The Book of Eventideby Cosmic DancerChaptersA New Career in a New TownMorningtime in the Garden of Golden ChainsBlack Knights' TangoA New Career in a New TownFirst Entry Sun Phase: Setting, clear sky Moon Phase: Rising, Waxing Crescent in Eight Degrees Cancer Ninth Lunar Manse (Glance of Lion’s Eye) Planetary Day, Hour: Jupiter, Mars Dear Diary, In keeping with the tradition and demands of my new station, I have elected to begin writing this diary, as the perils of the magician’s life are prone to attract the influence of preternatural forces over the mind; and jotting down my experiences and thoughts everyday will allow me to more easily ascertain my state of mind (and any changes that may pervert it). Five years ago I completed my long course of study at Celestia’s Conservatory for Precocious Unicorns, and only two months ago I completed my apprenticeship under Venutian Glare, the niece of Clover the Clever. Finally, I have procured a position befitting my education: Assistant Astrologer at the Canterlot Royal Observatory — and only at the age of twenty-three! I will be working under the Grand Royal Astrologer, Illimitable Nebula — himself once apprenticed to Yisrach L’ulaamun, Archmage of the First Circinatus, and Conjuror to the Royal Court. (Of course, it would have been an even greater pleasure to work under Starswirl, the previous Archmage and Court Conjuror, but fate deigned to shuffle him off this mortal coil only months before I filled my new position.) Tomorrow will be my first working day. Today was spent settling into my new home in the royal quarter. Magicians working under the auspices of the Princess’s court are obligated by law and necessity to live in the labyrinthine apartments engirding the Order’s massive mage tower, just opposite the palace. My own apartment is very livable, and suited to me; like all residences in the royal quarter, it’s constructed of white marble brick in the traditional High Unicorn revivalist style, with ivy growing up the engraved and enchanted facade, nearly obstructing my arched windows. There are two stories, and the interior is spacious. My book collection is too lovingly curated to fit in a library of only one room, so I’ve elected to place my tomes dealing in more worldly matters on the bottom floor (the living room), and my books on esotericism and magic on the top (my study, which has to double as a bed chamber.) As you can imagine, the community is not the liveliest in Canterlot, for wizards tend to be a reclusive bunch — however, I have made one friend here: another magician, a young unicorn mare named Morne Scintilla. Around noon, she came to introduce herself while I was organizing my textbooks on the Grypho-Pegasus wars. “Hello,” she began, startling me. I turned around and she continued, “Your door was open, and I was afraid something might have happened while you were alone, moving in here.” She spoke in a breathy, disarming way, and the melody of her voice melted her words like caramel about my ears. “Oh, no, the place was just terribly musty. I suspect nopony’s lived here for some time,” I explained. “Do… many accidents happen when ponies move into these apartments?” “Oh, heavens yes! As you can imagine, when only mages live in a certain set of houses over a couple hundred years, many of the homes become accidentally charged with chaotic energies,” she said, and I was skeptical. I would’ve sensed it if my new home had any arcanic anomalies staining it. “Or worse, sometimes curses or conjurings go awry and the forces are burned into the magic fields of the buildings.” “Well, thank you for your concern, but I’m certain the only thing haunting my house is that musty odor. A few more hours of the doors and windows open will exorcise it, though, I’m sure,” I answered, trying my best to reassure her with a friendly smile before returning to arranging my books. She giggled, and trotted further into my apartment until she stood a few feet behind me. “When I moved into my house there were two spirits and three shades ‘living’ in it, and none of them spoke Equestrian,” she said, walking even closer. “I’m glad Starswirl had the sense to outlaw necromancy before he… well, before whatever became of him,” she said. “My name’s Morne Scintilla, I live across the street from you.” I looked over and she was smiling softly, hoof held aloft for me to cradle with my own. I try to be an accommodating sort, so I played along, smiling back. “My name is Eventide Coruscate. It’s very nice to make your acquaintance.” Contented by my pretense to be a gentlecolt, Morne sat next to me, and started looking over the books I had not yet shelved. I’m sure she only meant it as a friendly gesture, but she was close enough that I could feel the heat emanate from her body, and smell the sultry aroma of her perfume. It made me nervous, and I could feel my face reddening so I turned away and tried to focus on the task-at-hoof. From thereon we spoke about things of little consequence. I found out she works as a clerk in the royal chancery court, particularly in its subdivision devoted to magical affairs. I told her of my new position and she seemed very impressed, if envious (but I cannot hold that against her, with her being a clerk). After that, we had a little chat about the upcoming vote in the Auditorium Sub Rosa, wherein the ruling caste of Unicorn magocrats will decide whether or not to devolve more power to the nobility, who will consequently delegate more power to the lower classes. (Neither she nor myself are highly enough ranked among the Ordo Aureum Equis to have a vote, or even a seat in the assembly.) Morne made it clear she was in support of such an initiative, but I’m not politically interested either way. I try not to exact my will where it will have no consequence, and I told her this; she seemed to accept it, but I think she had more to say to me than she did. She is a very pretty mare, and smart enough, and doesn’t wear an awful lot of make-up (which I find unbecoming on the fairer sex). Her coat is a rosy sort of color, and her mane a darker shade thereof, with streaks of similar pigments. After surreptitiously studying her leonine features and comportment I deduced she was almost certainly born under the sign of Leo, perhaps strongly intermingled with the rays of Venus. After an hour-and-a-half she left, seeming happy to have met me. All that remains to be organized is my study, where I must shelf my books on magic and assemble my laboratory. I could have accomplished most of those tasks this evening, but I found it more prudent to relax in anticipation of my first day of work in the morning. It has grown late now, and I must perform my nightly magical practices. Tomorrow is a very important day. Fraternally yours, Eventide Coruscate of the A∴E∴ (3°=8□) [Appended to the entry is a passage from a dream record.] I dreamt I was stood before a great palace or temple built in the classical pegasus style, with fluted columns standing afront the building in an intimidating way. Anomalously, the walls were hewn of limestone and not marble. Flora had overgrown the entire thing, and it seemed abandoned but for the ominous glow of fire deep within. I entered, and beheld many emaciated gryphons in chains, tethered thereby to a dais on which stood a throne. Atop the throne sat perched the skeleton of a pegasus, dressed in the formal regalia of not a pegasus king, but a gryphon archon. I heard the hard scraping of metal against rock, and glanced behind to see a gate close on the entryway to the horrible place. The dream came to its end and I awoke. Author's Note I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. This story is a bit of an experiment to see how well I enjoy this set of characters, and also to try out a style of writing less descriptive than that seen in my other stories. I also just really enjoy writing in the epistolary format. I’m also writing chapters of other stories, and this one may not be terribly long (relative to my others), unless it’s very well received. So if you really like it, let me know! Morningtime in the Garden of Golden ChainsSecond Entry Sun Phase: Setting, cloudy sky Moon Phase: Rising, First Quarter in Twenty-one Degrees Cancer Tenth Lunar Manse (Forehead) Planetary Day, Hour: Venus, Mercury Dear Diary, I had a night terror early this morning — a waking nightmare — when I awoke to behold a swarthy Saddle Arabian alchemist, decadently robed and with hatred smoldering in the black coals that served as his eyes. He had crouched down at my bedside, his face was only inches away from mine, so that when I opened my eyes, his own would be my first sight. I did so, screamed, dashed out of my bedchamber (or study) and nearly sent myself hurtling down the stairs. Luckily, being a magician and therefore intimated with the states of consciousness, I was able to snap out of it very quickly and realize the terrible spectre was just that: a spectre. So I stumbled back to bed and awoke only two-or-so hours later, no worse for wear. It isn’t a normal occurrence, my being afflicted with such parasomnias; even when I was a child, when most ponies would be prone to such episodes. I didn’t perform any autohypnoses or meditations that would result in that sort of phenomenon, so I’m at a loss for its origin. I’ve resolved to install safety measures in my apartment, like sturdier locks for the windows and a gate at the top of the stairs, in case I should somnambulate in the night and make an attempt on myself as I sleep. I would have picked up those things today, if it weren’t so eventful. Besides, I didn’t think awfully much of the night terror this morning, as I was much too preoccupied with readying myself for the first day of my new career. After bathing, and anointing my coat and mane, I habited myself in Grandfather’s old shantung and linen robes (the finest clothing in my wardrobe) and stepped out into the street. Morne Scintilla was locking her door and greeted me. After a short, friendly conversation, she suggested I walk her to the Chancellor’s office on the palace grounds. The chancery was in the same direction as the royal observatory, which adjoins to the palace, so I agreed, and we set off. It may sound foolish, but I was relieved to have Morne walk with me, for several guard checkpoints lay between my home and the observatory, on account of its close proximity to Celestia’s usual haunts. I have all of my documents and proofs-of-identity in order, and I had taken special care to keep them on my person this morning, but the anxious notion had long occupied my thoughts that there would be some mistake or misunderstanding that would result poorly for me. Having Morne there to guide me through the procedures, though, helped to alleviate my anxiety. (While my family originates in Canterlot, and keeps close ties to it, I grew up on a family estate out in the country, on the other side of the mountain. I attended the magic conservatory in the city, sure enough, after my cutie mark happed to appear in my eleventh year, but my father never let me stay longer than was necessary for my schooling; so I never chanced to truly acclimate to this conurban mode of living. Herein, I think, lay the root of my anxieties.) At the first checkpoint, Morne had identified herself and produced her cancellarial insignia as proof. I followed suit, in an embarrassingly mechanical fashion, and the guards greeted me very cordially, saying my reputation preceded my arrival. I was too flattered to be confused, as I should have been, so I thanked them and continued. Morne decided that she and I would walk the scenic route to the chancery, in honor of my ‘first day’, so she led me through the palatial gardens, where laburnum and weigela adorn marble statuary of equine heroes and abominable monstrosities alike. Words alone cannot describe the splendor of those luxuriant gardens aglow in the heavenly rays of morning. Morne and I spent a few short minutes sat on a bench, absorbing the radiance of our bucolic environs. Morne said something to me, but I wasn’t listening. I remember being so moved by the imagery that I thought about taking painting back up, which would be asinine to attempt with all of my new responsibilities, but even as I write this entry and recall the beauty of the gardens, I feel the urge to take up a brush and palette, and evoke these memories onto a canvas. After we lingered in the garden, we walked to the chancery and she thanked me with a nuzzle. I asked a patrolling guard for directions to the observatory and he pointed me to the foyer of the palace and through a set of staircases and hallways. I trotted my way there, and only one guard took the time to identify me, saying, “Halt!” and “Who goes there?” just as I had read in so many books as a colt. After I identified myself, he apologized for his ‘impertinence’ (he used that word) and offered to lead me the rest of the way. At this display, I finally came to my senses and realized the peculiarity of this treatment, at least for a pony of as little consequence as myself. The guard led me to the observatory’s entrance and politely excused himself before hurrying back to his post (which I’m not sure he had the leave to abandon). I steeled myself to open the carven wood door, and just as I grasped the handle with my magic, it swung open from a force within. I was greeted by a unicorn filly (or mare, as it may be more apropos to call her) who said, “Good morning, Eventide. My name is Empyrean Spark, and Master is waiting for you, upstairs.” As you can imagine, I was taken aback by her forwardness. Masterfully concealing my bemusement, though, I answered, “Thank you, Empyrean Spark, it’s very nice to meet you, and I-” but she nodded and smirked and spun around before I could finish. She trotted over to the spiraling staircase that hugged the round wall of the building and began to ascend, looking at me to be sure I was following. I did follow, but this time her behavior had disconcerted me too greatly not to show it, and I thought I heard her laugh. (As we stepped up the stairs, I took a few seconds to study her appearance. Her coat is the same shade of violet as the flowerhead of milk thistle, like a lighter shade of my own purple coat but with a powdery, almost pastel-like quality. Her mane is a shade lighter than her coat, and didn’t seem to be done up in any especial style, this morning, but was still attractive. She’s a little pony, and lithe, and she doesn’t wear any make-up [and doesn’t need to, I think]. Reflecting on it, I’m nearly certain she was born under the sign of Gemini [though her eyes are a very pretty pale red, which points to the influence of Mars].) We entered the observatory proper, and stood beside the massive telescope at center was a magician so powerful that I sensed his magic before I saw his appearance. The ‘master’ of whom Empyrean spoke, Illimitable Nebula. [The entry seems to stop here abruptly, and the next page of the diary is filled with sketches and studies of flowers and shrubs and other assorted flora, along with a rough portrait of a smiling mare. On the pages after that, the entry is concluded.] Black Knights' Tango(Second Entry, cont.) The dull rays that shone forth from Illimitable Nebula’s glassy eyes entranced me such that I failed to notice the intimacy of our first meeting in the vast observatory, void of life save for he, Spark and I. Nebula stood only yards from me, staring through and passed me, though wearing a vacant expression, and seemed to be waiting for me to initiate the interaction — so I did. Stepping forward, I noticed the intense silence of the observatory, as the clink of my hoof against the marble tiles below rang out through every particle of air in the place before bouncing back to my ears. Another step, another echo, and the sound became oppressive to me; the flow of time seemed to ebb like a dammed river, with each moment and thought coming slower and slower to me, so I stopped short and introduced myself from an uncomfortable distance away. “It’s an honor,” I began, “to finally meet and work with you, Illimitable Nebula. I’ve always considered you one of my great teachers in astrology and magastromancy, and I have copies of all your textbooks and essays in my private library.” I said these things with genuine reverence and a childish grin, unconsciously lowering my head to humble myself before him. A few tense moments passed in silence, his dead-eyed glare transfixing me, and I was afraid I had made an ass of myself and insulted him somehow. As I was repeating the terse introduction in my mind to check for any unintended implications or wordplay, Nebula’s lips curled up into an amused grin before they parted to release a torrent of squealing laughter. I could hear Empyrean Spark join in his merriment with her own squeaking giggles, and I was terribly confused. Still laughing, Nebula stepped over to me with an almost dancing gait, and hooked a foreleg around my crest. He pulled me into an embrace and kissed my cheek (a greeting in the urban style), and said, “Your heart’s in the right place, little squire, but that sort of blandiloquent mewling doesn’t work on real magicians. This isn’t Celestia’s conservatory.” “Yes, sir,” was all I could respond, taken aback as I was by the display. “And it’s a good thing this isn’t the conservatory, because you don’t learn quickly,” said he. “Honorifics disturb my digestion, and brevity is the soul of wit, so ‘yeses’ and ‘noes’ will suffice. If you must call me, call me ‘Nebula,’ and leave your ‘misters’, ‘masters’, and ‘sirs’ out in the real world where they’ll get you somewhere,” Nebula trotted away from me and toward a lectern behind the massive telescope in the center. Taking a quill, he began floridly recording something in the book on the stand, and called back to me, “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll show you around the place in just a moment, after I’ve finished, here.” Though awestruck I was by the surreality of the encounter, I was lucid enough to take his advice. I laid myself on a luxurious upholstered chaise in one corner of the observatory and tried to relax. To focus my twirling mind, I intently examined my surroundings — the environs and trappings of my new career. While the first floor of the observatory was relatively undecorated, with tall, cramped bookshelves taking most of the room, the upper floor was opulence itself. Intricate hoof-woven rugs and carpets from half-the-world-away covered the polished marble tiles, with paintings and tapestries equivalently adoring the cyclopean stone walls. Beautiful, carven wood furniture was strewn about the room, with all the amenities of a wizard’s tower in hoof’s reach — busts and statues here and there to offset the intimacy of the place. It seemed as though Illimitable Nebula had made the observatory a second home. Empyrean Spark had trotted over to what seemed to be Nebula’s desk and, after looking through some paperwork, went to search some large tomes behind a locked glass-doored bookcase. Nebula was still writing in his book on the stand. Illimitable Nebula is a large pony, at least half a head taller than I, and all together seems to be powerfully built. It’s difficult to tell, at first, but he’s actually sort-of plump, no doubt fattened by his affluent lifestyle, but it suits him. He doesn’t carry any of the weight in his face, as far as I can tell, and he’s attractive (for a stallion); he isn’t necessarily ‘handsome’ as his features are subtly effeminate, or androgynous, but natheless good-looking. His voice is much higher than you’d expect, but not nasally, and it easily commands authority. His coat is a powdery ultramarine, and his hair is a dull silver. Lastly, Nebula’s eyes are the same light red as Empyrean Spark’s. I can say with confidence that he is a Scorpio. Without my noticing, Nebula finished his writing and had eased over the chaise on which I laid. It wasn’t until I felt him sit down beside me, in his overly-familiar style, that I realized anything had changed. I almost shot up from surprise, but kept my composure, and continued laying languidly. “What do you think of the place, Eventide?” He asked, casually. “It’s very well-decorated, and much more relaxed a setting than I anticipated,” I answered, truthfully. “That’s the way it ought to be. Work such as ours should be kept close to the heart; that’s why there are only the three of us,” he said, and this took me by surprise. I simply thought most of the royal astrologers were sleeping at home, and would arrive later that night. “I can sense your misgivings over this,” Nebula continued, “but there’s nothing for it. It isn’t difficult work. The High Unicorns calculated most of the coming astrological occurrences for us thousands of years ago. All we three ‘Royal’ Astrologers are asked to do is record the nativities of any unicorn foals born and maintain the archives in which the natal charts are kept. Occasionally we may be asked to cast a horoscope, or to perform suchlike undertakings, but that is rare.” “I see.” Nebula stood up. “You’ve seen the archives on the lower floor, and the few shelves we keep up here for the more important ponies. You’re a smart stallion, I’m sure you’ll figure out whatever else you need to know. You’ll have to adjust your circadian rhythm, since most of our work is at night (which reminds me, we’re about to have our recess), so if you never learned the yogic sleep, I can teach you a meditation that will help you acclimate to our work schedule, or I can send you home with bottle of wine and you can pass out until nightfall.” “Thank you, but my old master taught me how to sleep on command,” I sat up on the chaise, and Nebula nodded his head. “That’s very good, and convenient. Now get up, we’re finished for today. You’re going to have lunch with Empyrean Spark and I.” He said, and I stood up. “Empy, bring the chess board,” he called out to his filly apprentice, and as she was putting away the book from earlier, she made sure to levitate a wooden box containing the chess set into her saddle bag. We all left the observatory and started toward the palace’s great hall. The great hall was magnificent, with decadently carved tables stretching down the length of the room, each seat conferring a beautiful view of the painted walls and crystalline chandeliers. Nebula and Spark led me out onto a balcony adjoining the great hall, where a table had already been set with a heavenly array of delectables. To my great enjoyment, the balcony overlooked the gardens. At first we ate in silence, but as we each got our fill, conversation began to break out sporadically. Most of the words were between Nebula and I, and Empyrean Spark was notably quiet save for a few monosyllabic responses and interjections. I tried to coax her into conversation, but each time I was to speak to her, the attempt was precluded by Nebula speaking to me. Most of it was small talk or tentative joking, save for one exchange: “You were in the Horned Legion when you were Venutian’s apprentice, weren’t you, Eventide?” Nebula asked me, nonchalantly, and ate a slice of beet cake from my plate. (The Thirty-Third Legion, or the ‘Horned Legion’ is a corps of warmages. For a short period, military service was compulsory for unicorn apprentices living in or near Canterlot. All ‘military service’ really amounted to was spending two weeks at a training camp, and a few seminars depending on the branch of the armed forces the apprentice chose to enter. No wars ever broke out. Even so, most magocrats thought horribly of the initiative, which was put into action by the Archmage, and Celestia herself eventually repealed it all away.) “Yes, I was,” I answered, laconically enough, and took a bite of some kind of roasted nut dish. “Your record said you were a legionnaire. You know, most of the apprentices who had a say in the matter went into administration,” Nebula said, and I could hear in his voice that whatever point this had would be particularly sharp. “They were afraid they might see combat if they went into the Thirty-Third, but not you. You volunteered to join; you and only two other apprentices. But more than that, you also elected to take classes in magical dueling and combative spellcraft.” I let him flatter me. I didn’t tell him that the only reason I ‘volunteered’ and ‘elected’ to do all of those things was because I was courting an older mare, at the time, who thought I was just a colt and not worth her time. So the night before the draft I got drunk on aqua vitae and signed up for everything I thought would make me look manly and courageous. (I don’t drink anymore.) The truth is, I hated the legion more than any of the conscripts, but I suppose they don’t put that in your records. The worst part of the ordeal is that the older mare thought I was not only immature, but also an idiot. “Do you know why I’m reminding you about all of this, Eventide?” Nebula asked. “No, I cannot say I do,” I answered, blissfully unaware of what was to follow. “Those are the reasons my master chose you to work with us at the observatory,” Nebula spoke slowly, knowing very well how badly this truth would rattle me (and it did). “That’s what he told me, anyway.” I asked, “Who do you mean?” even though I already knew. “The Archmage, Yisrach L’ulaamun. You’re familiar with him, Eventide. ‘Cosmic Dancer’? ‘To Mega Arion’?” Said Nebula, in a dark, sibilatory tone. “He’s been thinking thoughts in my head all morning, and looking at you through my eyes. He’s very eager to meet you.” My heart was pounding with a vague, anomalous fear. Suppressing this, I said, “I would love to meet him, too!” Nebula laughed hard at this. “Bite thy forked tongue! You cur! You rascal!” Nebula chortled, taking a sip of dessert coffee. “Well, your wish is granted. He’ll be coming over to the observatory, tonight. He’s just told me.” I almost fainted, but then felt my mind fill with some luminous energy, and I was immediately at peace. It must have been Yisrach. I’m certain of it. After that short episode, the atmosphere of the lunch recaptured some normalcy, and after we finished eating, Nebula played a few games of chess against Spark and I. He won every game. I observed that he mostly played the King’s Elephant Defense when he was black, and the Eclipse Variations of the Dromedary’s Gambit when he was white. His openings are very well thought out, and his mid-game is masterful, but he shows a tendency to blunder in the end-game (if he allows it to be reached before checkmate). We eventually parted ways and I enjoyed an uneventful walk home. I immediately set myself to sleep through magic, and have only just awoke as of writing this entry. I will soon depart for the observatory, to meet the Archmage. [Appended to the entry is a passage from a dream record.] I dreamt I was a planet. A small satellite trapped in the orbit of a distant, white star. The dream seemed to last for years, and I eventually saw my star growing in size, or coming toward me. It took on the shape of a massive, spherical egg, which hatched to reveal a titanic, cosmic eye. Feeling its all-seeing gaze on me, I was sent hurtling through its pupil, and into infinity. The dream came to its end and I awoke.
A New Career in a New TownFirst Entry Sun Phase: Setting, clear sky Moon Phase: Rising, Waxing Crescent in Eight Degrees Cancer Ninth Lunar Manse (Glance of Lion’s Eye) Planetary Day, Hour: Jupiter, Mars Dear Diary, In keeping with the tradition and demands of my new station, I have elected to begin writing this diary, as the perils of the magician’s life are prone to attract the influence of preternatural forces over the mind; and jotting down my experiences and thoughts everyday will allow me to more easily ascertain my state of mind (and any changes that may pervert it). Five years ago I completed my long course of study at Celestia’s Conservatory for Precocious Unicorns, and only two months ago I completed my apprenticeship under Venutian Glare, the niece of Clover the Clever. Finally, I have procured a position befitting my education: Assistant Astrologer at the Canterlot Royal Observatory — and only at the age of twenty-three! I will be working under the Grand Royal Astrologer, Illimitable Nebula — himself once apprenticed to Yisrach L’ulaamun, Archmage of the First Circinatus, and Conjuror to the Royal Court. (Of course, it would have been an even greater pleasure to work under Starswirl, the previous Archmage and Court Conjuror, but fate deigned to shuffle him off this mortal coil only months before I filled my new position.) Tomorrow will be my first working day. Today was spent settling into my new home in the royal quarter. Magicians working under the auspices of the Princess’s court are obligated by law and necessity to live in the labyrinthine apartments engirding the Order’s massive mage tower, just opposite the palace. My own apartment is very livable, and suited to me; like all residences in the royal quarter, it’s constructed of white marble brick in the traditional High Unicorn revivalist style, with ivy growing up the engraved and enchanted facade, nearly obstructing my arched windows. There are two stories, and the interior is spacious. My book collection is too lovingly curated to fit in a library of only one room, so I’ve elected to place my tomes dealing in more worldly matters on the bottom floor (the living room), and my books on esotericism and magic on the top (my study, which has to double as a bed chamber.) As you can imagine, the community is not the liveliest in Canterlot, for wizards tend to be a reclusive bunch — however, I have made one friend here: another magician, a young unicorn mare named Morne Scintilla. Around noon, she came to introduce herself while I was organizing my textbooks on the Grypho-Pegasus wars. “Hello,” she began, startling me. I turned around and she continued, “Your door was open, and I was afraid something might have happened while you were alone, moving in here.” She spoke in a breathy, disarming way, and the melody of her voice melted her words like caramel about my ears. “Oh, no, the place was just terribly musty. I suspect nopony’s lived here for some time,” I explained. “Do… many accidents happen when ponies move into these apartments?” “Oh, heavens yes! As you can imagine, when only mages live in a certain set of houses over a couple hundred years, many of the homes become accidentally charged with chaotic energies,” she said, and I was skeptical. I would’ve sensed it if my new home had any arcanic anomalies staining it. “Or worse, sometimes curses or conjurings go awry and the forces are burned into the magic fields of the buildings.” “Well, thank you for your concern, but I’m certain the only thing haunting my house is that musty odor. A few more hours of the doors and windows open will exorcise it, though, I’m sure,” I answered, trying my best to reassure her with a friendly smile before returning to arranging my books. She giggled, and trotted further into my apartment until she stood a few feet behind me. “When I moved into my house there were two spirits and three shades ‘living’ in it, and none of them spoke Equestrian,” she said, walking even closer. “I’m glad Starswirl had the sense to outlaw necromancy before he… well, before whatever became of him,” she said. “My name’s Morne Scintilla, I live across the street from you.” I looked over and she was smiling softly, hoof held aloft for me to cradle with my own. I try to be an accommodating sort, so I played along, smiling back. “My name is Eventide Coruscate. It’s very nice to make your acquaintance.” Contented by my pretense to be a gentlecolt, Morne sat next to me, and started looking over the books I had not yet shelved. I’m sure she only meant it as a friendly gesture, but she was close enough that I could feel the heat emanate from her body, and smell the sultry aroma of her perfume. It made me nervous, and I could feel my face reddening so I turned away and tried to focus on the task-at-hoof. From thereon we spoke about things of little consequence. I found out she works as a clerk in the royal chancery court, particularly in its subdivision devoted to magical affairs. I told her of my new position and she seemed very impressed, if envious (but I cannot hold that against her, with her being a clerk). After that, we had a little chat about the upcoming vote in the Auditorium Sub Rosa, wherein the ruling caste of Unicorn magocrats will decide whether or not to devolve more power to the nobility, who will consequently delegate more power to the lower classes. (Neither she nor myself are highly enough ranked among the Ordo Aureum Equis to have a vote, or even a seat in the assembly.) Morne made it clear she was in support of such an initiative, but I’m not politically interested either way. I try not to exact my will where it will have no consequence, and I told her this; she seemed to accept it, but I think she had more to say to me than she did. She is a very pretty mare, and smart enough, and doesn’t wear an awful lot of make-up (which I find unbecoming on the fairer sex). Her coat is a rosy sort of color, and her mane a darker shade thereof, with streaks of similar pigments. After surreptitiously studying her leonine features and comportment I deduced she was almost certainly born under the sign of Leo, perhaps strongly intermingled with the rays of Venus. After an hour-and-a-half she left, seeming happy to have met me. All that remains to be organized is my study, where I must shelf my books on magic and assemble my laboratory. I could have accomplished most of those tasks this evening, but I found it more prudent to relax in anticipation of my first day of work in the morning. It has grown late now, and I must perform my nightly magical practices. Tomorrow is a very important day. Fraternally yours, Eventide Coruscate of the A∴E∴ (3°=8□) [Appended to the entry is a passage from a dream record.] I dreamt I was stood before a great palace or temple built in the classical pegasus style, with fluted columns standing afront the building in an intimidating way. Anomalously, the walls were hewn of limestone and not marble. Flora had overgrown the entire thing, and it seemed abandoned but for the ominous glow of fire deep within. I entered, and beheld many emaciated gryphons in chains, tethered thereby to a dais on which stood a throne. Atop the throne sat perched the skeleton of a pegasus, dressed in the formal regalia of not a pegasus king, but a gryphon archon. I heard the hard scraping of metal against rock, and glanced behind to see a gate close on the entryway to the horrible place. The dream came to its end and I awoke. Author's Note I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. This story is a bit of an experiment to see how well I enjoy this set of characters, and also to try out a style of writing less descriptive than that seen in my other stories. I also just really enjoy writing in the epistolary format. I’m also writing chapters of other stories, and this one may not be terribly long (relative to my others), unless it’s very well received. So if you really like it, let me know!
Morningtime in the Garden of Golden ChainsSecond Entry Sun Phase: Setting, cloudy sky Moon Phase: Rising, First Quarter in Twenty-one Degrees Cancer Tenth Lunar Manse (Forehead) Planetary Day, Hour: Venus, Mercury Dear Diary, I had a night terror early this morning — a waking nightmare — when I awoke to behold a swarthy Saddle Arabian alchemist, decadently robed and with hatred smoldering in the black coals that served as his eyes. He had crouched down at my bedside, his face was only inches away from mine, so that when I opened my eyes, his own would be my first sight. I did so, screamed, dashed out of my bedchamber (or study) and nearly sent myself hurtling down the stairs. Luckily, being a magician and therefore intimated with the states of consciousness, I was able to snap out of it very quickly and realize the terrible spectre was just that: a spectre. So I stumbled back to bed and awoke only two-or-so hours later, no worse for wear. It isn’t a normal occurrence, my being afflicted with such parasomnias; even when I was a child, when most ponies would be prone to such episodes. I didn’t perform any autohypnoses or meditations that would result in that sort of phenomenon, so I’m at a loss for its origin. I’ve resolved to install safety measures in my apartment, like sturdier locks for the windows and a gate at the top of the stairs, in case I should somnambulate in the night and make an attempt on myself as I sleep. I would have picked up those things today, if it weren’t so eventful. Besides, I didn’t think awfully much of the night terror this morning, as I was much too preoccupied with readying myself for the first day of my new career. After bathing, and anointing my coat and mane, I habited myself in Grandfather’s old shantung and linen robes (the finest clothing in my wardrobe) and stepped out into the street. Morne Scintilla was locking her door and greeted me. After a short, friendly conversation, she suggested I walk her to the Chancellor’s office on the palace grounds. The chancery was in the same direction as the royal observatory, which adjoins to the palace, so I agreed, and we set off. It may sound foolish, but I was relieved to have Morne walk with me, for several guard checkpoints lay between my home and the observatory, on account of its close proximity to Celestia’s usual haunts. I have all of my documents and proofs-of-identity in order, and I had taken special care to keep them on my person this morning, but the anxious notion had long occupied my thoughts that there would be some mistake or misunderstanding that would result poorly for me. Having Morne there to guide me through the procedures, though, helped to alleviate my anxiety. (While my family originates in Canterlot, and keeps close ties to it, I grew up on a family estate out in the country, on the other side of the mountain. I attended the magic conservatory in the city, sure enough, after my cutie mark happed to appear in my eleventh year, but my father never let me stay longer than was necessary for my schooling; so I never chanced to truly acclimate to this conurban mode of living. Herein, I think, lay the root of my anxieties.) At the first checkpoint, Morne had identified herself and produced her cancellarial insignia as proof. I followed suit, in an embarrassingly mechanical fashion, and the guards greeted me very cordially, saying my reputation preceded my arrival. I was too flattered to be confused, as I should have been, so I thanked them and continued. Morne decided that she and I would walk the scenic route to the chancery, in honor of my ‘first day’, so she led me through the palatial gardens, where laburnum and weigela adorn marble statuary of equine heroes and abominable monstrosities alike. Words alone cannot describe the splendor of those luxuriant gardens aglow in the heavenly rays of morning. Morne and I spent a few short minutes sat on a bench, absorbing the radiance of our bucolic environs. Morne said something to me, but I wasn’t listening. I remember being so moved by the imagery that I thought about taking painting back up, which would be asinine to attempt with all of my new responsibilities, but even as I write this entry and recall the beauty of the gardens, I feel the urge to take up a brush and palette, and evoke these memories onto a canvas. After we lingered in the garden, we walked to the chancery and she thanked me with a nuzzle. I asked a patrolling guard for directions to the observatory and he pointed me to the foyer of the palace and through a set of staircases and hallways. I trotted my way there, and only one guard took the time to identify me, saying, “Halt!” and “Who goes there?” just as I had read in so many books as a colt. After I identified myself, he apologized for his ‘impertinence’ (he used that word) and offered to lead me the rest of the way. At this display, I finally came to my senses and realized the peculiarity of this treatment, at least for a pony of as little consequence as myself. The guard led me to the observatory’s entrance and politely excused himself before hurrying back to his post (which I’m not sure he had the leave to abandon). I steeled myself to open the carven wood door, and just as I grasped the handle with my magic, it swung open from a force within. I was greeted by a unicorn filly (or mare, as it may be more apropos to call her) who said, “Good morning, Eventide. My name is Empyrean Spark, and Master is waiting for you, upstairs.” As you can imagine, I was taken aback by her forwardness. Masterfully concealing my bemusement, though, I answered, “Thank you, Empyrean Spark, it’s very nice to meet you, and I-” but she nodded and smirked and spun around before I could finish. She trotted over to the spiraling staircase that hugged the round wall of the building and began to ascend, looking at me to be sure I was following. I did follow, but this time her behavior had disconcerted me too greatly not to show it, and I thought I heard her laugh. (As we stepped up the stairs, I took a few seconds to study her appearance. Her coat is the same shade of violet as the flowerhead of milk thistle, like a lighter shade of my own purple coat but with a powdery, almost pastel-like quality. Her mane is a shade lighter than her coat, and didn’t seem to be done up in any especial style, this morning, but was still attractive. She’s a little pony, and lithe, and she doesn’t wear any make-up [and doesn’t need to, I think]. Reflecting on it, I’m nearly certain she was born under the sign of Gemini [though her eyes are a very pretty pale red, which points to the influence of Mars].) We entered the observatory proper, and stood beside the massive telescope at center was a magician so powerful that I sensed his magic before I saw his appearance. The ‘master’ of whom Empyrean spoke, Illimitable Nebula. [The entry seems to stop here abruptly, and the next page of the diary is filled with sketches and studies of flowers and shrubs and other assorted flora, along with a rough portrait of a smiling mare. On the pages after that, the entry is concluded.]
Black Knights' Tango(Second Entry, cont.) The dull rays that shone forth from Illimitable Nebula’s glassy eyes entranced me such that I failed to notice the intimacy of our first meeting in the vast observatory, void of life save for he, Spark and I. Nebula stood only yards from me, staring through and passed me, though wearing a vacant expression, and seemed to be waiting for me to initiate the interaction — so I did. Stepping forward, I noticed the intense silence of the observatory, as the clink of my hoof against the marble tiles below rang out through every particle of air in the place before bouncing back to my ears. Another step, another echo, and the sound became oppressive to me; the flow of time seemed to ebb like a dammed river, with each moment and thought coming slower and slower to me, so I stopped short and introduced myself from an uncomfortable distance away. “It’s an honor,” I began, “to finally meet and work with you, Illimitable Nebula. I’ve always considered you one of my great teachers in astrology and magastromancy, and I have copies of all your textbooks and essays in my private library.” I said these things with genuine reverence and a childish grin, unconsciously lowering my head to humble myself before him. A few tense moments passed in silence, his dead-eyed glare transfixing me, and I was afraid I had made an ass of myself and insulted him somehow. As I was repeating the terse introduction in my mind to check for any unintended implications or wordplay, Nebula’s lips curled up into an amused grin before they parted to release a torrent of squealing laughter. I could hear Empyrean Spark join in his merriment with her own squeaking giggles, and I was terribly confused. Still laughing, Nebula stepped over to me with an almost dancing gait, and hooked a foreleg around my crest. He pulled me into an embrace and kissed my cheek (a greeting in the urban style), and said, “Your heart’s in the right place, little squire, but that sort of blandiloquent mewling doesn’t work on real magicians. This isn’t Celestia’s conservatory.” “Yes, sir,” was all I could respond, taken aback as I was by the display. “And it’s a good thing this isn’t the conservatory, because you don’t learn quickly,” said he. “Honorifics disturb my digestion, and brevity is the soul of wit, so ‘yeses’ and ‘noes’ will suffice. If you must call me, call me ‘Nebula,’ and leave your ‘misters’, ‘masters’, and ‘sirs’ out in the real world where they’ll get you somewhere,” Nebula trotted away from me and toward a lectern behind the massive telescope in the center. Taking a quill, he began floridly recording something in the book on the stand, and called back to me, “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll show you around the place in just a moment, after I’ve finished, here.” Though awestruck I was by the surreality of the encounter, I was lucid enough to take his advice. I laid myself on a luxurious upholstered chaise in one corner of the observatory and tried to relax. To focus my twirling mind, I intently examined my surroundings — the environs and trappings of my new career. While the first floor of the observatory was relatively undecorated, with tall, cramped bookshelves taking most of the room, the upper floor was opulence itself. Intricate hoof-woven rugs and carpets from half-the-world-away covered the polished marble tiles, with paintings and tapestries equivalently adoring the cyclopean stone walls. Beautiful, carven wood furniture was strewn about the room, with all the amenities of a wizard’s tower in hoof’s reach — busts and statues here and there to offset the intimacy of the place. It seemed as though Illimitable Nebula had made the observatory a second home. Empyrean Spark had trotted over to what seemed to be Nebula’s desk and, after looking through some paperwork, went to search some large tomes behind a locked glass-doored bookcase. Nebula was still writing in his book on the stand. Illimitable Nebula is a large pony, at least half a head taller than I, and all together seems to be powerfully built. It’s difficult to tell, at first, but he’s actually sort-of plump, no doubt fattened by his affluent lifestyle, but it suits him. He doesn’t carry any of the weight in his face, as far as I can tell, and he’s attractive (for a stallion); he isn’t necessarily ‘handsome’ as his features are subtly effeminate, or androgynous, but natheless good-looking. His voice is much higher than you’d expect, but not nasally, and it easily commands authority. His coat is a powdery ultramarine, and his hair is a dull silver. Lastly, Nebula’s eyes are the same light red as Empyrean Spark’s. I can say with confidence that he is a Scorpio. Without my noticing, Nebula finished his writing and had eased over the chaise on which I laid. It wasn’t until I felt him sit down beside me, in his overly-familiar style, that I realized anything had changed. I almost shot up from surprise, but kept my composure, and continued laying languidly. “What do you think of the place, Eventide?” He asked, casually. “It’s very well-decorated, and much more relaxed a setting than I anticipated,” I answered, truthfully. “That’s the way it ought to be. Work such as ours should be kept close to the heart; that’s why there are only the three of us,” he said, and this took me by surprise. I simply thought most of the royal astrologers were sleeping at home, and would arrive later that night. “I can sense your misgivings over this,” Nebula continued, “but there’s nothing for it. It isn’t difficult work. The High Unicorns calculated most of the coming astrological occurrences for us thousands of years ago. All we three ‘Royal’ Astrologers are asked to do is record the nativities of any unicorn foals born and maintain the archives in which the natal charts are kept. Occasionally we may be asked to cast a horoscope, or to perform suchlike undertakings, but that is rare.” “I see.” Nebula stood up. “You’ve seen the archives on the lower floor, and the few shelves we keep up here for the more important ponies. You’re a smart stallion, I’m sure you’ll figure out whatever else you need to know. You’ll have to adjust your circadian rhythm, since most of our work is at night (which reminds me, we’re about to have our recess), so if you never learned the yogic sleep, I can teach you a meditation that will help you acclimate to our work schedule, or I can send you home with bottle of wine and you can pass out until nightfall.” “Thank you, but my old master taught me how to sleep on command,” I sat up on the chaise, and Nebula nodded his head. “That’s very good, and convenient. Now get up, we’re finished for today. You’re going to have lunch with Empyrean Spark and I.” He said, and I stood up. “Empy, bring the chess board,” he called out to his filly apprentice, and as she was putting away the book from earlier, she made sure to levitate a wooden box containing the chess set into her saddle bag. We all left the observatory and started toward the palace’s great hall. The great hall was magnificent, with decadently carved tables stretching down the length of the room, each seat conferring a beautiful view of the painted walls and crystalline chandeliers. Nebula and Spark led me out onto a balcony adjoining the great hall, where a table had already been set with a heavenly array of delectables. To my great enjoyment, the balcony overlooked the gardens. At first we ate in silence, but as we each got our fill, conversation began to break out sporadically. Most of the words were between Nebula and I, and Empyrean Spark was notably quiet save for a few monosyllabic responses and interjections. I tried to coax her into conversation, but each time I was to speak to her, the attempt was precluded by Nebula speaking to me. Most of it was small talk or tentative joking, save for one exchange: “You were in the Horned Legion when you were Venutian’s apprentice, weren’t you, Eventide?” Nebula asked me, nonchalantly, and ate a slice of beet cake from my plate. (The Thirty-Third Legion, or the ‘Horned Legion’ is a corps of warmages. For a short period, military service was compulsory for unicorn apprentices living in or near Canterlot. All ‘military service’ really amounted to was spending two weeks at a training camp, and a few seminars depending on the branch of the armed forces the apprentice chose to enter. No wars ever broke out. Even so, most magocrats thought horribly of the initiative, which was put into action by the Archmage, and Celestia herself eventually repealed it all away.) “Yes, I was,” I answered, laconically enough, and took a bite of some kind of roasted nut dish. “Your record said you were a legionnaire. You know, most of the apprentices who had a say in the matter went into administration,” Nebula said, and I could hear in his voice that whatever point this had would be particularly sharp. “They were afraid they might see combat if they went into the Thirty-Third, but not you. You volunteered to join; you and only two other apprentices. But more than that, you also elected to take classes in magical dueling and combative spellcraft.” I let him flatter me. I didn’t tell him that the only reason I ‘volunteered’ and ‘elected’ to do all of those things was because I was courting an older mare, at the time, who thought I was just a colt and not worth her time. So the night before the draft I got drunk on aqua vitae and signed up for everything I thought would make me look manly and courageous. (I don’t drink anymore.) The truth is, I hated the legion more than any of the conscripts, but I suppose they don’t put that in your records. The worst part of the ordeal is that the older mare thought I was not only immature, but also an idiot. “Do you know why I’m reminding you about all of this, Eventide?” Nebula asked. “No, I cannot say I do,” I answered, blissfully unaware of what was to follow. “Those are the reasons my master chose you to work with us at the observatory,” Nebula spoke slowly, knowing very well how badly this truth would rattle me (and it did). “That’s what he told me, anyway.” I asked, “Who do you mean?” even though I already knew. “The Archmage, Yisrach L’ulaamun. You’re familiar with him, Eventide. ‘Cosmic Dancer’? ‘To Mega Arion’?” Said Nebula, in a dark, sibilatory tone. “He’s been thinking thoughts in my head all morning, and looking at you through my eyes. He’s very eager to meet you.” My heart was pounding with a vague, anomalous fear. Suppressing this, I said, “I would love to meet him, too!” Nebula laughed hard at this. “Bite thy forked tongue! You cur! You rascal!” Nebula chortled, taking a sip of dessert coffee. “Well, your wish is granted. He’ll be coming over to the observatory, tonight. He’s just told me.” I almost fainted, but then felt my mind fill with some luminous energy, and I was immediately at peace. It must have been Yisrach. I’m certain of it. After that short episode, the atmosphere of the lunch recaptured some normalcy, and after we finished eating, Nebula played a few games of chess against Spark and I. He won every game. I observed that he mostly played the King’s Elephant Defense when he was black, and the Eclipse Variations of the Dromedary’s Gambit when he was white. His openings are very well thought out, and his mid-game is masterful, but he shows a tendency to blunder in the end-game (if he allows it to be reached before checkmate). We eventually parted ways and I enjoyed an uneventful walk home. I immediately set myself to sleep through magic, and have only just awoke as of writing this entry. I will soon depart for the observatory, to meet the Archmage. [Appended to the entry is a passage from a dream record.] I dreamt I was a planet. A small satellite trapped in the orbit of a distant, white star. The dream seemed to last for years, and I eventually saw my star growing in size, or coming toward me. It took on the shape of a massive, spherical egg, which hatched to reveal a titanic, cosmic eye. Feeling its all-seeing gaze on me, I was sent hurtling through its pupil, and into infinity. The dream came to its end and I awoke.
