Trixie to Bellatrix: a Bard's Beginning

Trixie to Bellatrix: a Bard’s Beginning

By FrozenPegasus

Chapter I: Smoke and Mirrors

To the Esteemed-

Ms. Sparkle,

Dear Twilight,

My name is Trixie; we met about a year ago. Does a blue unicorn with a cape and pointy hat ring a bell? If it doesn’t, that's probably for the best, as I'm fairly certain I didn't leave a good impression. If you do remember me, and you’re wondering why I’m writing you now... well, waiting this long was never my intent. My best intentions seem to always come across poorly on paper. Or I write too much, or I get pounced by the local fauna. Which, by the way, is kinda like what I found in the Everfree, only here it’s about five times meaner and ten times more chemically imbalanced. You would be surprised how old the “we’re not in Equestria anymore” joke gets after, like, ten minutes out of Equestria

I suppose “I’m sorry I almost wrecked your entire town because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut” would be a good place to start, though I can’t help but feel slightly victimized by those heckler friends of yours- I can’t deny that my delusions of grandeur played a deciding role in what happened. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about it - far too much, honestly. Had you shared their distaste for egoistic behavior, I would have been completely humiliated at the first moment I saw you. It was a true kindness you showed me, a kindness I in no way deserved.

But I kind of owe you for much more than that.

I wish to tell you a story I have never told anypony. Considering our past history, I would be more surprised if you weren’t skeptical. I only ask you that you read these words with an open mind.

The “Great and Powerful Trixie” is -was a part of me, in a manner of speaking. She’s part of a crutch I’ve carried since I was very small.

As you know, I didn’t really save Hoofington from anything. Actually, I grew up there. Ponies loved the irony of a tiny filly prancing about the town square with a cape and magic hat, bragging about moving mountains while she performed simple parlor tricks and sleight of hoofs. As much as it pains me to say, I suppose it started as something of a joke; the more outrageous the joke, the more they would laugh and the more bits they would leave.

In interest of repeat business, I began to vary the story each time, always adding something new. Really, it was more of a hobby, or a part-time job before my sister - before I needed to take on more responsibility around the household. My scumbag father abandoned - I never really knew my father, as my mother didn’t like to talk about him. Since Father wasn’t around, mother had to work more than she should have. Working hard, for her, meant visiting archeological sites all around the known world, sometimes even partaking in exploratory cartographic ventures just outside its borders. I liked to think of her as a bit of a real-life Daring Do, which she always said was a lot more boring than it sounded.

When she was gone, performing took on a different meaning. I... needed it more. Some of the reasons were more obvious: For instance, when Mother was gone, the citizens of Hoofington would become privy to a great many adventures that The Great and Powerful Trixie tackled alongside The Legendary Daring Do. Perhaps I simply didn’t want to accept that while Mother was out “adventuring,” I was left at home to care for my sister - I was left at home to fend for myself

I was eleven- -nine - ten?

I was still fairly young when I discovered “The Great and Powerful Trixie’s” potential to a fresh audience. Usually, I didn’t perform as much in the colder months, but that particular Hearths Warming Eve Hoofington was packed; I had never seen the inn put up a No-Vacancy sign before. I had enough common sense at that point to know that more ponies meant more bits, so I set up my stand right in the middle of town, and I laid it on thicker than I ever had before.

I was always so immersed in my character by the end of a show that I typically expected an outrageous response. The reaction that night marked the first time those expectations were actually met. They adored me. My bit box, which would occasionally pull in one dozen to two dozen bits on a good night, was completely full. I guess at some point I had outgrown the irony of “The Great and Powerful Trixie” without even realizing it, and the act had become very real. Hoofington had watched my slow progress for years; to them, I was still the cute filly making flowers appear out of thin air - but to a fresh group of eyes… I was whatever I wanted to be.

I wanted to take my show on the road.

In reply to that suggestion, The Great and Powerful Trixie met her first real villain: a raging unicorn who had taken the place of her mother.

We had clashed many times before over how much I was performing as opposed to how much time I was spending on school. I read a lot on my own back then, especially history, I was acing tests, even if I’d barely studied beforehand. So my mother had put up with it… to a point. Going out of town was the last straw. She forbade it, I asked why, she wouldn’t say; you know the back and forth. That argument was the first time she’d ever yelled at me, which didn’t just scare me; I was angry.

In my eyes she was a hypocrite: She left me alone to visit places on business all the time, and the one time I practically begged her for a similar chance, she couldn’t even give me an explanation. I just needed to show her I was right. St. Petershoof was less than two days away; a couple of nights performing there would make more than enough to prove my point. I left Hoofington in the middle of the night and didn’t look back. I would be back in less than a week after all.

I certainly started out determined, but the journey was still terrifying, especially the first night. The doubt accumulating from my travel was quickly erased by St. Petershoof itself though, which was more like a dream. It wasn’t so much the size that was impressive as it was the aesthetic: The buildings were beautiful, eloquent; It was nothing like Hoofington. Possibly thanks to some latent Prench influence, though I’ve never had much of an eye for architecture.

In addition to its natural beauty, the town was in the midst of a festival: music, confetti, and multi-colored streamers threaded between the light posts overhead. Egocentric, - as I so often was - I took it as a sign that I had been in the right and mother was wrong... and I reveled in it. The first night of performance made more bits than I could carry, and I actually had to open a local bank account for the excess. It all seemed too good to be true.

It was.

I was far too smug with myself as I strode through the front gate. As far as I was concerned, I’d timed everything perfectly just by getting home the night before a test day. My timing was far from perfect. Not even close.

She was gone. Just... gone. The only thing out of the ordinary was the lack of lights in the middle of the day. It’s funny, and I suppose as a fellow unicorn you probably understand the feeling - You’d think as ponies sensitive to mana, one of the most incomprehensibly difficult substances to measure and define, that we of all ponies should have some sort of general sensitivity to when things aren’t right for those we love.

But there was nothing to feel. It was just an empty house. The only thing remotely out of the ordinary was my mother’s journal, left in plain sight on her bedroom nightstand, a piece of paper with three words written across the front. As somepony who was usually upfront and honest, she had always seemed extra protective of its contents. In its encrypted state, it would have looked like a bunch of squiggles and lines to anypony else; Not to me - I knew exactly what it was.

When I was much younger, during trips in which my mother would be gone for a while, she’d make me puzzles to solve while she was gone. The puzzles were letters of the “I love you and miss you” variety, using simple ciphers with an alternating key; as nothing my mother did could ever be simple, the keys themselves were always given in the form of two riddles I had to solve.

The journal’s encryption was much more complicated, but unlike the infuriating puzzles of my younger years, I correctly assumed that the keys were written across the piece of paper set on the front. It was only a matter of hours before I had translated the first few pages. I... In the end I didn’t get through much of it.

What came next--

The implications-

My Mother and sister

The truth was-

CELESTIA damn it-

Horsefeathers... see what I mean? It’s going to be a miracle if I ever get through a letter without getting worked up.

I’m sorry, Twilight.

I’m glossing over... a lot, but let’s suffice it to say that the small part of her journal I did happen to read changed... things. Changed everything.

Even now, I want to blame what happened next on the fact that I was only a filly, that the gravity, guilt, and sheer scope of what I faced would have been too much for anypony.

In truth, I was a coward. Bellatrix the cowardly, sniveling filly.

I didn’t want to be me anymore.

In that moment, The Great and Powerful Trixie performed her greatest feat:

She made me disappear.

In a moment that felt like a fever dream, my horn glowed, incinerating the translations along with the three keys.

Everything became much simpler.

The Great and Powerful Trixie had never come home, nor did she have any family to speak of.

Trixie had only been to Hoofington once, when she had saved its residents from a rampaging Ursa Major.

Most importantly: Trixie wasn’t a coward. Trixie couldn’t be hurt.

Of course, like any parlor trick, nothing had truly vanished. It was a convenient hiding place, retreating inside the guise of a facade. Somewhere, willingly in limbo, I was still lurking under the surface, doubting, as Trixie’s exploits became more and more grandiose in an ongoing set of attempts to prove me wrong.

Eventually, the belief of my audience was more need than comfort. I NEEDED for them to see how superior she was, and if they didn’t, she would MAKE them see. Every time her story was accepted, it meant a restful night of sleep.

Nopony who could inspire the awe Trixie did every time she performed could ever be as powerless as that filly from long ago... until the moment I was.

In the end, it wasn’t the heckling of your friends, or seeing your power that broke the spell. It was the faces of those two silly little colts, looking up at her expectantly... at me... waiting for The Great and Impotent Trixie to do the impossible, and realizing that she couldn’t. The more horrifying realization of what might have happened, had you not stepped in, didn’t really hit until later.

I… owe you everything for that, Twilight. I’m not sure there would be any part of me left to recover had the alternative stained my hoofs. The very thought still makes me sick.

As for what I will do now? I will begin a very uphill process. Unfortunately, as you saw, one of the costs of maintaining the façade of The Great and Powerful Trixie for such an extended period of time was a stagnation of my abilities. Other than decay, there are many vital spells irrelevant to performance that I simply never learned. “Trixie was too good to practice,” after all, the bucking idiot. -pompous buffoon.

I will follow the path I ran from years ago, though my folly has made it significantly harder to follow. I went back to Hoofington out of a vain hope that maybe something - anything - would be salvageable. It was a long shot, but I’m glad I went. Remember how I said nothing was ever simple with my mother? Yes, well, it seems somepony’s journal was flame-resistant. Really though, even with the journal, it’s a longshot. Of the three keys, I can only remember one, naturally. However, I remember enough from my previous attempt to decide my journey would begin in Neighpon.

Which is not as miserable of a transition as I was expecting. Neighpon is nice this time of year, not to mention rather delicious. The cherry blossom trees are going out of season, so it’s literally dropping pink petals from everywhere. Hard to beat a place where it rains free lunch from above. Though, I could do without the jungles.

No - really. The jungles are bad.

Once again I reach the end of this letter, conflicted. Nothing would make me happier than to be able to clear the air. But, skimming back over the contents of this letter... even if the sections marked to be omitted were removed, I believe it would raise more questions than it would answer. I believe I've had enough of playing drama queen to last a lifetime.

Perhaps, one day I’ll manage a decent letter, or maybe we’ll meet again before I do. Considering the progress so far, I’d wager on the latter. Either way, I wish you well Twilight Sparkle. And again, I’m truly sorry.

Sincerely,

Trixie

***

Describing the jungles as ‘bad’ was being far too generous. Had Trixie actually sent the letter to Twilight, she would have considered trudging back to the local mail to send another letter amending the previous.

Buck the cherry blossom trees, I take it back.

At first, the jungle had taken to torturing her with small pranks, like the poisonous snakes pretending to be vines, and the friendly-looking spotted kitty that was only pretending to be friendly. After that, it seemed to tire of toying with her altogether. She had only just managed to pry the spotted cat off her head before she heard something very large tearing through the underbrush. Whatever it was had closed in on her with an alarming speed, the pursuer only escaped by galloping past a pair of the vicious, spotted kitties that had mauled her previously. It felt a little vindicating... for the next five seconds or so. The resulting yowling altered her perspective as she ran.

Laden with both physical pain and survivor’s guilt, Trixie saw what looked like a stone watchtower sticking out of the sky. Her jaw dropped. The How’lin temple would have been more accurately described as a fortress. She had hoped that certain other parts of its mythos had been exaggerated; unfortunately, it seemed that the whole “thousand step path” bit was decidedly literal. The lone unicorn slowly began to climb the gargantuan steps, trying not to consider how painful it would be if she were to fall.

As a group that was almost mythical for its expertise in the arcane arts, she had expected it to consist primarily of unicorns; it was an assumption that couldn’t have been more off base. All that work for a clothed Diamond Dog sideshow.

The long, stone hallway was as empty as it was vast. Dead silent, its only inhabitants were bipedal, sitting cross-legged on either side. Murals covered the concave ceiling, mostly depictions of dogs and ponies fighting side by side.

“What do you seek?” The meek question came from the shadows to her right.

Trixie spun, looking for the source of the voice. The monk was small for a diamond dog, standing barely a head taller than her. She felt her heart sink; considering how heavily the dog was leaning on his cane, it wasn’t a terribly promising first impression.

“I don’t think it’s anything you can help me with.” she answered, trying to hide a great deal of genuine disappointment. In equestrian, reteaching herself to speak in the first person had been an incessant irritation, one that had practically disappeared when the language barrier became an issue. Her knowledge of the Neighponese dialect wasn’t nearly fluent enough to attempt said feat of language.

“An answer cannot be given if the question is uncertain. For many years we have followed in his footsteps, searching for truth in the teaching of the great one who came to us years ago.”

“‘His footsteps?’”

The dog nodded somberly, an oddly equine expression. “Inugami - the mastiff of the night sky - created this place in a time of great need, a place of shelter from the corrupting touch of the dark ones. After some time, the intervening paw of the How’lin monks was no longer needed. Since then, we have served as simple guardians to this place, teaching the way of reflection to those who would learn.”

“I seek the old magic - the path to true power.” Trixie grit her teeth, “Not fanatical mutterings and riddles in the gloom.”

“Have you considered the cost of such an endeavor?”

With a sigh, the unicorn sat down, legs still quivering from the climb as she retrieved a small pouch from her saddlebags. The pouch was dishearteningly light. “All I have left is a few dozen Equestrian bits along with a couple of bars.”

“Be that as it may-” His sightless eyes studied her, unblinking. “I will ask once more. Have you considered the cost?” The emphasis was unmistakable, so much so that Trixie felt the hackles on the back of her neck rising, the humidity entirely forgotten as a chill ran down her spine.

“...I have.” she answered cautiously. “The path that led me here has already taken a toll - If you hold the answers I seek, then I am willing to learn.” She hesitated for a moment. “No matter the cost.”

The monk extended his arms to his sides. Though the movement was slow, his body had previously retained such a motionless serenity that the slow gesture was almost startling. The unicorn watched him, wary.

“If you will not be dissuaded with words, then strike me.” The challenge was absurd enough to knock Trixie completely out of the trance-like state the monk’s previously cryptic speech had lulled her into.

“You want me to attack you - with magic?” she asked, incredulous.

“Hoofs or horn, either choice will lead to the same outcome.” While the proposition was ridiculous, Trixie was becoming more than a little fed up with the monk’s condescending babble. While the last year had left her more than a little confused, with no intention of taking on another Ursa anytime soon, she was not incompetent.

She wouldn’t overdo it; her opponent was a blind, older-looking diamond dog after all; a simple stun spell would suffice. Her horn glowed brightly, magic taking form as quickly as it always had. She lowered her head and launched the spell directly at the Monk’s midsection. The smug smile was wiped off her face the second she looked up. The monk had flipped his staff horizontally, catching the spell with a gem encrusted at the top of his staff. Trixie backed away in fear as the captured glow grew in intensity, the mana in the air around it seeming to vibrate. Drawing power into her horn the second time was harder than it should have been, fumbling to grasp the various shades of mana thread, her mind still in shambles on what to cast.

The monk frowned. “Lesson one: Indecision breeds downfall.”

“What- GUH!“ Trixie flew back as her own bolt struck her squarely in the chest, impacting with exponentially more force than it had originally retained. The sudden change to outdoor lighting brought a single realization to her mind. Oh BUCK me not the stairs.

There are many unwritten rules in the universe, rules that she innately knew to be true. On any given day: water ran downstream, alicorns were immortal, ponies will always steal from unattended apple trees, and Trixie - great and powerful or otherwise - simply. Did. Not. Bounce.

THUD

“It would appear that laws were made to be broken,” she mused. Or rather, that was what she mused about musing, much later on. At that particular moment, her thoughts were more along the lines of AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH-

THUD

Her first impact had landed her somewhere between the fifth and tenth stair from the top. Oh how she had whined, tears welling in her eyes. However, that was the first impact, and as she experienced the second (located somewhere between stair seventeen and nineteen), she suddenly found herself reminiscing fondly on her memories of the first. The first had only hurt her out of necessity, gravity and whatnot. It didn’t hate her, unlike the second.

THUD

The sound of a cracking rib on the third impact served as an audible exclamation point for the following epiphany: The second bounce hadn’t actually hated her! It had only hurt her because it cared.

THUD

THUD

THUD

THUD

THUD

THUMP

THUMP

THUMP

THUMP

Boink

Boink

Boink

Boink

…Blap.

Her bouncing finally ceased somewhere between the five-hundred-and-fourth and five-hundred-and-second step from the top, accompanied by a long moment of silence. As it was a particularly ‘live’ step that been kind enough to stop her, the sound reverberated off the stone when she finally opened her mouth, carrying across the Neighponese mountains for miles: There were no words to describe the sad noise that escaped her lips: partially due to its nature of being a sound pathetic beyond description, and partially because it also seemed to be strangely open to interpretation:

A particularly superstitious rice farmer who heard the cry looked up with a start, her pointy wicker hat falling away as she searched the sky for the prophesied four riders of the alpacalypse.

Likewise, a soldier who heard the sound mistook it for a familiar mewling, a sure sign that his superiors had gone too far in questioning with one of the local Pandas. He moodily pondered the ethical implications of torture: “Does the end really justify the means?”

Lastly, a buzzard of particularly ill repute heard the noise and flew off towards it hastily with an evil giggle, unable to believe his luck- What were the chances of snacking on not one, but two quadriplegic orphaned baby bunnies in one day?

Indeed, there probably wasn’t another creature in Equestria capable of making that noise - though on the off-chance there did so happen to be a tortured, supernatural-quadriplegic-hybrid-baby-panda-bunny-orphan out there, it was probably more than a little miffed that, in spite of all its hardship, it wasn’t even getting points for originality anymore. Said creature’s existence would also prove the highly unlikely possibility that something out there was actually having a worse day than Trixie.

***

High Cardinal Lumen Particay’s office was, in many ways, a reflection of her personality: Sharp, eccentric, and methodical. The room itself was fairly spacious and uncluttered; a line of bookshelves took up the northern wall, while the modest desk and chairs sat almost precisely in the middle, documents and baubles of various historical significances lined the remaining walls, several pricier artifacts displayed from within the two white-felt display cases on both sides.

“Please give our written assurances to the Empress, as well as her council; the How’lin Monks have no intention of attending, or in any way promoting the new prince of Cowrea’s…birthday… party.” The grey unicorn touched a hoof to her forehead, pained. “Even if there wasn’t a conflict of interest, the threat of having to endure an inane multi-hour ‘appreciation’ speech laced with their usual brand of war-mongering rhetoric would be reason enough to steer clear.”

“Shall I omit the pun, cardinal?” her robed assistant deadpanned, his paw already copying down her words.

“What pun- …” Lumen’s golden eyes flashed dangerously. “Tell me brother Dagan... have we ever ex-communicated a dog from the order for having an abysmal sense of humor?”

“Ah. Not to my knowledge Ma’am. My apologies.” The Diamond Dog was wiry for his height, robes hanging loose where they would have gathered on one of similar stature. All How’lin monks developed varying levels of literacy; though, in most cases, the literacy wasn’t nearly fluent enough to competently scribe normal speed speech into text.

Dagan himself was an extremely rare case. Almost all diamond dogs held a knack for combat, but his initial evaluation indicated not only intelligence, it also suggested a high level of education. It was an unwritten rule of the Monks to evaluate character alone, and not question the background of those who made the pilgrimage... though it certainly made her wonder.

Disregarding mystery, the only true fault she’d been able to find in the elected secretary was his almost constant state of stoicism.

She waved a hoof dismissively, frowning. “No, I value your input. I’m more irritated we’re still getting this sort of needling from the council.”

“Politicians worry, Ma’am. It’s in their nature.”

“Perhaps, but paranoia should have its limits. They act like we’re amassing an army, which couldn’t be further from the truth. I honestly can’t remember the last time any hopeful made it through the initiation rite who wasn’t a diamond dog, or some sort of refugee.”

“Speaking of which, there was an incident... today at the steps.” The side of Dagan’s mouth twitched in a momentary smirk.

The Cardinal looked over, curious, “Another ill-fated tourist?”

Dagan stamped the envelope with the How’lin seal. “Or so it seemed. I saw most of it first-paw. She was small for a mare, though her casting would leave much to be desired even from an actual filly,” He gesticulated vaguely, paws making small circles, “she was flailing at the threads instead of weaving them; much in the same way a sensitive newborn blindly lashes out at magical undercurrents. Truly terrible. I figured her for an arcane dropout looking for a quick fix... Though that was before our little unicorn climbed up for the second time.”

“Interesting. Tourists never make the second climb. Don’t tell me Elder Cephus took pity on her.” How long has it been since the last unicorn initiate? Lumen levitated the official records over, searching backwards from the middle.

“He did not... the third time, that is. Understandably, he did start to grow concerned when she collapsed on the eleventh attempt.”

The cardinal almost dropped the book in a moment of genuine surprise. She leaned forward, her attention completely redirected. “That’s near the record.” Even for somepony lacking in skill, the sheer number of attempts was staggering. “Did she...”

“That’s where it gets interesting,” Dagan managed to keep a straight face, though she was certain she saw his violet eyes dancing in amusement, “She was faking. The second he came close enough to check, she... she bit him.”

There was a moment of dumbfounded silence.

“The unicorn... bit... the diamond dog?”

“Yes. On the ankle to be precise.”

Being the High Cardinal of the How’lin monks would have been a position fraught with responsibility for a diamond dog. However, fulfilling the role of High Cardinal in conjunction with being one of a paltry few unicorns remaining in the order meant avoiding racial tensions, in addition to the already staggering responsibility. Thus, it was vital she maintain an image and air of authority. Unfortunately, maintaining that image generally meant having enough sense of mind to not laugh at an elder’s... misfortune.

“I- I see. I assume Elder Cephus was slightly upset.”

“In the same way the sky is slightly blue.” Dagan noted, his voice slipping into the overly-familiar tone she had only recently begun to pick up on.

The first unicorn initiate in years brought up the problem of selecting a mentor. The mentor/protégé system was an integral part of the How’lin order from its inception. While the modernized process was voluntary and ran smoothly enough for Dogs, dealing with a new unicorn would be a different story. At one point in time, she would have considered taking on a protégé herself, but she had her hoofs tied with the demands of leadership. Of the three remaining unicorns, two were paired and the last wasn’t really suited to be a mentor... at all.

“Cardinal, may I speak freely?” Her scribe’s previously light expression had been replaced with one of concern.

“Speak your mind brother Dagan. Within reason.”

“Of course.” He fidgeted, obviously uncomfortable. “According to tradition, the roles are practically set. But, while I have a great deal of respect for sister Stanza-”

“You think she’d be a poor teacher?” she asked. Dagan nodded in admission, looking slightly guilty. “I’m not necessarily inclined to disagree with you.” Stanza was notoriously difficult to deal with, disappearing for weeks at a time without explanation. To not assign the initiate to Stanza would leave Lumen in an awkward position, however.

While asymmetrical student-teacher pairing wasn’t quite unheard of, it was extremely rare for all of the obvious reasons: The methods of magic use for the two were completely different; properly trained, canine monks could mimic many basic spellcasting methods used by unicorns, assuming they possessed some external method to create the initial spark. Highly advanced magic was another story: It wasn’t impossible, simply too taxing or dangerous to the canine wielder to be realistic. Pairing the initiate with a diamond dog just didn’t seem viable.

In the last few years though, many in the order had come to an unfortunate opinion: there was an undeniable growing rumbling opinion that modern ponies had become weak; complacent in the peace, ignorant of its price. Perhaps, if handled correctly, authorizing such a pairing would provide her with the opportunity to make a counterpoint. Maneuvering aside, nothing changed the fact that if the new unicorn were to be mentored by a dog, the dog would have to be a very capable monk indeed. And I know just the one.

After a moment of consideration, Lumen chose her next words carefully. “I think you should know, I looked into the writings of your former protege.” She saw him stiffen out of the corner of her eye and continued, ignoring a slight pang of regret. “It was not my intention to pry. Part of a Cardinal’s duty is to look into all... impromptu... departures.”

“Understandably so.” His eyes narrowed. “I assume you gathered how cold, calculating, and heartless he found me to be.”

“Detached. Not heartless.”

“Semantics-” The rebuttal was almost a bared-tooth growl. His eyes widened, regretting the gaffe the moment it escaped his mouth, “-um... in my opinion, Cardinal. My apologies.” Lumen gave a half shrug in response, levitating a record from the desk and splaying it on the table. Previously, she had been debating whether or not to bring up this particular conversation, but the situation was ideal, if not a bit spontaneous.

“Semantics indeed. Heartless was what he: an inexperienced initiate with obvious attachment issues, saw. Now let me tell you what I see,” Leafing through the file, she began to list documents. “Flowcharts, study schedules, progress analysis, combat rankings - complete with theoretical tiers, daily qualitative logs - and here’s the kicker; you actually wrote out a five year long curriculum.” The foundation Dagan had forged only a few weeks into a fairly short mentorship was nothing short of extraordinary; with most first time mentors, she was lucky if they turned in anything more than a few simple progress journals – at the end of a pairing.

Dagan’s ears flattened against his head. “Plans aside, I let him down.”

“Perhaps it was simply a bad match.” The corners of her mouth turned up ever so slightly at his incredulous expression, a rare influx of emotion obvious as the nature of what she was suggesting clicked into place.

“What makes you think I’d be any better at teaching a unicorn?” Dagan demanded, then immediately cringed at the resulting glare.

“Please. Don’t take me for a fool simply because I acknowledge a need for privacy. I seem to remember an initiate diamond dog who - while brilliant - stuck out like a sore hoof because he couldn’t seem to break the habit of using ‘somepony,’ ‘anypony,’ and etcetera. Not to mention, I read a lot of your work before I nominated you as secretary; you’ve always had uncommon insight on mechanics of unicorn spellcasting.”

The only response was a stubborn silence.

Cardinal Particlay sighed. “I’m not asking why... because I don’t care. If there was any possibility of disloyalty, I would know. I didn’t achieve this station by always seeing the best in everypony, despite what some dogs would have you believe. Inugami knows I hate writing my own letters.”

“...Before I decide anything, I’d need to talk with her - to be sure.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

***

The situation of How’lin Temple would likely seem confusing to an outsider. It’s practitioners were widely rumored to be experts counter-arcane training, complete with the most extensive library on the subject in Neighpon, possibly the known world. There were a few exceptions, notably a handful of treacherous ninja types in Ibex; though, as one might expect they were practically impossible to locate. So it wouldn’t be unreasonable to expect such a notable location to be more crowded. The reason behind said absence of attention was two-fold.

Like the temple itself, much of Neighpon was deeply entrenched in tradition. It was something of a wordless creed, passed down for countless generations; tradition should never be discarded for convenience, and to do so was to sacrifice both culture and honor. An unintended side effect of said creed was that foreigners found the old-fashioned vibe to be utterly charming. The increased attention skyrocketed Neighpon to the not-necessarily-desired position of “Best Vacation Destination in the East.” Ibex was notoriously ethnocentric, and why deal with the hassle when there was an open invitation to experience its open, culturally rich neighbor?

While Ibex certainly wasn’t the only other prominent country in the east, the rest were vastly smaller, and nopony really considered Cowrea a viable vacation target.

The resulting daisy chain effect in Neighpon was problematic for many. A host of tourist traps cropped up essentially over-night, looking to cash in on the eastern mystique. The tourists loved the venues, but the locals found the exploitation to be crude and distasteful, which it very blatantly was. Countless imitations filled with the general clichés littered the area right off the Yoketo docks: chair-less restaurants with tatami mats and chop sticks, hot-springs, even shrines.

On the off chance that a tourist, bored of the usual trappings, decided to be a tough-pony and pilgrimage through the jungle, braving the thousand step ascent to visit a certain temple, that tourist was about to have a very clarifying experience, one very similar to the trial Dagan had undertaken years ago.

Nothing in Neighpon said “authentic” like being tossed down several hundred steps by a blind monk.

The trial by combat was entirely voluntary, as the visitor was more than welcome to decline and leave. Its foregone conclusion served as an effective vetting procedure. Possibly too effective, as the attempts were further lessened by the initial threats of the jungle. Post ejection, the weak wouldn’t bother climbing back to the top, while the over-confident would be too embarrassed by the nature of the initial defeat. The harshness of the reception wasn’t an expression of hostility, rather, it was How’lin’s ethic communicated in the purest physical form:

This is a place of strife.

Dagan observed silently from the doorway, surprised to find Trixie already awake. The mare sat on a small stool in front of the mirror, various bandages covering her body. His previous estimation was thoroughly on the mark: She was small for her size, as well as malnourished, her eyes slightly puffy. The reason for her despondent expression became clear, as Trixie touched her forehead gingerly with a hoof, investigating it woefully.

“Your horn’s contour lines faded?” He asked quietly.

Trixie moved a bit too quickly, wincing as she turned. After regarding her intruder suspiciously for a moment, she relaxed, turning back to the mirror. “They did. Though I suppose I should be more grateful for the lack of injuries and broken bones. I thought the Sanare pools were a myth.”

“It’s better for us if that’s how they are perceived, as I’m sure you could imagine how much unwanted attention they would bring. That side-effect is uncommon, though it is one of the reasons our unicorns prefer not to use the Sanare pools whenever possible, forgoing the potential healing. Had you been conscious, we would have given you the choice, but... given your previous state...”

Trixie shook her head vehemently. “No. I would have chosen this regardless. ”

Dagan found himself slightly unsettled by how easily she disregarded the loss. The contour lines of every unicorn’s horn were special; though not as unique as a cutie mark, the lines were an indication that the unicorn had reached magical maturity, an inherent source of pride.

“Why?”

The unicorn’s smile was hollow, tinged with various hints of emotion he couldn’t begin to place. “Because I’ve already lost a lot of time.” Trixie levitated a comb to her hair, making an obvious effort to avoid looking directly at her horn as she brushed.

“Perhaps. But that still doesn’t explain why you came to us. Why not Celestia’s school for gifted unicorns, or Le Mane’s University of the Arcane?”

Trixie huffed at the mention of the former. “Assuming I was able to gain entry to the Equestrian school for gifted unicorns, there are only a few classes that teach counter-arcane, most of them upper-level and purely theoretical. Le Mane’s is infamous for its duels, so it was the more tempting option out of the two. However, gaining entry requires a strong foundation in magic which I-” She gritted her teeth, working a knot out of the silvery mane,“ -clearly seem to lack. But the legends behind this place certainly didn’t hurt the decision.”

Dagan’s eyebrow shot up, “Of which... legends are you referring?” he baited her carefully, wanting to confirm what he already suspected.

“The joint attack on the Changeling Matriarch’s lair, two-hundred odd years ago - 812 AB.” Trixie’s eyes lit up for the first time, almost merry. “The How’lin Monks, Mild West Walkers, and the Asgard Praetorians allied in secret. Their coordinated ambush in the Broken Leylands took down Matriarch Entropa herself."

“And why did they insist on secrecy?” Dagan prompted.

“Because Entropa had ears everywhere. She was smart. Very smart. She targeted key locations surrounding Equestria, but never struck at Equestria itself. She was fixated on espionage, and never used overt force; But her ‘daughters’ infiltrated and crippled almost every magic asset in the targeted lands, effectively hamstringing several governments. Supposedly, it was a single pony who allied the three and supplied the location of Entropa’s hive, though I assume that pony was more myth than legend. ”

Dagan paced to the other side of the room, keeping a respectful distance. “You seem exceptionally well informed. Most Equestrians simply assume that their thousand year period peace was as peaceful for everypony else.”

“My mother spent a lot of time overseas. I read what I could find about the countries she was working in... not much of an accomplishment.” It was a poor attempt at humility; Dagan could see her practically inflating from the praise. At least she tried.

Dog and unicorn studied each other in the silence, refracted light from the Sanare pool casting flickering shadows on the ceiling. In many ways, Dagan had wanted to find something wrong with her. Losing a protégé had been agonizing, the window to so much disappointment and self doubt; He had no desire to repeat a similarly doomed venture. Aggravatingly enough, he hadn’t really been able to find anything damnable.

Which wasn't to say that she was perfect, or even adequate: Her technique was truly horrendous, her basic reflexes were poor, she had very little muscle, and she was little more than a filly. While not likely to make things easier, those factors were mostly irrelevant, as many of the refugee dogs who took the robe had never even contemplated the idea of using magic before.

The more important, worrisome qualities he had intended to probe for were practically non-existent. In many ways, it was in the tone: There was a marked difference in an individual who sought power simply for the sake of it, and one who saw power as a means to an end. This unicorn was the latter.

Her focus on combat would have been concerning, had she not been completely devoid of the anger or spite that usually leaked through when there was a malicious ulterior motive. The only hint of rage he picked up from her had flared for a mere split second, as she met her own gaze in the mirror.

“Well, I’m intrigued - I guess that means you pass.”

Trixie seemed very taken aback. “What - wait - I was being evaluated?”

“In a manner of speaking. Though it is typically custom in Neighpon to introduce one’s self at the beginning of a conversation you may call me Dagan, or Mentor, though I’m not particularly fond of titles. Get some rest, training begins tomorrow.”

“Er- I’m Trixie – but - Hold on,” She sputtered, “I still need to recover-”

He gave the unicorn a dismissive once-over. “The Sanare pool will have seen to that. You’ve ‘wasted enough time already,’ correct? Meet me by the temple stairs at first-light.”

“The... stairs?!” She squeaked, wrapping her forelegs around herself tightly

Realizing the misunderstanding, Dagan tried to sound reassuring. “It won’t be a repeat of what happened today. As secretary to the high cardinal, my duties extend beyond mentorship. Tomorrow, I’ll be delivering a couple of letters to Yoketo post. You need not always accompany me on such errands, but I believe the journey tomorrow will make a good point of introduction. I’ll also be able to show you the safe path through the jungle.”

Trixie’s eyes narrowed irritably, “There’s a safe path?”

He shrugged. “Safer - for the most part. Like any path, if you don’t watch your hoofs, there’s no telling where you might be swept off to.” Turning to leave, Dagan hesitated at the door-frame. For somepony who knew so much about the legend, the unicorn had left out an odd omission.

“Of the pony who allegedly maneuvered the three factions into allying against Entropa’s daughters: Surely you know what she was rumored to be?”

The unicorn scowled. “She was a musically inclined earth pony, who just so happened to have an eye for tactics. Anything further is poetic license - an attempt to explain why a relatively insignificant pony held such a high station.”

“Humor me. What ‘poetic license’ surrounds the infamous mare with no name?” Dagan watched in bemusement as the unicorn fidgeted with a sour expression.

“Supposedly, she was one of the last Bards - “ The very concept seemed to exasperate her. “A Bard for Celestia’s sake.”

“Bards are less believable than the idea of Diamond Dog, Griffon, and Pony fighting side by side? “ Dagan asked, indulging a bit of demon’s advocate.

“It’s not just the concept,” Trixie insisted, “Even though the Walkers and Praetorians fell into obscurity, the Mild West practically worships their stigma and there’s still reported sightings. The Praetorians hold an equally high station in Griffon legend, and there’s plenty of evidence for both.” She pressed her lips together. “Not to mention, according to the stories, Bards always operated alone…”

Her eyes returned to the mirror for a split-second before averting her own gaze. “No single pony can alter the course of history.”

More and more curious. Dagan mused, preparing to leave. “Get some rest, tomorrow will not be easy. And Trixie?”

“Yes?”

“However it may appear, this is still a temple.” He shot her a wolfish smirk before disappearing into the night. “It never hurts to have a little faith.”

***

AN: So... I decided I wanted to write an entirely new sort of Trixie... which kind of exploded into something slightly more complicated. *ahem.* Again, this is sort of my attempt at combining a comedic adventure story with a semi-serious character piece; No interspecies romance, by the way, just to head off that line of thought. There will potentially be some romance played mostly for comedy and later character development, though nothing too explicit to worry about. If you’re here for the comedy tag, I know it got a little heavy there; Mainly to set the scene. When the third main character is introduced next chapter (hint: wears sunglasses), she’ll do a lot to lighten the atmosphere.

Here's the map my interpretation of the Known World is based on, by hlissner

Lots of (hopefully) interesting stuff lined up: Trixie relearning magic won’t be glossed over, so going into the details of how the unicorn magic system works (and a more in depth explanation as to how the monks are able to use it) will hopefully be interesting and insightful.

Special thanks to Meeester for pre-reading this in the 11th hour, and Moniker for running through it again.

Feedback, detailed or otherwise is always appreciated!