Winter Wheat approached the castle with a justifiable amount of terror. Equestria, this was not. The sky was an ever-shifting haze of black and deep purple, and the ground rarely stayed on the ground. Rocks and trees had a bad habit of talking. Now he needed to cross a stone bridge that stretched over a moat of chocolate milk, and maybe this wasn’t worth it. Winter gulped. He stepped onto the bridge.
The castle waited for him, a massive stone structure with four towers, swooping buttresses, and plenty of gargoyle statues. Some held tennis rackets, others golf clubs. One stuffed his face with popcorn. A pine tree flew overhead like a rocket. It was all very strange, moreso than Winter expected despite the rumors, and by Celestia he had heard them all. It was why his terror was justified.
This was Discord’s castle, and he was about to enter it. All he had to do was step through those big double doors. Winter gulped again. What if the biggest rumor was wrong? What if Discord wasn’t reformed? The master of chaos might laugh at his request, snap his fingers, and turn him into a talking candlestick. Then he’d be stuck here forever. Then he’d—
“Password?” the doors hissed. Winter blinked. The doors blinked back. “Password!”
“I … I …” Winter’s voice cracked, which tended to happen when he was scared or upset. It made him sound like a girl. “I don’t know.”
“Oh.” The door blinked again, and despite not having eyebrows, it furrowed them anyways. “Well me either, to tell the truth.”
The doors slid open, though instead of creaking they sounded like a dog’s chew toy. Winter looked inside. He shivered. Turning back was still an option, yet he couldn’t do it. He was so close. He was so tired of living this way.
“Oh just go already!” a gargoyle from above said. It threw a kernel of popcorn at Winter’s hooves. “Or I’ll getcha!”
Winter rushed through the doors.
The doors slammed behind him.
*
The first room of the castle looked like the beginning of a maze. Doors and giant donuts lined every wall, and large passages branched every which way. One even went straight up to a trapdoor in the ceiling. Winter didn’t know where to start. A chandelier made of unsharpened pencils hung above his head, the erasers lighting up in a dozen different colors. It gestured to the first door on the right, where a large spider chased after a potted plant.
Winter yelped and sprinted to the leftmost door. He pulled it open expecting a room to hide in but found himself staring into a mirror. His ears fell. Time slowed as his eyes darted to every part of his body he did not like. There were many, and he was good at finding them.
His flank was light blue with hints of lilac, or too feminine; his shoulders were small, also too feminine; his waist was petite; and his face was distinctly oval. The hormones he was on let him grow some facial hair, but it was thin. Every morning he debated shaving it off. His mane was a dark yellow-green, cut short and flat. He wore a baggy shirt he found in an outdoorsy-type store, but it didn’t hide his silhouette as well has he had hoped. His cutie mark was a flute, or what he liked to call, “The first time I disappointed my parents.”
The second time was why he was here.
Winter turned around, expecting to be attacked by the spider, but it was gone. The potted plant wandered to the corner of the room and burped.
“This was a mistake,” Winter said, his voice cracking again. “I need to leave.” But the door he came in from was gone, and he didn’t trust any of the others. “I wish I had my flute.” It wouldn’t help him fight off the chaos, but playing always calmed him down, always let him know he could do at least one thing right. He wished he hadn’t had to sell it, but he wished for a lot of things.
“I just want to be normal,” he said.
To his surprise, his reflection smiled, winked, and then said, “Then find the right door.”
“What?”
As if on cue, one flung open. A sofa ran out, took one look at Winter, and then ran into a different room, where something roared loud enough to shake the entire castle.
“Well, not that one, obviously,” his reflection said, now in a stranger’s voice. It then waved and vanished.
With courage that did not feel justified, Winter returned to the middle of the room. The chandelier continued to gesture to the rightmost door, which he took as a good reason to not go through. He picked the one right next to it. Nothing had roared behind this one. He knocked, listened for signs of something scary, and then pushed it open.
“You can’t stop me!” a purple dragon with a square jaw shouted at a full pack of timberwolves. The wolves howled. One leapt, claws outstretched. The dragon cut it in half with an almost lazy slash of his sword. Bark and tree parts flew like confetti. The dragon charged into the pack, laughing and swinging his sword while the wolves bit, slobbered, and growled.
Winter slammed the door shut.
“Seriously?” the chandelier made of pencils said. “Do I have to hold up a sign?”
“Yes,” Winter shouted. “What is wrong with this place?”
“That door!”
The door Winter had been avoiding since he got here now held a sign that read, “This one!”
“Fine!”
Winter kicked it open expecting the worst and was surprised to find a room that almost appeared normal. It was small and square, covered in red carpet, and lit with six torches. The walls were void of pastries or talking furniture. No monsters threatened to attack him. The only strange furnishings were six golden treasure chests, one under each torch. Two were open and empty, but the other four were ripe for the taking.
Winter looked into the open ones first. The chests were about the size of a dresser drawer, and each had a sticky note taped to the front. The first read, “Warrior.” The second read “Mage.” Winter moved along the others, finding “Archer,” “Cleric,” “Bard,” and finally, “Warlock.” He returned to the bard chest.
It opened without prompt. Inside was a long, flowing jacket, a brown leather satchel, a 20-sided die, and the most beautiful flute Winter had ever seen.
“No way!” Winter said, his shock and terror morphing into a grin. “I love Ogres and Oubliettes!”
*
Winter returned to the first room feeling not just in control but powerful. The jacket fit him perfectly, hiding the things he hated about his body, and the flute sounded amazing. He blew a few notes and was happy to hear how dark and ominous the tone was. Perfect for a game of OnO! Even the satchel was perfect, containing one health potion, one mana potion, and a small dagger. He wasn’t just a bard but a battle bard!
“This is so cool,” he said. He played a few more notes, the start to a song he had tried to write many years ago.
“Eyup,” a voice responded. Winter jumped.
He expected chaos and was surprised to see another earth pony, one with a bright red flank and a square head. A shimmering mage’s robe covered most of his body, though Winter could make out an apple cutie mark. Given the pony’s size, that made sense. Winter grew up with enough farmers to know the frame well.
He was, honestly, jealous of it. He wished his shoulders were that big, his face that strong and kind.
“Hi,” he said. “Uh, so this is strange.”
“Eyup.” The pony sat on his haunches, flipped his cowl up, and then waggled his front hooves until they glowed red. He burst out laughing. “Now your turn!”
Winter offered an embarrassed grin before playing the beginning of his song again. The notes soared through the room, swirling around the chandelier and causing its knobbed points to instantly sharpen. The mage in front of him let out an, “ooooooooooooh”, and his hooves glowed brighter.
“No one ever wants to be a bard,” the mage said. He offered a hoof. “I’m Big Mac. Who are you miss…ter…?”
“Mister,” Winter barked. He winced. It was a reflex more than anything at this point, but one that always felt justified. He tried so hard to fit in. Why couldn’t everypony see that? “Winter Wheat. But you can call me Winter. Most ponies do.”
“Okay.” The colt’s voice was deep and maybe a bit dopey, but if there was judgment in it, Winter couldn’t find it. “Well, if you’re here to play, then we gotta find Spike and the final key.” Big Mac gestured to the trap door in the ceiling. It was too high up to make out clearly, but Winter figured it had more than one lock.
“How do we get up there?”
Big Mac shrugged. “Discord doesn’t always play fair.”
“Discord! I’m looking for Discord. It’s … uh, why I’m here.”
Big Mac reached for his own satchel and pulled out four keys. “Spike has one. We need one more.”
Winter nodded. His old gaming parties usually worked in threes to keep their sessions shorter, but they also didn’t have chaos magic to make them real. Six suited him just fine. He laughed. “Wish I had gotten here sooner!”
“Eyup!”
“Well, which way?” Winter looked at the doors he had gone in and the ones still new to him. Given how many keys this mage had, his party had probably cleared out most of the castle. “There’s a big dragon in that one. Bet we could defeat him and get—”
“Spike! You found him?” Big Mac clapped his hooves. “We got separated. Discord tricked me.”
“The dragon is Spike?”
“Eyup.”
“But he’s huge! And he’s got a sword. And ….” Winter laughed again. “Discord’s doing, huh?”
Big Mac nodded. “I’ll go first, just in case.” He waved a sparkling hoof. “Just like a unicorn.”
They approached the door at a steady trot, and Big Mac flung it open with a fearlessness Winter not only admired but felt himself. OnO always did this to him, made him feel like he could do or be anything. Every monster could be bested with a sword or spell, every shady creature outmatched with a good persuasion roll. Money was never a problem. The way Winter looked or talked was never a problem. His friends never abandoned him here. That only happened outside the game.
So when the door crashed open and a horde of ogres charged with raised clubs, Winter played his flute and smiled from ear to ear at the same time. The ogres were big and nasty, their flesh pale white and covered in blue boils. One swung an overhanded chop that missed Big Mac by inches. The mage threw his die, rolled a 19, and cast a fireball so fierce it blasted the ogre into confetti and blinded the rest. Winter dodged a clumsy throw from a second ogre and threw his own die. It came up a 14.
“My turn!” he shouted! He switched his song to an old marching ballad he had learned in school. The notes wrapped around the fallen club, lifted it off the ground, and zoomed it at the ogre. It struck the big monster in the head and knocked it in two.
Dodging, playing, and casting, Winter and Big Mac disposed of the remaining ogres with ease. Their dice refused to roll below a 12.
“That was amazing!” Winter said, surveying the fallen ogres.
“Eyup!”
“Like, the best thing I’ve ever done ever!”
“Eyup!”
“Also, are these made out of cardboard?” Winter kicked at a dead ogre. Without hit points, the monster looked like a child’s drawing instead of some threatening creature bent on his destruction.
Big Mac nodded. “Discord tried real monsters once, but it was too scary.”
With the room clear of ogres, Winter could see two things of interest. The first was an unopened treasure chest made of silver and bronze; the second was a trap door right in front of that treasure chest. Winter trotted over and looked down. There sat a grumpy-looking purple dragon dressed like a knight. What had once been an army of cardboard timerbwolves lay torn and scattered around his feet.
“About time!” Spike shouted. “Discord won’t let me out!”
Big Mac tossed the dragon a rope, and with Winter’s help, the two managed to drag him out of the pit.
“Heya,” Spike said with a light wave. “Big Mac, who’s your friend?”
“Mister Winter Wheat,” Big Mac said.
Winter nodded. “I’m a bard.”
“Cool! No one ever wants to be a bard. But uh, what are you doing here?” The dragon held up his hands, palms out. “No offense, but Discord’s house isn’t exactly easy to find.”
“Uh … It’s a long story.” Winter blushed. He shouldn’t be here, invading their game and looking like an idiot. His ears fell. “I was hoping to ask Discord for a favor.”
“Ha. Good luck.” Spike threw his die, which landed on a 20. “I rolled four of those straight and he still didn’t let me out. Like, seriously? I’m a dragon!”
Winter frowned as the terror from earlier began to creep back. What if this was a mistake? What if Discord simply couldn’t do what he asked? Or worse, what if he could but wouldn’t?
“Well, come on,” Spike said. He sidestepped the trapdoor and kicked open the chest. “Let’s get this over with. Twilight’s cooking tonight, and I’m hungry.”
The chest held the last silver key.
*
They returned to the main room to find a horde of monsters waiting for them, from ogres to timberwolves to bugbears to a rocky behemoth called a cragadile. The sofa-sized lizard roared, its teeth glittering gems, and the rest of the monsters rushed in to attack.
“Cool,” Spike said, almost unimpressed. He threw his die and came up with an 11. “Aw man.”
The dragon charged anyways, blocking one attack with his shield but missing a second. An ogre clubbed him in the head with a frying pan. It clanged loud enough to drown out the cragadile, and Spike clutched at his head.
“Hey! That hurt!”
“Sorry,” a disembodied voice said. The ogre’s frying pan changed into a pillow. “Is that better?”
“Discord!”
Winter and Big Mac both rolled their own dice. Without waiting to see his number, Winter launched into his song. Notes flew from his flute like hornets, wrapping Spike in red fire. The dragon’s muscles bulged, and when he blocked another attack, the ogre exploded into tiny pieces of paper. Everyone laughed. Winter continued to play, nearing the end of what he had written but ready to improvise. This was too cool.
Big Mac waved his hooves, shouted, “oga bloop blorp” and successfully created an ice rink in the room. The rest of the ogres slipped and fell. Spike dispatched them before they could stand back up.
“Oh shucks,” Big Mac said. “I’m out of magic.”
“Here,” Winter said, reaching for his mana potion. “Use this on your next turn.”
“Eyup!”
The battle raged over five more turns, but eventually all the ogres, timberwolves, and bugbears were nothing more than ripped paper on the ground. Everyone was down to half health or less, and Big Mac’s ice rink was gone, not because the spell had ended but because everyone was sick of slipping on it. Winter panted, his cheeks almost in pain from smiling so much. The cragadile roared, and he laughed. Big Mac and Spike did, too.
“Are your OnO games always like this?”
Spike nodded. “Except that one time Discord used real monsters.”
“I said I was sorry!” the disembodied voice said. “Jeeze. You bring Cerberus up from Tartarus one time!”
“Hey,” Winter said. His ears perked up, though his brow furrowed. “I think I recognize that voice. It was in the mirror.”
“Mirror?” Spike and Big Mac asked together.
Winter shook his head. “Never mind. Let’s beat this cragadile.” He grabbed his health potion and offered it to Spike. “You’re the tank.”
“Don’t mind if I do!” Spike upended the red liquid into his mouth. “Oh. Strawberry!” He assumed a fighting stance and then remembered he had to roll first. He blushed as he kicked his die across the floor. It landed on a 16.
“You next,” Big Mac said. “Make us stronger.”
Winter rolled, played, and watched his two companions swell with power. Spike charged. Big Mac began a new spell.
The cragadile had a thick hide, but with Winter’s attack boost, Spike penetrated a the creature’s rocky scales. Big Mac threw his fireball, and soon the monster was no more. Confetti and balloons fell from the ceiling. It was a massive victory, and the best game of OnO Winter had ever played. The three cheered, hugged, and laughed. They then waited for something to happen.
“Uh, Discord,” Spike said. “We won.”
“No you didn’t,” the voice said.
“Huh?” Big Mac asked. He looked down at himself, like his wizard robe might solve the problem.
“Nope,” the voice said. “Try again. Try looking up.”
Spike slapped himself in the face, which made a rather painful sound since he was wearing metal gauntlets. “The keys!”
“You have to solve the puzzle,” the voice said. “I’m Sierra Entertainment.”
Spike turned to Winter. “Any bright ideas? None of us can fly.” The dragon crossed his arms. “Even if one of us has actual wings and rolls four 20’s in a row.”
“Nope,” Winter said. He grinned. “But when we couldn’t solve our DM’s puzzles, we’d just light the dungeon on fire until he caved. Worked about half the time.”
“Hmm,” Spike said. “That doesn’t seem in the spirit of things.” The dragon returned the grin. “But who cares! Let’s blow this castle up!”
“Big Mac, care to cast a fire spell?”
Before the large colt could launch into more magic, the castle vanished. What was once a sprawling maze filled with monsters and chaos was now a small cottage filled with two ponies and a small purple dragon. All the joy fled Winter as he looked at himself, now wearing his oversized hiking shirt instead of his bard’s jacket. He was no longer a hero but a joke. The only thing that remained of their game was the flute, which he clutched at like a life raft.
Discord appeared out of thin air, a monster unlike any Winter had ever seen. He was part dragon, part lizard, part cat, and part only Celestia knew what. He looked downright angry, too.
“Light my house on fire? Really? That was your plan?”
“Uh,” Winter said. “No?”
“Because the puzzle was easy to solve,” Discord snapped. “Very easy.”
“Yeah right,” Spike said, rolling his eyes. “You said that last time, too.”
Discord stamped his foot, which turned into a serving tray with four teacups. “If you returned to the roaring room, you’d realize there are thirty six bricks against the left wall. One key every six bricks. Then the door would descend and you could go in and claim your prize.”
Spike reached for a cup of tea. He dropped two sugar cubes into the liquid and stirred it, looking bored. “Which was?”
“Why, the joy of solving a puzzle, of course!”
Big Mac shook his head. “I’d never have figured that out.”
“Exactly,” Spike said. He took a drink. “Your puzzles never make any sense.”
Discord crossed his arms. Bats grew from them, took off screeching, and then turned into flowers. “Fine. Be that way.” He looked to Winter. “You liked it, right?”
“Yes!” Winter shouted. His voice cracked, and his ears fell. “It was … I loved it. This was so fun.”
Discord winked. “You finally found the right door.”
Winter sat. A teacup flew into his hooves unbidden. “Discord, I know you don’t know me, but can I ask a favor?”
“Why, sure!”
“Can you … can you….” Winter squinted his eyes shut, expecting the worst. “Can you make me into a colt?”
“Hmm.” Discord snapped his fingers, creating a chair out of thin air. He sat in it. The chair floated to the ceiling. The strange creature conjured a top hat upon his head. A monocle followed. “Hmm.”
A hand fell on Winter’s shoulder, and he jumped. “You okay, Winter?” Spike asked. “I’m not gonna—”
“No!” Winter shouted. His voice cracked. “I’m not okay. I don’t think I’ve ever been okay, and it’s hard to explain but not, and I just … I just don’t want to feel this way anymore! Like I don’t fit in my own body! Like it’s my fault everyone left. Like if I just fix myself, my friends will come back and my parents will…my parents will…” Winter choked on the rest of his words, not sure what to say and too scared besides.
“There , there,” Discord said. He snapped his fingers.
Winter changed. His body grew, though not by much, and his shoulders widened. His face angled just a bit. The beard he had been trying to grow thickened. His shirt fit. He looked down at himself, stuck somewhere between completely bewildered and happy beyond words.
“How’s that?”
Winter didn’t know what to say.
“I can go bigger, smaller, wings, horns, six tails, vulpix, nine tails, a turtle shell, antenna, Godzilla—”
“Discord!” Big Mac roared. He put on an embarrassed smile. “Calm down, okay?”
Discord crossed his arms. “Oh fine. Ask a chaos god to do something nice and logical and then yell at him. I see how it is!”
“It’s perfect,” Winter said. “I think. I don’t know.” He felt so excited and terrified and strange, but his voice didn’t crack. “I just, I don’t know. Really. I’ve dreamed about this all my life, and now it’s here, and I don’t know.”
Discord humphed. “Well sleep on it, and when you come back next week for OnO, you can tell me what to fix.”
“Next week?”
The chaos monster smiled. “Sure! We’ve always wanted a bard, but these two can’t play any instruments. Just show up two hours earlier. You were late this week. We do not tolerate tardiness.”
“Okay,” Winter said. He didn’t know what else to say.
Spike tugged on his sleeve. He looked confused, yet determined too. Winter could relate. “Listen,” the dragon said. “I was gonna say that I won’t pretend I know what’s going on, but I want to. And if your previous friends refused to, well, they weren’t your friends.” He gestured at Winter with both hands. “I just hope you find friends worthy of your friendship.”
Winter’s eyes filled with tears. He had spent his entire life feeling off in a bad way, and while he still felt off, it was in a way he couldn’t wait to get used to and love.
“Oh fine!” Discord snapped. “Yes you can keep the flute. Gosh, if everyone started crying every time I did something nice, I’d go back to trying to take over the world.”
Winter’s sobs turned into choked up laughter. Spike, Big Mac, and Discord followed suit.
