Corvus Presents:
Ponies Playing Videogames
A story on the art of wasting one's time.
As soon as he opened his apartment door, Rigel headed straight for his kitchen and indiscriminately grabbed everything within reach that didn’t require more than a few seconds of preparation. With a bottle of sarsaparilla and multiple food items held telekinetically in tow, he made a beeline for his room. He paid no attention to the overfilled trash can that sat in the corner, despite his prior promises to himself that he would empty it. The unfortunate goldfish on the counter watched helplessly as his owner passed by without dropping some food into his bowl. Rigel was focused; he was going to be a good student this semester.
Determined, he sat down in front of his computer and set the little myriad of snacks on his desk. He pressed the button on his computer tower and retrieved his syllabus from his saddlebag while the machine hummed to life.
“Pfff, okay. ‘Write a two-page report on the life and death of stars’. Simple enough.” With a swish and a click of his mouse, his word processor flashed onto his screen. Another series of clicks assured the paper was formatted correctly. His screen was blank, and a little cursor idly flashed, seemingly eager to sew his words onto paper.
Rigel stared at the screen. Everything was ready: Times New Equestrian Font, size twelve. One-inch margins on all sides. He even knew about the lives of stars, as the mark on his flank implied. All he needed was to start writing.
And yet, as he hovered over his keyboard, he found that he was incapable of clicking that first key. What would he say? How would he say it? Maybe he rushed into this too quickly. Even the greatest minds need inspiration, after all. Perhaps a quick visit to Equestripedia was in order. His paper would probably need references anyways. He minimized the word processor and moved the cursor over to the internet browser, despite the screams of protest from his conscience. The keyboard made satisfying little clicks as he typed “Life and Death of Stars” into the search bar.
By the time twenty minutes had passed, he found that while his knowledge of star life was more or less the same, he had managed to defeat his previous high score on “Robot Unicorn Attack”, and had stumbled upon an interesting Equestripedia article on Bagpipes. Maybe the internet wasn’t such a good idea.
With a sigh, Rigel closed the internet browser and again faced the intimidation of the blank word processor. Where was he supposed to start? Would he get extra points if he gave an artful introduction, or would the professor appreciate a more direct recitation on star life?
“Maybe if I just, write… something. Just keep writing. Yeah. I’ll have it done in half-an-hour.”
With that, he began to type, and a slow stream of words manifested on the screen.
Stars: The very building blocks of our universe. Without them, our little planet would not exist. We are the remnants of their formation; an afterthought that is the grand scheme that is our galaxy.
Despite their importance, we knew very little about them until fairly recently. With the innovation of the telescope several centuries ago, we realized that we had nothing better to do than to sit on our plots and look up at the sky. Driven by a subconscious desire to find sexy alien mares, the astronomers of old would sit in open fields for hours with dirty magazines and gaze at the stars.
After all, with space being more or less infinite in scope, the possibilities are just as vast. Perhaps, somewhere beyond our sun, lies a planet that is populated by nymphomaniac sea ponies! They would be discovered by a charismatic stallion, captaining an intergalactic chariot of sorts. With the help of his crew, he would chart the universe and make sweet intergalactic where nopony had made sweet intergalactic love before.
Rigel leaned back against his chair and smirked at the abomination that had slipped from his hooves and onto his screen. The only way a paper like this could get him a good grade was if his professor was a zealous Star Trot fan. He took a sip of his Sarsaparilla as he mulled over the implications of turning in an ironic parody of astronomy’s history. It would probably suck, he concluded.
A glance at the clock on the computer revealed that it was nearly midnight. Lyra and Rainbow Dash would soon be logging onto Evertrot. He minimized the word processor and looked longingly at the shortcut on his desktop. He was mere moments away from a land of fantasy and intrigue, where he could adventure to his heart’s desire and accomplish things that no real pony could do in real life. Vast riches and glorious battles were right in front of him, calling his name and promising phat lootz, a glorious death, a glorious respawn, and an even more glorious death.
Conceding that the assignment wasn’t getting finished tonight, he reopened the word processor and clicked the save button before exiting and double-clicking the Evertrot icon.
>Charon has logged on.
Charon, Prodigy of the Western Sages and Master of the Arcane, awoke to the sounds of blades sharpening against grindstones and soldiers nervously conversing over the battle to come. Stirring and peeking outside his tent, he beheld the Servian Valley, the funnel point for the armies of both the Rorian monarchy and the Nek’thos chiefdom. It was here that Evertrot players from all over the world gathered to test their skills against one another; here that blood had been spilt from countless ponies risking their lives for hearth, home, and player-versus-player tokens. Many a victory had been won on the now blood-soaked soil, and many a scar had been earned. Charon ran a hoof over a long, jagged mark on his right foreleg, thoughtfully recollecting the day it had been placed there.
On the other side of the camp was Dashmaster the Feared, a Dragonkin warrior whose reputation on the battlefield made him more than deserving of his title. He wore bulky armor over his already thick and scaly hide, making him nearly impervious to the weapons of his unfortunate foes.
Trotting alongside him was Zerah the Saintly, a mint-green unicorn dressed in the robes of a cleric. Her skill in healing had saved the lives of many wounded soldiers, thus solidifying her importance in the Rorian Army.
Dashmaster was the first to notice Charon, and stoically nodded at the mage before making his way towards him. Zerah was much more enthusiastic at the sight of her old friend; She waved excitedly before galloping up to him in welcome.
“Ho, Charon! ‘Tis a blessing to lay mine eyes upon you. I wish it was under better circumstances.”
Charon nodded knowingly. “War is never a good pretense for a meeting, but I am happy to see you again, my friend. Will you be joining us on the battlefield?”
Zerah deflated a bit, but remained chipper. “Aye. Most of the army’s healers are tending to the wounded. Very few are ready to ride into the fray with their troops. Besides, somepony’s gotta look out for you; you’d get torn apart out there, were it not for us.” She chuckled a bit, then nudged the dragonkin who had now caught up with her. “Isn’t that right, Dashmaster?”
The hulking Drake sighed. “Come on, guys. We won’t have time to role-play when the battleground starts. Can’t we just talk normally for once?”
Charon grimaced. “There you go again, killing the mood.”
“I just don’t see the point! We’re gonna be too busy fighting to worry about narrating everything with the ‘emote’ function. Why bother?”
“You knew what you were getting into when you picked a role-play server, Dash.” said Zerah. Passersby marvelled at the sight of a petite little Pony mouthing off to a comparatively huge Dragonkin, who stood at roughly six feet tall.
“How the buck was I supposed to know what ‘RP-PvP’ was supposed to mean?”
Charon cocked an eyebrow. “It’s in the owner’s manual.”
“Don’t tell me you actually read the owner’s manual before you started playing!”
“Oh, of course not. I was born with the knowledge of everything there is to know about Evertrot, including what ‘Rp-Pvp’ stands for, so I just jumped right in.”
Dashmaster started to respond, but stopped upon detecting the sarcasm in Charon’s voice. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Not all of us can be eggheads.”
“I think that playing Evertrot automatically classifies you as an egghead.” quipped Zerah.
“Er, I- Just because I’m a magnificent athlete doesn’t mean I can’t do egghead-ish things every once in awhile. Besides, even if I am an egghead, I’m still cooler than both of you. I mean, look at my character!”
Dashmaster flexed and heaved his longsword from over his back, assuming a heroic pose. “I’m a Dragonkin! I’ve got a big bucking sword, and I can breathe fire. You two are just unicorns. We have those in real life, you know.”
Charon tossed around dozens of little comebacks, but he realized that a fight with Dashmaster and his ego could only end one way. With a chuckle, he conceded to the Dragonkin’s momentary victory, and turned to his other companion.
“Well, as long as we’re not role-playing,” he threw a teasing look at Dashmaster. “How’s Bon-Bon?”
“She’s good! I’m munching on some cookies she made for me.”
“She made cookies and you didn’t invite me over?” Dashmaster whined.
Zerah stuck her tongue out at Dashmaster, but otherwise ignored her complaint. “Oh, I saw Roseluck today! She’s working with Fluttershy to make sure her garden is safe from rabbits and the like.”
Charon frowned. “Bon-Bon’s doing good, then. Moving on.”
Dashmaster cocked an eyebrow. “Still kinda hurting from the break-up, huh?”
“Break-up?” questioned Zerah, a thread of sorrow sewn in her tone. “When did that-”
“Moving. On.” said Charon, through gritted teeth.
Zerah noticeably shrank at Charon’s thinly-veiled warning. Dashmaster rolled his eyes. “Fine. The battleground is starting soon, anyways. So, same as usual? I jump into the fray and kill everything that moves?” Dashmaster grinned at the thought.
“I think your job description is closer to ‘meat shield’, but yes. Whatever you’d like to call it,” retorted Charon, sarcasm dripping from his words.
Dashmaster looked as if he was trying to formulate a snappy response, but the fanfare of Rorian War-Horns interrupted his thoughts. “To arms, Bretheren,” yelled a pegasus flying overhead, “We ride in one minute!”
Charon and company made their way to the front lines along with a myriad of other warriors who were anxiously brandishing their weapons. On the other side of the field stood an army of similar size, comprised of an equally motley crew of heroes who were consumed in their mental preparation. Instead of being comprised of mostly ponies, a vast number of changelings filled their ranks, along with a few towering Minotaurs and some wolves. What the Nek’thos lacked in solidarity, they made up for in intimidation. Most of their fighters seemed substantially larger than anybody belonging to the Rorian Militia, sans for the few Dragonkin that peppered their ranks. Most unnerving, however, was not the size or strength of their members; but the glowing, pale blue eyes of the changelings that illuminated the battlefield, contrasting the vibrant red sky that sat above them.
Dashmaster unsheathed his sword and gripped it tightly, holding it at his side while little tongues of flame escaped his nostrils. Zerah was holding her hooves together and had her head bowed in prayer as she chanted in the language of the Priests.
Charon took a swig of a potion he had been keeping in his bag, and shuddered as the bitter mix ran down his throat. He reminded himself that the unpleasant taste was worth the benefit.
A horn sounded off in the distance, inciting the battle cries of the anxious soldiers who raised their weapons in pride.
“LEEROOOOOOY, MMJEEEENKINS!” Yelled Dashmaster, raising his sword and barrelling ahead of his comrades.
Zerah scrambled after him, telekinetically carrying her staff as she rushed to catch up. “Oh, jeez, stick to the plan!” she yelled, frantically.
“Save him!” Yelled an indiscriminate voice from the Rorian militia.
Charon rolled his eyes and followed suit, keeping pace with the warriors who ran alongside him. “God damn it, Dashmaster,” he muttered.
In response, the Nek’thos charged fearlessly at their opponents, matching them in both number and ferocity. The two masses of warriors sped towards each other, relinquished of any sense of restraint.
The two walls of players collided, and pandemonium ensued. Dashmaster heaved his massive sword at the hapless changelings who charged at him, resulting in several insectoid corpses littering the ground. A nearby minotaur charged at him, swinging a mace of comparable size to Dashmaster’s sword. The dragonkin ducked, avoiding the weapon entirely while swinging his sword at the now-exposed minotaur in response. The well-placed blow slashed into the minotaur, who fell on the ground, dead. His sword now doused in blood, Dashmaster charged at a nearby changeling, bringing his sword to bear down on the comparatively diminutive creature.
This one was more prepared than his ill-fated brethren, however, and redirected the massive weapon with his buckler which sounded with a clang. The deflected sword stuck into the soil, giving the changeling ample opportunity to slip past Dashmaster’s defenses and sink a dagger through his armor.
Dashmaster winced in pain and fell to one knee, struggling to support himself against his sword, which was still stuck. The changeling capitalized and lunged at Dashmaster’s throat with his dagger.
Instead of meeting the Drake’s scaly hide, the changeling crashed into a yellow force-field and fell to the ground. He looked up and saw that the drake was now surrounded by an ethereal glow, and that his wound was mending itself. Behind the Drake stood a mint-green pony, whose eyes were squinting in concentration as her horn was enveloped in a golden aura.
The Changeling screamed something at his comrades in his alien language and pointed at Zerah before falling victim to Dashmaster’s sword. Despite his quick death, his message managed to get across to his comrades, and all the nearby changelings charged at Zerah. Dashmaster took advantage of their distraction and wildly swung his sword, felling the numerous insects who rushed past him.
Another Minotaur charged at Dashmaster and their two swords clashed. They swung furiously at eachother, yet neither were able to land a blow. While Dashmaster was occupied, several Changelings managed to slip past him and charged at Zerah.
Their attack was short-lived. They were blindsided by a volley of fireballs that scorched and burned their exoskeletons. Charon continued his hellish barrage until the attackers had withdrawn, then focused at the minotaur that was attacking Dashmaster.
The Drake had sustained a few injuries, but Zerah’s holy magicks had mended them in a matter of seconds. Charon took aim at the minotaur and fired a bolt of arcane energy, causing the Minotaur to stumble and fall to the ground, where Dashmaster’s sword swiftly followed.
Having dispatched the Minotaur, Dashmaster looked up and noticed the battle had moved away from him and his companions. He turned to look at Charon and Zerah while huffing and panting to catch his breath.
“That guy was good,” Said Dashmaster between breaths. “Nice heals, Zerah.”
“I’d do a little better if you’d just slow down for a minute! One noob at a time!”
“Not my style,” laughed Dashmaster. “High-risk, high kill-death ratio!”
“Couldn’t you just cool your jets for a few minutes? I’m almost out of mana.”
Her request fell on deaf ears, as Dashmaster had already turned and charged into the closest group of enemies he could find. Zerah groaned and started after her excitable companion.
“Wait!” exclaimed Charon. Zerah paused and turned, sparing her words by giving him a querying look.
Charon reached into his pouch and retrieved a bluish potion, which he tossed to Zerah. “Mana regen. Should keep you above water for a while longer.”
Zerah smiled. “Thanks, Charon. No hard feelings about earlier?”
Charon dismissively waved a hoof and grinned. “Don’t you have a giant lizard to save?”
Zerah laughed and resumed her pursuit of Dashmaster. Charon followed closely, weaving his way between friend and foe as he galloped over the battlefield.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a glob of garish pink. Captivated, he noticed that the un-warlike color belonged to an ill-prepared mare who was seemingly oblivious to the battle that raged around her. Charon Knew her face: she was a young mare named “Cupcakes” whom he had tried to assist in her first venture out into the world. Most of the things she told him had only created more questions about her, but there was one thing he knew for sure: She was way out of her league.
Charon altered course and ran up to the obnoxiously-colored earth-pony, who was wearing no sort of armor or protection spare for a propeller-beanie and some sunglasses. He stopped in front of her, causing the clueless mare to run into him and hit the floor. The mare looked up confusedly, but smiled after a flash of recognition. “Oh, hey Rigel! Isn’t this place cool? You don’t find flowers like these anywhere else in the game!” She gestured at a nearby bush.
“Pinkie! What are you doing here?! This is a high-level area!”
“It is?” asked the incognizant mare.
“Yes! You’re just going to get yourself killed!”
“I am?”
“Yes! Use your hearthstone before somepony ganks you!”
Cupcakes loosed a jubilant giggle, unhindered by the nearby bloodshed. “That’s a silly word. What does it mean?”
“It means somebody will take advantage of your low level and kill your character. Now go!”
“Aw, come on, Rigel! Don’t be such a party-pooper. Just because you’re a big-time university student now doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun!”
“I was having fun until I saw you here! I don’t want to have to run around and protect you from higher-ups. Just use your hearthstone.”
“My hearthstone? What does that do?”
“It teleports you- er, it will give your character cupcakes. Lots and lots of cupcakes.”
Cupcakes gasped. “No way! I’ve gotta try it! Where’s my hearthstone?”
“It’s in your bag. It’s the little white rock thing with the blue swirl. Hurry!”
Cupcakes scrambled through her saddlebag and retrieved the aforementioned stone, only to stare at it blankly. “Um, how do I use it?”
“Right click! Right click!”
Moments later the stone began to glow, and a translucent white aura appeared around Cupcakes, who looked astonished.
“Rigel? I don’t see any cupcakes.”
Charon grinned. “See you later, Pinkie.”
“Heyyy! You tricked me! You better hrk-”
The aura faded as a Rorian Pegasus slid his blade across Cupcake’s throat, causing blood to spurt over Charon’s robes. The rogue sank his hoof-mounted blades into Cupcake’s back, causing the unfortunate pony to crumple to the ground.
In a flash of green flame, the Pegasus metamorphosed into a leather-clad Changeling.
Charon’s eyes widened; not out of horror, but of recognition. “You!”
Changelings were difficult to tell from one-another, but Charon knew this one well. Her eyes glowed a hellish green, and she stood on her hind legs for easier use of the daggers strapped to her forelegs. Her chitinous hide bore scars and marks from skirmishes past, and one of her insectoid ears was missing.
Charon was sure; this was the same Changeling that had robbed him a few weeks prior. He had been trekking in the hills of Ramhalla and stumbled upon an elusive vein of Celestium ore. But just as he had begun to extract it, he was stabbed from behind with a dagger that was coated in some kind of paralyzing agent. He could only watch as the changeling extracted the ore for herself and ran off., never to be seen again.
Until now, that is.
She looked up from her fresh kill at Charon, and mirrored his wide-eyed expression. She muttered something through bared fangs in her guttural native tongue, and lunged.
But he was prepared; Charon jumped backwards and lowered his head, pointing his horn directly at the advancing changeling. His horn glowed an effervescent blue as he summoned an icy gale that buffeted his opponent, sending her sprawling backwards.
Surprised yet resolute, the changeling extended her wings and caught the wind. Using the momentum from Charon’s spell, she flew upwards and her horn lit, causing several throwing knives to wriggle from her bag and dart at him.
Forced to move and cancel his spell, Charon jumped backwards again and the gale subsided. As soon as he was out of harm's way, he aimed his horn and shot a volley of fireballs at the changeling.
Her aptitude for flying showed as she gracefully weaved around Charon’s eldritch onslaught. Spell after spell flew past the Changeling as she relentlessly drew closer to the mage, who became increasingly more frustrated with each successive failure to hit.
She looped around and darted towards Charon, aiming her hoof-blades in front of her as she dove. She was too close for him to react in time; he moved out of the way, but one of her blades created a horrid gash on his shoulder. He winced in pain, but wheeled around in time to launch a fireball that momentarily engulfed the Changeling. She panicked as she realized that the fire seemed to stick to her shell, and furiously batted the flames in an attempt to snuff them out.
Seizing the opportunity, Charon aimed his horn and conjured a set of shackles, which wrapped around the Changeling and caused her to tumble to the ground. She struggled and writhed against her bindings as the flames ate away at her hide. She loosed an unearthly screech, causing Charon to cringe.
Time to finish this.
Charon’s horn glowed and he squinted his eyes in concentration. Bringing gargantuan amounts of magical energy to bear, a pillar of fire streaked down from the heavens at the doomed changeling who redoubled her efforts to free herself from the magical chains at the sight of it. All her struggling was in vain, however, and she could do nothing but watch as the pillar fell on her.
When charon opened his eyes, she was little more than a charred corpse. He panted heavily to catch his breath, and then looked at the cut she had landed on his shoulder. Zerah could probably patch it up, so he wasn’t worried about how grievous it might have been; what troubled him was the placement and direction of it. If he hadn’t moved as quickly as he did, her blade would have landed on his throat, and he would have been a goner.
Pushing the thought aside, he galloped after his companions with his newfound zeal for life.
Dashmaster was easy enough to spot, but getting to him through the confusion wrought by the battle was a feat in and of itself. Charon galloped as fast he could, shooting an occasional firebolt at his enemies as he went, but he more often found himself pushing against the crowd and frequently dodging errant swords.
It had only been about a minute, but every moment spent worrying over the state of his companions felt like hours. When he had finally caught up to them, they were occupied with a fight against a Gryphon, who goaded Dashmaster by flying just out of his reach. The towering Drake roared in frustration as the Gryphon taunted him and needled him at every given opportunity.
“No one, huff, makes a fool, huff, of DASHMASTER!” shouted the enraged Dragonkin, as he charged forward and swept his blade downward. The Gryphon casually flew out of the way and then darted at Dashmaster, lashing out with his claws and tearing away a piece of his armor. Dashmaster hissed, his crazed expression indicative of his seething anger.
As their deadly dance continued, a changeling snuck from behind a bush and charged at an unsuspecting Zerah, who was focused on healing Dashmaster’s wounds. Tapping into his nearly-exhausted magical reserves, Charon loosed a wall of energy at the changeling, who was sent flying and landed in Zerah’s view. The sight of the changeling’s body caused her to jump back and yelp, seizing the attention of Dashmaster.
The gryphon noticed the moment Dashmaster’s concentration broke, and lunged at his exposed hide. The massive Drake winced in pain as blood came pouring out of the fresh wound.
However, the Gryphon had failed to account for Charon, who conjured another set of magical chains and fired them at the gryphon. They wrapped tightly around his legs, and one of his wings, causing him to awkwardly tumble to the ground. Fighting through the pain, Dashmaster raised his sword and brought it screaming down on the Gryphon, who moved no more.
The three stood wordlessly, each of them gasping for breath and staring at eachother in reverence. Dashmaster looked over at Zerah, who was exhausted from the numerous healing spells she had cast for his well-being, and then at Charon, who was near collapse as a result of depleting his magical reserves. Dashmaster put his claw over the wound in his side, which was still gushing dark red blood. Zerah, despite her exhaustion, cast another spell of mending that sealed it shut.
Dashmaster looked up from his wound and at Zerah, and smiled appreciatively. “Thanks,” he muttered, as he looked over at the body of the now motionless gryphon. He began to chuckle between breaths.
“What’s...” Charon fought against his body to squeeze his words out. “What’s so funny?”
Dashmaster gestured at the gryphon. “‘Least I got chicken.”
At first, neither Charon nor Zerah laughed. They merely stared and caught their breath, as if ignoring the callous remark. Several more seconds passed, with no words traveling between them.
Then, Charon giggled lightly. “Heh... Chicken. Heh”.
Zerah soon followed suit, releasing demure, restrained laughs.
Soon, the three were laughing together. In spite of the horrors that surrounded them, their merriment was enough to lift their spirits. It was a fleeting moment, but one they appreciated nonetheless.
“Alright,” said Charon, still speaking between breaths. “Mana up. We’re sitting ducks, at the moment. Dashmaster, you-”
Blinding, searing pain rushed from his throat to his head, and his vision was soon enveloped by blackness.
When he reopened his eyes, everything was now in shades of black and white. The entire world seemed distorted and etherealized, as if he had stumbled onto another plane of existence. A heavenly-looking pony stood in front of him, torn and tattered robes inexplicably flowing in a nonexistent wind. She expressionlessly turned to Charon, scrutinizing him with her empty, glowing eyes.
“You have died,” said the spirit. “You will respawn in twenty-five seconds.”
“Aw, buck,” he cursed, confirming the spirit’s words by looking down at his hooves, which were transparent.
Zerah materialized next to Charon with an unamused expression on her face. The spirit turned to her with the same placid manner she had used with Charon, and spoke. “You have died. You will respawn in nineteen seconds.”
“She got you too, huh?” asked Charon.
“What do you think?”
“Wow. She’s pretty good to have taken us both out so easily. But there’s no way she got Rainbow.”
No sooner than he said that did Dashmaster materialize next to Zerah, who looked similarly disgruntled. The spirit looked up at Dashmaster, and spoke.
“You have died. You will respawn in-”
“I know.” muttered the Drake.
“She got all three of us? Holy horseapples, she’s good.” remarked Charon.
“Yeah, yeah, you can join her fan-club when we respawn.”
A pegasus materialized next to Dashmaster. “Aw, ponyfeathers.” she muttered.
The spirit turned to her. “You have died. You will respa-”
“SHUT UP!” Shouted the four heroes in unison.
Rigel’s team ended up winning the skirmish, but to accredit the victory to his efforts would be a stretch. For the remainder of the match, he had constantly been dueling with that troublesome Changeling, so he did little to help complete objectives or protect his teammates.
Finding himself unusually tired of playing, he typed a brief message to Rainbow and Lyra.
Charon: I’m pooped, and I blew all my good potions during the match. That’s enough PvP for me, today. I’ll catch you later, okay?
Zerah: Goodnight, Rigel!
Dashmaster: lol watevs. c u ltr.
Typing was never Rainbow Dash’s strong point. While Rigel would have usually said something snide, his repeated intensive fights with the Changeling Rogue had left him mentally drained. He had always prided himself at being a skilled duelist in the realm of Evertrot, but this... player, this... What was her screen-name, again?
He pulled up the statistics from the last match and glossed over the names on the opposing team.
“Okay, we’ve got... ‘Lootninja’, ‘Saddlesodom’, ew. ‘Trixiegreat’, ‘Urmom’, ‘Umbra’. That’s it. It was her.”
… This Umbra had matched him kill-for-kill. Whoever she was, she was just as skilled an Evertrot player, implying she had at least the same amount of time to waste as Rigel did. That is, if the mystery player was a she. Rigel could think of at least a dozen ponies who played as the opposite sex, not even including Rainbow Dash.
Rigel shook his head. “I’m overthinking this,” he said to himself. After assuring that Charon wasn’t in any immediate danger, he activated his hearthstone and rose from his computer chair. A little fresh air would help, he decided.
His hooves clipped and clopped against the cobblestone on his front porch. He didn’t stray far from his apartment door, but he was distant enough to get a nice glimpse of the heavens.
Although it was slightly muddied by the city glow and the full moon, the night sky was simply gorgeous. Every constellation and almost every star they held were visible from the streets of Canterlot. Rigel started searching for the many constellations he knew.
The first one he found was Ursa Major, and then its smaller counterpart, Ursa Minor. While the former was substantially larger than the latter, the tinier constellation contained the North Star, which held far more historic significance than anything in the larger one. They merely served as indicators; pointers that gave direction to the brilliant globe that gave countless ponies direction in navigating the seas.
Rigel also noted that they have unusually long tails, considering they were supposed to look like bears.
The next he noticed was “Corvus”, an ineptly-named constellation that looked something like a misshapen box. The name stemmed from a long-lost Equestrian language, and meant something like “Raven” or “Crow”. How the ancient authorities on celestial bodies had decided that the obscure asterism looked like anything resembling a bird, he didn’t know. Even some of the more easily-identified constellations, like Orion, were confusing. It was supposed to look like a warrior, but it didn’t resemble a pony in the slightest. Lyra was particularly fond of it for some reason, but Rigel never knew why.
What seemed to keep needling at his thoughts, however, was the fact that the stars were for so long considered the surefire way to predict the future. Heck, horoscopes were still readily available to those who wished to read them. Ponies still said things like, “Thank your lucky stars”, and would ask each other what their signs were or what they meant.
As an aspiring astronomer, Rigel had always known and appreciated the difference between Astronomy and Astrology. He found the notion of horoscopes silly, but was nonetheless fascinated by the thought processes behind them.
Still, when once-in-a-lifetime things happened, such as running into the same pony twice in Evertrot, he couldn’t help but wonder if the astrologers of old were onto something with their alleged clairvoyance. Coincidences happened all the time, and that was often what freak incidents boiled down to.
But what if there was such a thing as destiny? What if they weren’t just coincidences?
Rigel took a deep breath and headed back inside, closing the door behind him. He again trotted into his room and sat down in his computer chair, grabbing a nearby apple and taking a satisfying bite out of it.
Charon was idly standing in the middle of an inn. Several other players darted about in the building, going about their business as usual. Some Dragonkin sat in the corner and talked in their slithery language, and a drunk pegasus was flagrantly hitting on the bartender.
Upon closer inspection, Rigel noticed that his friend request icon was lit. Shrugging, he clicked on it. It displayed a message in gold lettering:
Umbra wants to be your friend.
“Woah.”
Author's Notes
Thanks go out to all those at The School for New Writers who offered their opinions for me.
Thanks go to the ever-hilarious Bok, who offered my first round of suggestions as to making the fic funnier. I'm a little humor-impaired, you see. If you want a good laugh, Go read his fics. They're all incredible.
Thanks to JohnPerry, whose impeccable taste kept me on the right track while writing this. He's produced a couple of my favorite pony-related works, including Trains, Carriages and Airships as well as the hideously-underrated Final Quest of Star Swirl the Bearded.
And finally, thanks go to Aburi of the group Proofreading, Pre-Reading and Editing, who offered valuable critique while I was writing.
I'll be writing this fic over the course of the semester. As some of the people on the above list have lives and might be too busy to attend to this fic, I'm in need of prereaders. If you've got a keen eye for bad or good story telling and impeccable grammar, I could definitely use your help.
Love you all!
