasons for joining Starfleet (on this, I listed my motivations as a simple ‘heroics’), blood type, and so on. Once that was finished, I placed the papers on the recruitment officer’s desk; by this point, his face had gone from red to blue to a rather hilarious-looking purple. “You might want to breathe.” I oh-so-helpfully advised. He didn’t seem to heed it, as I heard him loudly collapse onto the floor as I made my way out.
It was naught more than a few days later that I was called back to the recruitment office, and neither the officer or I seemed to be happy to see each other. Without a word, I was given my recruitment papers, and they had a seal of approval stamped onto them, ostensibly from Celesto himself; I wondered how the recruitment officer was convinced to sign me given both his obvious prejudices and the way I had taunted him before. And, in hindsight, I suppose it doesn’t matter. After all, what is but one pony’s opinion compared to an entire race’s? And so, shortly after I was approved for recruitment into Starfleet, I was shipped off to what I could best be called boot camp. There I received my code number4 and my armor.
Starfleet armor is, as a rule, rather impractical. It is made up of what I could only describe as spandex, its only “defense” in essence being the ability to launch sparks whenever one is hit. Not only that, but it is rather garish-looking, almost like a sort of cheap Nightmare Night costume. Mine, for example, was the standard: red, my cutie mark plastered twice over what corresponded to each nipple, and an equally red visor with black eyepieces that seemed to contain the technologies used for ‘fighting’ and blend into my coat, giving the appearance that I was wearing shades and somewhat nude. All in all, it was certainly ridiculous, and I could not help but laugh in private.
Had I known that this armor was what I would be wearing for the next few decades and that it would define my image, I might have deserted right then and there. But I wasn’t going to give up my gravy train so soon, much less not that easily. As for my time in training, I shan’t go over it. It was a fairly short period of almost 26 days, and overall, fairly boring. All I remember was sleeping with some of the female recruits, and that was all. Once my training was complete, I was assigned with four others to a team, and I remember their names and faces vividly.
That’s because I was the only survivor of our first mission.
Tossed out on our asses, the lot of us. Our so called 'training' did jack shit against the bugbear who tore through that shield like it was made of tissue paper. Fuckin' hell, years later and I'm still shaking after hearing it roar. My CO, Skitty, acted like a filly playing soldier - treated it like it was some kind of comic book. So naive...she didn't need to die.
I have said it before, and I will say it again: I only offer the truth. And the truth of the matter is that those first deaths haunted me. So that, then, is why I despise my title as a hero. Because I had gotten it on the backs of their demises. If anything, looking back on it...Skitty deserved it more than I. She was naive, yes, and dare I say willfully ignorant of Starfleet's atrocities and racism. But that was no fault of her own - she had not grown up the same way I had. If anything, her willpower and reasons for joining - so she could be a hero like Lightning Dawn. Starla Shine, maybe even the Elements of Harmony - were the most amazing qualities I had seen in a pony, be they Unicornicopian or Equestrian, ever.
She was a pretty mare, only a year younger than I was, with a magenta-ish coloration and a hot pink mane and tail, which were both rather frizzy. She was also a Space Pony, and when I had met her during our training, she did not treat me differently like so many of the others. I’m trying to hold back the tears as I write this, and as much as I don’t want to get into the details of that fateful bugbear attack, I feel I must for both my sake and hers, as well as those of my teammates. Copycat, Skitty, if you can see me from up in Elysium[5]...I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.
Our first mission as a team was a fairly simple one: dealing with a monster that had been attacking a town that for the life of me I cannot recall the name of.[6] Now, normally, when one hears the word ‘monster’ in correlation to Starfleet, one usually thinks of the creatures sent by foes such as the Insecto Armada, or mayhaps Fratello.[7] However, this was far from a normal case; the monster they were referring to was nothing like that. The bugbear was an abomination against nature - a black and white creature standing at approximately 6 feet, kept aloft by equally massive wings. It had four arms, each with four equally sharp claws at the ends, with a massive stinger in between its legs; if it weren’t for the situation and its effect on me, I might make a quip about how painful mating season must have been.[8]
Now, allow me, for a brief moment, to explain how Unicornicopian defenses work. Policy entails that, whenever there is a monster attack, citizens are instructed to get into their homes while generated forcefields protect the buildings (and, theoretically, the ponies inside). In theory, this should mitigate collateral damage. And it does.
That is, if the opponent you’re facing is one of the weekly monsters that Starfleet faces on a regular basis.
A hungry bugbear that is craving pony flesh, however, is undeterred by thin forcefield defenses. By the time my team and myself had arrived, the bugbear had managed to disable the forcefields through sheer strength alone, and was now chasing after the fleeing ponies, grabbing several at a time and tearing them limb from limb before devouring their entrails. It was a horrifying sight to see, the streets painted with blood spatters and the discarded arms of some poor stallions, mares, and possibly even foals. So, we got into formation[9] and charged at the bugbear.
Suffice to say, this was a terrible idea. Copycat, a midnight black Abyssinian[10] with eyes as pale as Luna’s moon, ran at the bugbear after measuring its ‘power level’ with his visor and surmising that summoning his weapon via voice, as explained in our training, was the proper solution to fighting the creature. Instead, however, he was impaled clean through his stomach by the bugbear’s stinger, the appendage caked with fresh blood and guts. The sight of the poor feline’s body just stuck there onto what could be described as a massive weapon nearly caused me to vomit. Karmina, a blue-coated pegasus who was also Copycat’s lover, also charged at the bugbear, screaming out the words, “ICE SWORD!”[11] before she found herself torn clean in two by her opponent. Now there were only three left: Skitty, myself, and an Earth Pony stallion named Yami. Now, Yami was a big, burly stallion with a manestyle done up in the style of the comics of Neighppon, with a peach-colored coat, his cutie mark being the symbol associated with war in ancient Earth Pony cultures[12}: a circle with an arrow coming out of it, representing the combined might of Celestia and the mighty spears that farmers used to defend their lands. This indicated, at least to me, that he joined not for heroics like Skitty, for fun like Karmina and Copycat, nor for an easy pay like myself; he joined because he bought wholeheartedly into Starfleet’s ‘war is peace’ crap, the poor fellow.
He was what has been commonly termed to be a ‘blood knight’, and had the arrogance to match. As Skitty attempted to charge into what might have been sudden death, Yami pushed her away with a sneer. “Stand back, filly.” he growled. “This is a stallion’s job.” I might have called him out on his misogyny if karma hadn’t bitten him in that instance, in both a literal and figurative sense; as he charged at the bugbear, the beast promptly lifted Yami up and with the sickening crunch of razor-sharp teeth against bone, tore his head clean off. That just left myself and Skitty. And seeing no other option, I ran. And now that I think about it, I shouldn’t have. I could have saved Skitty, but in that moment, I was only concerned with saving my own flank. Though I couldn’t see it, I knew Skitty was dead not long after I ran into the surrounding forest, judging by the ear-splitting scream as the bugbear mauled her.
And yet, in spite of my running, I knew the bugbear would be coming for me next. Animals, especially predators, seem to have a thing for persistence. Already I could hear the deafening sound of the insect/mammal hybrid as they beat against the wind currents growing ever closer.
As I have mentioned before, the visors assigned to Starfleet soldiers contain all that is supposedly needed to fight foes. What I only shed a bit of light on, however, is either limited in practicality or utterly useless. Take the whole “scouting power levels” thing, for example. In theory, it is supposed to measure your foe’s strength and endurance. However, what Starfleet either ignores or is unaware of is that measuring such things not only underestimates your foe’s true capabilities, but only encourages-nay, enforces-gung ho tactics in lieu of actual strategies.
In my case, however, I was currently using it as a “how much farther do I need to be away from this damned bugbear?” meter.
The other functions of the visors also seemingly have either no or limited use when it comes to battle, being (in no particular order) the ability to sense heat, x-ray and infrared vision, echolocation, radar, and the ability to retrieve information from a database. Do note that I said seemingly; these devices do have their uses, but I and many others{13] have noted their inconsistent use in fighting monsters, contrary to what Starfleet said (and, even after the Revolution and said organization’s subsequent collapse, the statements of the ‘Neo-Starfleet’[14} movement).
But I am rambling yet again.
I could hear the bugbear drawing ever closer, and out of desperation I muttered the words “Power of Fire!”, summoning my designated weapon: an black battle axe with runic carvings; it would emit flames with every swing. I figured that, if anything, it might scare my pursuer away if it tried to devour/kill me. Or very likely both. At the same time.
There is a saying amongst those of the Faustian faith such as myself: “Speak of Discord, and he shall appear.”[15] And what do you know, the bugbear was gaining on me, its intent to kill still readily apparent. With a loud yell, I began blindly swinging my Fire Axe, the flames loudly roaring as I shut my eyes tight, utterly scared out my wits and nearly soiling myself. I could hear the bugbear grunt in equal terror; at least I was scaring it off. I continued swinging wildly for a few more minutes before opening my eyes to see the trees that surrounded me were starting to blaze.
“Oh, dear sweet Celestia.” I muttered before running to escape the all-consuming inferno. The bugbear seemed to have the same idea, now less concerned with eating me and more concerned with not dying just as I was. To the survivors of the initial attack, who had the smart idea (and I say this without any sort of irony or sarcasm) to gather themselves indoors, I gave off the appearance of chasing the bugbear back into town, now having the upper hand. Without thinking, I threw my weapon straight into the bugbear’s back, where it wedged itself snugly in between its wings and set off a small blaze, burning them to a crisp, bringing it down to the ground with an earth-shaking crash.
If this all sounds incredibly contrived and nonsensical to you, dear reader, I don’t blame you for your doubts. I myself am of the firm opinion that all my victories are (at least partly) the result of contrived coincidences somehow lining up with my attempts to look out for myself, and only using them to my advantage in order to bolster my reputation. Whatever the case may be, I approached the bugbear slowly, noting that it was both unconscious from the impact of the crash and its jaw appeared to be fractured from the same. Slowly and carefully pulling my axe from the creature’s back (the spandex uniform was flame-retardant, thankfully), I pondered my next course of action. On one hand, I could just walk away and report the mission a success. On the other...I wanted to avenge my fallen comrades. I wanted to avenge Skitty. Copycat and Karmina, whom never got the chance to marry. Hell, even Yami had my sympathies. Sure, he was an ass[16], but he was still just a rookie like the rest of us had been. And sure, the bugbear’s jaw was fractured, but who was to say it wouldn’t continue to hunt innocents despite that? I couldn’t risk it.
And so, I began hacking away at the bugbear’s spine, and after a couple hours I had struck clean through the spinal column, severing it in half. The corpse made a fine-looking bonfire, I must admit, and I was splattered with blood. By this point, several of the townsponies were putting out the fire, and I was already being hailed as a hero. Rumors had quickly spread over the next few days of the effective one-pony army that had charged bravely into the forest when his fellow Starfleet officers had been struck down, and in retaliation slew the terrifying creature. Being ever the egotist, I did absolutely nothing to deny these stories, and even added some details of my own.
It was perhaps because of those rumors that I was unexpectedly granted a personal audience with Celestia herself and the Grand Ruler, along with the latter’s personal student and poster boy of Starfleet, Lightning Dawn.
And thus began the adventure that only cemented my reputation and earned me the title that, for better or for worse, placed me into the history books.
[1] - Although myself and Purple Patch have made multiple cross-references in an attempt to find out Renegade's birthplace, we have had no such luck thus far.
[2] - Indeed; according to Fall of Starfleet, Rebirth of Friendship and the accounts from which it was derived, by the time Starfleet arrived, Dementia (real name Galaxia Shine), Mysterious (real name Blackened Myst), and Rep-Stallion (real name Swift Blade) were already on the verge of surrendering, as Celestia and Luna had been fighting Titan beforehand. All three were killed by Celesto before they could.
[3] - Most historians agree that, much like the racism he imposed, Celesto's hatred of terms such as "everypony" tied into self-serving hypocrisy.
[4] - While it's certainly doubtful that Renegade received his own code number (as by all accounts, Starfleet reserved this for Unicornicopians only), this may be due to either age causing him to misremember things, or Renegade likely manipulating the system for his own benefit.
[5] - Elysium: the Faustian afterlife.
[6] - While historically there has only been one known bugbear attack in Ponyville, it is highly unlikely that Renegade is referring to said town. In fact, cross-referencing the account of this particular attack and its aftermath with Equestria's map places the event squarely in the settlement that is now known as Chaserton (located near Bugbear Territory), where folk legends of a "mighty axepony" that protects the town from bugbears still persist to this day.
[7] - For more information on these figures in relation to the Unicornicopian Regime, please see Prince Lightning Dawn's "A History of Starfleet Propaganda".
[8] - Such jokes have been, and still continue to be, made.
[9] - "Formation" here referring to Starfleet's policy of attacking an enemy until it is defeated. Renegade is correct in its effectiveness.
[10] - Renegade first mentions Abyssinians here. He would go on to become a mercenary in their homeland not long after the adventure chronicled in this volume.
[11] - Prince Lightning Dawn has confirmed in his and Princess Twilight's collaborative essay "On the Biologies of Equestrians and Unicornicopians And Their Differences" that Starfleet members calling forth their weapons is a militarized form of innate magic shared between the species.
[12] - While we tend to associate ancient Pegasus cultures with war most often, Earth Pony cultures from even before the Three Tribes period were similarly warlike; indeed, the similarities between the Pegasus war god Mawort and the obscure Earth Pony war god Tyr are so apparent theologians have concluded that they derive from a common shared ancestor in prehistoric equine religions.
[13] - Such as myself.
[14] - For those who are unaware, the Neo-Starfleet movement advocates a return to the militaristic and racist rule of Celesto, most often found in descendants of ex-Starfleet members and sympathizers to the philosophy. Most often, these are "regime deniers" who believe that any truths that have come out about the atrocities committed by Celesto are a "ponyist conspiracy".
[15] - Given that Discord had been married to Celestia for around two or three decades by this point and was officially known by the title "Prince-Consort", this is certainly amusing.
[16] - With apologies to any donkeys and mules.
